The Deadly River (15 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE RIVER RATS

T
he next morning the three met at the Forest Service compound and went to work assembling the raft. Ranger Mainwaring provided the two pickups that the Kochran team had been using and by the end of the day they had the raft assembled, loaded, and outfitted with several days’ supply of bottles. They were almost ready to go. They had to meet with the Sheriff tomorrow and the university’s Project Manager on Monday, then they could start floating down the river. All three of them were excited by this change of routine. It was going to be an adventure!

The next morning, the project took on a whole new tone.

They were on time, waiting in the jailhouse conference room, when Sheriff Rose came in carrying a cup of coffee. “Before we get to the main reason I asked you to come here, I want to talk to you about where you’re going to be working. Have you decided where to start taking samples?”

Lee answered, “We aren’t sure yet. The project manager from the university will be here Monday and he’ll tell us where the last sample was taken by Kochran. I guess we’ll pick up from there, somewhere between Thunder Creek and Big River city limits.”

The sheriff nodded. “Yeah. I’m guessing that you’re probably right about that. But I don’t want you working in that area. I’ve got deputies and experts from the state crime lab combing the riverbank in that area, looking for clues about the murder. I don’t want you to get in the way. Without realizing it, you could take a sample on the river bank that might confuse my guys. Or you might pick up something, or walk over something, that could ruin our investigation. I’d like to have you start
downriver, probably somewhere around St. Dubois, then work your way northwest to the end of the project. By the time you finish there, we’ll be done with our work and you can pick up that missing fifteen miles of river at the end of the job.”

It was Lee’s turn to nod thoughtfully. “I don’t see a problem there. We can explain it to the university guy and I’ll write it all up in my weekly report. Everyone should understand.”

Mike agreed. “Yeah. No problem. But sheriff, do you have any more ideas on the shootings? Everyone out our way is betting Bill Wards is behind it.”

Sheriff Rose smiled. “I can’t say a lot, but we’ve moved Wards from here to solitary confinement in the Missoula jail. It seems like the other prisoners are a lot more willing to talk to us if he isn’t around. My guess is that your guess is correct. But the proof is still being gathered.”

Lee was surprised. “You mean Gohmert and Jose are talking?”

“I can’t say any more, Lee. There aren’t any breakthroughs yet. But I’m hoping that we won’t have to go through a trial for Gohmert. It looks like he may have things to tell us before we go to trial.” He smiled and changed the subject. His face became very serious. “Have you given any serious thought to what you’re going to be doing for the next couple of months?”

They looked at each other, confused. Lee answered for them. “I guess so. Like I said, the guy from the university is coming out Monday to train us, but we have a pretty good idea.”

He would have continued, but the sheriff interrupted him. “Not that! Any idiot can dip a jug in the water and put a label on it. That’s not why you’re here. You’re here because you’re gonna be doing a job that just got one good man killed and another one shot to hell!” His voice had risen and he was almost yelling now. “You ain’t gonna be cheerfully riding a raft into never-never land. You’re going to be doing a job while you watch your asses as if you were commando soldiers fighting a bunch of sneaky-assed North Koreans behind enemy lines. Do you understand me?”

There was a very long silence. The three were totally stunned by this tirade from normally easy-going Frank Rose. The sheriff looked
from one of them to the other while he waited for an answer. Finally, Lee spoke. “Darn Sheriff. I guess we hadn’t thought about that end of this. I guess we thought the danger was past with Bill Wards in jail.”

The sheriff’s voice was back to normal when he replied. “Yeah. I think most people are thinking that. But we can’t take a chance on it. We’re building a case against Wards on a bunch of other things, but he hasn’t admitted anything on Kurt’s shooting. In fact, he’s particularly vehement when he says he didn’t do this one. So we’ve gotta plan for the worst. There could be other nutcases out there that don’t want the river cleaned up. That’s why I asked Charlie Benton to send you to see me. I’m gonna run you through a day’s training here before you go out on that river. Any problems with that?”

All three answered in unison, “No sir!”

“Okay guys, first things first. Give me all of your Driver’s Licenses.” They did so, exchanging puzzled looks at the same time.

The sheriff leaned out the door and called his secretary. “Patty, Can you come down here?” When she arrived, he handed her the three driver’s licenses, saying, “Here, type up the ID cards that we talked about.” She hurried off towards her desk as he turned back to the three friends.

“Okay, Fellas. Stand up and hold up your right hands. You are about to become unpaid, volunteer, Deputy Sheriffs of Mineral County, State of Montana. Now repeat after me.” He began reading the oath of office from a small card he took out of his wallet. The three stunned boys repeated his words, right hands held high.

When they finished, the sheriff seemed to relax. He chuckled at their confusion and then explained. “I don’t want you out there unable to defend yourselves. I’m going to lend you rifles and side-arms. We’re also going to give you some training on how to handle them. But I can’t just loan out guns to civilians willy-nilly. So you’re going to be deputy sheriffs until this project is over.
Capiche
?”

At that, Lee sat back and laughed. Mike was the only one to answer. “
Capiche
, Sheriff. For a minute there I was wondering if you’d lost it. Glad to see that you’re still one step ahead of everyone else. Thank you.” The sheriff just smiled. Reaching in a drawer under the long conference table, he produced three shiny new deputy’s badges which he
tossed to the three of them. “Keep these out of sight. I’d really prefer that this wasn’t gossiped around town. If we can get this job done with a low profile, I think that would be smart. But you will have the badges if you need them. My wife, Patty, is typing up deputy sheriff identification cards for you also. But let’s keep all of this as quiet as possible. Now, come with me.”

He led them through a maze of hallways and down a flight of stairs to a locked room in the jailhouse basement. Unlocking the door, he flipped on the lights to reveal a well-stocked armory. He moved familiarly to a rifle rack and took out three rifles. One was a long-barreled 30-06 equipped with a high-powered scope. The other two were Winchester 30-30 carbines similar to the one that Ray carried in his pickup. Turning to the three, he handed the rifle with the scope to Tony. “This is in case you need some long-range firepower. Remember, Kurt was hit with a large-caliber round. You may need the range this will give you. These others, the carbines, will give you quick-response capability and the ability to fire a lot of rounds rapidly with some accuracy.”

Then the sheriff reached up to a shelf where a number of holstered pistols were stacked. He took down three of them. “Military Colt .45 automatics. They’ll do good in a short-range fire fight. You may not need anything like this, but better safe than sorry.” He handed one to each of them along with a gun cleaning kit. Then he took out a canvas bag and began loading ammunition into it. “I’m going to give you a bunch of ammo for today’s target practice and some to take with you. But if you shoot up a bunch of ammo after today’s practice, that bill is on you. I can’t afford to have you wasting this stuff, understand me?”

Once again, the three answered with one voice, “Yes sir.”

They spent the next four hours with a deputy at a local gravel pit, learning to fire the new guns. He also taught them some safety pointers and some standard police procedures for safeguarding the raft and its contents. Of the three, Tony proved to be the most proficient with the firearms.

By the time they were done and on the road home, their heads were spinning. They hadn’t expected any of this.

As they drove west on the two-lane highway, they talked about the day’s happenings and how surprised they all were by this development. Lee asked, “Any second thoughts? Are you guys still up for the job?”

The responses were instantaneous. Mike’s was, “Shit yes!” Tony was even more positive, “Bring on the nutcases. I’d fight the whole Russian army with this gear and the two of you! Bring ‘em on!” All three laughed.

On Sunday, they moved the flat-bed and the raft to the far edge of the truck stop parking lot and left it for the night.

Monday morning, Lee was at the café an hour and a half before the man from the university was expected. But when he arrived, he found that the other two had already finished breakfast and were noisily harassing the waitress. Betty was giving back as good as she received and the banter between the three was hilarious. Lee ordered and sat listening while his breakfast was prepared.

They were laughing hysterically at one of Betty’s pointed remarks when Ray walked in through the door that divided the café from the garage. “Hey guys, you’d better take a look at your raft. Old Nate is attacking it.”

All three rushed to the front door and out to where they could see the raft. Sure enough, a thin, stooped, man was beating on the side of the black and grey raft with a knob-headed walking stick. Lee started to yell and move toward the raft, but Mike grabbed his arm to stop him. “No Lee. I know him. Let me handle this.” Lee stopped and waved Mike on.

“Hey Nate! What ‘cha doing?” The thin man didn’t react, so Mike yelled louder, “Hey, Nate!” That got the man’s attention and he turned, crouching and holding the walking stick as if he was going to fight Mike with it. Mike kept calmly walking forward, now speaking in a softer tone. “Hey, Nate. Why’re you beating on my raft? Is there a problem?”

Now Lee could get a better look at the man Mike was calling Nate. He was small and thin, dressed in layers upon layers of what appeared to assorted rags. He wore an old army parka with sergeant’s stripes over the rags. A dirty cowboy hat completed the outfit.

The man looked confused by Mike’s approach. Mike stopped and very quietly repeated his question. “Why’re you beating on my raft, Nate?”

This time, the man’s face cleared a bit. “Hi Mike. How are you? I haven’t seen you for a long time, have I?”

“It’s been a month or two, Nate. We don’t see you down here in St. Dubois much lately. How have you been?”

The ragged apparition was totally relaxed now. Lee would have moved closer, but Tony stopped him. “Stay here, Lee. Mike is about the only person I know that don’t spook old Nate. Let Mike handle him.”

Now Mike had walked past Nate and was inspecting the raft. There was no obvious damage from the little man’s beating. Mike turned back to Nate. “Why were you hitting my raft, Nate? I’ve never seen you get mad at anything before.”

“That thing is yours, Mike? You sure about that?” When the little man turned and again noticed the raft, he went back into his crouch, and was again brandishing the stick above him.

Tony, at Lee’s elbow, whispered, “There’s something about the raft that’s setting him off.” Lee nodded his agreement.

Mike tried again. “Nate, that’s just my raft. Why’re you so mad at it?”

“It’s bad, Mike. Seen rafts like that before in the islands. Japs come out of them and shoot everyone. Big black rafts with little yellow Japs in them. They’re bad. Japs kill everybody, even my friends.” He was waving his arms wildly now, his eyes darting from Mike to the raft as if he was massively confused.

Mike held out his arms toward Nate. “Nate, we’re in Montana. No Japs here. Just friends. That’s just my old raft. I’m sorry if it is a bad color, but there aren’t any Japs in it. Come on over with me and I’ll show you. It’s empty. No Japs here, my friend. No Japs here.” He kept talking in a soft, reassuring tone that seemed to be having its desired effect. Slowly the ragged little man moved closer to where Mike was standing beside the raft. Mike reached over into the raft, slowly waving
his hand back and forth. “See, Nate? No Japs in here. It’s just my old empty raft. It’s safe, you can look for yourself.”

Very slowly the little man came to Mike’s side, still crouching as if to keep himself invisible from whatever was in the raft. When he was beside Mike, he suddenly straightened and peeked into the raft before swiftly crouching again. Mike kept up his chatter and slowly the little man straightened and looked into the raft. This time it was a long, careful inspection.

Finally satisfied, Nate turned back to Mike. “Sure looks like a Jap boat though. Why you got a stinking Jap boat, Mike?”

“I didn’t know it was a war raft, Nate. I’m sorry. Come on into the café and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. I’m really sorry. I just didn’t know it was a bad thing.” He was leading the little man away from the raft now, heading for the café. Lee and Tony moved aside and let them enter. Mike winked at them as he went by. He settled himself and Nate in a far corner of the café, allowing Lee and Tony to enter. They got back to their table just as Lee’s breakfast arrived.

Between bites, Lee queried Tony on this development. “What’s the story, Tony. He looks like a Philadelphia street person, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone like him around here.”

“Yeah. Probably some similarities there. Nate was a lumber yard foremen from Big River when World War Two broke out. Like everyone around here, he went in the service and ended up in the army, fighting in the Philippines. To make a long story short, he was captured and spent most of the war in Japanese prison camps. They say he was tortured and I’ve heard that he was in that Bataan Death March thing. When the war was over, the Army sent him home with a disability retirement, but he’s never been all there since he came back. His family has all passed on now. I hear that he still lives in their old shack on the other side of Big River. But he walks everywhere and has turned up as far away as Missoula and Spokane. People take care of him and get him home somehow when he gets too far away. The kids that don’t know better call him Uncle Nutsy and give him a hard time. His real name is Nate Smith. That’s about all I know about him.”