Track of the Beast: A Brock Stone Adventure

“I’d like to tell you that you have nothing to worry about, but the truth is, I don’t know.”

“Could you tell us how to get to Ape Canyon?” Constance asked.

“No. I don’t remember exactly where it is.”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Stone reminded him.

“I remember that it’s way over on the other side of Mount Saint Helens. I didn’t do the driving, and I didn’t lead the way going in or out.”

“Have you ever tried to find it again?” Stone asked.

“I don’t want to go back. A girl came by here a few days back, asking me to show it to her on a map. I tried to help her, but I was stumped. Maybe I don’t want to remember.”

Stone had been watching Moss carefully. He was highly adept at detecting signs of deception. Moss was telling the truth, as he saw it, about what happened at Ape Canyon, but he was lying about not remembering the location, and Stone sensed Moss was hiding even more.

Constance turned the conversation in a more general direction, asking about the history of Bigfoot sightings in the area. With the topic of Ape Canyon apparently behind them, Moss relaxed visibly and became more expansive with his answers.

When the conversation drew to a close, they thanked the old man for his help and made their way back to the truck, which was parked just out of sight of the cabin. Stone didn’t get inside.

“Drive down the road a mile or so and wait for me. I want to keep an eye on the cabin. I think Moss is up to something.”

20- Up a Tree

Stone moved into the cover of the trees and circled around until he had a clear view of Moss’s cabin. The old man sat on the front porch, but he was no longer rocking in his chair. He leaned forward, hands folded, posture tense. He gazed intently in the direction Stone and his friends had gone.

Finally, the roar of an engine rose above the birdsong as Alex fired up the truck and drove away. Moss visibly relaxed. Moss sat, head craned, listening until the sound of the vehicle faded away. He waited another minute, then stood, descended from the porch, and rounded the cabin.

Stone’s heart raced. Moving silently like a predator stalking its prey, he shadowed Moss and the man left the clearing where his cabin stood and plunged into the depths of the forest.

He followed along for a mile or so, Moss continuing in a straight path as if making a beeline for a specific destination. Finally, he slowed. Stone ducked down and crept closer. Suddenly, Moss turned and stared directly at him. Stone froze. He was certain the man had neither heard nor seen him, but Moss seemed to be staring at something. Finally, he gave a single nod and plunged into a dense stand of low-growing trees.

Wary of a trap, Stone rounded the thicket and worked his way back in, intending to pick up the old man’s trail. He found it with ease, though Moss’s tracks were faint, almost imperceptible. The man moved well in the forest. Stone followed along for a hundred yards as the way suddenly grew steep. The footprints vanished in a narrow, rocky wash where rainwater and snowmelt had eroded the soil. He paused, listening for the sound of movement. Moss couldn’t be too far ahead of him, and Stone’s hearing, sharpened by training in Tibet, was unmatched. He heard nothing. The man must have gone to ground somewhere up ahead.

Stone considered the situation. He had nothing to fear from the old man, but he wanted to find out what the fellow was up to, and he couldn’t do that if Moss thought Stone was following him. In fact, Stone might have already blown it. If Moss were aware of his presence and was hiding from him, Stone could either confront him and demand answers or try and wait him out. But in the first case, Moss would probably head back to his cabin. Stone would try to wait him out.

He selected a tree that appeared primed for climbing. He’d ascend it until he had a clear view of the surrounding area, then wait for Moss to show himself. He’d catch up with Alex and Trinity later. The pair would realize he wasn’t coming back right away and would head back to town.

He chose a sturdy-looking limb, leaped, and grabbed hold. He swung himself up with the grace of a gymnast. He’d done more than his share of climbing in just about every environment and scenario imaginable. He ascended quickly, and soon found himself a good thirty feet off the ground. He dared not go any higher, lest the branches not support his weight.

Even at this short distance off the ground, the air was less dank. A light breeze ruffled his hair. This would not be a bad place to sit and rest. He hoped it wouldn’t be long, though.

He heard a soft sound in the distance. Someone was trying to move quietly. Oddly, the noise came from the direction of the cabin. Had Moss managed to slip past him? He turned in the direction of the noise and scanned the area. He saw bits of color. Someone was hiding, imperfectly, behind a tree.

“You might as well come out,” he said.