The Peak: A Hunter's Tale

By D.C. Salisbury

In the wilderness of the St. Joe River in North Idaho, hunting season has started, and someone is killing its hunters. Deputy Henry must work with a Montana officer to find the hunter, who has killed in Idaho and Montana.

Henry's past sins come back to haunt him. His dreams of her continue, while someone is hunting him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452095004

D.C. Salisbury

Dean was born and raised in Pennsylvania. He is a graduate of Penn State. He currently lives in Post Falls Idaho with his two sons Jake and Ethan. Dean is an avid outdoorsman. Dean has been a police officer for twenty-nine years. He currently works as a Lieutenant for the Coeur d' Alene Tribal Police Department. He started his career as a Military Policeman in the U.S. Air Force. During his career Dean has taught Arrest Techniques, Taser and D.A.R.E. He has been a K-9 Handler, he also has been on Tactical and Dive Teams.

Book preview

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

1

Doug Sparrow was a twelve-year-old boy; he could not sleep. He was about to go on his first hunting trip with his dad. He lived off Marsh Road, in the community of Asaph, outside the town of Wellsboro, Pennsylvania. It was northern Pennsylvania, a few miles from the New York line. Stands of oak, beech, maple, hickory, ash, spruce, and pine lined the rounded mountain slopes. Doug was a typical boy growing up in the country. He loved being outside and listening to his dad and friends talk about hunting deer, bear, and all the small game. He had lived for the day he could go with his dad, and now in the morning he would go. He had his clothes all set out: his long johns, wool pants, shirt, orange vest and cap. He had cleaned his 270 Remington pump Gamemaster earlier in the day.

Doug loved his dad and spending time with him. He had gone on hunts before, but now he was old enough to really hunt. He tossed and turned in bed, thinking of his morning hunt. He could see the big buck walking out of the mountain laurel into his sights. Would there be snow on the ground? He tried to remember everything his dad had taught him about hunting; he did not want to let his father down by doing something wrong. Doug could not wait for morning.

William Sparrow worked for the state road crew. He had started when he was twenty-eight and had been working for the state for the last ten years. He loved his only son and was excited to really take him hunting for the first time. He had taken Doug with him before, but Doug had been too young to hunt then; he had just been along for the walk. William thought of tomorrow as the start of their life of hunting together, and he would be a proud dad.

Janet Sparrow, a thirty-five-year-old mom, worked in Wellsboro, in the local sawmill office. She loved her husband and son; she often thought how lucky she was to have such a good life - a loving husband, a good son, and a home in the beautiful Pennsylvania mountains. She had packed her boys their lunch for their first hunt together, making turkey sandwiches left over from Thanksgiving dinner. Buck season started the first Monday after Thanksgiving. Janet put some chips in their lunch and got the coffee ready to go for the morning. She was thinking about how excited Doug was to go hunting with his dad. Morning would come early; she would get up at four a.m., get her men some breakfast, and send them out the door.

Doug heard his bedroom door open; he had been awake for awhile. It was a quarter to four in the morning.

You awake? his dad said.

I’m up.

Morning; Mom is making pancakes, his dad said, leaning in the doorway.

I’ll be right down.

Doug rolled out of bed. He could smell the coffee and pancakes; he was ready for breakfast. He put on his long johns, brushed his teeth, and finished dressing. He grabbed his rifle and went downstairs. William and Janet were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Good morning, Janet said.

Morning, Mom. Doug leaned over and kissed her.

You all ready to go this morning? Janet asked, getting up to get Doug some cakes.

I was born ready, Mom.

Janet laughed and served the pancakes to Doug and William. They finished breakfast, got their lunches and guns, and headed out the door.

Darkness still covered the morning. Clouds above hid the stars; a fresh coat of snow had fallen during the night. Doug and William got into the Dodge truck and headed out into the mountains. Away from the lights of the houses, they kept going deeper into the mountains and their darkness. The road slightly inclined; Doug held his unloaded rifle between his legs. You have everything? his dad asked him.

I think so, Doug answered, straining to see in the dark woods.

Good, we’re about there; we’ll be going up Jim Close Trail. I’ve had a lot of luck up in there, William said as he pulled the truck over.

They got out of the truck and put on their coats. William held the flashlight while Doug loaded his gun and put it on safe. William was proud of how fast Doug was able to load his gun. You ready? William whispered.

Doug looked at his dad and shook his head yes. William started up the mountain draw; Doug fell in behind. Doug was surprised at how fast his dad walked. He almost had to run to keep up with him. They made their way farther up the draw, using their flashlights to see. Doug was glad when they stopped; he was getting tired.

You stay here; I’ll be up a little higher. If you need anything, just follow the trail; I will see you. Keep your eyes open. I’ll be down to pick you up at 9, William whispered to his son, kneeling down to him. William stood up, and Doug watched his dad go up the trail into the darkness.

Doug cleared the ground of sticks and leaves so he could stand and move without making any noise. He sat down, leaned against a tree, and waited for daylight. He listened to the noise of the forest, the wind going through the trees, the remaining leaves rustling on the oak trees. The darkness was lifting a little at a time. Doug struggled, looking into the woods; he was finally able to make out the trees. The oaks kept their leaves in winter; the spruces were white from the fresh snow. The mountain laurel was so green with its white background. Every little noise got Doug’s attention. The birds were starting to sing, and chipmunks ran from tree to tree, chirping. Above, gray squirrels jumped from branch to branch. The woods were coming alive before his eyes. Doug could finally see everything; the day would be cloudy. He was looking so hard, his eyes hurt; he knew that a buck would jump out of the laurel any second.

It was a little after seven when Doug heard the shot coming from his dad’s direction. Doug was ready, in case the deer came his way. He watched and listened; he waited for anything from his father. He stood and listened and stayed there, just like he had been taught. He remembered his dad telling him to watch after shooting and wait, in case a deer was down, and not to push it away from you. Doug waited until nine-thirty, and his dad still had not come to pick him up. He headed up the trail, following William’s footprints in the snow. He walked for about twenty minutes; when the tracks left the trail, he followed. About fifty yards off the trail, he saw his father face down in the snow; the snow had turned a dark red. Doug ran up to him and dropped to his knees.

DAD! DAD! Doug yelled, shaking him.

William Sparrow did not move. Doug could see a hole in his back. Doug, still on his knees, called for his father. He shook all over and cried; he finally headed down the trail for help.

–––––––––––––––-

The Pennsylvania State Police and State Fish and Game investigated the shooting of William Sparrow. There was not much to go on; the only witness had been Doug. They checked Doug’s gun, and it had not been fired. Doug had not seen anyone else up the mountain draw that morning. Months went by, and then years. The police thought it was a hunting accident; whoever shot William knew it, got scared, and took off; or they had shot and did not even know they had hit anyone. Nobody came forward to admit that they had been hunting in the area or had shot William Sparrow. The case went unsolved.

Janet Sparrow took William’s death hard, like any wife would. She pulled herself together for her son, worked hard, and gave Doug the attention he needed and more. All the attention she gave Doug never seemed to help him. He became very withdrawn after the shooting. He stayed in his room, and his friends stopped coming around; he never wanted to do anything anymore. He never went hunting again or had the desire to. He stopped showing signs of interest in anything. Day after day, nothing changed. Janet never saw her son cry; she took him to a doctor for months, but it did not seem to help. The doctor said Doug was feeling guilty, as if he had done something wrong. Doug never opened up to the doctor; he was fighting a war in his head. What if he had gone to his dad after he had heard the shot? Could he have saved him? Would he have seen the person who shot his dad? Every second of the day, Doug thought about the so-called accident; he could not let it go. Every year after, on the first day of buck season, Doug would go up to the mouth of the trail and take down license plate numbers of the cars and trucks that went by or parked there. He would take the plate numbers to the police, and he never missed a year.

Doug made it through high school but just barely. He was smarter than most of his classmates but never showed any interest or desire. During class, he was off in his own little world. Two weeks after graduation, he left home. Janet found him gone one morning, and it was over a year before she heard from him. After that, she would get a call every year around Christmas.

Doug was drifting across the country, working different jobs to get by. He worked as a coal miner for awhile, then as a deck hand on the ships on the Great Lakes. He liked jobs that were physically hard, the harder the better. At times, it would take his mind off his dad. Over the years, he had grown to a man just under six feet tall, and strong from all his hard work. Ten years after leaving home, Doug landed in St. Regis, Montana, a town of four hundred people, on the banks of the St. Regis and Clark Fork rivers, off Interstate 90. St Regis has a few cafes and a hotel; most of the people work in the shops or in the logging industry. The town is buried in the mountains, and it almost completely burned in the 1910 fire.

2

John Henry had been working patrol after coming back off his leave of absence, covering for guys on vacation. It was late August and dry and hot in Idaho. He was driving south on Highway 95, a little after ten at night. He had his window down on his Ford Crown Vic. The night was warm, and he could smell the freshly cut wheat fields. The west side of Benewah County was more open than the east side, which was all timbered.

2017, St.Maries, a female voice came across the radio.

Go ahead, Henry replied.

Need you to respond to Stelling residence, five miles in on Sanders Road off 95. Reference a domestic, parties are separated at this time, the same female voice said.

Copy, St. Maries, Henry said into the radio. He gave his car some gas and continued south. He knew the residence out in the woods, junk cars and trash all over. The people lived in a double-wide someplace in the junk; when you pulled up the driveway, people just came out of the junk. It was weird and creepy.

Henry pulled off the highway and onto the dirt road, up the drive and into the junk. About the time he stopped in the middle of the junk, people starting coming out. First old man Stelling, then his wife, and then their nineteen-year-old son. Henry got out and got everyone’s story. The family had been fighting over a piece of junk, and the son had pushed his mom. Henry arrested the young man, put him into his car, and started toward the jail.

Will I be able to go to school in the morning? the young man said.

The University of Idaho was about fifty miles south. Do you go to the U of I? Henry asked.

No, I’m still in high school.

Are you a senior? Henry asked the young man in the back seat.

I don’t know; I am in the last one.

That is a senior, Henry told him. The drive took about an hour. Henry booked the senior into the jail for domestic battery.

Henry made it home to his house on Setters; it was dark and lonely as he pulled into the drive. It was a little after three in the morning. The stars were out, and the late summer air was cool. He made it into the empty house and got out of his uniform. He found some leftover chicken in the fridge and sat down in front of the TV. He watched The Seventies Show, and just before he fell asleep, he thought of her and how much he missed her.

He woke around nine-thirty, got up, and decided to go for a run. He stepped out onto the porch; the day was already starting to get warm. He took off running down the dirt road. During his run, he thought about the meeting he was having with the sheriff in the afternoon. A lot of things had changed since he had returned from taking care of the Spencers over in Montana. People looked at him differently. He heard the rumors about his going over there and killing the Spencers. The FBI had questioned him, but they did not have any evidence. The old sheriff had resigned. His wife had some health problems, and he was already getting a good retirement from L.A. County, so he retired again to spend some time with her. The county commissioners had appointed some guy retired out of Utah.

Sheriff Alex Fisk was sixty years old; he had been the police chief of Ogden. Things had changed since he took over; gone were the four ten-hour shifts, back to five eights. The new sheriff had everyone wear their class A uniform on patrol; gone were the BDU pants that you could move in, tough and not torn easily. Now they were back to the dress slack knit; every time