Trust1

Dark! Too damn dark! Starless sky, no moon and misty rain. Perfect! Buck don't seem to mind. For a hundred-sixty pound German Shepherd he sure knows how to be comfortable. Strange, his training was more extensive and in-depth than my own. Yet he can take it all in stride. Maybe he is right, I should try to sleep and think about how all of this started and how I ended up here.

John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center, Fort Bragg, North Carolina.Serving with 5th Group Special Forces had been the best two years of my life. I had excelled in weapons and tactics and earned my 3rd Master Don black-belt in record time. Though none of it would really be my savior in the next few months. No kind of training could prepare anyone for what I would encounter.

Day 1

    The P.A. boomed, "Sergeant Riggin, report to the Captain's office!"
    They can't mean me. I wasn't even off base this weekend. Randy and I had stayed at the enlisted club Friday and Saturday. Oh, well! I probably deserved it anyway.
    The walk across the parade field was hot, long and filled with the sounds of drill. God, there is nothing like the Army, I thought, watching the Battalion of 82nd Airborne prepare for a retirement. They moved with ease and grace, brought on by all that training. Beautiful! I walked the steps that had the Railroad-Track insignia over the door and entered.
    "Go in, Chase. He's waiting." The First Sergeant was always right to the point.
    The Captain wasn't alone, and I tried unsuccessfully to conceal a curious squint at his two guests. Hard-faced characters, wearing fancy dress-suits which didn't really seem to fit into the scenery.
Spooks, no doubt. Well, there goes the neighborhood!
    Supo didn't give me any more time to ponder the issue. "Sergeant Riggin," he started, "this is Agent Harless and Agent Micheals....Agents, this is Sergeant Chase Riggin."
    Two firm handshakes and a salute, then we were seated at the Captain's desk. Supo's eyes were unreadable, kind of a blank stare. Oh, shit, was my immediate thought.
    "Sergeant Riggin," Agent Harless took the initiative, "let me get straight to the point. We are with a, uh...specialized Government Agency, and would like you to come to work for us. Of course, you would still officially be in the military. Just consider it a detail. And perhaps even a promotion might be in line."
    The Captain leaned back, crossing his arms, intrigued but not concerned. Not yet!
    I pulled up an eyebrow. "What's the detail?"
    "It is confidential until you actually accept," Agent Micheals snapped.
    "How can I accept without knowing what you want me to do?" I shot back. Agent Micheals jumped to his feet, as did I, ready for anything that might look like aggression.
    I don't like this guy. Not at all.
    "Calm down, George!" Harless barked. "We need him."
    "We don't need a questionable Green Beret," Micheals sneered.
    "He is the only qualified man left. Unless you want to try it?" Harless was clearly getting on edge.
    Captain Supo intervened. "How about a compromise, gentlemen?"
    Harless sighed, "Okay, let's talk. Sergeant, this conversation stays in this room, understood?"
    "Yes, Sir!" I answered sharply.
    "Good. Listen carefully and hold your questions until later, all right?"
    "Yes, Sir!" I answered again, this time halfheartedly.
    "In 1992, a surveillance jet was flying at twenty-one-thousand feet over a wilderness area of southwest Washington State. A regular training mission for all intents and purposes. The eight crew members were well experienced, and had flown together on a number of missions, most recently during Operation Desert Storm. While doing testing on the infra-red tracking system, one of the crew observed three large, very large images. Two were consistent with bears or large elk, the third, however, was not. It was bipedal and chasing the other two."
    "You mean it was on two legs?" I asked.
    "I said hold your questions, Sergeant," Harless snapped.
    "Yes, Sir!" I replied between gritted teeth.
    "The images were tracked for three miles until the plane had to recover to base for fuel. Interested in the report, the Commander of Fort Lewis sent a training- and engagement-team to the last position of the images. They never returned. Seven men, MIA for nearly a year. So much for military! Three months ago the President finally ordered our agency's involvement, to find out what happened. Our five-member team has not reported back for over two months. Whereabouts unknown. That's where you come in." Harless' eyes squinted and glared a hole through my head. "Sergeant Riggin, we want you to find them."
    "Why me?"
    Micheals cut in, "You were raised in the mountains, know your way around, to survive, and do what it takes to accomplish the mission. Your military record confirms you are one bad mother in the field."
    "Pretty high praise for an old country-boy from West-by-God-Virginia," I smirked.
    "Don't be so modest." Harless regained the floor, eyeballing Micheals. "Twenty-three confirmed close quarter combat kills, seven combat jumps, two Bronze Stars, one Silver Star, Survival Instructor, Weapons Expert...You are what we need to get in and get out."
    My turn again. "I have a couple of questions first, if that's okay?" I received a nod from Harless, expressing caution. "First, why not send the surveillance jet back up? Second, why not send a larger recon-team with better commo? And third, who's my back-up?"
    Harless winced noticeably as he responded, "One, been done. Two, don't want to lose any more men. And three, none."
    "Sounds like fun," I grinned.
    Micheals seemed slightly off balance. "The Commander of 5th Infantry Division at Fort Lewis has been advised to provide you with transportation and adequate gear for the excursion. And you would, of course, have our agency's full support."
    "I see!" My grin widened. "And just what does that support consist of?"
    "Anything you might require, other than personnel," Harless hastily answered. "We have assembled a complete file on the matter, including detailed topographical maps and all available reports." He slid a thick manila envelope across the desk. "But the President strongly feels that we cannot afford to expend any more men."
    "Aside from an old grunt like me, right?"
    "It wasn't..."
    "Sergeant!" Captain Supo cut in sharply. "What Agent Harless meant was, any more men who aren't really trained for this kind of undertaking."
    Harless flashed Supo a thankful glance. "Yes! That is correct," he hooked the extended life-line.
    "All right!" I ran my fingers across the large envelope and resolved to quit pushing the issue. "Only one more question...what exactly am I looking for?"
    After a good ten second pause and a lot of uneasy looking around, Micheals slowly answered, "We don't know."
    Swallowing the grin this time, I nodded cordially. "I'll be needing a few things, Agent Harless. I'll have a list for you in the morning."
    "Whatever you need, Sergeant. " He sounded relieved. "And familiarize yourself with the information in the file so we can also address any further questions you might have."
    Rising from my chair and shaking hands again, I locked eyes with Harless and noticed the sweat running off his brow. He was hiding something, I could feel it.

Day 2

So much for sleep! Might as well look at some of them stats. Unrolling the supplied field-maps on the table brought back lots of memories. I had been stationed at Fort Lewis for two years, and found the area to be a near paradise for hunting Whitetail. Incidentally, this trip would take me rather close to a small township by the name of Paradise. Scanning through the pages of the enclosed report, I smiled. My supposed target area had an even more familiar ring to it--the Tatoosh Wilderness. Maybe the camp is still there? Would be nice. Well, enough of that. One more beer and three hours of sleep, I'll be good for a week. Sleep never came, so I made changes to my list. Harless is gonna love this!

    0700 hours, military time, Captain Supo's office.
Harless frowned as he went over the list. "Heckler and Koch MP5K, Lorans T-1000 satellite tracker, five-hundred rounds nine-millimeter ammo, merc tipped," he browsed. "Wait a minute, you want your dog?"
    "Yes, Sir. He's very special."
    Captain Supo explained, "That dog is more highly skilled and trained than all of us put together. If someone is out there to be found, he'll find them."
    "Isn't that dog under arrest and impounded?" Micheals asked.
    "Yes, Sir, but not willingly," I smiled.
    The Captain again enlightened the agents. "He was arrested for catching a criminal. Because he bit right through the man's hamstring, he's considered dangerous in a public environment. Bullshit! Should have bit his head off."
    "Is this animal safe?" queried Micheals.
    "Just don't look him in the eye," I replied. "He gets real offended."
    "So why does he like you?" Harless wanted to know.
    "Because he tried to bite me, and I knocked out four of his baby-teeth."
    "I see! Anyway, why do you want a ten-gauge Bullpup shotgun with a twenty-round drum?" Micheals sounded sarcastic.
    "It's like this, Sir, the gentleman who's coming with me isn't much for long range. He likes it close, and that's his preferred weapon aside from a KA-Bar."
    Captain Supo squinted incredulously. "You're not calling Cut, are you?"
    "Too late, Sir, he's already on his way up there. Oh, don't you worry, folks. He's real secretive and don't talk to anyone. But he's the best I know in a fire-fight. Wouldn't want to be in a spot with anyone else."
    "Oh, shit!" the Captain thought out aloud. "Not again!"
    Harless and Micheals exchanged a wary glance, but neither of them chose to comment.

Day 4

    The flight to Seattle was okay. Picking up Buck was a trip, he is always a little 'out-of-it' after traveling in the cargo-hold. But he calmed down once I treated him to three Cheeseburgers and extra large Fries, and the wait at the arrival-hall was great.
    Cut, being a six-foot-four 'Okie', stands out in most any crowd. Being twohundred-thirty pounds of muscle, hard-headedness and stubborn, makes him his own crowd. But if you were cold in a blizzard he would give you the shirt off his back. Some kind of a guy! I met him ten years ago while in a bar-fight in Columbus, Georgia. He had been playing bouncer in the joint and had thrown out a couple of jerks for being drunk and obnoxious. No problem, except those two had returned an hour later and brought a few of their 'just-as-bad' friends back with them. Now, two- or three-to-one I could have watched, but six-to-one just wasn't fair. So after evening the odds a little we had cleared the bar and stayed drunk for two days. Been best friends ever since.
    He walked up, half smiling, seeing Buck first. That's the smile. Those two are two of a kind. Both would save a baby from a burning building, but rip out a man's throat if he pushed too hard. You gotta love 'em. Scary and hairy. This trip is already too long!

    Transportation to Fort Lewis had been pre-arranged and the drive was enjoyable, even though it rained--as usual. After getting the hassle of the check-in at 5th Infantry Division CQ over with we were on our way. Switching off after the first hour of driving, Cut settled comfortably into the passenger-seat of the Dodge pick-up we had been supplied with. So far our conversation had merely revolved around small-talk and reminiscing about the "good ol' times". I knew Cut would come out with the question sooner or later. Still, it lasted until we reached our drop-off point, where we had to abandon the truck and set out on the one-hour hike to our final destination, before he couldn't stand it anymore.
    "You never did tell me yet where we actually goin', Chase. You know, when you called I wasn't real ready."
    "We're supposed to find out what happened to a dozen of city-boy pussies who got lost," I informed.
    "Where?"
    "Up there!" I rolled my eyes toward the narrow path, leading uphill.
    "Oh!" He squinted into the rolling mist among the trees. "Think the cabin's still standin'?"
    "We'll see. The target area is only three miles from it."
    He flashed me a delighted grin. "Did you leave them five cases of Bud up there?"
    "Of course!"
    "Well, hell," Cut's grin widened, "this ain't gonna be so bad. C'me on, Buck!"
    "Some kinda trip this could turn out to be. I'n see it now," I mused, reaching for my gear. "Cut, you might need this." I tossed him the Bullpup.
    "You don't forget much, do you?"
    "Nope! Can't afford to."

    The cabin still stood, sturdy, unharmed by time and elements, and apparently unused since our last visit, three years ago. Cut made it his first priority to check on the beer-supply, while Buck didn't hesitate to get comfortable on his favorite bunk, heedless of the fact that he was soaking wet. I quietly shook my head, bit back a snide remark, and took to the task of getting a fire started.
    "Alright," Cut popped the tab on a can of warm Bud Light, "I'm ready to go to work."
    "Get that manila envelope out of my rucksack, " I said, fanning the damp kindling in the fireplace. "You'n look through that stuff till I get this shit going here."
    "Is that all you got?" he queried when he pulled out the papers and spread them across the small camp-table.
    "Yup! And as far as that report goes...by the infra-red scope's gauges we're talking about a guy, seven-foot-six, eight-hundred pounds, and runs about thirty-five miles an hour for three miles."
    Cut cast me a quizzical sideways glance. "You don't think it's that Sergeant Major we had for Battalion in Germany, do ya?"
    "I sure hope not," I laughed. "But I ain't real concerned about a bug-eyed radar operator's imagination, either. I'm more concerned about where twelve bodies are, or if any of 'em are still alive. Best thing we can do is start at the grid and work out. Buck knows what he's here for. He'll find 'em...dead or alive."
    Cut's solemn expression is always scary, especially when he is quiet. "What do you think, Chase?"
    "I don't, man, it hurts my head. Besides, we'll know more in the morning. We just ain't got enough to go on right now. The only contact with the second team was just regular check-ins. There is something I don't get though..."
    Cut's eyebrow went up. "What's that?"
    "Well, if the second team was CIA or FBI, wouldn't they be carrying pilot locators on at least a couple of them?"
    "Yeah!" He gave me another one of those looks. "I's just thinkin' the same thing. And there's somethin' that caught my ass, too. All those agents, luggin' a load of heavy firepower. Even their carry weapons are straight outa hell. You'd think at least one of 'em could make it here. They had to see that cabin on their way in."
    "This whole thing bugs me," I mused, loading another hunk of oak on the fire. "By the way, how's that big-game guide-service in Montana doing?"
    "Ain't worth a shit, Chase. Damn bleedin' heart animal-rights people, don't understand a man's need to get back to his roots. They keep fuckin' up my clients' hunts. Come close to whoppin' a couple of 'em last year, but the Governor wouldn't let me."
    "Too bad! Well, the fifty grand you're getting for this trip oughta help," I smiled.
    Cut returned the smile. "You didn't have to do that."
    "Hell, it ain't my money. Now get some sleep."

Day 5

0500 hours--Buck was up early, as always on these trips. Something was different about him though. Nothing was noticeable up front, but just the same, he seemed weird. Kind of nervous. That makes me uneasy. Maybe it's just anxiousness or maybe I'm just getting paranoid. Anyway ... Coffee was on, Buck was looking for a tree, and the work was about to begin.

    "They crossed here," Cut said, kneeling by some obscured tracks when I caught up with him.
    "How many?"
    "Looks like five or six...maybe seven. Them who we're after, I guess. Real sloppy walkin'. They're heavy and slow. Sure ain't gonna get far like that."
    Damn, that ol' boy can read sign! "Okay, Cut, let's move on to the target and get a good look around. Maybe we'll find some answers up there." Not likely, I thought as I moved toward the ridge.

    "Buuuck!" Where the hell is that dog? "Cut, have you seen Buck?"
    "Nope! Just found this over that little creek. Looks like your boys really been here. There's one thing else, Chase..."
    "What's that?"
    "The clip's full. It ain't been fired, and there ain't no tracks, no gear, no equipment, no nothing."
    "Man, do you know what this is?"
    "Yeah! It's a pistol, and an expensive one," he answered defensively.
    "No, you don't get it. This is a customized SIG Sauer, P-229 double-action, forty-cal auto. I don't think someone would just lose it. That's a mighty fancy piece to be carrying, lookin' for lost children. These guys were serious."
    "Yeah, seems like."
    "See if you can find anything else. Any kinda sign of a fire-fight, a fist-fight, maybe a foot-print, anything."
    "On my way. Don't go far, Chase. Somethin's wrong here, real wrong."
    "Just find those bums and let's go. Stay on channel twelve, and I'll see you in about five clicks on top of that ridge."
    "Got it! Stay in touch!"

Scanning the ground with one eye and keeping the other up ahead, I moved quietly toward my objective, an out-crop of rocks. Maybe Buck's gonna show up and keep me company. Damn dog, probably off ballin' a bitch wolf in a cave somewhere. Yeah, that would be Buck. There was something ahead, I sped up my pace. Can't see in this mist. What is that? The closer I got, the more obscured it seemed. What is this? I reached down and picked up what was left of a field rucksack. Ripped to shreds, almost like a razor had sliced it. Very clean cuts in four or five places and empty. Maybe a bear? Nah! The black bears around here don't bother nobody. Straps are gone, too, but it's new issue. Running my hand through the cargo-pockets, I pulled out a lone item. Can-opener! Knowing these pansies, they packed oysters and caviar instead of MREs. I'll take it with me.

    I met Cut at the top. He was already there, and a bag full of bad news. A quick inventory turned up two standard issue M-14s without their magazines, one more SIG with a full extra clip, a flashlight, a can of oysters (I knew it!), and a pilot locator, broken in half like a twig.
    The walk back was silent.
    "What you gonna tell 'em?" Cut asked, never looking up from the fire.
    "Who?"
    "The Suits."
    "Oh! Nothing yet. We ain't done here."
    "Chase, those guys are dead. You know that. Let's pack it in and call it MIA."
    "What's up with you?"
    "What do you mean?" Cut was getting defensive.
    "I mean, I never saw you so spooked. You okay?"
    "It's just, with all this shit layin' around there should've been a struggle, a fire-fight, or at least some bodies. There's nothing, man. Nothing out there! It's like they just been swallowed up. No tracks, no sign. Somethin' ain't right, and that scares the shit outa me."
    "Come on, Cut. You?" I squinted dubiously. "Man, I've seen you wade head-on into a company of AK-47 fire and never even flinch. This ain't like you."
    "That enemy I could see, Chase," he muttered. "This one..." He left the sentence unfinished and side-tracked. "I hear that dog outside. Better let 'im in before he eats the door. See ya in the morning."

Day 6

    "Find anything?"
    Cut shrugged nonchalantly at my inquiry.
    Stupid question anyway. If he had found something, he surely would have told me.
    This whole situation was really beginning to annoy me. We had returned to the target-area at daybreak to look around once more. Maybe there was something we missed. Anything! Twelve guys couldn't simply disappear into thin air, or could they? They had been here, so much was for sure. All the junk we found--even the dumbest city-bum wouldn't be ignorant enough to simply lose something like that SIG or the locator. But what really bothered me was the way Buck reacted when I let him get a scent of the rucksack I had come across. He no sooner stuck his nose to it when he backed up, growling, and the hair along his back standing straight up.
    "What's the matter with him?" Cut had frowned. "The only time I seen 'im act like that was when you tried to feed him them biscuits your ole lady made."
    We laughed about it, but actually it wasn't funny at all.

    "Shit," Cut mumbled between his teeth, "I wish Jimmy was here. He'd sure find 'em."
    "Who?"
    "My cousin, Jimmy....Whitehorse," he added since I still had a blank look on my face.
    "Oh, the Chief?" I grinned as understanding set in.
    "Yeah! He's the best tracker I've ever seen."
    I gave him a quizzical smirk. "You gotta be kiddin' me. He's deaf as a doorknob."
    "Yeah, but he could track a flea across a buffalo's ass," Cut snapped back irritated.
    I flinched. "Sorry! Didn't mean to offend you."
    He merely shrugged me off and went back to looking around. This wasn't going well at all. We were both getting on the edge, and to argue over trivial stuff sure didn't help.
    "Look," I sighed, "I'm sorry. But we don't have time to wait for someone else to..."
    "Why not?" he interrupted. "We ain't gettin' nowhere with this. You know, I don't like to admit when I'm beat, but this shit really got me."
    "So what do you suggest?"
    "We go back down and I'll fax Jimmy. It'd only take a day or two for him to get here. What we got to lose? Ain't nothin' here today that ain't gonna be here tomorrow."
    "All right!" This time I was the one who shrugged. "Guess we could bring up some more beer, too, on the way. Looks like we'll be here a while."
    "Now you're talkin'!" At least he grinned again.

Day 9

Another wait at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. We didn't talk much. Didn't have to. Seemed each of us knew exactly what the other was thinking, and neither of us cared to admit that this thing was over our heads.
Jimmy arrived with the first flight the next morning. No way overlooking that guy in a crowd. Six-foot-seven, full-blooded Arapaho, and an intense look in his jet-black eyes like he had just come off the warpath somewhere. I had met him once before during a visit with Cut's folks down in Oklahoma. He still wore that bear-claw necklace I admired so much. Tried to jew him out of it at our first meeting--hell, I even offered him my most prized possession--my H&K 93A3 Assault Rifle--for it, but he wouldn't give it up.

    Cut grinned from ear to ear as they shook hands. "You remember Chase?" he asked and signed at the same time.
    Jimmy nodded down to me with a gesture that looked like a salute.
    "Good to see you again, Chief." I saluted back, and frowned at Cut because he started laughing.
    "He just said hello," my friend informed me.
    Damn sign-language, I thought. Never could understand any of it.
    It seemed Chief had the easier part. He could read your lips--at least as long as he looked at you. Buck had no problem with it whatsoever. He just kind of purred in delight when Jimmy bent down to scratch him behind the ears. So much for being my loyal sidekick!
    "What?" I queried, glancing over at Cut and somehow getting the feeling that this had been a bad idea. Chief might as well have been speaking Chinese, since I had no clue what he had just signed toward me.
    "He was wondering if that's the little pup you brought along three years ago."
    "Sure is," I answered, and Buck rolled over to get his belly rubbed.
    "Hate to break up the reunion," Cut grinned, "but we're burning daylight."
    "You must've been watching them old John Wayne movies again."
    "Nothin' like the Duke and a cold one after a hard day's work," he mused.
    Jimmy's eyes moved back and forth between us, and I wondered how much of our friendly little bicker he could make out, since we spoke quite rapidly.
    "Did you tell him what this is all about?" I got back to the problem at hand.
    "Thought I'd do that on the way back up. Didn't want to put anything in the fax that might work against us later," Cut grumbled, adding something in signs for his cousin.
    " 'Preciate that! Well, we better get going...hey, Chief!" He looked at me when I touched his shoulder.
    "Welcome to the party!"
    Apparently he understood, considering he nodded and for the first time--as far as I could remember--actually smiled.

Day 11

    "Think he'll find anything?" I asked, watching Jimmy as he carefully moved toward the ridge.
    "If there's anything to be found. But why are you whispering?" Cut sneered.
    "Hell, I don't know!" I snapped, aggravated because I realized he was right.
    Stupid, I thought. Jimmy was looking away from us, and wouldn't hear me even if I screamed on top of my lungs.Cut had explained the situation to him the night before, along with the circumstances under which we found the discarded--or lost, or whatever--equipment. Chief asked no questions, just shifted a curious gaze between Cut and me. Only when Buck showed the same reaction as before toward the rucksack, he seemed surprised.
Speaking of the dog, here we go again. Where is he? I cussed quietly between my teeth.
    "Chase?" Cut mumbled.
    "What!"
    "Did you ever think we might be better off not findin' anything?"
    I shrugged, not wanting to admit that such a thought had crossed my mind.
    "You know," he continued, "it ain't so much bein' concerned about what happened to them city-boys. Just pisses me off that this thing's gettin' the best of us."
    "Know what you mean," I agreed.
    "Damn, Chase, it's just like trackin' that twelve-point buck you shot up here that time. No blood, no tracks, no nothin'."
    "Don't start, Cut. I hit him! Watched the arrow go right into his chest. For all it's worth, he shouldn't have even flinched. That was a dead-on hit."
    "Hell, don't get defensive," he muttered frustrated. "It was just a comparison. You say you shot 'im, I never said you didn't. Just kinda got somethin' like a flashback since it's the same area."
    "Well, forget about it. Where did Jimmy go?"
    Both of us looked around, then at each other.
    "What the...?" Cut swore under his breath.
    We quickened our steps and hustled toward the ridge. Jimmy had been only about fifty yards in front of us, now he was nowhere in sight. I suppressed the urge to call for him. Wouldn't do any good, he couldn't hear it anyway. There was a cold chill at the back of my neck, and Cut wore a rather strange expression on his face.
    "Wait a minute. What's that?" Something had caught his eye. He bent down to move some leaves out of the way. When he straightened and turned around, white as a ghost, holding up what he had found, I suddenly felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.
    Jimmy's bear-claw necklace!
    It seemed completely intact, except for one broken link in the front, between the two middle claws.
Deadly silence, as the two of us stared at the snapped ring in the chain. A low growl from behind and the familiar scent of a wet dog told me, Buck was back. But he stopped a good four or five yards short from our position. Cut turned, walked over, the necklace in his hand, and bent to a knee so Buck could sniff. The dog backed up, head low, hair raised, and every tooth in his mouth bared. The reaction was clear--Get it away from me!
    "What the fuck?" Cut scolded. "This ain't right. Jimmy ain't no city-boy and he sure as hell ain't no ghost."
    "Split up. You head to that ridge and work toward the draw. I'll go up the other side and meet you at the top," I said, stepping across the shallow creek bed.
    "Keep a finger on the trigger," Cut cautioned low.

    The mist was starting again. What the hell is going on here? This was all wrong. It shouldn't happen like that. No sign, nothing. Walking along the creek-bed, I noticed a piece of something on a branch snag. Looks like a shred of plaid shirt. Same as Chief's. I'm getting close, I can feel it! A sound--a branch broken. Running to the top and splitting the ridge like a young Ranger Cadet, I was barely in time to see a shadow pass over the top. I took off again, running hard, then suddenly stumbling.
    "Damn!" It's gone! Man, was he fast. What did I trip over?
    A large pile of leaves at my feet drew my attention as it appeared to quiver. Crouching, the MPK locked and cocked in my right, I brushed away the top-layer of foliage and encountered a bewildered stare from a set of pitch-black eyes. But at least he was breathing and, save for a golf-ball-size knot on his head and a gash on his chest, Chief seemed okay. Still--How did he get here, and what was that going over the ridge? Behind me! A sixth sense spun me around, bringing the MPK into Cut's face, right between his eyes.
    "Whoa, partner, it's me!" He threw his hands up.
    I exhaled a sharp breath.
    "Jimmy alright?" he asked, gingerly pushing the barrel off to the side.
    "Guess so, but he seems really out of it."
    Cut squatted down, placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder, and nearly landed on his rear when Jimmy snapped up in a flash. "Easy, man!" Cut grabbed Chief's arm. "Put that goddamn knife away. You gonna end up hurtin' somebody."
    Chief merely stared blank for a moment, then shook his head, squinted painfully, and returned the Bowie to his belt.
    "Better get him back to the camp," I suggested. "I think all three of us got just about enough for one day, eh?"
    "No shit, Sherlock!" Cut grumbled, helping Chief to his feet.

    Back at the fire, an immediate discussion started but took on a somewhat bizarre pattern. Jimmy signed, Cut translated, and I--well, I tried to think and put it all together in a rational manner.
    "Jimmy says, he don't know what happened. Says he was readin' some sign, then the lights went out. Next thing was, looking up from the ground and seein' your ugly face."
    "Did you say he was reading sign?" I asked, ignoring the last part of the statement and pouring another cup of coffee.
    "Yup!" Cut replied.
    "What kind? We were all over that area."
    "Foot-prints," Cut answered. "The reason we ain't been findin' nothin' is real simple. The son-of-a-bitch that knows what really happened up here is bare-footed."
    "Huh? Are you nuts?"
    "I'm just tellin' you what Jimmy says."
    "I think maybe he's spent too much time in the sweat-lodge," I gave back scathingly.
    "Sit on it an' rotate it, Chase," Cut related Chief's next gesture with a shit-eating grin.
    "Okay, smart-ass, so if the only witness is a bare-foot, who and where is he?"
    The answer was delayed because Chief's attention turned toward the door. Buck was home again. Could have smelled him from a mile away.
    "Damn, you stink! Go dry off, you cock-hound," I snapped at the dog.
    Showing me his sarcastic snarl, he strolled in. But only half way.
    "What's your problem, Buck? Get in here."
    Chief quickly signed something to Cut.
    "Jimmy says he won't. He smells somethin' that scares him."
    "Buck, scared? No way!"
    "Watch!" Cut relayed what Jimmy motioned, getting up.
    With each slow step toward Buck, the dog backed up, showing more teeth.
    "What the...?" I frowned.
    Jimmy removed his clothes and pitched them into the fire-place. As soon as they were in flames and Chief had changed into a fresh outfit, Buck came in and laid down.
    "So what did he smell, Jimmy?" I started with the questions again.
    "Whatever it was that carried him to the ridge....wait a second!" Cut broke his translation in mid-sentence.
    "You're saying you were carried?"
    Chief responded with a somber nod.
    "No way! You're six-foot-seven and almost two-hundred-sixty pounds. Would take one hell of a man to carry you straight uphill, but somethin' unnatural to do it that fast and with no sound. Are you sure you were carried?"
    Another nod, accompanied by an irritated squint.
    "Let's get back to the foot-prints," I broke into the argument. "Tell me about 'em, Chief."
    What he now signed and Cut translated didn't make any sense--at least not to me. But I realized, he was serious. Dead serious!
    "He's over seven foot, judging by the branches broken over-head. Over five-hundred pounds by the impressions on the ground, and very, very agile, considering the logs he hurdled."
    "What the hell's he talking about, Cut?"
    "A myth," he answered, scratching his head. "A century-old legend to the Natives all over the US. He's talking about Sasquatch."
    "You mean Bigfoot?"
    "Yeah, I mean Bigfoot."
    "Horse-shit, Cut!"
    "Well, it's all there. How else you gonna explain it, Chase?"
    "So I guess you two heroes believe in UFOs, too, eh?" I sneered aggravated, knowing Jimmy understood since I intentionally spoke toward him.
    The expected reaction failed to appear though. He merely flashed me a punitive glare, then abruptly broke the eye-contact and stretched out on the cot, hands behind his head.
    Guess that's his way of saying, "End of discussion!"
    "Way to go, Chase!" Cut scolded. "Really did it this time."
    "Kinda touchy about the subject, ain't he?" I grinned.
    "Look, man, maybe I should've warned you 'bout that. Jimmy is really into his native beliefs. You know, Great Spirit, medicine power and that stuff. He don't take no bad jokes about it."
    "Oh, come on," I chuckled. "This is the twentieth century."
    Cut gave me a hesitant shrug. "Yeah, well," he drawled, "but there's still some things you can't explain naturally." He glanced over at Jimmy who was staring up at the cob-webs in the log-ceiling. Seemed he had bent the link in his necklace back together, because he was wearing it again.
    Weird, I didn't even notice until now.
    "You know," Cut interrupted my thought, "this might sound stupid, but I think there's really somethin' to that whole spiritual stuff."
    I cast him a contemptuous look and didn't say a word.
    "Like that necklace," he continued, for some reason lower than before. "Jimmy's convinced that the power of the bear protects 'im, as long as he wears it. That's one reason why he'd never give it up willingly."
    "What's the other?"
    He hesitated, an uneasy expression on his face. "Better ask 'im that yourself. Ain't sure he'd appreciate me telling you."
    I rolled my eyes derisively. "What a bunch of bull! Bet you my last dime I could snatch that thing right off his neck while he sleeps, just like I did..."
    "Don't even think about it, Chase," he cut me off, almost worried now. "Look, I know you're good...best I've ever seen, flyin' through that Ranger and Special Forces training. Hell, you saved my ass so many times, I lost count." He grinned ruefully. "But, Chase, don't underestimate Jimmy. He makes up for not hearing in ways you and I couldn't even begin to understand."
    "Alright," I mused, still sarcastic, "so why did he get caught then by that...well, whatever it was?"
    "Don't know," Cut admitted. "That's why I kinda believe he's right about what it is. Never seen a person, human anyway, that could sneak up on him from behind...or when he's asleep for that matter."
    "Please don't tell me he sleeps with his eyes open." I glanced over, and Jimmy was still staring straight up.
    Cut just shrugged indifferently.
    "And I thought only we did that," I laughed.
    "Nah!" he grinned wryly at last.
    "Great," I sighed. "Just remind me not to invite him over my house for a night. My old lady still throws a fit when I do it."
    "Come on! You been married what...ten years by now? Figure she'd be used to it."
    "Not after we scared the shit out of her that time. Remember?"
    "Yeah," Cut chuckled at the memory. "Must've been a pretty sight. Both of us stone-drunk, passed out on the living-room floor, snoring the plaster off the ceiling, and staring up at 'er." He shook his head. "Had some good times though, didn't we?"
    "Sure did, man."
    "Well, anyways, better get some shut-eye, too." He yawned and stretched. "Oh, and Chase..."
    "What?"
    "A little piece of advice. Don't never ever touch 'im when he's sleepin'," he muttered with a furtive nod toward Chief.
    "Wonderful," I sneered. "Boy, what a team! Two trigger-happy war veterans with flash-backs, and a deaf Indian with a sixteen-inch Bowie knife, ready to scalp you if you look at 'im wrong."
    "Yeah," Cut laughed, "what a trip!"

Day 12

    "Okay! We start from the spot where I found you yesterday," I said, looking at Jimmy. "Cut, you take the left, I go right, and Chief stays between us. Circle down and around the ridge, we'll meet on the other end at the draw." I pointed out the directions on our map, mainly to rule out any misunderstandings.
    Jimmy nodded and motioned something to Cut.
    "He says, make sure you look up, too. There were a lot of broken branches over-head, that's what he was goin' by yesterday."
    I rolled my eyes in resignation. "Whatever!...Oh, and Chief," I caught his arm before he turned away, "here, you might need this." I pitched him the .40 caliber. "Know how to use it?" Guess so, I answered my own question when he ejected the magazine, cleared the breech, reloaded the SIG himself, all in one nice, fluent move, and then signed with an impish grin.
    "Says he'd like to have that extra clip for it," Cut informed me, grinning as well.
    "Knew I had that, didn't ya?" I smirked and tossed the requested item over to him.

    It seemed we made the three miles in record time by now. Maybe just because the area was starting to feel like our own back pocket. To my surprise, Buck stayed right at my side this time. He never even flinched when we reached the spot where Jimmy had somehow ended up yesterday. Bigfoot... crap! There had to be another explanation here, I had thought about it all night. Sure, there was a whole bunch of weird shit going on, but that supernatural stuff was simply a little too far fetched for my taste. I decided to keep this opinion to myself, however--at least for now.
    The rain started again. This area stayed wet, I think 364 days out of the year. Pain in the neck! It's pretty, though. Much like back home, only higher.
    I lost my thought when Jimmy stopped and looked back at me, obviously puzzled. "What's the matter, Chief?"
    "That's strange," Cut relayed the signed response. "He says, there ain't nothin' here."
    "What do you mean? I thought he found Bigfoot tracks yesterday?" I snapped derisively.
    "Well...yeah...but they're gone now."
    "Damn you two! What about the broken branches?"
    Jimmy shrugged, pointing up.
    "Don't even bother!" I waved Cut off before he could say anything. "Let's just circle around as planned, and keep your eyes on the ground...unless you believe that your Bigfoot now grew wings and flew away." Shaking my head in exasperation, I left both of them standing there and started on my designated route.
    Buck hesitated and growled.
    "Oh, shut up!" I snapped at the dog. "What? You been smokin' some of that stuff Jimmy rolls? Shit, Buck, I got enough trouble with them two ghost-hunters. Don't you go stupid on me again, too."
    I wasn't sure later whether I was simply too pissed off to really pay attention, or what caused me to so completely overlook the obvious. A shot! Damn, that was Cut's Bullpup! I turned, chasing back up the ridge in break-neck speed. Where is he? Come on, old man, don't do this to me!
    I stopped, looking around and catching my breath.
    Buck pulled up beside me. He was actually trembling. Fear or anger, I wasn't sure but I had never seen him react like this.
    Someone whistled softly. Jimmy? Okay, what now?
    He was only a few steps away from me, sitting on the ground, a drawn expression on his face. I still couldn't see Cut anywhere. Buck whined and strolled over to Chief.
    "What's the matter? Are you all right?"
    He shook his head and motioned toward his right leg. It seemed to be stuck in something.
    "What the...?" I flinched when I got close enough to see.
    His leg was caught in some sort of trap. I had never seen anything like it before. Not metal, just short, pointy wood-spikes, clamped into his calf directly above the combat boot. I had come across all kinds of nasty devices, even invented a few of my own, but this was a new one. It looked like something primeval.
    "You know this is gonna hurt like hell," I said and thought, figure it already does, at the same time.
    Jimmy didn't react, only gritted his teeth when I pulled the spiked fangs apart. Hard to believe a shady construction like this could be so tough to open. It took a second effort, and Chief exhaled a sharp breath since I momentarily let up to get a better grip. He was bleeding pretty bad, but never flinched while I checked his leg.
    "The bone is all right," I mused. "Think you can make it to the camp if I help you?"
    He nodded.
    "Okay, I'll take you back, then I have to find Cut. He fired a shot."
    A questioning look, and he pointed over to his left.
    "Yeah, but I just came around that way. Couldn't see anything. Here...that should work for now." I had sacrificed my Harley Davidson bandanna to wrap his leg. Scanty but efficient, at least for a short while. "Don't worry," I grinned, helping him to his feet. "I did a Combat Lifesaver's Course three years ago. Seen much worse than this in practice."
    He just rolled his eyes.

.......TO BE CONTINUED!

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