Uncertain Justice

Chapter 25

What about a good tracker? Anyone know of ... someone around here who can do that?" The commander struggled with political correctness and his real desire to know if there was an American Indian living somewhere nearby. He identified Indians as being close to nature and able to trail someone through the wilderness. He was aware he couldn't let anyone know he thought that way, though--no telling who might get pissed off and motivated to file a suit.

"That's no problem," replied the sheriff. "We can have a dozen men familiar with hunting and tracking here in the morning--but you can't do it in the dark ... no way."

"Okay, you guys are the experts." The commander gave in without protest. "Can you set that up for us?" At the grizzled sheriff's nod, he dropped the subject to pose a final question.

"Is there anything else we can do tonight?" he asked the group. He saw a number of shaking heads and heard the non-committal noises indicating he'd probably gotten everything he could from them for the moment.

"Well, if anyone thinks of anything, let me know, okay?" He smiled to show them he was just one of the boys. Grabbing his air liaison officer by the elbow, he walked the man over to the SUV outfitted with a small forest of antennas. Behind him, the group broke into several smaller ones.

A dark sedan drove in from the east and pulled into the parking lot. The supposedly unmarked vehicle stood out clearly as a government vehicle from one agency or another. The cheap wheel covers and uninspired paint job were neon signs proclaiming the obvious.

Commander Winters watched the car as he talked to the trooper he'd escorted to his vehicle. In a moment, three men and one woman in conservative business suits exited the car and peered around to orient themselves.

"Damn!" Winters complained. "What is the FBI doing here?" No one had an answer.

The four agents across the way huddled briefly with their heads close together to discuss some arcane matter. They straightened and the stocky male agent with the youthful face separated from the gathering. He began to stride purposefully across the pavement toward the hapless State Police officer. The other three waited impassively near their car and continued to catalog everyone in view.

Two miles away, the van from the independent television station in Pueblo was laboring up the steep pass. When it arrived, the commander appointed himself as spokesman for the taskforce.

§

Miles couldn't feel his legs any more. The earlier pain had given way to numbness and he had to watch his feet to make sure they actually moved. He couldn't feel their impact on the ground any longer. Waves of pain from legs and back were thoroughly filtered now by an all-encompassing fatigue. Now they were only bits of information sent to a brain too tired to respond.

Any other time, he would have long since given in to cramped, aching muscles, but that wasn't an option tonight. He had to get as far away as he could from where he'd been spotted. If he didn't, he'd be in jail before the sun rose.

At first, he'd aimed for the rock chimney high on the mountain but he was past that landmark now. Since leaving it behind, he'd tried to stick to a reasonably straight course by keeping the Little Dipper to his left but the sky turned overcast and took that away too. His only means of keeping a reasonably straight course now was to keep the downhill slope to his left front as he descended diagonally across the mountain. It wasn't very good, but it was all he had.

Eventually, his body had to give in to the need for rest. When he couldn't lift his foot high enough to get over a small branch laying flat on the ground, he stopped.

Staggering to a big log, he eased his body into a sitting position straddling the trunk. He swayed slightly as his inner ears struggled to keep him from falling over. He would have removed the backpack but he was afraid he'd never be able to get it back on if he did.

He was out of the valley where he had been spotted, but climbing the high ridge at his best speed had sapped most of his strength. Since then, Miles had just been trying to keep moving and gain every yard of distance he could. He was near collapse. It seemed to him the sun had been down for hours.

Rousing, he pulled his second canteen from its place on the side of the pack to exchange with the empty one. A handful of raisins and peanuts replenished his energy a little. He wondered how long he could stay where he was. He rested, panting in the cold night.

Curt Barnett arrived an hour or so after sunset in a rusty utility truck of indeterminable age. There were five dog cages on the bed, four of them occupied. Their barking showed their canine displeasure with the trip along the dirt road that was the only access to the line of towers carrying power across the mountains. Barks alternated with whining requests for release. The dogs were frantic to be set free. Curt got out and pulled four long rope leashes from behind the seat.

A deputy walked over to offer his help but Curt brusquely declined. He didn't like for other folks to handle his dogs--confused 'em, was all that accomplished.

He fussed with the lines, getting everything untangled and arranged to his satisfaction. He watched suspiciously as a heavyset man in a state trooper's uniform came closer.

"Mr. Barnett? I'm Commander Winters, Colorado State Patrol. We're sure glad to see you," remarked Winters. "Thanks for volunteering to help." The trooper extended his hand but Curt was busy and didn't see it. Winters dropped it hastily to his side. Ever since his run-in with the sheriff in the early evening, he'd been trying hard to get along with people to whom he couldn't give orders.

"Yessir," was Barnett's response as he continued to straighten out the harness for the dogs. "Y'all lookin' for thet guy onna TV--that Underwood feller?"