Two Sides of the Same Coin by Jake Mactire

Author:Jake Mactire [Mactire, Jake]
Language: eng
Format: epub

“THEY sure as hell did a job on your truck, Jeff.” Mike and I had come out with the sheriff to guide him to our campsite and my truck.

“You’re pretty lucky you boys were nowhere near here when the truck got vandalized. You sure that was the biker you saw on the motorcycle?”

“Yes, sir.” Both Mike and I answered in unison.

“Sheriff Johnston, do you reckon that whoever trashed my truck was tryin’ to kill us?”

“Can’t say that hadn’t crossed my mind, either that or just run of the mill vandals who are really stupid. Now I know you boys are convinced that your biker friend is behind this. That’ll be for a jury to decide when we catch him.”

“Sheriff, you reckon he might be mixed up with the rustlers?” Mike looked at the sheriff.

“If he is, there’s got to be more of ’em, and ones who know cattle. The fact that he broke down the fence inside the cattle guard and the fence on the pen with the heifers, shows he don’t know squat about cowboying.” As we were talking, the tow truck for my truck came up. I gave the driver my keys and watched him load it on the flatbed.

“You boys wanna continue on with me or go on back with the tow truck? I’m planning on following the road around and through the forest to where it comes out near Tonasket. It runs right in back of a couple of the ranches over on the east side of the forest that got hit by the rustlers.”

“Sure, Sheriff.” He’d taken plaster casts of the tracks that were dry enough. We jumped in his cruiser and began to go deeper into the forest. The roads weren’t in good shape. Budget cuts had prevented their maintenance for recreation, and environmental restrictions on logging in the national forest had prevented their maintenance for business reasons. We stopped occasionally to look at tracks and take some plaster casts. The forest was cool; its dank humidity gave off a clean smell—piney, woody, it seemed to be green, the very essence of life. The chatter of birds and squirrels was muted, in a kind of hushed and reverent way. I loved this place. Coming through here was just one more little thing that showed me I’d made the right decision in staying here and not going back to the city.

We spent a couple of hours going around and not really finding anything which could be connected to either Porky or the rustlers. Finally in the late afternoon, we began to head downhill. As we went further down, the trees began to thin and the meadows and grasslands became more prevalent. About a half-dozen miles or so from the main road, I noticed a little turnout. It wasn’t very obvious, but there was a turnoff that had been recently used, and the brush in front of it was dead and wilted.

“Hey, Sheriff, look over there. It looks like somebody was tryin’ to hide another little road.

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