The Night Hawk

By Robert W. Callis

When Tang Kellys hermit-like grandfather goes missing, she turns to Kit Andrews and Swifty Olson of Rocky Mountain Searchers to find him.

Tang has not seen her grandfather in ten years, and her only connection has been a yearly birthday card sent from a post office in Woods Landing, Wyoming.

Kit and Swifty begin the search for Tangs grandfather and eventually find his remote, off-the-grid cabin high in the foothills of Wyoming. The grandfather is nowhere to be found, but they discover that six framed illustrated letters from the legendary western artist Charles M. Russell to his old cowboy pal, Kellys great-grandfather, are missing.

Kit and Swifty initiate a search, bringing them in contact with the local law enforcement officials and numerous colorful characters who seem to flourish in this wild and remote area of Wyoming. The disappearance of Kellys grandfather becomes a search for him and the missing Russell-illustrated letters. The search leads both Kit and Swifty into a dangerous confrontation with the kidnappers and thieves who are willing to commit murder to protect their secrets and the Russell letters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532022586

Robert W. Callis

Robert W. Callis is a native of Galva, Illinois. He graduated from Iowa Wesleyan University in 1965 with a B.A degree, majoring in History and minoring in English. At Wesleyan he was a member of Sigma Tau Delta literary society. He attended the College of Law at the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana, Illinois. He is a retired commercial banker. This is his twelfth novel and his second stand alone novel. He has written ten novels in the Kit Andrews series. He currently resides in the foothills outside Boulder, Colorado, where he has lived since 1984.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

One of America’s greatest western artists was Charles M. Russell. In his lifetime, he created more than four thousand works of art including paintings, drawings, and sculptures. As a boy, Russell had been so troublesome his parents sent him from their home in St. Louis Missouri, to his uncle, who ran a sheep ranch in Montana. Russell hated the sheep ranch and took up with a hunter and trapper and spent two years living up in the mountains, learning hunting and trapping. It was during this time he began to draw the scenes of nature he saw before him.

Russell began work on a large cattle ranch as a horse wrangler and gradually worked his way up to the positon of night herder. These cowboys rode guard on the large cattle herds at night, keeping the cattle safe and quiet. They referred to themselves as night hawks. After a year living with the Blood Indians, Russell moved to Great Falls, Montana. There he tried his hand at making a living as an artist.

Russell never forgot his old friends and kept in touch with letters. His letters were often adorned with water color paintings of scenes of western life. Today those letters are considered works of art. An original Russell letter with water color illustrations will bring north of one hundred thousand dollars in most art auctions. This is the story of one of those letters.

CHAPTER ONE

Kit eased his way down the old metal staircase, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he reached the main floor of the old bank building that was now his home, he made his way to the coffee maker. Kit was in the process of renovating the old bank building into a combination of home and office. He poured water into the coffee maker, added coffee from a tin and hit the power on button to start the brewing process.

While Kit waited for the coffee to brew, he looked around the main floor of his new home. It had been almost two months since his father had made him a gift of the old bank building. Kit and Swifty, along with several other local men had transformed the second floor into a large apartment. The apartment was almost done, but there was still a lot of work to do with the rest of the building.

Kit had decided to leave the small teller line alone for the time being. Swifty had pointed out it would make one hell of a bar, so Kit had spared it for the time being. The old bank president’s office had been transformed and now boasted high tech phone and wireless services along with monitoring devices for all the entrances to the building. They still had to finish the rest of the first floor, and Kit needed to finish installing an indoor shooting range in the basement. The old drive-in was to be enclosed and converted to a large garage and storage area.

Kit glanced over at the teller line. Upon the wall behind the line was the sign his father had made for him. It was a large wooden sign painted green with white letters. The letters spelled out, Rocky Mountain Searchers, Kemmerer, Wyoming.

Kit had the same name painted on the glass of the large double doors that made up the entrance to the building. The coffee maker beeped to let Kit know the coffee was ready. He filled a large coffee cup and added creamer and sugar. After stirring the coffee, Kit took his cup and headed for his office.

As he walked into the walnut paneled office, Kit could not help but smile. Kit had salvaged the large, old walnut desk from the bank’s original furnishings, along with the ornate leather office chair behind it, but he did not care for the other furnishings. Kit was waiting for furniture he had ordered in Salt Lake City. In front of the desk were two metal folding chairs Swifty had rescued from the dumpster. The chairs were fine except for a few dents and scratches.

Kit checked his messages on his iPad and made notes on which ones he needed to answer. Then Kit checked his phone messages. There were not many, as he had been spending almost every day for two months working in the building and had rarely left town.

Yesterday, Kit had made a rare trip to Salt Lake City. Shirley Townsend, the nurse he had first met when he had been wounded, had managed to swing a long week-end from her job as a nurse at the Boulder Community Hospital in Boulder, Colorado. He had driven to Salt Lake City the previous afternoon to pick her up at the Salt Lake City airport. She had arrived at seven-thirty that evening, and they had stopped in the city to have dinner before returning to Kemmerer. By the time they got back to Kit’s place it was almost midnight, and they were both tired and were immediately asleep.

Kit was trying to be quiet and let Shirley get some well-deserved sleep. He had finished listening to his messages and was in the middle of taking a drink of his hot coffee when Swifty burst into his office.

Swifty was Kit’s best friend. The former Delta Force veteran was a cowboy through and through. He was tall and rangy like Kit, but his brown eyes sparkled with mischief and his curly brown hair seemed to have a mind of its own. Swifty was a man who liked a good time and was afraid of nothing. Kit and Swifty trusted each other to a level that few men achieve. They made a good, if contrasting pair of friends.

Well, where the hell is she? asked Swifty in a loud voice. Kit immediately put his finger to his lips to let Swifty know to keep quiet.

What the hell is the finger and lips business? I haven’t seen this broad since she was patching you up in the Wind River Mountains where that polecat tried to waste you.

Keep it down, you moron. She’s still asleep upstairs, replied Kit.

Oops, my bad, said Swifty as he then burst out laughing.

What’s so funny? said Kit.

She ain’t been here ten hours, and already she’s in charge, you wuss, said a still chuckling Swifty. Kit’s face got red, and then he relaxed. This was just Swifty being Swifty.

Are you ready to get some work done, Swifty? It looks to me like very little happened after I left yesterday afternoon, said Kit.

Me and the electrician finished the wiring on the first floor and the plumber got the main floor bathroom done. It’s ready to tile and paint, retorted Swifty.

I heard you tell me what the electrician and the plumber did, but just what was your part in those projects? asked Kit.

Well, hell, Kit, somebody has to supervise when you’re not around, said Swifty with a sly smile.

You said the main floor bathroom was ready to tile and paint. Why are you still standing in front of me? asked Kit.

I’m gonna have me a cup of that coffee, Mr. Slave Driver, and then I’ll get to work on the bathroom, said Swifty as he retreated from Kit’s office and quickly returned with a fresh cup of coffee.

Swifty sat on one of the metal folding chairs. I know you’re a cheapskate, Andrews, but when are you gonna replace these lousy chairs. They ain’t fit for man nor beast, said Swifty.

Before Kit could reply to Swifty’s implied insult, the phone on Kit’s desk rang.

Kit picked up the phone and held up one finger to try to silence Swifty while he answered the call. Swifty just smiled and sat back on his folding chair and waited for Kit to end the call.

Kit had no sooner ended the call and placed the receiver back on the phone cradle when Swifty asked, Who the hell was that?

Kit looked at his old friend with a face that bordered on disgust. Not that it’s any of your business, that was Alice Cleary, Woody Harrison’s assistant. She said some lady was in and wanted to know where to find me. Alice called to see if it was all right to send her over here.

Probably one of your old girl friends, lookin’ to collect on some promise you made her in a moment of weakness, said Swifty with a big grin on his face.

You said you still had work to do. Why are you still sitting in my office? asked Kit.

I can take a hint, Mr. Big Shot. I’m off to perform my magic on the main floor bathroom.

With his smart-ass remark hanging in the air, Swifty rose from his chair and slid out the office door in what seemed like one continuous motion.

Kit just shook his head at his old friend’s antics and took another drink of his coffee. Then he pulled out his construction file on the building and studied his checklist. The list was five pages long and items checked off to date ended a fourth of the way down the second page. There is still a great deal of work left to do, thought Kit.

CHAPTER TWO

Kit’s thought process was interrupted by the sound of the front door of the building being opened and closed. He looked up from his desk and out the large glass window separating his office from the main floor of the building. What he saw caused his stomach to constrict and his breath to almost come to a halt.

Standing in the middle of the entry way to the building was none other than Mustang Kelly. When Kit first met her, she was running her late father’s garage in Kemmerer. She had taken his old Chevrolet Cavalier in trade for the 1949 GMC ¾ ton pickup when he first came to Kemmerer. He still owned the truck. Kit and Tang Kelly had become friends and then very close friends. Tang had sold the garage and gone back to her old job as assistant curator at the Field Museum in Chicago.

Kit quickly rose to his feet and moved to the door of his office. Is that you, Tang? said Kit, knowing full well that it was, but being stumped for what else to say.

Mustang Tang Kelly was dressed in grey slacks with a green silk blouse. Her blouse drew attention to her flashing green eyes and her bright red hair. Ms. Kelly was a very attractive woman, and she dressed like she knew it.

Part of the reason for her return to Chicago was her ability to pay off her deceased father’s debts thanks to a generous loan made to her by Kit. She had made regular payments to Kit, and now the loan was paid in full.

My, my, said Tang. Look who has gone and bought himself an old bank building.

It was a gift from my father, said Kit in a somewhat strained voice as he tried to recover from the shock of seeing Tang standing in front of him.

I know that, said Tang. I’m just pulling your chain, tenderfoot.

Not getting any response from a suddenly wooden Kit, Tang said, Well, do I get a hug or at least a handshake, Mr. Andrews?

Kit came out of his momentary confusion and stepped forward and hugged Tang. She looked good, she felt good, and she smelled good.

That’s better, greenhorn. I see you’ve been busy with this place, said Tang as she looked around the interior of the old bank building.

I have, said Kit. Would you like a cup of coffee?

I certainly would. The past four days have been long, and I’m tired of flying and driving all over creation and getting nothing done.

Please go in my office and have a seat. I’ll be right in with your coffee. You still take it black? asked Kit.

Black and strong, Kit, said Tang.

Kit returned to the office with a fresh cup of coffee, and Tang took it from him without a word.

Sorry about the chairs, said Kit. I ordered new ones, but they’re not here yet.

Not a problem, said Tang. I’ve sat in worse.

Kit returned to his desk and sat down in the big office chair. What brings you back to Kemmerer, Tang? Did you come back to see your mom?

I did see her and in fact I’m staying with her, but that’s not the reason I’m here.

So, what’s the reason for the visit? asked Kit.

Tang’s face took on a serious look, and her skin color seemed to darken.

I’m afraid something has happened to my grandfather, said Tang.

I don’t seem to remember him. Did he live around Kemmerer? asked Kit.

No, he never lived here. He’s always been kind of a hermit. I actually haven’t seen him for many years, said Tang.

So why do you think something’s happened to him? asked Kit.

He always sends me a birthday card, and this year I didn’t get one.

Has that ever happen before? asked Kit.

He has never missed a birthday, never, said Tang with obvious emphasis on the word never.

Have you tried to contact law enforcement where he lives to check up on him? asked Kit.

Of course, I have. They were no help at all. Calling them was a waste of time, said Tang.

Why do you say that? asked Kit.

Let me explain the circumstances, Kit. My grandfather has a cabin off the grid somewhere in the mountains in southeast Wyoming. He occasionally comes into town to pick up his mail from his post office box and to buy some supplies. This might happen once a month.

What town is that, Tang? asked Kit.

A small town called Woods Landing. There are less than one hundred people living there. It’s in a mountain valley in the middle of an old mining district where they used to mine for copper and gold. All the mines have been closed for years. The only law enforcement is the Sheriff’s office in Laramie, and they had no idea who my grandfather was, let alone where he lived, said Tang.

Have you been to Woods Landing? asked Kit.

I just got back from driving a rental car down there. I’d have been better off with a four-wheel drive pickup. The roads there are roads in name only.

Did you talk to any of the people there about your grandfather? asked Kit.

I did. I talked to the people at the post office and the general store. That and a small café are about all there is to the town, Kit.

Were they any help?

Not really. They remembered an old timer coming to town to pick up his mail and to buy supplies. He would cash his government pension check and social security check at the store, and then would then buy supplies. It didn’t sound like he was in town more than half an hour at a time. He never spoke to anyone except to ask for something. Most of the time he just brought his supplies to the counter and handed them his checks.

Kit found himself taking notes on a yellow legal pad as he listened to Tang. He looked up and saw Tang was close to tears. Tears from Tang were something he could not imagine. He had never seen her cry.

What’s your grandfather’s name? asked Kit.

His name is Theodore Kelly, but he went by Ted, said Tang.

Do you have a picture of him? asked Kit.

No I don’t, said a now sniffling Tang.

Without saying a word, Kit grabbed a box of tissues from his desk and handed it to Tang. She took the box, pulled out a tissue, and dabbed at her now damp green eyes.

Can you give me a physical description of your grandfather? asked Kit.

Apparently, that was the wrong question to ask as Tang began to weep and sob.

Kit felt helpless. This was one of those situations where he had no skillset. All he could think of were those scenes from movies where someone patted the crying person on the back and kept saying, There, there. It always looked contrived and stupid to Kit, but it left him with nothing helpful to say to Tang.

When Tang finally stopped weeping, and regained her composure, she took a final dab at her eyes with a fresh tissue and looked up at Kit.

I’m sorry, she said.

Why can’t you tell me what your grandfather looks like? asked Kit carefully.

Tang paused, as if to take a deep breath and gain control of her emotions. Finally, she looked up at Kit. I haven’t seen my grandfather since I was twelve years old. My family had stopped to visit him in a cabin up in the Bridger Wilderness west of Commissary Ridge. He told us he was moving, and he would be in touch. After that, all I ever got were birthday cards.

Do you remember where the cards were postmarked? asked Kit.

They were all postmarked from Woods Landing, Wyoming.

Did he write anything on the birthday cards? asked Kit.

He just signed his name as Grandpa Ted.

How did he get to town? Did he walk, ride a horse, drive a vehicle? asked Kit.

He drove a really old vehicle. The owner of the general store often helped him load supplies and she remembered that Grandpa Ted drove a 1952 Dodge Power Wagon. She said it looked like an old Jeep on steroids.

Did the vehicle have license plates? asked Kit.

The store owner didn’t mention any, and I didn’t think to ask, replied Tang.

What color was this old Dodge?

I think the paint was pretty faded and unremarkable, because the store owner couldn’t remember it, said Tang.

Did anyone in Woods Landing give you a description of your grandfather? asked Kit.

I don’t think anyone paid him any attention, said Tang. The owner of the general store remembered him as old, medium height, white hair with a full beard. He was dressed in old denim work clothes and a beat-up cowboy hat. She did mention Grandpa Ted was wearing what looked like new work boots. She noticed them because everything else Grandpa Ted wore looked old and worn.

Kit put down his pen and looked at Tang. She had regained her composure and she again looked like the tough, smart, and confident woman he had known since he first met her in Kemmerer.

Is there anything else you can remember about your grandfather that might be helpful in locating him? asked Kit.

Tang sat quietly in front of Kit, apparently deep in thought. Kit let her think and did not say anything, waiting for her to come to her own conclusions.

After a few minutes, Tang’s face suddenly brightened and she looked up at Kit.

There is this one thing I remember. I guess it was the artifact hunter in me at a young age, said Tang.

What was it? asked Kit as he picked up his pen.

My grandfather’s cabin I visited was small and sparse. I remember there was almost no color in the cabin as everything was drab. The exception was the letters he had framed and hung on the walls of the cabin.

"What kind of letters?’ asked Kit?

There were several of them on the walls. I think there were five or six of them. They were letters that a western artist named Charles M. Russell had sent to my great-grandfather. They had been good friends years ago, when they were young and working as cowboys on a big cattle ranch in Montana.

Why did he have these letters from Mr. Russell framed? asked Kit.

Charles Russell was a western artist. He would paint western scenes on the letters with water colors to illustrate them. They were like tiny works of art. My grandfather was very proud of them, especially one letter.

Why was that? asked Kit.

One of the letters to my great-grandfather talked about their days together as night hawks on the cattle ranch. The picture Russell painted on the letter was a night hawk cowboy on horseback wearing a long yellow slicker. Grandpa Tom told me that was his favorite of the letters, because he thought the night hawk in the painting was my great-grandfather. He called it the Night Hawk letter.

Kit looked up from his note pad. Is there anything else you can remember about your grandfather, Tang? he asked.

I remember he was pretty short, even to me when I was twelve, said Tang. I wish I could remember more. I’m sorry I can’t.

You’ve told me a lot, Tang, said Kit. What exactly do you want me to do?

Tang looked directly at Kit. Her green eyes were flashing now. I want you to find out what has happened to my grandfather, Kit. I need your help. I can’t stay here much longer. I must get back to Chicago and my job. I need you to do what I can’t do, said Tang.

I’ll do my best, Tang, said Kit.

I know you will, Kit. That’s why I’m here, said Tag. She reached in her purse and pulled out a business card. This has all my contact information. Please keep me informed of your progress. I don’t expect you to do this for nothing, but I’m pretty sure my credit is good with you, Tang said as she got to her feet.

You know it is, Tang, said Kit as he also got to his feet.

Tang stood in front of her chair as if waiting for Kit to come forward and put his arms around her.

Before Kit could move around the desk, there was a knock on the wooden frame of the office door.

Both Kit and Tang looked back at the open doorway. Standing there was Shirley Townsend.

Shirley was dressed in a blue western shirt and jeans with her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her bright blue eyes were intense as she took in the sight of Tang standing in the middle of Kit’s office.

I’m sorry, Kit. I didn’t realize you had company, said Shirley. Kit instantly got the feeling she wasn’t one bit sorry for her interruption. But he was a guy. What did he know?

Kit saw that both women were intensely checking each other out while pretending to be disinterested. Oh, crap, thought Kit. This can’t be good.

Later Kit would swear to Swifty it was like one of those awkward moments