Third Man on the Mountain

By Stewart Nash

PHILLIP THORNTON is the owner of Triangle Surveys in Colorado. He advertises in a national surveyor magazine for an instrument operator.
CHUCK DAVIS, was hired out of Pennsylvania. He, MAUREEN and a young son move to Colorado. Chuck worked out well and performed necessary computations and drafting.
Philip and Chuck were working on a job in the mountains with their client, WESLEY GRAHAM, a wounded Vietnam war veteran, when the radio message to Chuck on the knoll a half mile away wasn’t answered. Thinking his radio batteries died, Phillip hurried back to the truck to take another radio up the hill. When he arrived, he found Chuck lying alongside the survey instrument. Phillip thought he may have suffered a heart attack and attempted to revive him, but to no avail. He radioed Wesley to go back to his survey truck and use the CB radio to phone the county sheriff. When the sheriff arrived, he examined Chuck carefully and concluded that he had probably had a heart attack and may have broken his neck from the fall he’d taken. He said he would request the corner to make a determination of cause of death.
While Philip had waited for the sheriff he noticed the survey transit was not pointed down toward where he had been earlier, and wondered about it. Completing the field work at the same location a few weeks later, Philip looked through the instrument telescope at what he thought Chuck might have been looking at, a fluttering covering over a large meadow, and wondered what would cause it. He also play acted as to how Chuck had fallen if looking in that direction, and concluded that something was wrong with how Chuck fell, and even how he died. Phillip decided to investigate the flutter in the meadow.
Dressed in camouflage with a sidearm and his brushing tool, he discovered a huge marijuana patch with a camouflage covering raised over the crop. He also discovered guards stationed periodically around the perimeter. He found their buildings, well hidden beneath the forest canopy. Sneaking up to different windows for a peek, Phillip checked out different rooms and saw a laboratory with a few men dressed in lab coats and knew there was more than marijuana here. On his way back a guard came from behind and a fight ensued, resulting in a nearly severed hand of the guard by Phillip’s brushing tool. Rather than bleed to death, the guard answered questions that implicated his boss, JOCKO, in the murder of the surveyor, and a wealthy client of Philips as the money behind the venture.
Returning home, Philip made phone calls to determine the legal property owner, his client. He also suspected that the client likely involved an attorney. His later questioning of the client produced a threat he could not ignore, and for safety, he sent his wife off to visit their son out of state. Meanwhile, Jocko questioned the wounded guard and learned the identity of the perpetrator, the surveyor working in the area. Jocko went after Phillip and caught him at his home, questioning and threatening him. Phillip managed to escape and went for help to a cattleman friend in the next county. A plan was formulated to notify authorities, but to take the initiative on their own with several mounted ranch hands to destroy the marijuana crops and shut down the operation.
Federal authorities were given directions to meet up with the cowhands on the mountain well before daylight, but the authorities could not keep up with the horse mounted men, each with a small handheld radio, a weapon, and stout lariats. By the time the authorities arrived on the scene, the marijuana crop had been destroyed, and the unsuspecting guards hogtied. Arrests were made at the site, coordinated with arrests of the money man and his attorney. The third man on the mountain who murdered Chuck Davis lay deep beneath the waters of Blue Mesa Reservoir, and the untimely death of Chuck was vindicated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stewart Nash
• Release date: Feb 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301354559

Stewart Nash

Mr. Nash is a professional land surveyor and has worked in most western states and B.C. Canada. His additional outdoor activities includes: hunting, fishing, hiking, and gold prospecting, all of which have given him a unique perspective when writing stories taking place in the wilds. He has one such book published in B.C. Canada, a bestseller in 2001, The Last 300 Miles, now available on e-books under G. Stewart Nash. He also has a recently published biography of a northwest 1853 railroad exploration and a 1858-62 military road construction across the Rocky Mountains, titled, John Mullan - Soldier, Explorer, Road Builder, found on Amazon. He truly enjoys the research involved in his works, which are mostly historical fiction filled with action and adventure. However, to qualify his book titled, Who Is - Jesus Christ, Stewart has been a biblical student for many years and served in churches as a deacon, a message presenter, and Sunday School teacher. He lives with his wife Sandy, for 32 years, and together they have six children, 13 grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. In 2017 he and Sandy had moved to northern British Columbia, Canada, to be closer to both of their immediate relatives. Nash currently has a few different books available on amazon.com,

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Third Man on the Mountain

G. Stewart Nash

Copyright © 2000 by G. Stewart Nash

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. This book may not be copied in full or in part without the express written consent of the author.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER ONE

Phillip Thornton was startled by the sudden voice from the edge of the timber and when he turned, he immediately recognized the client, Wesley Graham. Wesley walked with a slight limp as he came across the small clearing, using a carved turkey head handle cane. Wesley, Phillip said. Good morning. You gave my heart a little fibrillation there. I wasn’t expecting you today. Fact is the last two days have had me edgy. I’ve had the feeling someone’s been following me around. Chuck said the same thing last night. It’s a darn strange feeling.

I know exactly what the feeling is like. I had it pretty often in Nam and as it turned out, I was usually right. But who in heck would be up in these mountains sneaking around?

Darned if I know. Might even be a black bear. I’ll be glad when we’re finished and out of here. Chuck is up on that ridge right there, he said, pointing to a small opening in the trees far above where they stood. We’re tying in this quarter corner over there, he continued, nodding toward a ribbon of fluorescent pink flagging tied to a tree limb. Did you walk all the way over here from our camp?

No, no, Wesley responded. My Waggoner is parked just past the ridge over there. It’s only a fifteen minute walk.

Phillip nodded knowingly, then reached for his two-way radio and keyed the microphone. Hello up there Chuck. If you’re ready to take the shot I’m out in the clearing with the rod up until you spot me, then I’ll walk over to the corner and see if you can see it.

Phillip waited ten seconds for a response, but there wasn’t any. Hello, Chuck? You still alive up there? Come back.

Philip listened intently, but still no response. He looked up to the knoll and saw only the tripod and survey instrument. He spoke louder into the radio microphone. Chuck, my man. Have you got a copy?

Phillip recalled an instrument man he’d worked with near Colorado Springs. He had fallen asleep while waiting for him to hike up a mountain to a section corner. The young man had stayed out too late the night before and lay down in the grass, ‘just for a minute’, he said later. Phillip had tried for ten minutes to raise him on the radio while intermittently hollering as loud as he could. He could see him on the ground alongside the survey instrument and suspected he’d fallen asleep. But yet, he had the slight apprehension that something was wrong; something besides the radio going dead. He’d walked all the way down the mountain and woke the young man with a start, and after chastising him for unacceptable behavior, hiked back up the mountain. Now, as he tried to raise Chuck on the radio and recalling that other experience, he knew Chuck to be much more dependable than the previous instrument man, and the thought quickly passed.

Phillip turned the radio squelch knob back and forth to make sure the radio was not dead and looked at the red light on top to see if it lit up when he keyed the mike. The quick test indicated that Chuck’s radio was the problem.

Darn radios. That’s when they always go to heck—when you need them the most. We charged them up on the inverter from the extra RV battery last night. It should have plenty of charge, but then you never know about these little devils.

Phillip wasn’t looking at Wesley as he spoke, not even really speaking to him but to himself while looking up toward Chuck, then back down to the radio while keying the mike. Finally, he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted, Hey, Chuck, as loud as he could, hoping his voice would carry the half mile and stir Chuck to a like response. But no response filtered down through the breeze.

Yoooooo, he hollered one more time. Nothing. He tried the radio again and there was still no response.

I’m going to run back to the rig and get another radio and take to Chuck, he told Wesley. I’ll leave you my radio and we can check it out from up there, as I’m not sure how much charge the spare one has on it.

Phillip disliked it when these things happened, especially when a client accompanied them. He always felt like it was his fault for not being as productive as possible, imagining the client counting the dollars in wasted time. I’ll be up there in about twenty minutes. If you would hold the rod on that stone corner when we tell you, it will save time. Phillip showed him how he needed to hold the rod so it was plumb, and then passed him the radio, saying, Just press this button when you want to talk to us.

Yes sir. Wesley responded as he gave a salute and clicked his heels together. Private Graham will not let you down, sir, he said with a straight face, then broke into a wide grin.

Phillip laughed and said, Thanks, Wesley. Good to have you here today.

He started the motorbike and sped off toward camp, and was there in eight minutes. He retrieved the spare radio from its hiding place under the back seat of the extended cab pickup, turned it on and keyed the mike a couple of times to hear the squelch.

Phillip turned the radio off to save the battery, hopped on the bike and headed through the trees, following Chuck’s four-wheeler tracks from this morning. Ten minutes later, he expected to see Chuck walking toward him as he topped the ridge and drove toward the small, bare knob. He saw only the survey instrument standing over the control point.

Drawing closer, he saw Chuck lying on the ground. His head was on the down-slope toward Wesley, and his feet pointed toward the instrument. Phillip killed the engine and let the bike fall to the ground as he ran toward the fallen man. He knew Chuck wasn’t sleeping.

Three months earlier, the grass along the edges of the highway was just beginning to turn green as Phillip and Chuck drove toward Montrose. This would be their third trip this week, the final day of field work to complete the survey.

Phillip drove the narrow highway in deep thought as he negotiated each curve without thinking of the road. As usual, Chuck had his head laid back on the seat with his eyes closed. Phillip wondered what he did at nights as he never seemed to get enough sleep. With such an attractive wife like he had, Phillip wondered if she had anything to do with how his nights were spent. But once Chuck stepped out of the truck and the day’s task at hand, he seemed to come to life with renewed vigor.

He’d been a good hand and a few more years would see him obtain his own license. But like many new registrants, he would probably consider starting his own land survey business. Phillip had been thinking of some type of partnership or other incentive to keep Chuck interested enough to want to stay in the area. But for the time being, Chuck didn’t seem to be making plans for that future at all. It seemed well enough he had a steady paycheck coming in.

Phillip’s thoughts began taking him back many years. It was always a mystery to him how accurately he could recall certain details of past events, and particularly land features at many of his survey projects. Some were much more detailed than others and the ones that popped into his mind most often were not necessarily his favorite places. They would just come from out of the blue for no particular reason, as if some unknown source wanted him to experience the place again.

One of those places was in his thoughts now, when a flock of sparrows flew up from the side of the road where they were pecking at loose gravel, jarring him back to the present. He braked slightly and verbalized a plea for the small birds to, move out of the way. Just then one of the birds veered up and to the right, barely missing the truck, saving its own life from ending on the windshield. Chuck stirred slightly from the change of the engine’s hum and he thought he’d heard a voice, but quickly drifted back to sleep.

Off to his left and in the distance, Phillip caught occasional glimpses through the dark foreboding clouds shrouding the snow capped peaks of the Uncompahgre Range. The snows had melted in the lower valleys but in the higher elevations, several feet remained. It would not melt for another month and survey work waited in some of the mountainous areas surrounding his home town of Gunnison. Today however, was the most dismal view of this mountain range that Phillip had ever seen, as if they were warning him away. A cold chill ran through his body and he shuddered at the thought of being up there now.

He quickly changed those thoughts to how Colorado was receiving a tremendous influx of new residents, as many of them wanted to own their own acreage in the Rockies. Some reminded him of scavengers, devouring anything appealing. Realtors constantly received phone calls from all around the U.S., as well as an occasional one from foreign countries. In the spring and summer, Phillip received one or two long distance calls a month requesting a survey of newly acquired property. Many were in the higher elevations close to the National Forests where access by motorized vehicles was not available until May or June, summer home retreat dreamers.

Working in mountainous areas had some drawbacks and was not without potential dangers. Black bears were occasionally encountered unexpectedly, and mountain lions, rarely seen but possibly nearby watching every move, swishing its tail back and forth, sizing up the prey. There were also rattlesnakes that didn’t always buzz before striking, the disturbance of a mountain wasp nests, trees that suddenly and without warning came crashing down during windy days, a unexpected lightning strike from a storm two miles away and, hunters in the fall—some of who merely shot at a noise in the brush.

But in spite of these things, the utter beauty and quietness of the pine covered hills and ravines with an occasional small stream, the flow slowed by freshly built beaver ponds. Grassy meadows filled with wild flowers waving in the breezes, scattering their fragrances throughout the mountains, and the abundance of wildlife and songbirds—all made any unforeseen dangers well worth the risks.

At fifty-two years old, Phillip had been involved in surveying since the age of eighteen, taking to it like a puppy to a chew toy, devouring all the information he could obtain. He had always enjoyed outdoor activities and this type of profession allowed him to have the best of both worlds: outdoor enjoyment, and getting paid for it. There were times when he thought there were other things he should try, besides creating new parcels of land for others, solving boundary line problems, and even quashing boundary disputes when both owners stepped to the fence with their fists clenched. So, he’d dabbled in other trades on occasion and gained experiences which often enhanced the work he always kept coming back to.

He and his wife Becky had two children. Randy was the first born and presently employed by an engineering firm designing ramps and bridges for interstate highways. Now, after a shattered marriage, Randy cared for his only child by himself. The natural mother turned out to be an unnaturally insufferable individual toward her own child, not being able to handle motherhood. When the child was eleven months old, the mother quietly took her pre-packed bags and left in the middle of the night, like a silent thief using the cover of darkness. They named their daughter Rosemary and she became the delight of Phillip’s life, being his first grandchild. Randy and Rosemary lived in Seattle and one to two visits a year was about all that could be managed. Randy seemed to be a city lad now and didn’t even come out to Colorado to go stream fishing anymore.

Phillip and Becky named their second child Sheryl, after her grandmother on Becky’s side. She was three years younger than Randy and had also experienced a devastating, failed marriage. Recently, she had married Joe Fremont, from Dallas. Sheryl couldn’t have children and that had been a big problem in the first marriage. But Joe was very understanding and they were already making plans for adoption.

Phillip slowed the truck’s speed as he entered Montrose and went to the job site on the north end of town. As he pulled off the highway he saw a white Cadillac and a red four wheel drive pickup parked near the center of the project. Three men were bent over the hood of the car with a map laid out. He recognized one of the men as Fritz Maddox, the developer from Santa Fe.

Chuck opened his eyes and sat upright as they bounced across the field toward the parked vehicles. The three men looked up as Phillip drew near and Chuck asked, Who are all these guys? I didn’t think we’d have an audience today.

The guy with the suit is Fritz Maddox, our client. I don’t know the other two.

Phillip stopped alongside the men and opened the door, then stepped toward the car while Chuck made his way around the front of the truck. Good morning, Mr. Maddox, Phillip said, extending his hand across the car hood. I didn’t expect to see you here today.

I had to meet with the construction contractor today, Phil. This is Roger Wilkens, owner of Three Springs Construction, and Frank Little, his foreman, he said, pointing to each man.

Phillip extended his hand to each of the men as Fritz said Gentlemen, this is Phillip Thornton, the surveyor on the project.

Phillip introduced Chuck Davis to the three men, and he wondered why a contractor was viewing the job site so soon. Phillip had finished the preliminary boundary survey a week earlier. He’d faxed the information to Maddox four days ago and Maddox called back that evening, giving Phil the go ahead with the second phase of the survey to present to the local planning board. He then asked Phil if he could start