Authors: Deborah Garner
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General
Above the Bridge (7 page)
CHAPTER TWO
The sun was starting to lower on the horizon when Jake pulled up to the fenced gate of the ranch. He stopped his truck just far enough back from the gate to allow it to open, pulled on the emergency brake and left the engine running as he jumped out. The latch was old and rusty and the hinge creaked abrasively into the still air. He made a mental note to replace it at some point. But that would have to wait, along with dozens of other tasks. He had much bigger things on his mind.
He swung the gate open, returned to the truck and drove it through, stopped again and jumped out to pull the gate shut and then continued on to the old farmhouse. He liked the building, old and run down as it was. It had two stories, a small attic and a large front porch that wrapped around the sides. The interior was spacious and boasted an impressive vaulted ceiling above the main room. Yet those features didn’t interest him as much as the view across the valley to the Tetons. This was the reason he had bought the property, that and the fact it dated back to the late 1800’s. It had cost him an arm and a leg, but he was certain it would pay off in time.
Upon entering the farmhouse, he tossed aside his hat, a typical cowboy style with a wide brim. It was a clean shot, landing on a wooden hook on the wall to the right of the entrance. He dropped his jacket on the sofa and walked to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of Moose Drool. Savoring the questionably-named but satisfying malty brew, he sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out the envelope.
Damn that Frank, he muttered under his breath. He didn’t appreciate being blackmailed and that was exactly what Frank had done, as far as he was concerned. It should have been an easy exchange in the town square that day. Instead it became a dispute. Well, he wasn’t going to worry about it now. He had what he’d waited for right in his hands. Now he just had to put the pieces together. After all these years of waiting and searching, of keeping secrets and being cautious, he could feel the anticipation of reaching his long-time goal.
He opened the crumpled paper and stared at it, just as he had that morning in the café. Good old Maddie, he thought, always ready with his black coffee. It was a good town, a nice place to live. It probably would have been worth moving to it anyway, even without a motive. But that was beside the point. He was here now, with business to take care of, not to sit and ponder the benefits of life in Jackson Hole.
The paper in front of him was worn and yellowed, with a rough tear along the left side and a stain of some sort just to the right of the center of the page. Lines, both solid and dotted, meandered across the sheet of paper, crossing at times and staying parallel at others. At one point of intersection there was a mark off to the side, which appeared to be something of a cross between a star and an “x”. There was no indication of direction, no typical markings to show north, south, east and west. And there weren’t any words on the page at all to give even a general location. An uneven zigzag line wound its way across the upper left side of the page, disappearing into the torn edge. Three symbols resembling arrows were clustered to the right.
Jake set the paper down on the table, took another swig of his beer, and let out a frustrated sigh. This wasn’t going to be enough, he thought. Maybe he needed to start over from the beginning, to think it all through again. He felt a sudden, familiar flutter of apprehension, one that he shook off as quickly as it took hold of him. He hated these moments when doubt weaseled its way into his thought process. Hesitation was counter-productive. He brushed it aside and tried to put his thoughts in order.
It was an old legend, though not a familiar one to many, much to his advantage. It was never widely publicized. Few articles had been written about it and those that had been were less than convincing. The lack of evidence was to blame, at least in Jake’s opinion. People tended to want something concrete before they would accept a tale as feasible. They sought specific clues or multiple accounts of the same story. The little that Jake knew he’d learned from his grandfather, an eccentric old man with a seemingly wild imagination. Little he said had carried much credibility. He’d told numerous tales during his lifetime, all met with skepticism at best.
But his story of buried loot had captured Jake’s attention as a young boy. As he grew up he became more and more convinced that his grandfather’s story had some truth to it. It made sense, wild as it sounded, that there could be a stash of treasure hidden somewhere in or around the valley. There were plenty of other legends he’d heard over the years. Some told of stagecoaches that had been robbed, while others claimed various pioneers had found gold and run off with it. Still others described local Native American tribes who had accumulated valuable goods by trade over the years and hidden them away. Yet it had always been his grandfather’s tale that he had believed the most.
Jake folded up the paper and carried it into the large living room. He looked around, weighing his options, and then walked over to a tall, oak bookshelf and pulled out a book about Wyoming history. Opening it to a page in the middle, he inserted the map, taking care not to damage the paper any more than it already was. He then pressed the book shut, replacing it on the shelf.
Jake took a moment to survey his book collection. He had just about everything that had ever been published about the history of the old west, in particular those books concerning the area of Jackson Hole. Whatever recent additions had come into print he’d picked up at the library that afternoon, along with any publications about the area’s topographical profile or books containing trail maps of the mountains.
He was sure the mountains were the key. Grabbing one of the trail guides, he settled into a comfortable, wing-backed chair, switched on a small floor lamp and began to browse through the book. There were so many possibilities. This was where the hard part came in. In coming to Jackson and purchasing the old Manning ranch, he’d felt he would have a better chance at finding the location of the legendary treasure. Instead, he’d only run into frustration. The valley was too long, too wide, to make this an easy task. Just the trails alone roamed over fifteen hundred miles, all put together. And there was nothing to say the treasure was buried anywhere near a trail. After all, many of those trails had been developed over recent decades. They wouldn’t have existed one hundred years ago.
One possibility, Jake had thought, was a trail that looped up past Taggart and Bradley lakes, located about fifteen miles north of town. Another he had considered was an area behind Emma Matilda and Two Ocean Lakes. This area seemed less likely to him, in that it was approximately thirty miles north of town. Still, whoever hid the treasure may have felt more secure keeping it at a distance.
The area that had intrigued Jake the most, though, was up against the Grand Tetons, behind Jenny Lake. Here the possible hiding places were almost endless, as the trail wound up through Cascade Canyon and branched off at a fork, leading in one direction to Lake Solitude and in another to Hurricane Pass. Just to arrive at Hurricane Pass was over eleven miles one-way, not to mention the elevation gain of 3500 feet. Taking the other fork involved a distance of about nine miles total to get to Lake Solitude, with an elevation gain of about 2300 feet. And this didn’t include any searches he’d need to do off the trails themselves.
Jake thumbed through the trail guide a little more, looking over other options. Static Peak, accessible through Death Canyon, was another possibility. Nor had he ruled out Delta Lake, reached by trail out of Lupine Meadows. The truth was that it was a huge mountain range with a seemingly infinite number of possible hiding places. Finding the correct one would be a monumental task. But it was not an impossible dream, Jake told himself. He was determined to see it through. He owed it to his grandfather, as well as to himself.
He placed the trail guide by the front door, alongside a pair of well-worn hiking boots. A quick glance around confirmed other ready supplies – a bright flashlight, a small compass and a warm, but lightweight, jacket. It would be easy later on to grab everything quickly and head out to begin exploring some of the trails. At least he could work on ruling a few out. The more he was able to narrow down the search, the closer he’d be to his goal.
Crossing the room, he pulled out the book that held the crumpled map and sat back down in the chair. There had to be something he had missed the first time he looked at it, some other marking or a line that was more obvious than he thought. Turning the three-way light up to its brightest level, he held the map up and peered through the paper. With the exception of the smudged spot just to the right of the center, there didn’t seem to be anything hidden. He squinted, attempting to see through the spot, but it was heavily stained and the light did nothing to reveal anything that might be underneath.
The sound of a sudden crash outside brought Jake immediately to his feet. He switched the light off quickly and stuffed the map under the cushion of the chair, then crossed quietly to a front window, pressing his back against the wall to the side of the window sill. He waited to hear more sound, not moving, his heart pounding inside his chest. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could know why he was here, what he was searching for. But it made sense to be cautious anyway.
When several minutes passed without any additional sound, he pulled the edge of his front curtains aside and peered outside. Only then did he realize that the sun was almost down, leaving behind only the partial view that was typical for the twilight hour. He hadn’t been aware that it had grown so late while he was wrapped up in reading the map and trail guide.
Seeing nothing unusual outside, he moved to the doorway and cautiously opened it. A soft breeze flowed through the opening and the wild grass outside bent with the rise and fall of the wind. There was nothing out of the ordinary that he could see. His truck rested right where he had parked it. The chairs on the front porch were undisturbed. Everything seemed to be in its proper place.
Jake closed the door, twisting the lock a little more attentively than he usually did. Without turning the lights back on, he made a circle of the house, checking latches and briefly looking out of each window. Still he found nothing unusual. The sound must have been an animal running through the property, he decided. It was not uncommon.
To calm his nerves, he returned to the main room and opened a tall, oak cabinet. He pulled out a round glass snifter and a decanter of brandy, setting it on the small table beside his chair. He poured a generous serving and settled back, taking a gulp, followed by a few smaller sips. The warmth of the sweet liqueur spread down his throat and into his chest. He took several deep breaths and finally found himself relaxing. It had been nothing, he figured. Just the normal sounds of the open range, the regular noises to expect when living in this territory.
CHAPTER THREE
It was still light when Paige returned to her cabin, even after making additional stops to run errands along the way. At the post office, she had dropped off a handful of postcards to friends back east. In the local thrift store, she had browsed around for a few more items.
She parked her car in front of the cabin, unloading a reading lamp and a large, oval, braided rug that she had found at the thrift store. Taking these inside, she made a second trip to her car for a small bag of groceries, which she took inside and put away. She set fresh fruit and banana nut muffins on the table, next to the coffee pot. This would cover breakfast the following morning.
While it was still light, Paige brought in an armful of firewood and stacked it to the left of the fireplace, where it would be ready for use later on in the evening. She pulled a chair up to the small writing table and pulled out her laptop. It was time to start outlining her notes so far, transferring them from the small notepad where she had been jotting down brief tidbits over the last few days.
Jackson Hole – Notes
*Jackson Hole is named after fur trapper David E. Jackson, an early partner in the Rocky Mountain Fur Company. Originally named Jackson’s Hole, referring to the entire valley as a “hole,” it was later changed to simply Jackson Hole.
Pre-1800 – Area was used by Native Americans for hunting and fishing. Tribes included Shoshone, Nez Perce, Crow, Blackfeet and others.
1803 – Lewis and Clark expedition organized by Thomas Jefferson. Expedition reports helped inspire westward movement.
1806-1808 – John Colter, a member of the Lewis and Clark group, traveled into Jackson Hole to scout for fur trading.
1845 – Fur trapping declined as styles changed. Other means of earning income were developed, including the opening of early dude ranches, aimed at bringing visitors in to enjoy the area’s hiking, fishing, hunting and scenery.
1862 – The Homestead Act allowed settlers to claim land for the price of making improvements. Many settlers arrived, both American and European. Early settlers included John Holland and John and Millie Carnes.
1871-1878 – The Hayden Surveys officially named many landmarks, including Jenny Lake and Leigh Lake.
1872 – Yellowstone, just north of Jackson Hole, became the world’s first national park.
1888 - Population of the valley was 20 men, 2 women and 1 child.
1889 – The first Mormons migrated to Jackson Hole.
1890 – Wyoming became a state.
1892 – Population of Jackson Hole had grown to 60 people.
1892 – The first post office was at Marysville, which closed when the Jackson Post Office was opened in 1894.
1894 – Town of Jackson named,
1897 – The Jackson Hole Gun Club built The Clubhouse, which was the first community building.
1897 – President Grover Cleveland set aside the Teton Forest Reserve.
1899 – Deloney’s General Merchandise was the first store to open in Jackson.
1900 – First Jackson Hole census. Approximately 600 people living in the area. Five post offices existed in the valley.
1901 – Hotel belonging to Mary Anderson, which had been located at Antelope Gap, was moved to the Jackson town site, becoming the Jackson Hotel.
1901 – Bill Simpson laid out plans for the town of Jackson, using typical grid format common for the time.
1903-1905 – The first local school was located in The Clubhouse, and then moved to a log building.
1906 – Roy Van Vleck and brother Frank arrived in town and started building a cabin, later opened as Jackson Mercantile.
1907 – William Trester’s first photo of town. Tuttle and Lloyd’s Saloon already visible.
1908 – President Theodore Roosevelt established the Teton National Forest.
1909 – First edition of Jackson Hole Courier published. Population now 1500.
1912 – U.S. Biological Survey Elk Refuge was established.
1914 – Town of Jackson incorporated.
1920 – Jackson elected the nation’s first all-female town council.
1921 – Electricity powered Jackson for the first time.
Pre-1924 – Town square was just a depression covered with sagebrush.
1924 – Town started to improve the square by bringing in dirt to fill it.
1931 – Town brought in plants and landscaping.
1941 – Roads around the square were paved, cutting down dust problems.
Paige hit the save button and shut the laptop down, waiting for the lights on it to click off before slowly closing the top. She’d learned quite a bit about the area since arriving in town, but it was clear that there was much more to learn. It wasn’t as easy as just talking to the locals, though that had been good advice from Susan. She needed to get beyond that, to get to the information that even the locals didn’t have, or didn’t know they had.
She had always been one to trust her instincts. It had worked for her on other articles, such as the famous pirate Blackbeard’s hidden cove on Ocracoke Island, or the quiet life of the Kentucky Shakers near Harrodsburg, Kentucky. Sometimes it was worth following a hunch more than just facts. But usually the real payoff came in following both, in finding whatever way the two could weave together and create something not otherwise visible. It was one of the challenges of writing, combining research and imagination. She loved searching for the magic point where the two intersected.
Standing up, she left the small desk area and moved to a front window. The sun was almost gone; only the faded images of twilight remained. She could hear the wind rustle through small patches of sagebrush outside. The screen door creaked a little as the breeze washed through the front porch. There was some sort of mystery in the air. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on and it wasn’t anything that could be found in any of the research she had done. But it was there, nonetheless. This was the part that intrigued her the most, the instinctual part. She had a hunch that this time it was the factor that would pay off. All she had to do was find the right combination, the right key. She had a feeling somehow that Jake would lead to this. She just had to find out how.
Impulsively, she grabbed a jacket and stepped outside. If following instincts was what she had to do, then that was exactly what she would do. She eased her car out of the dusty driveway and turned out on the road, heading in the direction of Jake’s ranch.
Other than a few bison grazing by the side of the road, dark shadows against the twilight sky, she found the road deserted. This wasn’t a surprise to her. She’d learned quickly after arriving in Jackson that the activity was mostly centered in town, much of it directly around the town square itself. It was only necessary to drive a few miles in any direction to reach some solitude.
As she continued along, she spotted a faint light in the direction of Jake’s ranch. It twinkled in the semi-darkness like a star that had decided to appear on stage a little early. It grew slightly brighter as she approached, but there appeared to be only one window that glowed. She surmised it couldn’t be much more than one small light. Perhaps he wasn’t even home.
To play it safe, Paige parked her car on the side of the road, finding an area that was slightly lower than the roadside fence, allowing her car to stay out of view of the ranch. She proceeded on foot another hundred yards or so, until she came to a point along the wood post and barbed wire fence that allowed her to see the old farmhouse clearly. With quiet steps, she approached the fence, bent down a little and peered through.
A bald eagle soared across the sky, landing on the higher branches of a tree that was about halfway between Paige and the house. A lone coyote roamed the fields to the east, prancing about and lunging at small rodents and other animals who were about to become supper for the clever hunter.
Paige eased her way along the fence until she arrived at a point where there was substantial brush on the other side, large enough clusters to hide behind. There, without giving a second thought to fact that she was trespassing, she slid carefully between two of the fence’s wires. She moved from one cluster of sagebrush to the next, crouching down to avoid being seen, until she found herself in a location where she had a good view of the house.
Still only one window held light. The glow was brighter than it had appeared from down the road and it cast a small area of light out onto the front porch of the farmhouse. Inside the window she could see the outline of a man’s head from the side, with the face tilted slightly down. He appeared to be sitting in a chair of some sort, something with a high back. The light was set behind him, preventing any illumination of his features. Seeing the familiar red truck parked alongside the house, though, Paige knew it had to be Jake.
She watched the silhouette of his head move back and forth, turning slightly from side to side. Perhaps he was just stretching his neck, she thought. Or he might be working with his hands, maybe whittling some wood or repairing an appliance. Or maybe he was reading, Paige suddenly thought, remembering all the books he’d been holding at the library earlier that day. It occurred to her at that moment that he might be researching the area, just as she was. Maybe he’d come to Jackson Hole for more than just the real estate investment of the old Manning Ranch. As Dan had mentioned, Jake had family ties to the area going back generations.
She watched as he rose up, moved away from the window and then returned again, holding something in his hand. Another book, Paige guessed as he took a seat again in the chair. He must be looking for something in these books, she thought, watching him reach up to adjust the light. What was it? Was it hidden in the past history of the area? Was it something concerning Jackson as a town right now? Whatever it was, it had to be intriguing, as he remained in the same spot for some time.
Paige moved forward, still staying a good twenty yards or so from the house. She inched behind another cluster of sagebrush, this one fairly thick and wide. The outdoor light continued to fade as night approached and the view inside Jake’s window grew even clearer. She remained crouched down, peering above the sage brush only slightly. It was at this time that she felt the presence of someone or something nearby.
Turning slightly to her left, she suddenly gasped, seeing the coyote that had been running loose on the side of the property standing not ten feet away. Holding her breath, she watched him as he watched her in return, a quiet stand-off in silence. He took a step closer, which caused Paige to gasp again. She waved her hand quickly, as if to whoosh him away by suggestion, but this had no effect. The coyote continued to face her, staring at her with small, puzzled eyes. Finally Paige picked up a small rock from the ground and, in desperation, pitched it at the animal, though not hard enough to cause sizable injury. She hoped only to scare it away.
It worked, but not in the way she might have hoped. The coyote jumped back at the sight of the incoming rock, brushing against some shrubbery and then bounding off in the direction of the house. Paige watched with a terrified, sinking feeling inside her as the coyote raced around the corner of the front porch, crashing into a stack of old crates sitting just to the side of the house and causing them to fall over. It then veered off into the fields and disappeared into the distance.
Her heart pounding, Paige stayed motionless behind the large cluster of brush. There was no sound from the house, but she could see the light inside quickly extinguish itself. In the growing darkness, she felt frightened and vulnerable. After all, she didn’t belong there. She was clearly trespassing and she didn’t even have a decent excuse to give for doing so. She didn’t even have one to give herself.
Paige remained frozen in place, hearing nothing but silence for a few minutes. Then, at the creak of the front door opening, she took advantage of the slight sound to flatten herself down on the ground, where she knew she couldn’t possibly be seen. She held her breath and waited for what seemed like forever, until she finally heard the door latch shut. Still, she remained on the ground, the smell of dust in her nose and the scratching of dry brush against her clothing.
Eventually she eased herself up off the ground and, remaining crouched down, moved cautiously from sagebrush to sagebrush until she found her way back to the opening in the fence. She slipped back through it and quietly but quickly hurried down the road to her car. Her hand shook as she inserted the key into the ignition, but after a couple false, nervous tries, she got the engine running and pulled out onto the road, making a hasty retreat to her cabin. Here she parked the car along the far side of the building, rather than out in the general parking area, and then slipped inside the front door, Latching it shut, she sat motionless until dark had fallen completely.
