Free Zachary's Gold by Stan Krumm

unpleasant thought appeared at the back of my mind that if I was unable to discover the gold and stolen goods on the premises, I would have no small problem in explaining why I had shot this solitary trapper. Granted, he had acted strangely over the past week and had shot at me with intent to cause bodily harm, but we were, after all, situated on his property, and I was the one who had come creeping through the bush with rifle in hand.
    Until I had solidified my plan of action, I considered it best not to dispatch my adversary to the devices of worm and beetle.
    On the south wall of the cabin, two lynx hides had been stretched, and between these hung a good length of quarter-inch rope. Tying on one end of this around the body, I dragged it twenty or thirty yards to the base of a stout poplar tree, just out of sight of the porch and window. Here I could hang him safely enough for the time being without feeling spied upon.
    I threw the rope over a thick limb that stuck out from the tree fifteen feet from the ground, and made a lariat loop with one end. At first I intended to hang him thus by the ankles, but the mental picture of him dangling upside down was distasteful to me, so I retied the rope around his chest and under his armpits. I knew he was dead, but somehow I felt he should not have to be uncomfortable as well.
    Hoisting him up was more difficult than I had expected. He was a heavy brute, and his arms and legs, which had already started to stiffen up, had a tendency to get caught on rough spots in the bark. Finally, though, he was duly suspended with his back to the poplar trunk, and I tied the long end of the rope to a neighbouring tree.
    He made a strange spectacle. The lariat loop had pulled his arms up until they stuck almost straight out, and he looked like a scarecrow, or as if he were about to take off in flight. His eyes were rolled back and wide open, giving him a look of terror, and once again my sense of decorum was offended. I trotted to the cabin and fetched his cloth cap. I was able to scramble high enough up beside him to jam it down over his head, half covering his face.
    â€œThere now,” I murmured, wiping my hands on my trouser legs, “That’s good. Can’t expect anything more than that.”
    By hanging him there, I was acting in what I honestly felt to be the best interests of the deceased, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being a sort of grave desecrator, and I found myself talking to relieve the nervousness.
    â€œThat’s about all I can do for the moment, I’m afraid. I don’t suppose I’m obliged to make you look pretty—just keep the weather and the wildlife off you for the time being. Take it or leave it.”
    Sometimes in the mountains it seems as if the stars come out before the sky starts to darken. Someone turns up their wicks a little prematurely when the weather is clear and cold, and they are already gleaming at the full when the robin’s-egg blue overhead begins to darken towards navy.
    The first thing I did when I got back to the cabin was start a fire in the little wood heater. Under a moosehide beside the main woodpile, I found kindling already cut and a stack of birchbark—enough to last a week or two at least. Matches were neatly stored next to the foodstuffs in one of the powder cases. It seemed my late host was an orderly man, and as I waited for the room to heat, I supposed I might as well find out if he could cook, since there was already a good-sized pot of grub ready to be set on the stovetop.
    I ate two good helpings along with bannock from my own supplies and mentally congratulated the fellow on his culinary prowess. He made a fine stew from potatoes and some meat with a taste akin to pork—bear perhaps, or porcupine. I didn’t let my imagination wander any further than that.
    Warmed and fed, I began to inspect his belongings more carefully, hoping for some clue as to where his valuables might be