Chapter 4

After driving 8 hours, and about at the trailhead, I stopped at a little diner. Mostly to relax from driving, but also for information. When I stepped inside, I found the typical small-town diner that I had grown up with. The counter ran the length of the building, with swivel seats every 2 feet. Between every other seat was the required collection of condiments and paper napkin holders. Along the window side, the standard, and I always found uncomfortable booths.

In counterpoint to the various sounds of conversation and eating, the tinny voice of Tex Ritter was crying about a lost love from the jukebox. I glanced down at the far end of the counter. A real, honest to god, Wurlitzer jukebox. Not the modern cd version, this one had 45’s.

Taking a seat at the counter, I had to chuckle as the waitress walked up, and I noticed her name tag. Either it was a union rule, or the uniform manufacturers only used ‘Mabel’ or ‘Helen.’ “What’ll ya have, honey?” It had to be a union thing.

“Well, Mabel, I was just going to have coffee, but I was just now thinking that the chicken fried steak might just hit the spot.”

“You got it, honey.” after writing the ticket, Mabel put it on the carousel and called the order to the cook.

While I was eating, I thought back over the past week. After leaving the lawyer’s office, I found a public library and started researching Jake’s place. I pulled up maps, both road and topographic. Right off, I noticed that there were no roads into the property. This led to hiking maps. The property was located between 2 primitive areas. This meant no motorized vehicles. The hiking maps showed a lot of trails in the primitive areas, but not many outside. The topographic maps showed some pretty mountainous country. I didn’t think I wanted to hike it very much. But I was sure that between Margarite and Jughead, I’d have no problems.

Further research led me to the history of the area. There had been a minor gold rush. This had Petered out when richer strikes were found in Alaska. A couple of mining corporations had tried to work the area, but they gave up when FDR did his thing with private gold. Supposedly there were still a few die-hard old-timers in the area. They claimed that the bonanza hadn’t been hit yet. I had met a few of these gold bugs in the past. To a man, they all said the same thing. Just a little further, just a little deeper.

After finishing my dinner, I leaned back in my seat and groaned. Everything had been just as I thought it would be. Fast, filling, and good. Responding to a universal alert, Mabel returned. “Getcha something else, honey?

“Mabel, I’d appreciate it if you could point me to a good place to park my rig for a couple of weeks.”

“Well, I’m not too sure about that.” turning slightly, she called out. “Hey, Paul, got a minute?”

Looking in that direction, I saw another small-town cliché walking up. Coming towards us was the local law. This guy was a cliché alright, but he wasn’t any kind of Barney Fife. He was big, at least 6’4”. With very little body fat visible. His uniform was clean, pressed, and worn. The most important part was the 1911 colt on his hip. He wore it high and on the right. I also noted that as he approached us, he kept his eyes on me. He was smiling with his lips, but his eyes were evaluating me as a possible threat. As he walked up, I decided to test him, so I stuck out my right hand and said, “Howdy, Sheriff.” As I thought would happen, his right hand stayed down, but he reached up with his left and tipped his Stetson. “Howdy,” He replied. This guy was no virgin.