Chapter 16
One characteristic of my clan is protection.
It’s been a part of who I am my whole life.
Another is wisdom. As I lay atop the rim of that rock bowl, with Cordell helpless below, I tried not to let my thinking be clouded by my deep concern for my friend.
Rash action would only lead to failure. I had no firearm, no real leverage in a confrontation.
But I had to do something before they laid into Cordell again.
The portage out of Paternoster begins just north of the final campsite on the lake.
It climbs a rocky, fairly steep incline along the edge of Devil’s Cascade.
Once you’ve topped the incline, you put in on the Otter River and canoe upstream a half mile or so to the next lake.
The current is steady, but a good canoeist usually has no problem paddling against it.
To leave Paternoster, canoeists have to pass that final campsite. I decided it was time I did the same.
I returned to my Wenonah, paddled back out into the lake, then headed for Devil’s End.
I made my way through Devil’s Door with some difficulty because the storm the night before had fed the Otter River and the current through the narrows was strong.
I took my time paddling up the bay, which was a little over a quarter mile in length, doing my best to look like an unwary visitor.
As I came abreast of the campsite, the two men stood up from where they sat on a log near the fire pit and watched me pass.
One of them glanced back to where I knew Cordell was tied to a tree, probably to make sure he was out of sight.
I waved to them, as if I’d noticed nothing, and continued on another fifty yards.
Then I paddled up to the takeout for the portage.
The two men left the fire and approached me.
“Morning,” I said brightly after I’d disembarked.
“Morning,” the smaller guy in the ball cap, the one I’d dubbed Stan, said. He flashed a smile. “What’s up?”
“I’m just going to portage around Devil’s Cascade.” I nodded toward the falls.
“Do many people come this way?”
“Not many, but some. Devil’s End is beautiful, and above the falls, the river is pretty peaceful. First time here?”
“Yeah.”
The big man in the Tilley, Ollie, eyed me like I was a mouse and he a snake. “You know anything about a devil’s asshole around here?”
“I’ve canoed with a few of those guys in my time,” I said and laughed. Ollie didn’t crack a smile. “Never heard of it,” I went on. “But there’s a formation called Devil’s Bottom. Looks something like a guy’s ass.”
His look changed. “Where’s that?”
“See that narrows back there?” I pointed to Devil’s Door.
“I see it.”
“It’s on the other side. You canoe back out that way and it’s pretty obvious. Kinda showing off Mother Nature’s sense of humor.”
“Back out there,” Stan said, looking toward the narrows.
“You planning on breaking camp today? Taking the portage up to the next lake?” I asked.
“Happy here,” Stan said. “Devil’s Bottom, you say? What about a devil’s asshole?”
“Like I said, never heard of it.” Which was true.
“Why is everything around here named Devil this or Devil that?” Ollie asked.
“When you come at Paternoster from up there”—I pointed toward the top of the cascade—“it’s devilishly tricky to get down here to the bay.
It’s a hard, rocky portage, followed by a tough paddle through the narrows.
If you come this way out of Paternoster, getting through the narrows is no picnic, then you have this long uphill portage still ahead.
As I understand it, the early French voyageurs named the area. ”
“All right then,” Stan said. “Won’t keep you any longer.”
Although I’d prepared a long story about why I had no camping gear, they didn’t seem to notice that telling detail. I lifted my canoe onto my shoulders, then headed toward the portage.
It was, as I’d told Stan and Ollie, a long, steep, rocky portage.
Halfway up I paused, set the canoe down, and looked back.
The two men were standing on the wide, flat rock where their canoes had been drawn up.
They were in deep conversation for a minute, then Ollie stepped into the water, almost fell over, righted himself, and took hold of the stern of one of the canoes.
Stan took the bow. They repositioned the canoe, managed to get themselves in without tipping over, and shoved off.
As soon as they were on the water, I began making my way back down, keeping to the cover of trees and rocks as much as possible.
When I reached the campsite, they were still a couple of hundred yards from the narrows.
I ran to the fir tree where Cordell was tied.
He didn’t lift his head until he heard my voice say his name.
“Cork?” His face was a mass of bruising, his eyes swollen nearly shut. “Sure glad to see you.” His words came out muffled through lips that were blood-clotted and swollen.
I took my Gerber multitool from the sheath on my belt and cut the ropes that bound him. He fell over, and I helped him sit up again.
“Sorry,” he said. “In pretty bad shape.”
“Can you walk?”
He reached down and touched his right thigh. He was wearing tan, quick-dry cargo pants. The area of the pant leg he was indicating was dark purple with dried blood. There was a single hole in the center.
“Tried to get away,” he said. “They put a bullet in me.”
“We’ve gotta get you out of here,” I said. “They’ll be coming back.”
I knelt, took hold of him under his armpits, and did my best to help him stand. He let out a groan through clenched teeth, then shook his head.
“No good,” he said.
I eased him back down. “What do they want?”
“Damned if I know. But I’m cursing myself for agreeing to guide them.” He looked at me, as if it suddenly hit him that I happened to be there to help. “What’re you doing here?”
“Dumb luck,” I said.
“You’re alone?”
“Came in with my family. We found the crap your group left behind, and I began to worry. They’ve headed back. Just me now.”
“Why didn’t you go with them?”
“Worried about you.”
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Babs. But listen, what we know about these guys is that they’re not who they say they are. The sheriff’s checking on them now.”
“And sending help?”
“Could take a while. My group’ll contact Sheriff Dross as soon as they’re out. Even if they get a search started, it won’t be until late today at the earliest, and more likely first thing tomorrow.”
“There were three of them,” Cordell offered.
“Yeah, and one’s lying dead on Shrike Lake.”
“They beat him nearly to death, trying to get information out of him, then they killed him. Once he was out of the picture, they lit into me.”
“What information?”
“Something about a devil’s asshole.”
“I don’t know what they’re talking about, but I sent them off on a wild goose chase looking for Devil’s Bottom. They’re headed out beyond the narrows.”
“But Devil’s Bottom is right above us.”
“They don’t know that. I’m guessing they’ll come back pissed as hell. We shouldn’t be here then. Let’s try once more.”
He attempted to stand, but the damage to his body and the gunshot wound in his leg were too much for him. I set him back down.
“Okay, this is how it’ll go. I’m going carry you up the portage.”
Cordell was much bigger than me. He actually grinned at my suggestion, though it was clear that the grin pained him.
“I watched you carry that Wenonah of yours up the portage. You were barely making it, and that thing only weighs thirty-five pounds.”
“We can do this.”
“We?” He shook his head. “Get the hell out of here before you end up like me.”
“If I was tied to that tree, would you leave me?”
He looked up at me, offered another painful smile, then said, “All right. Let’s give it a go.”