The Poacher's Son (Mike Bowditch 1)

wouldn’t say that. But it does sound like you’re mighty attached to the past for a young man.”
    “I just wish I could’ve seen the woods back when you were starting out.”
    “Back in the Stone Age, huh?” He chuckled. “Well, it was changing even then. Oh, there were still the river drives, but people forget how sick those rivers were not so long ago. Why, back in the sixties the Androscoggin used to light on fire from time to time on account of all the pollution from the paper mills. And we didn’t have near as many moose or deer back then. Of course there weren’t all the logging roads—which meant people had a harder time getting into the woods.” He tapped some dial on the control panel. “I guess my philosophy is that time moves on, and you better move with it. If you live in the past, you just miss out on the present.”
    I didn’t answer. I was beginning to feel nauseated.
    “Being a warden isn’t for everybody,” said Charley. “The pay’s poor and the benefits are slim. I’ve known a few young wardens who had second thoughts and decided to get out and no one thought the worse of them.”
    So this was why he wanted to talk with me. The old fart wanted to determine for himself whether I had the right stuff to be a warden. Well, the joke was on him because, by blowing off my meeting with Lieutenant Malcomb, I was likely shitcanning my career, anyway.
    “You can’t be angry all the time and do the job well,” Charley continued. “I take it your lieutenant wasn’t happy to see you yesterday.”
    “I made an error in judgment.”
    “That’s natural. You know, the night you and I first met, over at Rum Pond, I could see you were a different sort of character from your dad. Still, it surprised me when I heard that you’d applied to become a warden.”
    “It surprised my father more.”
    “I’ll bet it did,” he said. “Tell me something. What would’ve happened if I’d gone up those stairs that night? What would I have found?”
    “A deer, just like you thought. But you never would have made it up the stairs.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Because Truman Dellis would have shot you.”
    Charley laughed. “Old Truman’s a mean shot, all right, drunk or sober. I was grateful you helped me out that night.”
    “But I didn’t help you.”
    “Sure, you did. You told me not to push my luck. Maybe you didn’t say it, but I could read that look in your eyes.”
    “I was a stupid, scared kid.”
    “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Most of the brave men I’ve met used to be scared kids. Hell, you can’t even be brave without first being afraid.”
    “You sound like a fortune cookie.”
    Over the intercom Charley said, “Yeah, the Boss says I’m getting to be a gasbag. But when you get to my age, you figure everyone expects you to be wise.”
    My forehead had grown clammy with sweat. I began wishing I’d skipped breakfast.
    “Soctomah tells me you think your father’s innocent,” Charley said suddenly.
    “It just doesn’t make any sense that he would want to kill that Wendigo guy, Shipman. If they close Rum Pond Camps and put Russell Pelletier out of business, so what? My father’s had other jobs. He’ll survive. He always does.”
    “Maybe he had a different motive.”
    “Like what?”
    “Could be somebody paid him to do it.”
    That was something I’d never considered. I took a minute to think it over and look out the window. We’d already crossed more miles than I would have imagined possible in such a short time—heading north and west above the hardscrabble farms and glacial bogs of central Maine. Looking down at the ant-line of cars moving along the roads didn’t help my airsickness any. I pressed my hand to my stomach.
    “You know they found tire tracks,” he said.
    I wasn’t sure I’d heard him. “What’s that?”
    “They found tire tracks near the crime scene that matched your dad’s old Ford. They also got a partial boot print that matched your dad’s size based upon ones in his cabin.”
    A bad taste had risen in my throat. “Did they find the boot?”
    “Nope,” said Charley. “There were no spent cartridges. And the dogs didn’t pick up his scent. But then a woods-smart man like your dad knows how to throw them off.”
    I began to salivate. “Why are you telling me this?”
    “If it were my old man, I’d want to know. Your dad’s in a mess of trouble.”
    I felt like I was going to throw up.
     
    Charley left me alone for a while