(1995) The Oath (24 page)
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Bly.”
“You’re a fool; that’s what you are.”
Tracy interjected, “But you see, Harold? Steve’s a victim of circumstance. He wasn’t aware he was on private property, he didn’t know about the old traditions, and he met Levi Cobb before anybody could warn him.”
Bly was calming down. Maybe it was because he enjoyed seeing Steve look stupid. He was shaking his head in disbelief and pity for the poor, duped professor. “Yeah, you sure got taken in.”
“Well, Harold,” Tracy said, “why don’t you tell him how tough it’s been on you? I’m sure he’d appreciate your feelings if he knew your situation.”
Suddenly Bly noticed something, and his face lit up with mischief. “You like this guy, don’t you?”
Steve hadn’t noticed Tracy’s hand touching his arm until she abruptly pulled it away.
But Bly had scored a bull’s eye, a direct hit, and Steve found it fascinating—fun, actually—to watch Clark County Deputy Sheriff Tracy Ellis’s face turn bright red.
“I think—” she started to say, then started over. “I think he just needs to learn about—about the, uh—”
Now Bly was really enjoying himself. He leaned forward to fire a bank shot off Steve. “Look out for her. She’s left a trail of broken hearts all over Hyde River.”
“Harold, that’s enough of that!” she finally got out. “I’m only trying to help Dr. Benson out of a situation he got in quite innocently.”
So I’m Dr. Benson again, Steve thought.
But now Bly was leaning back in his chair, smiling and satisfied with the success of his little stab. Steve hoped he was also appeased.
Finally Bly moved on to the subject at hand. “It’s a crazy town— Steve.” The first name was for Tracy’s benefit. “People don’t like outsiders going into Old Town. It’s sacred ground to them, and all this stuff about a dragon is about to drive me crazy, but I guess we’ll all just have to live with it. That’s why I had that road blocked off and put up the No Trespassing signs, just to keep the peace around here.”
“I’m sorry if I upset things.”
“Well, people will get over it—and your leaving will help, believe me. But that land’s dead weight. The people around here have such weird ideas, I can’t develop it, I can’t sell it. The only thing I can do is let it go back to timber again, and maybe by then the legends’ll fade enough so I can have it logged.”
“How did it happen, sir, if I may ask?”
“How’d what happen?”
“How did the land become linked with a dragon and with so many superstitions?”
Bly only looked away, disgusted. “We don’t need to talk about that.”
Tracy had had enough time to piece together her dignity and her conversational skill. “Harold, go ahead and tell him. Remember, he’s been talking with Levi Cobb.”
Bly had to build up to it. “Heh. Who knows how it really went.” He took a moment to think, then said, “There was some kind of an Indian raid on the town back in the
1800
s, and a lot of people got killed. The story goes that the land used to be a sacred burial ground and the home of the Indians’ snake god. It was big medicine, and anyone who trespassed on it got a curse put on him. Anyway, those kinds of stories hang on, and get passed on, and ever since then, one story’s built on another, and then another, and so now you have a big dragon living there—the Indians’ snake god, I guess—and there’s a curse on anybody going near the place.” He sniffed in anger. “So now some folks think I’ve got the curse on me because it was my family that first settled this town, on that sacred ground.”
Steve wanted to keep Bly talking. “I understand you’re a direct descendant of the original Hyde?”
“The last of the Hyde line, as a matter of fact.” Bly looked up at the painting over the mantel. “That’s my great-great-grandfather, Benjamin Hyde. He started this town in the
1870
s, and I’m the grandson of his granddaughter, who married a gold miner named Harrison Bly.”
“Well.”
“Benjamin Hyde made the original gold strike here and founded the Hyde Mining Company. So you’ve got the town named after him, and the river, and Hyde Hall, and who knows what else. He started everything, and he owned everything, and now I own it, or at least a lot of it.” He smirked and rolled his eyes a little. “I own what used to be the town and some of what the town is now. Anymore, though, it isn’t much.”
Steve looked at the portrait of Benjamin Hyde. The man was standing by an old table that had been painted with an odd perspective so that a date carved in its top could be clearly seen. “July
19, 1882
. What’s that?”
“The date the town was officially founded. The Hyde River Charter was signed on that table in Hyde Hall, and old man Hyde was proud of that, so he posed by the table for his portrait.” Then Bly pointed across the room to an old oak table on which stood a classic brass lamp. “Still got it.” It was the same table, the roughly carved date plainly visible. Now that was impressive. “It’s called the Founders Table. It’s a great keepsake, but it has its negative side.”
Steve looked at Bly, a question on his face.
Bly answered, “The family curse! The Hyde family settled on the land and founded the town, so they’re the ones the evil spirits and the Indian snake god and all the curses are after. And the land’s cursed too, and that’s why I can’t sell or develop it.” Bly’s face was softer now, his gaze not quite so cold, as Steve went from trespassing troublemaker to enlightened confidant. “So you see now why I don’t like people venturing onto that property. I’ve got enough troubles as it is just trying to run a mining company that can’t compete anymore. I don’t need the local people climbing all over me because some outsider’s going to get the dragon all upset.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Got things clear now?”
Steve nodded a deep nod. “Very clear, yes.”
“So, do us all a favor.” Bly stood, and they all stood with him. The meeting was coming to a close. “Go home. Don’t make this thing bigger than it is. I’m sorry about your brother, but that’s over; it’s done, there’s nothing else here for you to find out.”
Steve extended his hand. “I greatly appreciate your indulgence, sir.”
“It’s all right,” Bly said, shaking Steve’s hand. “So how’s your sister-in-law?”
“Recovering very well, thank you.”
Bly looked genuinely concerned. “Great. Glad to hear it. But I heard she’s blocked out the whole incident, that she can’t remember anything.”
“Well, yes sir, in effect.”
“She doesn’t remember a thing?”
“No.”
“Well . . . maybe that’s best.”
“Maybe so.”
“So why don’t you all get out of here? I need to go to bed.”
Once outside, Collins headed straight for his car. “You don’t mind driving Professor Benson to his truck, do you, Tracy?”
“No problem,” Tracy said, and she and Steve climbed into her Ranger.
“Don’t worry about what Bly said,” she told Steve as she turned the key in the ignition. “He does that to everybody, tries to rattle their cage.”
Of all the subjects discussed tonight, Steve instinctively
knew
which one Tracy was talking about, the one that worried her and rattled her cage. He just crossed his arms smugly and replied, “Oh, it didn’t bother me.”
Which bothered her. “Forget it.”
They drove off.
HAROLD
BLY
stood in the archway of his front porch, watching the red taillights disappear down the hill, his face cold again, his eyes cunning. A silent shadow emerged from the garage beside the house. Bly caught sight of it, nodded, then sat on the top step of the porch and lit a cigarette.
Phil Garrett looked to be sure the two vehicles were gone, then came up the steps to talk.
“Out kinda late, aren’t you?” Bly asked.
Phil almost whispered, “We’re wondering what happened to Vic Moore.”
“What do you think happened?”
Phil’s fear was evident on his face. “What are we gonna do?”
“Same as last time,” Bly said impatiently. “Clean it all up. Put it behind us and forget it.”
“But why’d you let that guy go?”
Bly took a long drag on his cigarette and smiled. “Well, who am I to stand in the way of romance?”
Phil got angry. “But he’s gonna find out—”
“He’s not the one to worry about!” Bly cut him off. “Steve Benson hasn’t seen anything. His sister-in-law has.” He looked directly at Phil’s brawl-gnarled face, making sure he had Phil’s attention. “And you know what else? We’re going to have to take care of her ourselves—before her memory comes back, you follow me?”
HALFWAY BETWEEN
dusk and dawn, sheltered from the light by the leaning, decrepit ruins, a figure dressed in black came upon the broken whiskey bottle that had once been in the hands of Vic Moore.
Good enough, he thought. Let them find it here.
He knelt before the large, flat stone in the ruins of Hyde Hall, gripped the stone’s edges, and muttered his adoration to his god. Then he placed another scrap of paper on the stone and wrote out two more names as he spoke them aloud, “Steve Benson, Tracy Ellis.”
With the touch of a match, the two names were consumed in flame.
The patient complained of a burning rash over the sternum and a constant pain in the heart. Upon examination I found an open, running sore, possibly gangrenous, and recommended immediate hospitalization. Had I anticipated the dementia which apparently set in soon after, I would have taken steps to confine the patient. Unfortunately, he wandered off and has never been seen again.
In all my career I have never encountered such a phenomenon, and I regret we were never able to examine the patient more thoroughly.
From personal notes of Simon Unseth, M.D., who practiced medicine in West Fork circa 1895, now kept preserved by the West Fork Historical Society
T
HE HENRY
WEINHARD
clock over the bar said half-past seven. By now, Charlie’s place should have been filled with the clatter of breakfast and the usual chatter of the loggers, miners, and contractors who made this their first stop of the day. Well, most everyone had shown up, all right, but not for breakfast. What they wanted was news, information, an update. They were huddled closely around the bar, sometimes listening, sometimes talking two, three, or all at once, but always in the same, hushed tone, as if an enemy might be listening. Andy Schuller was there, and Carl Ingfeldt as well, hiding behind Andy most of the time. Big Doug stayed near the center of the group, still the alpha wolf of the pack. Doug’s sidekick Kyle Figgin was still among the young and inexperienced of Hyde River, so he was wide-eyed and all ears. Even Paul Myers, who preferred his usual spot at the end of the bar, sat a few barstools closer this time so he could listen in.
In the center of the group, sitting on two barstools that had become seats of honor, Elmer McCoy and Joe Staggart were enjoying a new level of attention and respect from the others. After all, they were older; they’d been around Hyde River a long time; they’d seen things.
Elmer, retired from the mining company and the oldest man in the room, held a beer in his hand. “Oh, it’s happened before. Had to be twenty years ago. Joe, you remember Max Varney?”
Joe was Elmer’s white-haired and bearded fishing buddy and fellow Hyde Mining Company retiree. He carried a minimum of flesh on his old bones, unlike the full-bodied Elmer. “Yeah. Max Varney.” Joe’s audience leaned forward. “He was talking crazy on the second shift, talking about some guy he’d beat up on—”
Elmer added, “Killed him, I think.”
Joe’s eyes widened. “Oh. I never knew that.”
“Oh yeah, he was bragging about it.”
“I do remember him bragging and hollering. I just don’t re-member—”
“But the next day, he was gone. Didn’t show up for work—”
“And I remember we were talking about it just like we’re talking now, and there were guys out looking for him. I went with two other miners to the bottom of the mine shaft. We thought he’d fallen down there.”
“But remember, Joe? Somebody—who was that—went looking over in Hyde Hall?”
The memory hit Joe like a thunderbolt. “Wasn’t it Harold?”
Elmer nodded. “Yeah, I think it was Harold.” Then he chuckled and shook his head in amazement. “Boy, the time goes by, don’t it? Harold wasn’t much more than a kid and pretty cocky.”
“Just barely in his twenties?” Joe said, trying to nail it down.
“Had to be. His old man wouldn’t have let him, but he snuck down there.” He added a side comment. “Harold’s never been afraid of Old Town, never been afraid of Hyde Hall. He’s got pull down there, guess you all know that. Just like his daddy and his granddaddy. They all—well, the Hydes have always been on the inside of it, and let’s leave it at that.”
Joe remembered the rest of the tale. “Anyway, Harold went down there to Hyde Hall and found Max’s foot, still in the boot.”
As big as Andy Schuller was, he still had to clear his throat and find his voice to ask, “You mean, just the foot?”
Joe nodded. “Just the foot. Nothing else. It was clipped off clean.”
Charlie maintained his position behind the bar, but he had brought a stool around to sit on. This kind of talk was making his legs shaky, and the Max Varney tale was causing the blood to drain from his face.
Kyle Figgin, much more cautious since his little lesson in the river, asked Doug first, “Did they see it?” Doug nodded toward Elmer, so Kyle asked him, “Did you see it?”
Elmer tapped the bar with his finger as he said, “Harold brought it in here and set it on this very bar. We had guys heaving up their lunch, everybody scared crazy.”
Doug spat on the floor. “We’d better find Vic, that’s all I’ve got to say.” Some murmured agreement while others had no words to say at all.
“Well, what about Hyde Hall?” asked Carl Ingfeldt. “Who’s gonna look down there?”
“Phil’s down there now,” Charlie answered, his voice weak. That brought an immediate look of horror from all of them, so he quickly added, “Harold sent him down there.”
There were murmurs of relief.
“Has anybody talked to Dottie?” Kyle asked.