The Spirit

Jason flicked his cigarette out the window and fanned away the smoke with his hand. “Then I’m still in luck. This mountain’s served them well for God knows how long, maybe they’ll just decide to stick to their side while Helder sticks to his. There’s a question of the territorial imperative here somewhere, too, but since we don’t know anything about them, we don’t know how strong it is.”

“Jack Helder won’t stick to his side if he hears there’s a Bigfoot nest in that mine. Nobody will, Mr. Jason. And Jack says he’s going to turn Oharaville into a Wild West town if it kills him.”

Jason folded up his map. “I guess it’s time we paid a call on Drake. But I’m going to ask a favor of you. Let me do all the talking, okay?”

She sat quietly as Jason told Drake about Canada, his trek down here, the Little Harrington, and the mine. Jason told him everything, that is, except about John Moon, and she knew he was dragging her into a lie against her will. She closed her clammy hands together and stared at the photo of the Secretary of the Interior behind Drake’s desk. Pray God please, Jason had a good reason.

When Jason finished, Drake stirred his bulk and spoke to Martha. “Honey, is this guy kidding me?”

“I don’t think so,” she said softly.

“You sure that snake poison didn’t get to your brain, Mr. Jason? Cause that’s the damned silliest thing I ever heard. And I’ve lived in this county for five years!”

“You’re welcome to go look in that mine if you don’t believe me.”

“And you telling me you fought this thing in the river.”

“Yes. It nearly killed me.”

Drake sucked on a tooth, his small eyes darting back and forth between Martha and Jason. “I never seen any Bigfeet or any signs of them up here, Mr. Jason.”

“How many wildcats have you seen? How many deer antlers, which are supposed to litter the woods every fall, Drake? Where do you think they’re hiding? Go look at that food.”

Instead of responding, Drake hauled himself from his chair and poked his head through the glass door to the other offices. “Jimmy? You there, Wallace. Go on over and see what kind of chart we have on the Limerick mine.” As he waited, Drake slipped his hands through the back of his belt and rotated his torso as if he had been sitting too long and had to work his spine around. A young man with a nametag reading WALLACE passed him two long rolls. Drake shut the door and spread the charts out on his desk. He sucked his teeth again and shook his head. “Spaghetti.”

Martha leaned over Jason’s shoulders. The charts were obviously based on old ones. The shafts were parallel lines with open corners. Some ended in dotted lines. “Those are dead holes,” said Drake. “Some of the tunnels just fade out. The companies that dug up the mountain didn’t give a shit about making good records of them a hundred years ago. If they smelled copper or iron, they went after it like moles.”

“Is this chart complete?” asked Jason.

“Hell no, I don’t think there’s a single complete chart anywhere. The government’s marked out every mine, but that don’t mean they have every tunnel. That’s a five-­story mine, too. A real maze.” Drake put his finger on a shaft whose end was turned outward. “This would be where you went in, Mr. Jason. How long was your string?”

“Five hundred feet. I used up about four hundred and fifty feet of it. I remember going right.”

“Which would put you right here. The other branch is a dead end.” He laid the other roll over this one. “And as you can see, there’s a whole ’nother network above and below yours.” He tapped a fat sausage finger on the paper. “Did you know they used to have gun battles down there?”

“No.”

“It’s true. Claim jumpers and all that. There’s a lot of bones down there all right, and they don’t have anything to do with Bigfoot. You didn’t happen to see any dynamite, did you?”

“Jesus no,” Jason replied, involuntarily looking at Martha, who looked away.

Drake explained with relish, “The companies got careless sometimes and left whole boxes of equipment behind. Railings, pipes, pickaxes, lanterns, all that stuff. And sometimes dynamite, all packed up nice and neat. The old stuff is sawdust soaked in nitro. After a while the nitro leaks all over the floor. It’s still got a kick to it.”

“I think what you’re trying to tell me, Drake, is that you don’t intend to go in there.”

“I didn’t mean that, Mr. Jason. We’re going in to look at this food you told me about. Yessir, I wouldn’t miss that for anything. But I’m not about to tackle any of the real deep shafts till I get some better charts from the state bureau.” Drake’s voice hardened. “Until then, I don’t want anyone near that mine.”

“In other words,” said Martha, “don’t tell Jack Helder or he’ll blab it all over the place.”

“You got it, Miss Lucas. Right now every damned body with a gun is running through the woods looking for Bigfoot, ever since Lester got on the radio, and that I don’t like. Mr. Jason, is there anything else you want to tell me?”