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Canaan Camp Chapter Two Manhunt
The woman was cooperating,
and no curious friends or family had called, but he couldn't stay much longer. He'd leave immediately if he could figure
out a place to go. Oregon was out now. "Unconfirmed reports suggest that a terrorist or paramilitary
group are responsible," to quote the bubblehead blonde on local
TV.
14.
Paget rapped the bathroom door impatiently. "Ain't you about through?" "I'm just drying Billy, now," came the muffled reply. "I'll be out in a minute." "Hurry," he said, going back down the hall.
Paget
stared at a morning show with the sound muted. He was conflicted, which was new to him. The way she treated the
kid bothered him. Every time he was about to do her, she started her mommy thing, and things just evaporated. Best I get rid of her for you
before she starts in, Billy. Probably best if you don't even remember her.
A picture appeared on the
screen, and he stood in disbelief. It was a mug shot of the skinny kid he had been five years earlier, before he had
shortened his hair, shaved his scraggly beard, and put on muscle. He scrambled to find the remote. " . . .are looking
for this man in connection with a brutal triple homicide in Marked Tree, Arkansas. He is Robert Lee Paget, wanted on
an outstanding warrant for burglary and parole violation. A stolen car with property taken from the scene of the murders
in Marked Tree was found wrecked and abandoned on highway sixty near Elsinore in rural Carter County on Tuesday morning.
Paget comes from the northwestern Arkansas town of Fayetteville. It is believed that he is still in the area, and
a manhunt is currently underway. Paget is described as thin, six feet tall, and weighing one hundred and sixty-five
pounds. He has dark brown eyes, dark brown longish hair, a mustache, and ruddy complexion. He may be injured.
The public is warned that the he is armed and should be considered extremely dangerous. Authorities are asking anyone
with information concerning the crime or the whereabouts of Paget to call the toll free number you see on your screen." "What stolen property?" he said as he patted his pocket to
make sure he still had the necklace.
He thought that he had burned all the cards and photos before leaving the motel, but the Master Card must have gotten left
in the car. Now they had his fingerprints. He paced the floor, thinking that now he had real trouble. Arkansas
had the death penalty, and the gun robbery would bring in the feds so going to another state wouldn't solve the problem.
They've already got roadblocks up,
he realized.
In his whole life, nothing had ever been his fault. This was no different. Paget blamed the militia for his predicament,
reserving for himself a token censure for his bad judgment. "Why in hell did I let those lunatics get me into this?" he muttered.
15.
The unfairness of it burned like an ulcer in his gut. I can't get away with even one little mistake!
He felt like breaking things,
trashing the place, burning it down, beating the hell out of the woman. Of course she would give them an updated description
of him if he let her live, but that wasn't going to happen. He would have already done it except for the kid. He clicked off the TV off and went down the hall. "Come on!" he yelled, rapping on the bathroom door.
"What the hell's keeping you in there?" "We're
finished," said Cathy.
She came out with Billy wrapped in a bath towel. She dabbed at him nervously pretending to dry him as she tried to keep
her abductor from knowing that she had overheard the news bulletin. "You want me to fix breakfast?" she asked. He took her chin and forced her to look at him while he searched for a telltale sly smile. "Put the kid down and get over to the chair," he said.
Her hands trembled as she
placed Billy in the bassinet. The slim hope she had nurtured after he hadn't raped her had evaporated. "Did I do something to make you angry?" she asked, trying
to reassure him that she didn't know about the murders. "Shut
up," he commanded as he roughly pulled her arms behind her.
She sat meekly as he tied her up, but tried to position
her wrists so that there was a little space between them. Although clearly distracted, he cinched her tightly.
Without a word, he snatched up her purse and dumped the contents onto the couch. He took her money and then tossed her
wallet aside. Grabbing the keys, he left without a glance.
Paget backtracked to Poplar Bluff reasoning that his questions
would attract less attention in the town of twenty thousand than in tiny Elsinore. He was also curious to see if they
were stopping westbound cars on the highway. If they were, he would have taken back roads around the stop and holed
up with the woman a few more days until the roads were clear. He stopped at the Huddle House out on the highway and
grabbed a stool beside a UPS driver. While
peeling a packet of creamer, he asked casually, "The road blocks cause you any grief today?" "Yesterday, but not today." "Think they'll catch the bastard?" "Doubt it. All the patrol knows how to do is give speeding tickets.
He's long gone."
16.
"So they're not doing stops anymore?" "They never do ‘em
for long."
Paget had learned what he had come for. Professional haulers knew road conditions. The roadblocks were gone because
the cops were as convinced as the UPS driver that he was no longer in the area.
Despite the pain Cathy had managed to slide it her right hand upward. The bath oil she had doused on her hands and wrists
with before leaving the bathroom helped at first, but now the cord was stuck just above the knuckles at the base of her fingers.
She had twisted and pulled until her hands were slick with blood. Dogs caught in a fence will chew their own legs off
to escape. She wasn't driven by such basic survival instinct, but by a mother's desperation. Biting back the nausea,
she struggled to free herself because the man had killed three people and he would think nothing of killing her and Billy
next! She had known that night as soon as she saw his eyes in the rear-view mirror when he forced her to take him home
that he would rape her. Why he hadn't attacked her yet was a mystery, but it was coming, and then he would kill her
and baby. Even if he only killed her, Billy could die of dehydration or starve before anyone came to see about them.
Cathy
squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth as the nylon cord sawed through skin and dug into her knuckles. Summoning
will she didn't know she possessed, she pulled harder and twisted frantically, but the cord only cut deeper. She tried
to concentrate on Billy instead of the pain. She pictured him laughing, taking his first step, saying "Momma"
for the first time. The pain mounted as she wriggled and tugged. Unbelievably, the hand slid free! "Aaghhh!"
she gasped in relief.
Pulse throbbed in the injured hand as pinpricks of light swirled in her vision as she descended toward blackout, just like
when she had fallen from the top of a pyramid formation and hit her head against another cheerleader's knee during homecoming
two years ago. To stave it off, she tried to relax and breathe deeply. The feeling slowly ebbed, but left her
wobbly.
The sound of car tires on gravel brought an adrenaline rush of terror. She bent frantically to free her feet with her
left hand. The right one had gone numb and fingers wouldn't work. The car pulled away. "Mail carrier," she mumbled. Chancing a glance at her injured hand, she saw gleaming white gristle and oozing
dark blood. "I'll live," she said as she
stood unsteadily, fighting her rising gorge.
Picking up Billy, she went through the kitchen to the back porch. She stood there uncertainly a moment. A life
vest hanging near the screen door gave her an idea. "That's
what we'll do, Billy," she said as she put him down and slipped it on.
17. "Wait here. Mommy will be right
back," she told him.
She ran back to the living room, took the phone from its stand, and placed it on a chair near the front door. Then she
opened the front door and left it ajar, hoping to make him think that she had gone to the highway and flagged down a car.
She decided not to do that for fear that he would come back and find them on the road. Instead she went out the back.
As she was about to lock the door behind her, she saw the cooler and decided to take it along. Making her way through
the brush behind the house, she went down to Cane Creek. "I should have called 911, Billy," she muttered.
The baby smiled at her voice, and that gave
her the courage to believe that everything going to be all right. The creek was shallow but frigid. Momentarily
she worried that Billy would catch a cold if he got wet, but they had no choice. She waded downstream with Billy in
one arm and towing the cooler for half a mile until she came to Kenner's Hole, a deep, slow-moving pool. There she placed
Billy in lidless cooler and floated with the current. "You're doing great, Little Man," she said to herself. "Mommy done good too." Using the bad English as a sort of joke to herself made her feel good.
In less than a mile they would come to the Hankins' house. They were going to be all right. "Mommy done good," she repeated. Paget kept glancing
fearfully at the rear-view, expecting the flashing lights at any moment.
"I should have killed that damned
slut to begin with," he screamed, pounding the steering wheel in impotent rage. "It's what I get for trusting
one of them."
Glancing down, he saw that he was going eighty. He backed off to sixty, but it seemed that he was crawling. He
couldn't risk being pulled over for speeding, but he had to put distance between him and his pursuers. By now she had
given his description to them, and they would be looking for her car. His luck held all the way to Mountain View, but the two
hours it took to get there was as far as he thought he should push it. He pulled to the back of the lot at a McDonald's
and sat with the motor running. For the last fifty miles he had been fantasizing about what he would do to the woman
the next time they met. Now he pushed those pleasant thoughts aside to think about what he was going to do now.
He needed another car and a place to leave the one he had so that it wouldn't be noticed too soon, which was easy in a city,
but not in a small town. Wherever he left it, it was sure to be found within a day or two, but a day was all he needed. Cathy's smile flashed into
his mind, mocking him. He saw himself landing a fist in her gut, throwing her to the ground, and sitting astraddle of
her, while he choked the life out of her.
18.
Put it on hold, Bobby Lee, he told
himself. You got more important problems. Just across a strip of concrete framed turf, lay a pocket mall,
a cluster of shops hanging to the skirt of a Walmart. A scattering of cars sat at the various businesses, and several
were parked in a loose knot at the edge of the lot nearest the McDonald's. It was either a car pool drop area, or where
the manager of the restaurant had told his employees to park to save space for customers. Stealing one in daylight wasn't
an option with the restaurant so near, and it wouldn't exactly take a genius to figure out who took it if he left the one
he was in nearby.
Paget stared at the motley of old and new cars and he decided to take it one step at a time. He backed out, drove over,
and parked. He pocketed the keys in case he changed his mind. On his way back to the restaurant an old woman came
out, walking slowly, head down to watch her footing. When he saw her heading for a house car near the edge of the lot,
he first scanned the lot to see if anyone was watching, and then angled to intercept her. Balancing a carryout tray
with two large drinks, and burdened with a purse big enough to carry a small watermelon, she didn't notice as he quickly closed
the distance, a vague already forming.
The old man's probably in the john, he thought as she neared. I'll knock the old bag in the head and drag her
inside, and then take care him when he gets here.
He was within two steps of her when a thumping base loud enough to make his chest vibrate heralded the arrival of a convertible
full of teenage boys, who, as his lousy luck would have it, parked only two empty slots from the house car. They jumped
out horsing around as raucously as flock of crows. Cursing the punks under his breath, he walked past just as a shaky
old man came through the door, shuffling toward him. "That close," he said through clenched teeth. Blaring rap lyrics mocked his simmering frustration. White boys listening to nigger music! It
made him sick.
He altered course again and
went across to the Walmart where he bought disposable razors, shaving cream, and a pair of scissors. At a nearby service
station he locked himself the bathroom where he stayed for fifteen minutes, ignoring several knocks. He emerged clean-shaven,
with sideburns cut to above the earlobe. After throwing the shaving items into a dumpster, he walked to the mall barbershop
and waited impatiently until a chair opened. While he waited for the barber to cut his hair short, he studied his face
in the mirror, deciding that it bore little resemblance to the five-year-old mug shot they had shown on TV. He considered
dying his hair and eyebrows, but that required a humiliating trip to a beauty parlor where some bitch would probably think
he was queer. And, of course, they'd remember him.
Paget walked across to the restaurant feeling distinctly more in control of events. He wasn't out of the woods yet,
but he knew something would turn up because it always did if you paid attention. He took his order to a booth by the
window and watched the parking lot with a predator's patience. A ride would turn up. He didn't care where he would
go as long as he put distance between him and the car.
19. Buy a good
map, take back roads, and stay out of Arkansas. Since they'd be looking for him around Fayetteville, he considered
backtracking to the east. The two thousand in his pocket formed a comforting lump. It opened options. Once I got another car, I'll find a place to crash for a few days.
Gradually he became aware of an irritating
conversation in the next booth, something about some religious nonsense and farming.
Amish or Mennonites idiots,
he decided contemptuously. Stop using machines and you get to heaven! Let me tell you how it is, boys.
Take advantage of everything and everyone you can. You see something you want? Just take it. Their ardent tone cut through
all his attempts to block them out. Two of them were feeding a line of bull some poor slob who couldn't find the nerve
to escape. Paget couldn't escape their spiel either without moving away from the window. "Father Joshua is a prophet,
Jeremy. He truly is. And Canaan is a place to belong and be part of something larger and more important than anything
you could possibly imagine." "Could
I come out and visit first?" "No one's
allowed in except to the outer camp. That's where you'll stay until you decide whether to join us or leave." "Why can't I talk to people? I mean what's the big secret?" "No secret. We just try to keep the world out of Canaan because
the Adversary pretty well controls it." "The
Devil, you mean?" "He's a ravening
lion seeking to devour whom he will. He is not welcome in Canaan Camp." "So what if I don't want to stay?" "You're free to leave whenever you want." "I can come and go as I please?" "No. You can go once you're a member, but you can't come back." "How long do I have to make up my mind about staying?" "Initiates spend seven days in the Outer Camp." "To be instructed or examined or something like that?"
"Absolutely not.
It's a period of contemplation and self-examination. No one even talks to you unless you ask. Forsaking your former
life to become one with us is a big decision. We want you to be sure. If you're not totally committed, you shouldn't
join."
20.
"How about people we leave behind? Can we see them?" "No one comes in except potential members, and then
only to the outer camp. In extraordinary circumstances you can get permission from Father Joshua to leave for a short
time." "I could phone though?"
"No. Leaving the
world behind is not just a figure of speech. You have to come out of it and leave it behind to become part of the Church." As the young man continued
to waver and his recruiters continued their pitch, Paget barely listened. He had heard the important part. No
one from the outside was allowed in. When they left he followed them outside. "Hey!" he called out. When they stopped and turned he caught up with them.
"I couldn't help overhearing you
guys in there. I want you to take me with you to hear that prophet you were talking about." "What do you know about the Wilderness Church?" asked the
one who had been doing all the talking inside.
That the holy-rollers weren't overjoyed that they had landed a sucker surprised him. Reevaluating the situation he tried
to think up a good sounding response.
"I don't know anything about it. I don't even know myself anymore. The only thing I do know is that
I didn't end up here by accident. I was sent this way to meet you."
Mountain View, Missouri, May 4, 4:37 AM He needed coffee to make
it through the interminable rural patrol night shift. Always a real drag, tonight it had given his doubts too much time
alone with him, and they had visited with vengeance. Jill had come for his sake, taking a job at the junior college
instead of going into the doctorate program she had been offered---and all so that he could get a dead end job with the sheriff's
department. She had arranged it all to "save him," and although she never breathed a word of second thought,
he had begun to suspect that she was hiding her resentment. A lead cloak descended---again. Until a year ago he
thought of depression as a malady of the weak-willed. His advice to anyone moping around would have been, "Get
over it."
"Well, get over it, Richard," he said aloud as he pulled into the McDonald's parking lot. "She's smarter
than you are and stronger. When she gets tired of this, she'll let you know, and then we're out of here." As he drove around to the
take out window, his headlights illuminated a car in an adjoining lot. He drove around and went over to check it out.
As soon as he read the plate, his personal worries receded. Keying his radio microphone, he called it in. "Green ‘95 T-bird,
Missouri license number 722-LLK, parked near the McDonalds in Mountain View," he said, and then released the key of his
mic.
21.
"Mountain View? That's in Howell County, Carter." "I know. I was near the line and came over for some coffee." The silence stretched for several minutes.
"Secure the scene but
don't touch the vehicle. Howell County deputies are on their way. They'll want to talk to you." "Roger that," he said.
Leaving his cruiser parked beside the
stolen car, he went across to get the refill that he had come for. He anticipated annoyance from both the Mountain View
police and the Howell County sheriff's department for having an outsider discover the stolen vehicle left in plain sight on
their turf. His own department was already upset at his being out of pocket while on duty. The hill culture didn't
tolerate meddlesome hot shots. The description couldn't fit him less, but his one glaring fault made it credible:
he was an outsider. "Will there
be anything else, sir?" asked a teenager with a suppressed yawn when he brought the coffee. "Just a question," said Richard. "How long have you been on
shift?" "Why?" asked the kid apprehensively. Questioning by a law officer disconcerted most people. The
absence of concern was often a tell. "That green
car is stolen. You didn't see who parked it there, did you?"
"Oh, the T-bird," he said, laughing with obvious
relief. "No. It's been there since---let's see---Tuesday I think. Sharp. I figured the girl it
belongs to was carpooling." "You
saw a girl?" "No, but there's necklace
hanging on the rear-view mirror."
"Did you notice anyone unusual in here on Tuesday, perhaps someone not from around here who spent an unusual amount of
time here?"
"We get a lot of highway customers. I didn't see anyone unusual." He laughed. "Except for
some Jehovah Witnesses or maybe they were Mormons---I think they were here on Tuesday. They hang around in pairs, don't
they?" Flashing lights outside heralded
the arrival of a local cruiser. "Someone will
be in to take a statement, so don't leave. It shouldn't take too long."
Richard took his coffee outside to talk
with the Howell County deputy. On the way it occurred to him that the car had probably aroused no curiosity because
the mall people thought it belonged to a McDonald's worker, and the restaurant people thought it was a mall employee's car.
In any event, Paget had a four-day head start.
22.
He swallowed the dregs in his cup and went across to
introduce himself and tell about finding the car.
"You know, he probably hitched a ride or found another car," he said when he was through. "Has one been
reported stolen near here?"
"We've got it covered now," said the deputy. "But stick around. The boss is on the way and he'll
want to talk to you." Richard itched
to continue his involvement, but his small part in the drama was over.
"The boy in there said there was a necklace hanging
from the rear-view mirror. Maybe it belongs to the girl he killed," said Richard. "Why not to the girl the car belongs to?" "I don't know. It just seems like people hang mementos there."
His reasoning seemed lost
on his Howell County counterpart. They went to the restaurant to question the employees. Etiquette required a
closed mouth from Richard, but he was allowed to listen. A girl working the night shift verified that the car had been
there since Tuesday. She also thought she remembered a man resembling the mug shot coming to the restaurant just the
day before. Richard doubted that Paget had hung around that long, but kept the thought to himself. The bleary-eyed owner of
the franchise arrived in the company of the sheriff a little after 5:00, and called up a copy of the previous week's work
roster. Follow up questioning would probably only confirm Paget's presence, but attention to detail was the essence
of investigation. As they left the restaurant, the Howell County Sheriff spoke to Richard for the first time. "Mind telling me what you were doing in my county?" "I was on night patrol over this way and came to get some coffee,
sir." "No coffee in Hawthorn county?"
The sharpness of his tone surprised. "I guess I'll go see," he said. "Good idea."
It was nearly six by the time Richard crossed the county line, so he called in and got permission to go home and to file his
report after he had gotten some sleep. As he turned into the drive, the kitchen light came on. He parked next
to Jill's car, and went wearily up the steps to the deck. He frowned to find the door unlocked. Jill was at the
stove, her long auburn hair disheveled, and her robe cinched around her narrow waist. "How is my favorite cop this morning?" she asked over her shoulder. "Tired. How's my favorite professor?" "I am okay," she said, taking the skillet from the heat and
setting it aside.
23.
She came over for a good morning kiss.
"I had to sleep alone again, Richard," she said, giving his name the French pronunciation she usually reserved for
the bedroom. "That was not in our wedding contract I think." She was teasing, but her words contained a barb whether
she intended it or not. The life they had was not what she had bargained for. "You are late this morning. Did something happen?" "Actually it did. You know the guy that killed that Arkansas
family? I found his car this morning." "He
is here?" she asked in alarm.
"I don't think we have to worry about that. After he ditched the car he'd put as much distance as he could between
himself and it. But please check the locks when I'm on night patrol." "I always check them," she said. "The door was unlocked when I came in just now." "I unlocked it when I saw you come home," she said. "Where did you find his
car?" "Near the McDonald's at Mountain
View." "That is not in the county.
What were you doing over there?"
"That's what the sheriff over there wanted to know. He was more upset with my visit than he was with Paget's.
I went over to get a cup of coffee." "Leaving
your patrol? Could that jeopardize your job?" "Shug
might cuss me out for it, if he ever did cuss."
She placed an artfully arranged plate of eggs and bacon
before him along with toast from her homemade bread. As she poured coffee for them, he noticed that she had only toast. "That's all you're going to eat?" "I have gained weight," she said. "Sure and you're just a slip of a girl," he said using the Irish version of his repertoire
of bad accents.
She laughed dutifully and reached out her hand. When he pulled gently, she got up and came to sit in his lap.
She nuzzled his neck. As they kissed, she slid her hands over his shoulders, feeling the ridges of puckered scar tissue
from a year and a half ago when she had almost lost him. "I want you," she murmured, trying to push the memory of that bloody night away.
24.
"I want you too, but---"
"I was alone in our bed," she said, cutting him off. "I was thinking of you all night. I got up
and put one of your shirts on just to be closer to you." It started as a joke, something to break the spell he was under. He stood up, sweeping her
from her feet. "Is this what you were thinking
about?" he asked. "It began like this,"
she said as he carried her through the doorway. When
he placed her gently on the bed, her small hands worked feverishly at the buttons of his uniform. "You are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me," she said
as she kissed his bare chest. Then you've had
a hell of a life. The thought came unbidden, and he pushed it away. He could do that when she was with him---when
he was alone, not so much. He slipped the knot on
her robe. "I love you so," he murmured
as he slipped his hand inside. "You are my life,
Richard."
Afterward, as she lay with
her head on his chest, he luxuriated in knowledge that she could really love him. Although achingly beautiful, what
awed him about his wife was her intelligence and competence, her courage and determination. He didn't measure up. "What are you thinking, dear?" she asked. "That I don't deserve you."
She propped herself on her
elbow and gazed into his eyes a long moment before bending to softly kiss his lips. Then she moved so that her bare
breast lay against his cheek. "Jill,
I . . ." "Shhhh," she murmured as
she cradled him to her. "Lay with your wife and sleep now, Darling."
At eight she slipped from bed careful not to awaken him and went to shower before work feeling happier than she had been in
days. Richard's continuing bouts of depression frightened her, but today seemed to be a good day for him. Like
him, she tried to forget the unforgettable. Now as she closed her eyes to rinse off the shampoo, images she could do
without owning cascaded like subliminal cuts through her mind.
Mic smiling as he approached. Richard bursting through the door. The two men entwined on the sidewalk with Mic
in a headlock, slashing and slashing at Richard. Richard's head in her lap and arterial blood spurting. She worked the conditioner
in vigorously and took deep breaths, trying to pull herself free from the memories. It was not until she was dressed
and fastening her earrings that her pulse finally slowed and the aftertaste of terror faded to mere memory. As she checking
her hair in the mirror, wondered if she should tell Richard what she suspected. She had been delaying it, but her sudden
olfactory hypersensitivity reminded her of how long she had been putting it off.
25.
Blue Creek Community College Summer brought a peculiar
mix to campus: adults enthusiastically blowing the curve, kids retaking failed classes, and freshmen like the one uncomfortably
avoiding eye contact across from her this morning. After reading his first essay test, Jill had asked Shane Sanders
to come by her office. "Shane,
I called you in to discuss your writing." He
frowned grimly. "I found your ideas insightful." "Insightful?" he repeated with more than a hint of
incredulity. "I didn't copy anything. Honest."
"I know. Your ideas were very good, but your
grammar is . . ." She hesitated, searching for balance. "Let's say it is not up to college level yet.
Have you considered tutoring?" "I'm
taking bone-head English," he said with a sigh. "Maybe I don't belong in college." "Nonsense. Your thinking is clear and logical. Only
the mechanics of the written language need to improve."
Shane studied her face to see if she was putting him on.
No teacher had ever taking an interest in him, but she had actually complimented him. Or he thought she had. Jill smiled reassuringly. "If you are willing to make the effort I am sure that you can acquire the skills to write well"
"Do you think that . . . you might
be able to show me where I'm messing up?"
Jill already had more work than she could handle, but she had broached the subject. Besides that, his blush won her
over.
"Okay," she said, checking her schedule. "Can you come in at two Monday, Tuesday and Thursday?
Rewrite you're essay test using my corrections and we will discuss it when you come in." His awkwardness caused Jill's usually
reliable intuition to fail her. Normally she would have noticed the effect her intervention had on the attention-starved
boy.
26. Canaan Camp, Rural Hawthorn County, May 5 It had taken all night to
get the new belt on and adjust the main saw, which it wouldn't have if he could just think as clearly as he should be able
to. Ken Phillips leaned against the gatepost, weary and light headed, thinking that Martha would fuss at him about his
blood pressure again if he said anything. He realized what was happening to him, but there was no sense in dwelling
on it. Just put one foot in front
of the other, he told himself as he approached the gatehouse.
It wasn't really a guard post, nor was it
a visitor center. Why Father Joshua wanted the entrance manned, he didn't know, but it wasn't for him to question. A young man smiled as Phillips came inside. "Morning Brother Ken." "Morning, Brother---uh---" He
pretended not to notice that the old man had been unable to retrieve his name. "You look tired," he said.
"I am," said Phillips, dropping wearily into
a chair. "Worked on the main saw until about an hour ago. Had to get it running or the boys fall another
day behind the loggers." Phillips'
bright red face and his shallow labored breathing concerned him. "Why don't you go on up and get some sleep?" "I'll be fine if I just sit a spell," said Phillips, smiling thinly. The truth was he didn't
feel well at all. "I'm not really very tired,"
said the boy. "Let me pull another shift."
"No, no, no. I'm just winded from the walk. Going
down hill is a lot harder on me than going up I think. I've been going down hill for some time now." He smiled at his own joke, wishing he could remember the boy's name. "Now you go on. I'm fine."
After the boy left, Phillips
sat back in the chair, enjoying the cool breeze coming in through the door. He closed his eyes for just a moment.
The lightheadedness would pass if he just gave it some time. "Ken! Wake up."
27.
A firm hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him gently. Phillips opened his eyes, and then smiled in recognition. "Shug Shively. What brings the Sheriff out here?" he
said, sitting up straighter. "Going to
get yourself shot for sleeping on guard duty, Ken. How are you doing?"
"Couldn't be better, Shug.
Martha and me are right happy here. What brings you to Canaan? You ain't thinking about joining the Church, are
you?"
"Why, Mount Pisgah would kick me out as deacon if I did that, Ken," he said with a laugh. "No, I come
out on business." "Here I thought
you were just looking for a blocker so that you could bust it up the gut for another first down, Shug." "My lands! That was a long time ago, wasn't it, Ken?" "Just yesterday, Shug, just yesterday." "Right. You have to light birthday candles with a blow torch
the same as me." "And blow ‘em out
with a fire extinguisher." They both laughed
a little more than the joke merited.
Shively saw his own age in the face of his friend. He thought Ken had made a terrible mistake selling his place and
joining the Wilderness Church, but a man was entitled to his mistakes. One man's epiphany was another man's delusion,
and pretty much his own business. "Ken,
I came out here," he paused to unbutton his shirt pocket. "Because we're looking for a guy." He took out the photocopy and unfolded it before handing it to Phillips. "You ever see this fellow?" Phillips didn't have his glasses. He held the picture at arms length. "On top of everything else, I'm going blind, Shug," he said,
squinting at it. "I don't think I ever seen
this fella. What'd he do?" "He killed
some folks down in Arkansas. He's a pretty bad character, Ken." "Well, I sure hope you catch him." "I hope someone does. He was in the area a few days ago. I imagine he's long gone."
Shively paused, trying to
think how to phrase his question. "Ken, have you had any new . . . uh converts show up in the last two
weeks?"
28.
"Not unless you change your mind," joked Phillips. "You're sure?" "I'm
not that old, Shug. Fact is we haven't had anyone join the Church since last fall."
He laid his hand on Phillips
shoulder, feeling only bone where once there had been powerful muscle. "It's been really good to see you again,
Ken. Could I ask you to do me a favor?" "Of
course."
"If a young fellow like him shows up here, even if you don't think it's him, could you get in touch with me?" "We're not supposed
to have anything to do with the outside, Shug, but . . . I reckon this is differed. Yeah. I'll let you know.
You can count on it."
"Good enough for me. Ken Phillips was always the straightest shooter I ever knew. Thanks a lot, buddy.
I got to get back to town. It really has been good seeing you again, Ken. Laura and I really miss going over to
your place and playing cards." "Yeah,
we miss that too," said Phillips as he followed Shug out to the car. "I'll tell Martha you dropped by." "You do that, Ken. Give her my best."
As Phillips nodded his head
and smiled, Shively noted the haggard look of his old friend. "Are you sure you're all right?" "Just a little tired," said Phillips rubbing his eyes.
"Don't know why. Got plenty of sleep last night."
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