However, according to Tre’s analysis, the mercenaries would have still been able to fight their way out of the trap, thanks to their superior firepower. That led to the second realization. If the gang wanted to defeat Voss, they would need better weapons. But how? They couldn’t steal what they wanted from Voss. They’d have to look elsewhere.
Thus began the research project that consumed all the time when Tre wasn’t assisting Knife, standing guard duty, or performing chores. That meant long hours in the so-called library. It was a joke, really, since very few of the bandits could read and the books, some of which were strewn about the floor, were an unorganized mess.
According to Bones, the books had been taken in various raids and, based on a standing order from Crow, placed in the room where Tre found them. And because most gang members couldn’t tell which books had literary merit and which didn’t, they brought everything back. That included novels, scientific references, car manuals, phone books, collections of recipes, and at least one pop-up dinosaur book, which Tre enjoyed.
But ultimately the volume of most importance was a bound journal, which according to the neat printing on the front page, was the property of Minda Marley, a woman who, in addition to being a captain in the National Guard, had been an assistant professor of history at the University of Idaho.
The first half of the journal consisted of touchingly personal writings about her feelings for her husband—and notes having to do with a paper she hoped to write once the civil war ended. One entry in particular caught Tre’s eye. “At this point both sides have racked up some impressive victories and therefore believe that the war is theirs to lose. But I fear that by the time the last shot is fired, there will be nothing left to fight for.”
As interesting as such musings were, the real jackpot was located at the end of the journal and was written in the style of a military officer rather than that of a history professor. “2014-2-12. PLACED IN COMMAND OF A PLATOON OF MP’S. ENEMY ARMOR CLOSING FROM THE SOUTHEST. RCVD. ORDERS TO TRANSPORT WEAPONS FROM NAT. GUARD ARMORY/BLACKFOOT TO MOUNTAIN HOME AFB. IT’S GOING TO BE TIGHT.”
The next entry was dated February 13th. “THE TRUCKS ARE TOO DAMNED SLOW. THEIR HUMVEES ARE CLOSING IN. THEY HOPE TO ENGAGE AND HOLD US FOR THE HEAVIES. NO CHOICE. MASSACRE ROCKS. BURY AND RUN.”
And that was all. The rest of the pages were blank. There was no way to know what happened to Marley after that—or who had the journal before it wound up in the mine. Fortunately a book on the history of Idaho was included in the newly reorganized library, so Tre was able to look up “Massacre Rocks” and learn more about the rock formation also known as the Gate of Death or the Devil’s Gate, all names that the westward-bound pioneers had given to the narrow passage fearing that the Shoshoni Indians might ambush them. And in fact there had been a fight back on August 9, 1862, east of the rocks. Ten settlers were killed.
Tre stared at the picture that accompanied the article for a long time. It showed a cluster of weather-worn rocks, one of which stood head and shoulders above the rest. Was a large cache of arms buried at the foot of it or somewhere nearby? There was reason to think so, but no way to be certain. So should he return the journal to the library or take it to Crow and make his case?
Five days had passed since the disastrous attack on the caravan, and the bandit leader was still moping around. Maybe Crow was ready to listen or maybe he was so depressed that it would be impossible to break through. But in the final analysis, Tre had nothing to lose. Crow would respond or he wouldn’t. If he failed to take the opportunity seriously, Tre planned to slip away and return to the Tangle.
So he made his way up to Crow’s quarters with Marley’s journal clutched in his hand. There was no door, so all he could do was pause outside the entrance and call out. “Crow? Have you got a minute?”
The reply was gruff. “Who is it?”
“Tre.”
There was a pause. “Come in.”
Tre entered to find that the room only partially lit, cluttered with partially eaten plates of food, and badly in need of cleaning. Crow sat with his back to both the lamp and the door. He made no effort to turn and look. “What do you want?”
Tre struggled with his answer. He wanted to live Crow’s fantasy. He wanted to take Star Valley away from Voss and give it to the people. But that would require a leader, someone who could emerge from the dark hole he was living in long enough to get things done. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Crow, not to anyone, because to do so would require thousands of words. So Tre said what he could. “I know where a large cache of weapons is buried.”
There was another moment of silence. The chair made a squeaking noise as Crow turned around. Tre was shocked by what he saw as the light fell on the other man’s face. There were dark circles under Crow’s eyes, his cheeks were sunken, and he looked ill. “You what?”
“I know where a large cache of weapons is buried. It’s here… in this journal.”
Crow held out a hand and Tre gave the journal over. A match flared, a second lamp was lit, and more shadows danced on the walls. “I marked the relevant pages,” Tre said helpfully.
Crow chose to ignore the comment as he opened the journal, read the first couple of pages, and began to skim. That left Tre with nothing to do but stand and wait. Finally, after what might have been five minutes, Crow looked up. “Where did you get this?”
“From the library.”
Crow frowned. “So you don’t know anything about it.”
“No.”
“But you believe the weapons are there? Buried at Massacre Rocks?”
“We know the armories were looted. But this stuff was buried. So it’s different.”
“But what’s to say that Marley didn’t come back and dig it up later?” Crow demanded.
“The journal ends.”
“So you think Marley was killed.”
“Yes.”
“And all of her troops?”
“Yes. The enemy was closing in on them. That’s why they buried the weapons.”
Crow considered that. “You read the journal, so maybe someone else did too.”
Tre shrugged. “That’s possible.”
Crow frowned. “Why? Why are you pushing for this?”
“Because I want you to do all the things you said you would do.”
Crow’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a pain in the ass. Have I mentioned that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Pass the word. We leave in the morning.”
With the possible exception of Freak, who never knew what was going on so far as Tre could tell, the rest of the gang was glad to hear the news and began to prepare. Rumors flew, and most of them were false, a fact that became painfully obvious when Hog spoke to Tre at dinner. “I heard you found a map!”
“No, it’s a journal.”
“Whatever… The main thing is that we’re going to have rocket launchers! That will even things up.”
Tre sighed. His attempts to tamp things down had met with very little success. His reputation and standing in the group were riding on what they did or didn’t find at Massacre Rocks. If they failed to find any weapons, he would take the heat instead of Crow. Having been forced to accept that, he took the plate that Hog offered him. “Yeah, rocket launchers would be nice.”
They left early the next morning, made their way to the meadow where the horses were grazing, and saddled up. Then, with Smoke and Fade leading the way, the rest of the gang followed. Crow came first, followed by Bones, Hog, Tre, Freak, and Knife. As before, Patch and Slick remained behind to guard the hideout.