The group was silent.
"Oh, I know the townsfolk used to call them animals. But you more than anyone ought to know the difference," Slaughter said.
Owens stared. "It isn't worth it, Slaughter. They aren't worth it."
"Maybe not to you. So go on. Look out for yourself and your family. But I've got my own obligations. Those damned hippies don't mean anything to me, but I'll stake everything to help them."
Owens stared a moment longer. "If I didn't have a wife and kids."
"There's no need to explain. Go on. We'll talk about it some time."
"Sure."
Except they both knew that they wouldn't.
Owens lingered.
"You stayed until sunset. You made good on what you promised."
"Sure."
Owens hesitated, then backed off and turned, walking along the courthouse, disappearing into the shadows.
Slaughter watched him.
"Here, Chief," Rettig said. "Take my gunbelt. I'll get another one from the station."
The weight of the gunbelt was satisfying. Slaughter strapped it on. "Your family?"
"My brother's with them. They left this afternoon."
"That's all that Owens wanted, too, I guess."
"But he intends to leave with them. We need him, but he doesn't plan to stay. That makes the difference."
Slaughter stared off toward the sound of the gunshots. "Well, we'd better get moving."
"Be careful when you reach the parking lot. Parsons has men inside the station."
"I don't plan to advertise." Slaughter turned to face the medical examiner. "You coming?"
"I have work to do."
"Yourself?" he said to Lucas.
"No. I have to see my father."
"Without help?"
"I've had a chance to do more thinking. If there's trouble, I know where my place is."
"Yes." Slaughter studied him. "I understand that, I suppose. I'll see you." He started toward the parking lot.
"Hey, wait. I'm going with you," Dunlap said.
"You'd better not. I don't know how I'm going to stop Parsons, but tomorrow will be rough."
"You need a witness."
"Is it me, or just your story?"
"I'm not certain any longer."
"Just so you know the risks. I'm going to need a friend up there, that's certain. Rettig, you stay here and watch the town. I've got to count on someone."
"But you don't have any men," Rettig said.
"How many would I need? Ten? A hundred? If I take the men we have, this town will be defenseless. Even then, we wouldn't be a match for Parsons and what I assume must be an army. No, if Dunlap and I can't do it, then it simply won't get done. The numbers are against us if I try to beat Parsons on his terms. I'll have to beat him on my own terms."
Rettig studied him. "Take care."
"I mean to. I'll see you in a couple days."
"Sure." But Rettig didn't sound convinced.
Somber, they shook hands. Then Slaughter moved toward the parking lot.
The group was disbanding. Lucas went one way, the medical examiner another. Rettig watched as Slaughter reached the parking lot, scanned the police station, and walked toward his car. Slaughter had the rifle and the handgun. Dunlap got in the cruiser. Slaughter slid behind the steering wheel. The engine started, and they drove from the parking lot. Rettig waited until they disappeared. He frowned as the rumble of gunfire rolled across town.
PART SEVEN. The Mountains
ONE
Parsons and his men woke half an hour before sunrise. They crawled from their sleeping bags, squinting, shivering in the morning dampness. There was hurried cooking, hunters packing their gear and squatting by the camp's latrine, then scuffing out the cookfires, pouring water on the coals, checking that the embers died before the Jeeps and trucks were started and the caravan moved out. A few men were reminded of Quiller's caravan when he first crossed the valley. Now a different kind was heading up to stop him, and they thought about their families, their businesses, the cattle dying, and they meant to put a stop to this as soon as they were able. Parsons didn't talk much now. If there had been a way to go back to the town, he would have, not because he was afraid, but he was wishing they would do this on their own. If it went wrong, he could avoid the blame then. Otherwise he still could take the credit. But he'd come this far, and he'd be noticed if he left, and so he stayed with them, silent, letting their determination carry them forward. They would drive up through this meadow, take another loggers' road up to a second meadow, then a third. After that, they'd move on foot. By five o'clock, they'd reach the start of the escarpment, and if not today, then tomorrow, everything would be completed.
As the column passed rockfalls, cliffs, and ridges, there were unseen caves that shut out the sunlight, and for now, what hid in there slept uneasily.
TWO
The helicopter was anchored near the runway. Slaughter crouched behind oil drums near a shed and stared at the damp, chill, post-dawn mist that shrouded the chopper. He dimly saw the rotor blades that stretched out from the top, their long ends partly sagging, saw the bubble of the nose, the insect-resembling tail, the smaller rotors at the back. He felt the wind shift, swirling mist so that the helicopter now was thoroughly enveloped, and he turned to Dunlap who crouched beside him, shivering.
"It can't be long now."
"That's what you keep promising," Dunlap said. "What I wouldn't give for a shot of rye to warm me up."
"You want to back out?"
"Try to make me."
Slaughter frowned. Dunlap was in bad shape, more than Slaughter had realized when they had left the jail. But there had been so much to do, so much to think about back then that Slaughter hadn't argued with him. Anyway, what Dunlap had said last night was true-Slaughter did still need a witness, although Dunlap shook so much now that Slaughter wasn't sure how useful the reporter would be. There wasn't any choice, however, Slaughter reminded himself. Events were in charge, and he was compelled to move with them. He could tell himself that, if he wanted to, he could run. But given who he was, he couldn't allow himself to run. His life had trapped him.
When he'd left the jail, his first impulse had been to go after Parsons in a Jeep, but Parsons and his men were too far ahead of him. Slaughter needed something quicker, and he'd thought about the helicopter that Altick had been using. Because it couldn't search the hills at night, the pilot would, have set it down until the morning when he would take off again. The hard part was to find it. Slaughter didn't think the pilot would have gone back to his home base in a neighboring valley. Given the emergency, the pilot would have saved time, staying here. Slaughter drove out to the state-police office on the highway, but the helicopter wasn't there. He checked the park, the fairgrounds, and at last settled on the obvious, the simple airfield from which ranchers flew to reach their cattle in the worst of winter, dropping bales of hay. There was just one airplane that the ranchers leased in common, a gravel runway, one hanger, and a few equipment sheds, but there the helicopter was, anchored near the runway.
After that, Slaughter had risked driving home. He doubted that with so much trouble in town, guards would have time to search for him. Nonetheless he'd been nervous when he reached his house. Relieved to find it deserted, he'd quickly packed two knapsacks with food, canteens, woolen shirts, sleeping bags, lots of ammunition, and a first-aid kit. Dunlap didn't have his camera anymore, so Slaughter had lent him one. If there'd been time, Slaughter would have made coffee, but dawn was approaching, and they returned to the runway just before the sun rose.
Now the mist was thinning. Slaughter glanced at his watch. The sun had been up for half an hour.
"Maybe he's not coming," Dunlap said.
"No, the helicopter's too important. He'll be here. I'm sure of it."