Chapter 6

I moved on my knees, in slow motion, until finally only a thin shrub screened me from the tiny glade. Peering through the brush, I shrugged off the pack, still holding the crossbow at ready. In this clearing was an especially small house. Almost a doll house, but well built, made with slate roof, fieldstone and timbers.

After seeing no movement, I dug out my brass telescope. Suspiciously, I glassed the surrounding woods, open space, and house. Finally, at full magnification, I peered in through the visible windows. The house appeared deserted, and I could see and hear nothing of the surrounding woods to make me more than wary. I was already wary — actually, I was scared that I might have found the robbers and an ambush. Two for the price of one!

Tucking my telescope away, I picked up my crossbow, and, leaving the pack on the ground, I moved stealthily into the lee of the building. Standing still, I swiveled my head, looking in all directions. Finally, I paused with my ear against the wall, but I could hear nothing.

Moving carefully, I went to the single doorway. I studied the ground in front of the door. The grass was long and unworn, showing no evidence of recent traffic. Reaching into the compartment on the inside of my left wristlet, I removed my Swiss Army Locksmith knife and my lock picks.

Leaning the crossbow against the wall, I bent over the door lock. It had a simple, unwarded tumbler, with ample room for my picks. In seconds I was standing inside the little house, holding my crossbow as I closed the door. I could see everything from my vantage.

The closet next to me was half filled with leather and fur coats. The main room had a. square dining table in front of the stone fireplace. A single cabinet with a hand pump completed the modest kitchen. A hanging red blanket half covered the doorway into the sleeping room. Two strides, and I was in the abandoned sleeping room, looking down at the cot that filled it with its Buffalo robe covering.

Abandoned was exactly the word. The look, smell, the very feel was of place long deserted.

I walked the one long step to the kitchen table, setting down my crossbow. I looked out each window, studying the clearing and surrounding forest, but there was nothing to see. I searched the cabin's nooks and crannies, but found nothing about the former inhabitants. No books, papers, pictures or personal effects, save simple clothing along with the coats and boots in the entryway. I did find one door key that I left hanging. By now, I was thirsty.

Checking the hand pump, I found that — as expected — the leathers were dry. Searching just a bit, I found a jar of water. I used it to wet the leathers and prime the pump. It was only a matter of two good strokes on the handle, and it pumped full stream into the brass basin. I found another quart container that I filled, then dropped in a couple of iodine water purification pills.

Yeah, it was probably late, but this abandoned cabin cried out for caution. I shook up the water, then let it settle as I pulled out my map and carefully marked the cabin's location. I spread the map out on the table. I began to study the great woods surrounding the Inn and crossroads.

With this quiet time, I had a better appreciation of the lay of the land. As I poured the water into my collapsible cup, drinking to hydrate myself, I contemplated the route I'd take the rest of this morning; paralleling the roadway, searching for the brigands and their likely ambushes. Not to mention a certain large cat.

I refilled the jar of priming water, dumping the last of my drink, then I needed to toss the basin. I looked around before I opened the door. I poured it out on the ground just beyond the threshold stone, making a satisfyingly large muddy spot.

Picking up my crossbow and scanning the room to make sure it was much as I found it, I stood on the threshold as I locked the door. Still cautious I stepped around the puddle as I moved carefully to my pack, finding it undisturbed. I stood on the verge of the clearing as I contemplated another mystery! Who was the owner of this cabin who overcame the pervasive conditioning to live here in the great woods?

I moved around the clearing and pushed through the aspen brush until I found another game trail. I moved cautiously along the trail until I came to the edge of a swamp. The game trail turned north, staying on dry land. Mr. Deer did not want wet feet.

I moved to the road verge. This part of the road traveled through swamp on both sides. They built a cordwood road, an expedient common in Minnesota road building. They threw logs (something they have in abundance) in the swamp, one after the other, until they had a solid wooden foundation for their gravel; a sturdier version of the old time corduroy road.

Though, come to think of it, this was 'old times", I guess. The down side was the back breaking, jolting ride as your car wheels — or, I guess now, coach wheels — hit every log.

The water level was over the road, with the sheen of water joining the two swamps. I moved back along the trail, confident the animals would show me a crossing.

I paused again when I saw the ground disturbed right on the edge of the swamp. Moving slowly, I walked forward with my crossbow ready. Blood and bits of fur in the mud showed where a Muskrat had died violently. Luckily for me, the big predator was no longer around.

I knelt in the mud, studying the massive paw prints. They showed injuries, with one forepaw half gone and another with a claw or two ripped out. He had a limping gait as he left. If this was the saber tooth, he had apparently been pushed out of his pride and must be quite injured to give up his preferred larger prey for a measly 'swamp rat'. A human would be a tasty morsel indeed as hungry Smilodon lay in wait for his killing rush. Just another thing to fucking worry about!

I walked north along the swamp, away from the road. Just after I glanced at my watch and noted the proximity to noon, the game trail swung into the swamp. I cut a staff and followed along. The mossy hummocks were yielding under my mocs, and I found a slow moving creek cutting through the swampland. A windstorm had knocked down several trees, with their leafy crowns falling in the small creek. As more silt and debris filled in around the leafy boughs, the water backed up, surrounding a hill, making it a dry island in the center of this increasingly wet zone.

I quickly found out why the animals chose this route. Downstream from this impromptu dam, the water was shallow, with several dry patches making an easy crossing. For me, the island was a better find.

I waded the creek below the dam, then another downed tree made a bridge over the creek back to the island. I used my staff as a balance pole while crossing that bridge.

Moving to the top of the hillock, I found a grassy vale with shade trees screened all around by aspen brush. The massive roots from a downed oak gave shelter from the north. I dumped my pack in the grass, then wandered the hill for a bit with my throwing axe, collecting downed wood and stacking it against the Oak roots, using them for a reflector. With no one to observe I used a Trioxane tab to ignite the damp wood. I soon had a cheery fire.

Now I took my spyglass and observed the woods and swamp around me. Afterwards, I walked around the tiny glade to see if my fire or any smoke was visible. Nothing showed in either case.

Returning to my fire, I dug in my pack to find the food and drink Cori had tucked away only this morning. Opening the oilcloth bundle, I found a smaller bundle with sandwiches made from thick pieces of homemade bread and slabs of beef. In another bundle, I found assorted fruit slices, while a third held vegetable wedges.