Chapter 44 Section VIII

At the ranch, Max, an ex-Green Beret Special Forces soldier, has now taken over the hunt.Ten soldiers of this private army, with their horses, were stranded at Bridgeill; eight other fighters were stuck in cars on the interstate.Both groups will spend the night there.Max stood before Braddock and the remaining twelve fighters.He was the elite of the army, and he was superior in planning operations in Vietnam.A large map of Carbon County hung on the wall. "Option one," he said, "cut off the access. There's a deep rift or canyon through the mountains into Wyoming. It's called Rock Creek. Beside the stream is a road that winds up the hills and ends at South of the mountains."

"He'll probably follow the meadows that line the road south, avoiding the mountains on either side. Once the congestion on the interstate clears, our personnel will pursue it there, overtaking everything in its path, and guard the border at the state line. On the road. If he shows up, they know what to do." "Agreed," said Braddock gruffly, "if he's going to ride all night?" "Impossible, boss. His horse must have been worn out. I guess he crossed the road because he was heading towards the woods and then up to the mountains. You see, he had to go through the vast Custer National Forest In the protected area, go uphill all the way, cross the West Fork Canyon, and then continue to climb uphill to this plateau, which is the Silver Trail Plateau. For this, we have a second plan.”

"We used two rented helicopters to fly in front of him and pick up Brigill's ten men on the way. These men set up a defense line on this plateau, crouching behind the boulders halfway up the slope. When he When it appears in the forest and climbs the rocky slope, it will be in our pocket." "All right," said Braddock, "any more?" "Option three, boss. The rest of us wait until dawn, ride into that forest, and drive him up to the plateau at the top of the mountain. Either way, we'll catch him." "And what if he turns and faces us in the woods?"

Max smiled happily. "Don't worry, Boss. I'm a jungle trained fighter. There are three or four others who fought in Vietnam. I'll let them go with us. If he wants to stop and fight while he's escaping in the woods, it will Be my prey." "Now that the road is blocked, how are we going to get the horses there?" asked one of them. Max's finger moved along a thin line on the map. "There's a branch road here. From the Billings Highway, fifteen miles west of here, across the moors to Red Lodge here, just off Rock Creek Canyon. We trailered the horses there overnight and waited. Mounted and chased him at dawn. Now, I propose, go to sleep for four hours, and get up at midnight and set off."

Braddock nodded in agreement. "One more thing, Major Max. I'm with you, and Kevin. This man humiliated me today, and it's time we see him finished." Sheriff Lewis also had a map, and he had come to a similar conclusion.He requested the assistance of Red Lodge Police.The other party promised that twelve horses, full of food, drink and rest, would be ready at sunrise, and they would be equipped with a full set of harness.Jerry will also be filling up the helicopter at the same time and getting it ready for takeoff. The sheriff went to check on the progress of emergency clearing work on the interstate, and received a report that they would finish clearing the road by four in the morning.He asked to be given priority for his two patrol cars.He could be at Red Lodge at four-thirty in the morning.

Even on a Sunday, he could easily find officers who volunteered for the operation.The people here are calm and law-abiding, so there are few major incidents in the county, but a real hunt will make people excited.In addition to Jerry, who was already above his head, he also summoned a private pilot in a reconnaissance plane and ten police officers to join him in the ground pursuit.Relying on these police forces to deal with a rider should be enough.He examined the map slowly and carefully again. "Don't go into the woods, boy," he murmured, "you'll be hard to find."

While he was saying these words, Ben Craig and Breeze entered the forest line and disappeared among the trees.The woods were dark under shades of spruce and pine.After a half mile in, Craig pitched camp.He lifted the girl off the exhausted Rothbard, and unloaded the saddle, rifle, and blanket.Rothbard found a trickle of stream and juicy pine leaves in the woods, and he began to rest to recover his strength. The Scout didn't have a fire, and Breeze didn't need one.She slipped into her bison-skin robe and fell asleep.Craig picked up the ax and walked away.He was away for six hours.After returning, he took a nap for an hour before leaving camp.He knew that somewhere ahead was the stream where he had held off the cavalry and the Cheyenne long ago.He wanted to get across the stream to the opposite bank before the pursuers came within rifle range.

Rothbard's fatigue had subsided, but he hadn't fully recovered from the first day's marathon run.He took its rein and led it forward.Although rested, he was losing strength, and they still had a long way to go to reach safety on the mountain. Guided by the starlight above the treetops, he traveled for an hour.In the far east, over the sacred black mountains of Dakota, a red sun has dyed the sky red.He came to the first gorge on the trail--the steep and steep gorge called West Fork. He knew he had been here before.There is a way through, if he can find it again.It took an hour to find our way.Rothbard drank from the cold stream, tried to steady his feet while slipping along the way, and they climbed up the high slope on the opposite bank.

Craig let Rothbard rest a little longer, and found a shelter overlooking the stream.He wondered how many people were chasing him.They will undoubtedly be riding vigorous horses, and will have different equipment.These hunting teams have strange iron boxes that can fly in the air, like mountain eagles with rotors on their heads, and roar like a stag in heat.The day before, he had seen these flying boxes over the wasteland. The traffic accident handling team did what it said.Just after 4:00 a.m., the interstate was cleared again.Under the command of the traffic police, the two patrol cars of Sheriff Lewis circled to the front of the queue of waiting cars, stepped on the gas and sped toward Red Lodge, fifteen miles to the south.

Eight minutes later, they were overtaken by two big jeeps driving wildly. "Are we going to give chase?" asked the officer driving. "Let them go," said the sheriff. Jeeps roared through the waking town of Red Lodge and into the valley where the Interstate ran parallel to Rock Creek. The mountain passes are getting narrower and narrower, and the cliff slopes are getting steeper and steeper.On the right side of the road was a stream with a drop of five hundred feet, and on the left were wooded cliffs. The S-shaped curve angle is getting bigger and bigger. The lead jeep was going too fast around the fifth turn, and the driver didn't see a newly fallen pine tree lying across the road in time.The body of the jeep rushed to the south of the tree trunk, while the four wheels remained on the north side of the tree.There were five people in the car with four broken legs out of ten, three broken arms, two clavicle fractures and a dislocated pelvis.

The options left to the driver of the second off-road vehicle are clear: turn right and fall into an abyss, or turn left and crash into a cliff.He turned the steering wheel to the left.The car slammed into the rocky cliff violently. Ten minutes later, the least injured man crawled back onto the road for help when the first tractor-trailer came around the bend.The braking system worked precisely and the truck stopped in time, but the front and the trailer buckled.Then, in what appeared to be a silent protest of the insolence, the trailer rolled quietly on its side. Sergeant Lewis and a detachment of seven police officers had arrived at Red Lodge, where they met a local officer and borrowed a herd of horses.Also present were two state-owned forest wardens.One of them unfolded the map and spread it on the hood of a car, pointing to signs for the Custer National Forest. "This forest is divided into East and West by this West Fork Creek," he said. "On this side of the stream there are dirt roads and camps for summer visitors. Across the stream you enter the real wilderness. If your The man went there and we're going to have to go in and chase him. There's no way cars can go in there, so we've got these horses." "How dense are the trees there?" "Very dense," said the ranger, "the broad-leaved trees still flourishing because of the warm weather. Then the pine forests, and the rocky plateaus, all the way up to the peaks. Can your man survive there?" "As far as I know, he was born and raised in the wilderness." The sheriff said with a sigh. "No problem, we have modern technology," said another ranger. "Helicopters, reconnaissance planes, walkie-talkies. We'll help you find him." As the squad was about to abandon the vehicle and set off, a call came in from the air traffic controller at Billings Airport, which was relayed by the sheriff's office. "We have two helicopters waiting to take off," said the air traffic controller in the control tower.He had known Sergeant Lewis for many years, had fished salmon together, and had a deep friendship. "They're hired by Bill Braddock, and I'll have to get them going in a minute. They're scheduled to fly to Bridgeill. Jerry says there's a problem with you. About that wedding at T-Bar Ranch? It's on all the morning news." "Hold them. Give me ten minutes." "Okay." The controller then said to the waiting helicopter pilot, "Takeoff delayed. There is an aircraft coming and needs to land." Sheriff Lewis recalled Jerry telling him that a group of armed horsemen had set off from the ranch south to hunt down the fleeing man.They must have met the night far from home, and had spent the night in the open prairie or Brigill.But if they were called back to pasture, why not ride there on vigorous horses?He asked to call another friend, the head of the Federal Aviation Administration in Helena.FAA officials answered the call after being woken up at home. "What's the matter, Paul? Don't bother me on Sunday, will you?" "We've got a little problem, two fugitives are going into the Abosaloka Wasteland. I'm going to lead a small detachment and two rangers to bring them back. There are a few concerned citizens here, it seems Want to hunt them down as prey, and the news media will get wind of it. Can you declare the wasteland area a no-fly zone today?" "Can." "There are two helicopters waiting to take off at Billings Airport." "Who's on duty at Billings Control Tower?" "Chip Anderson." "Leave that to me." Ten minutes later, the two helicopters received a call from the control tower. "Sorry, that plane isn't coming to land. You can take off now, but not in the FAA's exclusive zone today." "What exclusive area?" "The whole of Abosaloka down five thousand feet." When it comes to ATC and air safety, the FAA's word is law.The hired pilots did not want to have their pilot licenses revoked.The engine shut down and the blades slowly stopped spinning. Big Bill Braddock and his remaining ten bodyguards had reached Red Lodge by dawn along the spur road.They unloaded the horses from the truck at the edge of the forest five miles from town, inspected the weapons, and rode into the woods. Braddock also carried a portable radio to keep in touch with the radio room on the ranch.As dawn illuminated the woods above the rider's head, he learned that ten of his men had been carried off on stretchers on the interstate in the middle of Rock Creek, and that ten others were left in Bridgeill, with no air transport to take them to They lead to the rocky plateau ahead of the fugitives.Major Max's plans one and two are history. "We'll get that bastard ourselves," growled the cowboy.His son was uncomfortable in the saddle and took a swig from a portable wine bottle out of his rear pocket.Formed in a quarter-mile-wide line, the armed band scanned the ground for fresh hoofprints as they advanced through the forest.Half an hour later, one of them found a trail, the footprints of Rothbard's hooves, and the footprints leading the chain of hooves ahead were probably made by Indian moccasins.He radioed the others over, and they got together and moved on.A mile behind them, Sheriff Lewis and his police detachment also rode into the woods. Ten minutes later, the sharp-eyed forest ranger discovered the situation. "How many horses does this man have?" asked a ranger. "Only one," Lewis said. "There's more than one horse here," said the ranger. "I counted at least four." "Damn it," said the sheriff.He radioed into his office and asked for a personal call from Valentino's attorney. "My client has deep concerns for the safety of this young lady, Sergeant Lewis. He may have organized a search party. I assure you he is acting entirely within his authority." "Attorney, if any harm has been done to these two young men, if either of them is killed, I will first file a murder case. You tell your client that." He switched off the wireless phone before his lawyer could object. "Paul, this guy has kidnapped a girl, and he's got a rifle," muttered his deputy, Tom Barrow, "seems like we might have to shoot first and ask questions later." "There were many witnesses who testified that the girl jumped on his horse herself," retorted Lewis. "I don't want to convict the lad for breaking some glasses." "And kicked someone in the face twice." "That's right, and those two kicks." "There was also a prairie fire that closed the interstate." "Well, that's a little more. But he's there all alone, with a pretty girl, a worn-out horse, and a rifle from 1852. Oh, and a bow and arrows, too." .We have all the modern tech stuff, he doesn't. Notice the contrast. Also, keep track of those trails." Ben Craig hid in the bushes, watching the first men to reach the bank of the creek.He could make out, five hundred yards away, big Bill Braddock and his diminutive son, wriggling in the saddle to ease the pain in his hip from the friction.The man next to Braddock was not wearing a Western outfit, but a camouflage battle suit, jungle boots, and a beret. Instead of finding a path into the water from the steep bank, or a way up from the opposite bank, they had only to follow Rothbard's trail.He knew they would do that.Breeze couldn't walk in silk slippers, and Rothbard couldn't cover his tracks in soft soil. He watched them approach the clear, gurgling stream, stopped to take a few sips, and scooped up a handful of water to wash his face. No one heard the arrows coming, and no one saw where they came from.When they fired all the bullets in their rifles into the woods on the opposite bank, the archers had already left.He walked lightly through the forest, returned to his horse and girl without leaving a trace, and led them on up the mountain. The arrow hit the target, passing through the soft skin to the bone, and the flint arrow broke in the muscle.The two fell to the ground and cried out in pain.Max, a Vietnam veteran, lays down after catching up to the South Bank, examining the woods where his attackers had disappeared.He saw nothing.If the man was still there, his covering fire would protect the pursuit party in the stream. Braddock's men carried the wounded back the way they had come.The wounded screamed all the way. "Boss, we need to get them out of here," said one of the bodyguards, "They need treatment." "Well, let them ride back," Braddock said. "Boss, they can't ride horses, and they can't walk." There was no other way, they had to cut down branches to make two stretchers, and then needed four other people to carry these stretchers.After losing six men and an hour, Braddock's pursuit party regrouped on the opposite bank under the protection of Major Max's weapons.The four of them started walking through the forest again.They didn't know that it would be much easier and less manpower to use the sled. The sheriff had heard the sound of weapons firing and feared the worst had happened.But in the dense forest, it is foolish to ride a horse and run up, maybe you will get a bullet from the opponent.On the trail made by the horses, they met the men carrying the stretcher. "What's the matter?" asked the sheriff.Braddock's soldiers explained. "Did he escape?" "Yes. Major Max crossed the stream, but he's gone." The stretcher party continued back toward Civilization, while the sheriff's detachment hurried to the stream ahead. "Don't laugh," snapped the sheriff.He had lost patience with the young mountain man somewhere ahead. "No one can win a battle with a bow and arrow. For God's sake, it's 1977." The two wounded they saw were lying face down on makeshift stretchers, with a Cheyenne turkey feather arrow stuck vertically in their buttocks.The sheriff's squad waded through the stream.They took the reins of the horses, slipped three times in one step, reached the opposite bank with a deep foot and a shallow foot, and regrouped.There will be no picnic camps here.Here is a primitive view of the ancient world. Jerry is in the helicopter.He circled a thousand feet above the woods until he spotted the men wading across the stream.This narrowed his search.The fugitive must be ahead of the pursuit party, somewhere between the stream and the mountains ahead. However, there is now a problem with his technical equipment.Because of the dense forest, he was unable to notify the sheriff on the walkie-talkie.When he used the walkie-talkie, the sheriff could hear him calling but couldn't make out what he was saying.The static was so bad that the sound became fragmented. Jerry was saying, "I found him. I saw him." He actually caught a glimpse of a lone horse being led by the rein, with the figure of a girl draped in a blanket on its back.The fugitives had just crossed a small piece of open ground in the forest, and the patrol helicopter was tilted to one side so that the pilot could get the best view. At this moment, the helicopter pilot saw them for a second. In that woodland.But only for a second, and then the fugitive went back into the woods. Ben Craig looked up, through the treetops, at the rattling monster overhead. "The people inside will tell the hunting team our location." Qingfeng said. "It's so loud, how can they hear it?" he asked. "It doesn't matter, Ben. They have a way anyway." This border dweller has his own way of dealing with it.He drew the old Sharps rifle from its holster and pushed in a long blockbuster.Jerry had descended six hundred feet to get a better view, and was now only two hundred yards above the ground.He circled, nose tilted slightly, staring out at yet another small woodland clearing they might pass through.The man below took careful aim and fired. A heavy bullet penetrated the floor of the helicopter, passed between the pilot's thighs, and grazed his face, leaving a star-shaped bullet hole in the ceiling.Seen from the ground, the helicopter circled frantically before dragging sideways and rising sharply.It didn't slow down at all until it had moved a full mile sideways and overhead. Jerry was screaming into the microphone right now. "Paul, that kid drilled a hole in my fuselage. It went through my canopy. I have to go, I have to go back to Bridger and check the fuselage. If he hit the main rotor, I'm now It's gone. I can't take any more risks, can I?" The sheriff didn't catch the words at all.He heard a distant crack of an old-fashioned rifle, and saw the helicopter do a ballet in the air, and he saw the helicopter fly toward the horizon. "We have modern technology," a ranger muttered. "Come on," said Lewis, "that lad lived in the woods for years. Go on, rifle ready, eyes wide open, ears pricked up. We've got a real chase here." Another hunter heard the rifle fire, and he was much closer, about half a mile away.Max has suggested that he go ahead of the hunting party for reconnaissance. "He's leading the horse, sir. That means I can move faster. He won't hear me approaching. If I can see well, I can knock him out within a few feet of the girl." Braddock agreed.Max ran forward.He moved quietly while taking cover, watching and listening, and ducking into the bushes at the first sign of trouble.The sound of rifle fire gave him a definite direction to follow, perhaps half a mile ahead of him and to the right.He started running towards it. On the hill ahead, Ben Craig had holstered his rifle and resumed his march.Half a mile more and he would be out of the forest to the great slab of rock known as the Silverpath.From above the treetops, he could see the mountains slowly approaching him.He knew he had slowed the pursuit party, but had failed to turn them back.They are still behind, still chasing. A bird chirped, and the sound came from a branch high up behind him.He knew what bird it was, and he knew the call, a repeated croak.The sound fades away as the bird flies away.Another bird echoed, the same cry, their warning.Leaving Rothbard to stay and graze, he walked twenty feet to the left of the hooves and walked back through the pines. Max followed the hoofprints and leaped forward, hiding, until he came to a clearing in the woods.Camouflage uniform and black charcoal smeared on his face provided his best camouflage in the dimly lit woods.He inspected the clearing, saw a shiny brass cartridge case in the middle of the ground, and couldn't help smiling.Such a stupid ruse.He knew it would be better not to run up to check, lest he take a bullet from the gunman in the shadows.He knew that the other party must be there.This bait is too obvious, which just proves the point.Inch by inch he examined the vegetation across the clearing. At this time, he saw a twig shaking.It was a shrub, a big, dense shrub across the clearing.When the breeze blows the branches and leaves, they always sway in one direction.The branch swayed the other way.He stared at the bush and could make out a faint brown stain about six feet above the ground.He thought back to the fox-fur hunting cap he had put on the rider the day before. He carries his favorite weapon: the M16 Carbine; short barreled, lightweight, and absolutely reliable.With his right thumb he pushed the fire mode silently to automatic and fired.Half a magazine went into the bush, and the tea-brown stain disappeared, then fell, and reappeared on the ground.Until this time, Max rushed forward regardless of the cover. Cheyenne never use stone sticks.They love axes, which they can strike sideways and down from the back of a horse, or throw accurately and quickly. The incoming ax struck Major Max on the bicep of his right hand.The flesh was cut open, and the bones inside were chopped into pieces. The M16 carbine slipped from his limp hands to the ground.Max paled, looked down, and pulled the hatchet out of his hand.Blood spurted out immediately.He clamped the wound with his left hand to stop the bleeding, then turned and ran down the hill the same way. The scout dropped the 50-foot-long slender belt he was holding in his left hand with which he had been pulling the branches, retrieved his handaxe and hat, and ran to his horse. Braddock, his son, and the three others rushed forward and found the major leaning against a tree, panting heavily. Sheriff Lewis and his men also heard the sound of automatic rifle fire.It was the second time, but this time it was very different from the fugitive's single shot, so they hurriedly rode their horses to catch up.The senior forest ranger looked at the major's injured arm, said "tourniquet", and then opened the first aid kit he was carrying. Sergeant Lewis listened to Braddock's account of what had happened as the ranger bandaged the major's mangled arm.He stared at the rancher in disgust. "I should have you all arrested," he snapped. "I would have if we hadn't been in the middle of nowhere, far from civilization. Now, get the hell out of here, Mr. Braddock, don't Come and intervene." "I'm going to take care of this," Braddock yelled, "that savage stole my son's girlfriend and seriously injured three of my employees..." "You shouldn't have been here in the first place. Now, I'm going to take that boy up for questioning, but I don't want bloodshed. So I'm taking your weapons, all of them, right now." Several rifles were aimed at Braddock's pursuers.Several police officers came forward and confiscated several rifles and pistols.The sheriff turned to the ranger who was bandaging the major's arm. "How about the wounded?" "Get out, and quickly," said the ranger. "He can ride back to Red Lodge with an escort, but it's twenty miles, and the ground is rough, with the West Fork Creek in between. It’s good, he might not last there.” "Ahead is the Silver Trail. The radio should work there. We can call a helicopter there." "What do you suggest?" "Helicopter," said the Ranger, "the major needs surgery without delay or he'll lose his arm." They rode on.When they came to the open ground in the woods, they found an automatic rifle discarded there and bullet casings scattered around.The ranger watched carefully. "Flint arrows, a throwing axe, a buffalo gun. Who the hell is this fellow, Sheriff?" "I thought I knew," Lewis said, "but now I don't know." "Well," said the Ranger, "but he's certainly not an unemployed actor." Ben Craig stood at the edge of the forest, looking out at the gleaming flat rock ahead.There were still five miles to go to the hidden stream; two more miles to cross the Hell Rollin Plateau, and the last mile to climb the mountain.He stroked Rothbard's head and its velvety nose. "Just a little more hard work before the sun goes down," he told the mare, "one more ride and we'll be free." He got on his horse and began to canter over the rocks.Ten minutes later, the hunting team reached the plateau.But Craig was already a tiny figure a mile away from the rock face. Once out of the woods, the radio worked again.Sheriff Lewis contacts Jerry about the damage to the small helicopter.Jerry was back at Billings Airport and borrowed another large Bell helicopter. "Come here, Jerry. Don't worry about the sniper. He's already a mile away, out of range. We've got a guy here who needs emergency help. Also, what about the civilian volunteer pilot for the scout plane? Tell him, I He's needed now. I want him up above the Silverpath, no less than five thousand feet. Tell him to find a lone horseman heading up the mountain." It was past three o'clock in the afternoon, and the sun was moving towards the peaks in the west.When the sun goes down behind the Split Mountains and Beartooth Mountains, darkness comes quickly. Jerry arrived first in the Bell helicopter.The helicopter clicked, clicked, came out of the blue sky, and landed on the flat rock.The major was assisted into the helicopter, accompanied by a police officer.The police pilot took off, radioed Billings Memorial Hospital ahead, to land in the parking lot, and to be ready for major surgery. The remaining riders began to cross the plateau. "There's a dark stream ahead, he doesn't know it." The senior forest ranger caught up with the sheriff and said as they walked side by side, "That's Lake Fork Creek. The water is very deep and narrow, and the banks are very steep. There is only one There's a way for horses to wade through. It'll take him a long time to find that way. We can go after him and catch him there." "But what if he lays in ambush in the woods and takes aim at us with his rifle? I don't want to hurt you." "Then what shall we do?" "Don't worry," Lewis said. "He's got no way out of the mountains, not even down to Wyoming. We have aerial reconnaissance, and he can't get away." "What if he marches through the night?" "His horse is worn out, and there's a girl in a white silk wedding dress and slippers beside him. He's dying, and he should know it. We'll just keep a mile or so and keep an eye on him, and wait for the scouts to come .” They stared at the tiny, distant figure ahead and rode on.The reconnaissance plane flew over at nearly four o'clock.The young pilot was summoned from Billings' job at a camping supply store.The treetops above the steep banks of Lake Fork Creek come into view. The pilot's voice crackled over the sheriff's radio. "What are you looking for?" "Ahead of us there is a lone rider on horseback, and behind him sits a girl wrapped in a blanket. Can you see that?" High in the sky the Piper flew toward the stream. "I can see it. There's a narrow stream here. He's going into the woods." "Stay away. He has a rifle, and he's a sharpshooter." They watched the Piper climb and then bank and turn over the creek two miles ahead. "Okay. I can still see him. He's dismounted and is leading the horse into the stream." "He won't pass," the ranger said disdainfully. "Now, we can catch up with him."