Book 2 "BLACK EAGLE PASS"

*Ten days before Christmas - Mosquito Creek, Montana buzzes with Yuletide activity. Along with the arrival of relatives and old friends, two strangers appear. One man claims to be a real estate developer. a second man claims to be a gourmet coffee executive. Both newcomers also claim they never met. However, young Hanna Gaikis. witnesses two events that conflict with their stories. Risking discovery and possible harm Hanna with the help of her friend Stephen Anderlund, find enough proof to convince the rest of their team in the club, they have another mystery to solve. And then suddenly the amateur sleuths must race the clock to reveal the true reason the outsiders came to their town - that wasn't land or coffee - but the cargo of a secret train heading their way... [eBook copy $1.00]

CHAPTER ONE

Ten Shopping Days to Christmas

Dear Patrick, December 26, 1997

            It’s the day after Christmas here, Boxing Day where you are and it’s been a pretty wild Yule Season. Remember our weird summer? Well the last two weeks were just as zany. We didn’t see it coming, cause everything started out pretty normal…

##########

Saturday, December 15…

            “Hey.  Duck sucker!”

            Eric Molosky’s first snowball sailed across the width of the front yard. The ball of loosely formed flakes hit his younger brother Marc between his chin and right shoulder and sent a mini shower of snow spraying across Marc’s face.  It settled in a wet clump in his thick, dark blonde hair.

 “I wasn’t ready yet!”  Marc protested from his side of the yard.

            Eric sent a second snowball high into the air. It arched slightly then dropped straight down behind Marc’s snow wall.  “Yikes!” Marc’s head shot up.  Snow was stuck to the top of his hood. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Will - you - wait - just one, more, minute!” 

            He dropped from sight again.

            At the age of nine, Eric was the older of the two brothers by just thirteen months. Both boys had their grandfather’s thick curly hair but Eric’s hair was a definite brown. He rarely brushed it, so it stuck out from under his knitted toque. Marc’s hair was a dark blonde like his mother. Eric was only slightly taller than his younger brother with a much stockier build.

Eric had a substantial stack of pre-made snowballs piled inside his wagon and on the ground beside it, ready to throw.  He had made extra ammunition after school the day before, safely stored in a closed cardboard box, covered by snow. Both boy and battle supplies were protected behind the three-foot wall of a carefully built snow fort.

            Marc had only a few snowballs ready.  He had stayed inside the house an extra thirty minutes after breakfast to watch another episode of Spider-Man.  His fort walls were a full eight inches lower than his brother’s walls. Because of that, Marc couldn’t get passed an awkward low crouch to throw without getting hit.

            The brothers built their snow forts on opposite sides of the front yard. The red brick sidewalk acted as the official border between the two warring kings.

            King-Marc built his fort on the north side of the sidewalk with the lilac hedge at his back. He had struggled with the snow block making technique his grandpa had showed his two grandsons. Marc also had to contend with Joker.  The family dog kept jumping over Marc’s walls wanting to play.  Every time he did that Joker knocked down chunks of Marc’s shoddy construction.

            Sacrificing some homework time to perfect his defense wall, King-Eric had not only caught on to snow block making, he used water between layers to make his walls more like ice than packed snow.  He located his fort with the thick trunk of the yard’s fifty-year-old cottonwood tree protecting his back.  Behind the tree ran the brick driveway.

            Eric had counted to sixty silently to himself. At sixty, with his ammunition at easy reach, he restarted his assault.  He kept the snowballs going at such a pace that Marc could hardly see high enough above his snow-wall to aim back.

            Their mother was in the house and had just turned off the vacuum cleaner.  As Mrs. Molosky rewound the electric cord she glanced out of the living room window and spotted her sons.  “Those little brats.” 

            Grandpa Molosky looked up from paying some bills.  He sat at the dining room table, with papers, envelops, stamps and bills scattered across the entire surface. “What are they doing now?”

He put a stamp on the last envelope then got up from his chair and stretched.  He walked to the window to see for himself.  The two snow shovels were abandoned at the end of the brick walkway.

            “Look what they’ve done.”  His daughter-in-law pointed.  “I asked them to clear the snow from the front walk. But with their snowball fight, all the snow they cleared has covered up the walk again.”

            Mom and Grandpa could see that battle conditions were grim for Marc.  He was launching only one snowball at his brother for every eight Eric shot at him.

            When Mrs. Molosky and her father in-law looked at each other, they both had the same idea at the same time.  “Let’s get him.”  They said in unison.  They rushed to the back of the house through the kitchen to the laundry porch.  There they each grabbed only mittens and a scarf. 

Outside, they crept close to the wall of the house while they hurried to make several snowballs.  Armed with snowballs carried in their scarves, they came up behind Eric from the far side of the driveway.

            When he raised up to pelt his brother for another round, Eric was peppered by snowballs aimed at him from his right. Startled, Eric dropped for cover behind his snow wall. At first he though he had been attacked by his two sisters, but then he heard his mother laughing.

When his head came back up he discovered that he’d been ambushed by his mother and his grandpa. When Eric noticed that neither of his assailants wore jackets, he waved to his brother.  “Marc!” 

In a flash, Marc was across the yard. He leaped behind Eric’s snow wall and the two kings joined forces with a heated offensive - driving the invaders away

           

##########

            Around the corner, Mr. Cho was perched high on his extension ladder.  He was leaning precariously against the upper shelves inside his garage. 

           His daughters Mia and Niki with their friend Philip Peters waited below.  The kids were so bundled up against the winter cold they were oval shaped, like Antarctic penguins.  Dressed in padded pants, winter

jackets, boots, hats and gloves, they were excited but impatient. 

Mr. Cho was searching for the box of Christmas lights. He had never put up Christmas lights.  The Cho family, were Buddhist’s.  Christmas had never been a celebration they had considered embracing. When their daughter Mia bought the box of green Christmas lights at a garage sale the previous summer with her allowance, Mr. Cho and his wife who were generous, tolerant people, decided to include a Menorah to put in their window too.

            In previous years, their house on Salmon Avenue had been the only house without lights or a wreath or any seasonal decoration.  This season pretty much any celebration that was recognized for several cultures during the winter solstice was included. They may have gone overboard – but they certainly left no one out.  This December, the Cho house became a kind of secular United Nations.

            “Aw, there it is.” As Mr. Cho reached for the box of lights, he hit a smaller box in front of it with his elbow.  When he grabbed for the smaller box one of the girl’s ball gloves fell out and hit Philip on the head.  “You okay Philip?

            Philip nodded as he picked up the ball glove.

Niki grabbed Philip’s jacket by one shoulder, then she and Phillip waddled out to the driveway.  Niki directed Philip to stand back while she made a large snowball for him to catch in the softball mitt.

            Blowing off the dust, Mr. Cho handed the box down to his older daughter.  With a smile as big as the box, Mia headed out through the open garage door with her prize. Mia was thrilled, they too would have lights this year - lots of them!

Mr. Cho climbed down and followed his daughter to the front porch.  “Okay, you two, get back over here and help untangle these lights.”

            “How many strands did you buy?”  Mr. Cho asked, as his daughter pulled out a beach ball sized bundle of wire attached to large, oval shaped green bulbs.

            “The Voss’s were selling six strands, this whole box.” Mia answered.  She stared the large knot of wire and bulbs, worried.  “Where do we start?”

            Mr. Cho studied the jumble looking for the connecting plugs.  “Here Philip, this is a plug end.  Hold onto this please.”  With more untwisting, the wires and bulbs began to look less and less like a growth of wild Polish mistletoe, and more and more like separate cords.

            Snow had started to fall again.  Intricately patterned flakes drifted to the ground like tiny feathers.

            One strand at a time, as each child held an end they managed to untangle all of the lines.  Some of the bulbs were broken and some were missing completely.

            “My dad has new lights you can buy for the broken ones.”  Philip offered.

            “Daddy, how are we going to put up the lights?” Niki asked.

            Mr. Cho looked up to his roof, then to the porch.  “I – have – no - idea.  This is obviously more complicated that I thought.”  He then looked from the far left front corner of his house across to the garage and back.   “Let’s go see Philip’s dad.”

##########

            Lost Creek was frozen to a depth of a full nine inches.  The ice was perfect for two wannabe figure skating stars.

Sonia Molosky wore silver gray earmuffs she bought to match her new sweater. Her dark blonde hair was gathered up into a high ponytail to keep it out of her face when she practiced her spins.

           

            Her best friend Hanna Gaikis had short, dark brown curly hair that couldn’t be completely contained under her bright pink knitted cap. The cap matched the oversized sweater Hanna took from her mother’s closet.  Their legs were covered by tights under short, gathered skirts they had sewn in their school fashion class. Their heavy turtleneck sweaters were just visible under quilted vests. Skating in style was just as important as perfect turns.

            Both girls showed up early with their skates and two snow shovels to clear off the ice. Cleaning a square area about thirty feet by thirty feet was more than enough space for them to practice their spins, twirls and jumps.   The ice was best where the summer flow curved out from a wide bend and the current was weak in the late fall.  When the creek froze at that point – it was almost perfectly smooth.           

            Other people had arrived early at Lost Creek too. Joey Salas, Gordon McKenna, with Leif and Stephen Anderlund, set up for their first race. From a crouched position they ran toward the edge of the snow piled slope.  Four bodies hit their waiting plastic saucers, sending them like giant whirling Frisbees, down the steep drop above Lost Creek.

Stephen lost control at the bottom of the hill. He flipped like a pancake landing upside down.  Gordon slid too close to the soft drifted snow at the edge of their racing hill and his weight collapsed the powder.  He dropped sharply to the left where he pitched over a steep ledge just above the bend in the creek.  He toppled both Hanna and Sonia like they were bowling pins.

Joey and Leif rocked their saucers and shifted their weight to stay the course. They bent forward as low as they could to keep up their speed. It was a photo finish. They both crossed the snow-covered road, shot across the deer path, then went down the drop onto Lost Creek - together. 

“Yahoo!” They cheered.

But skidding across the ice they picked up more speed.  With nothing to slow them down, they were propelled up over the opposite bank, and onto the other side - airborne.  

Joey hit a drift of snow and became wedged in place.  Leif’s saucer headed for a dip in the terrain.  He didn’t correct in time and toppled over face down in deep, soft powder.  When he lifted his head, his grey eyes were fringed in snow on his lashes and eyebrows.

Stephen picked himself up from his spill and walked to the edge of the creek. Neither his friends nor his brother were on their feet.  “Well, our next run will need some work.”

Hanna sat up retrieving her pink cap. One glove was out of reach. Her dignity was scattered much further than her clothing. “You lunatics! You guys have about as much control over those things as Mrs. Carter’s twins have over their bladders!”  She helped Sonia to stand. They wobbled a little unsteady together. “You almost killed us!”

            Gordon and his saucer had parted.  The saucer had veered right, while Gordon slid to the left.  He was on his back trying to catch snowflakes with his tongue.  “Is that so?” He raised himself up on one elbow.  “Well, I’ll trade you my saucer for your skates.  And, I bet you–my chores for one week–that you can’t do any better.”

            “You’re on, mister.”

##########

            Mr. Carter was digging out his pickup truck, again.  The grader had packed snow all around his parked half ton, two days in a row. As he tossed another shovel-full onto the street, he looked up to see Mr. Voss’s tow-truck haul Mr. Sullivan’s newspaper delivery van  to LoneHawk’s, Service Station.

            In the next block, Mayor Peters was out too.  He was in front of his hardware store clearing the snow off of the walk for the third time that day.  The town mayor had just cleared about half of the new fallen powder when Mr. Cho pulled up to the curb and stopped.

In Mr. Cho’s car were his two daughters Mia and Niki and the mayor’s adopted son, Philip. The mayor was not surprised to see his son with the Cho family, or any other family in town.  Philip’s days were busy as he went from house to house – very much a member of everyone’s daily life.

Philip was, the third and youngest son of Mayor and Mrs. Peters.  Philip had been born with Downs syndrome.  When Philip was three years old, his mother Frances Cooper disappeared.  It was later discovered that she had died.  When Mayor and Mrs. Peters adopted Philip it was more of a technical formality.  By the time Philip was six, he had attached himself to everyone in Mosquito Creek and everyone in Mosquito Creek had attached themselves to him.

            At ten years old, Philip was bright and happy - and - much wiser than most strangers gave him credit for being.

“Dad, Mr. Cho needs some help with his Christmas lights.”  With great authority, Philip marched by his father in the lead of a short procession into the store.

##########

There were four new guests registered at the Deer Lodge Motel.  Four men had arrived in three separate vehicles, at three different times.  According to plan, they chose cottages side by side in the back row.  None of those cabins were visible from the main road that led into town.

            Hanna rushed to get to her new job. So she wouldn’t be late she hadn’t gone home to change. Instead, she dropped her skates by the motel’s laundry barrel, then scooped up fresh towels, linens and cleaning supplies, still wearing her skating outfit. 

Mrs. MaCoy was managing the front desk when Harold Minta and Zane Santo arrived to check in. Her husband was installing new washers to stop water leaking from the faucets in the bathrooms of cottages #6 and #7.  Mrs. MaCoy recognized both of the men immediately.  They too had grown up in Mosquito Creek and graduated from La Barge High School.

For the naturally curious folks of Mosquito Creek, Mr. Minta and Mr. Santo had their cover story well rehearsed.  They were casually dressed in new jeans and sweaters. Their only visible luggage was one backpack. They chose to share cabin #15.

                                                                                                                       

            One hour later, Mrs. MaCoy had left for the post office.  Mr. MaCoy was at the front desk when Saul Seger checked in.  Mr. Seger wore a navy, pinstripe business suit that for appearances, made his cover story sound genuine. He chose cabin #16.

Two hours after the first three men checked in, Mrs. MaCoy was back on duty at the front desk.  It was almost 5 PM, and Mr. MaCoy was in his workshop repairing a chair from cabin #3 while he watched a hockey game between the Calgary Flames and Denver Avalanche.  

The snow was falling harder. Daylight had faded when Duane Earl signed the guest card.  He wore a brown tweed suit jacket and brown wool dress pants. Mr. Earl chose cabin #14.

            Hanna was cleaning the bathroom in cottage #8.  The window over the tub was so high she had to stand on the chair from the room’s desk to clean the glass. As she wiped around the edge of the window, she spotted the headlights of another car that pulled in front of the last available cabin in the back row of cottages.

            She thought it was odd that when the man got out of his car he didn’t let himself into his cottage. Instead he looked around then walked to cabin #16 and knocked on the door.  Hanna couldn’t see who opened the door but the man had a conversation with someone for several minutes then walked back to his car. From the back seat he took out a large canvas bag and then unlocked the door of #14 to let himself in.

She finished the window, returned the chair to its place by the desk, then hurried back to the supply room.  Hanna had one more cabin to clean before she could leave at six o’clock.

As darkness and the snow settled in for the night, the only guests Mrs. and Mr. MaCoy discussed during dinner was the surprise arrival of their former school chums.Husband and wife didn’t mention the other two men who had checked in that afternoon.They were of no particular interest.

Harold Minta and Zane Santo had been disinterested students.  They just barely graduated from the small local high school. The day after graduation they hitched a ride to Montana’s capitol, Helena, kept going and never looked back. 

But the other two men Saul Seger and Duane Earl, never attended any high school. They had finished much of their education in a federal prison in Kansas.

##########

Dr. Howes’ two college aged daughters were home for the holidays. In their front yard, each girl had built a six-foot snowman. One snowman was dressed with a straw hat, a black comb for a moustache and an old stethoscope. The second snowman wore a pink wig, reading glasses and a shawl.

            When the girls and their mother returned home from a late afternoon of shopping,they turned on the outside lights. With the red and green footlights illuminated the snowmen, they discovered both heads were missing. On the ground lay the straw hat, the wig, the comb, and the glasses. The heads were broken in chunks.

CHAPTER TWO

O’ Christmas Tree

Sunday, December 16…

The aroma of strong coffee filled each room of the Anderlund’s sixty-year-old, brick bungalow.  Mr. Anderlund always made strong coffee.  He used only whole coffee beans that he ground just before he scooped them into the filter.

Leif opened his eyes to a bright winter glare.  The slats of the wooden blinds that hung across the bedroom window had been left open.  Even with the overcast sky, winter white bounced light from everything it covered - which was everything. It was snowing, slowly. Wide, fat flakes drifted left and right then swirled, in no particular hurry to land.

The brothers shared a room.  Leif gave up his bedroom after his father remarried.  Their new, younger stepsister Heather Meeker moved into the smallest of the three bedrooms adding curtains in pink lace and repainting walls in pale purple.

Leif leaned over the edge of the top bunk. Dry static air raised his fine blond hair in all directions. He couldn’t see very well without his glasses, but the long bump under the quilt below him, told him that his older brother Stephen was still in the lower bunk.  The long bump didn’t have a head. Stephen had pulled the quilt up to cover himself completely.  

            “Hey.  You awake?”

            From beneath the quilt came Stephen’s muffled reply.  “Please tell me its noon and not the crack of dawn.”  A hand came out from under the quilt, then Stephen’s head appeared.  Two cowlicks at the back of his head stood up like miniature antenna searching for a signal.

            “Every year, Dad makes us get up before first light. Why do we hav’ta get up so early? We aren’t hunting migrating moose.”  Stephen raised himself up.  His gray eyes squinted at the light. He wore dark framed glasses too, and without them the room was mostly a bright foggy blur.  “Trees aren’t a moving target!”

            Leif shrugged as he slid over the edge of the top mattress.  His bare feet landed on the cool pine wood floor.  He walked to the half open door of their room and then stuck his head around the corner. Down the hall, the hands of the schoolhouse clock on the wall pointed to the time as eight minutes to seven.  He turned around to get his slippers and robe.

            “Don’t tell me. That stupid clock will chime the time, soon enough.”  Stephen slid back under the covers and disappeared.  The quilt was once again a headless lump.

            Leif shrugged again then headed for the bathroom.  He was pretty sure he could get in and take his time. Heather hated early mornings as much as Stephen did. They were like two bears disturbed from their hibernation too early.

            Leif flushed then threw some warm water on his face.  He heard the clock chime the hour as he squeezed toothpaste across his brush.  With his mouth filled with foamy mint flavored paste, there was a knock on the bathroom door.

            Leif spit. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

            “It’s me.”  Philip’s familiar voice was muffled by the closed oak door.  “I don’t need to go.  Your dad told me to tell you guys the waffles are ready.”

            Leif spit again, then rinsed.  He opened the door just in time to stop Philip from going into the bedroom Leif shared with Stephen.

“Philip, wait.”  Leif cautioned in a frantic whisper as he leaped across the hall.  He looked into the round, trusting hazel-green eyes of the little boy who lived with nearly everyone in Mosquito Creek.  “I’ll get Stephen.  Tell Dad we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay, but your dad said he wasn’t waitin.”  Philip skipped back down the hall toward the dining room.  “We got Christmas trees to get.”

            Leif took a deep breath and stepped back into the bedroom. “Stephen?  I’m done in the bathroom. Dad’s got waffles ready.  Granddad Salas and Joey are already here with Philip.”

            The quilt came down again.  “Tell everyone I came down with yellow fever.”

            Leif made a face.  “What’s yellow fever?”

            The front doorbell sounded.  They heard Grandpa Molosky call out as he let himself in. Leif peeked around the corner just as Mr. Molosky shook snow off of his down filled jacket.  With him were his two grandsons.  Eric and Marc Molosky stamped snow off of their boots then hurried to take them off so they could eat.

Heavy winter jackets hung on the oak coat tree. Wet wool mitts, hats and insulated boots were piled around it on the floor.

            Leif hurried to get dressed.  He decided he could save some time if he left on his pajamas. He pulled a thick wool sweater over his head, making his entire head alive with static electricity again. Next, he rummaged in his laundry hamper for his cleanest, dirty jeans. 

            As he skated down the hall in his thick wool socks, he came to rest at the dining room doorway.  The oval, antique oak table was surrounded by people clinking forks on plates and talking.  Elbows sawed back and forth. Conversation overlapped from weather, to the best

tree locations, to last year’s hunt.  

            Leif helped himself to one of his father’s famous, inch-thick waffles from the warmer on the buffet.  Under the lid of the cast-iron fry pan was elk sausage made every fall by Joey Salas’ granddad.  With more food on his plate than he could eat, he joined the others at the table.  He sat between Marc and Eric Molosky.

            “Paul McKenna and Gordon couldn’t join us this year.”  Mr. Anderlund explained the change while chewing a large bite of waffle with enthusiasm. He cut into another section of his fresh waffle. “So this year, I had to get a permit for each of us.” 

    

His Norwegian-English accent and the thick waffle made talking clearly a slight problem. “It’s so much easier when we can take the forest ranger with us.” He pushed his thick glasses back up on his nose.

            The older men laughed. None of the kids weren’t paying attention.

            “Where’s Gordon?”  Philip asked.  He held his waffle between both hands, poised to take a bite from one corner.  Melted butter that mixed with thick huckleberry syrup, formed yellow and blue puddles on Philip’s plate. 

            “Both Gordon and his dad are helping his grandfather deliver this week’s news-papers.  Mr. Sullivan couldn’t get the van to start Thursday morning so the paper is going out a little late.”

            Carl Anderlund looked at is youngest son Leif.  “Where’s your brother?  We load up and leave at eight.”

            Before Leif needed to think of an excuse to his father’s question, his older brother appeared at the dining room door.  It was obvious Stephen was also wearing his pajamas underneath his cross-country ski pants. Toothpaste stuck to the side of his mouth and even though he had tried to comb his hair the stubborn cowlicks still stood up like radio antenna at the back of his blond head.

            Granddad Salas spoke first.  “I’ve always like plaid pajamas.  Especially for outdoor attire.”

            Everyone laughed.

            Stephen headed for the buffet.  With a plain waffle in one hand, one sausage in his mouth and another sausage in the other hand, he was the last one seated. The only chair left was the one opposite his father, who sat the other end of the table.

            His father was only slightly sarcastic. “I am thrilled that the son who clearly likes mornings best is dressed at all.”

            Philip chimed in.  “He doesn’t look like he likes anything best.  He just looks grumpy.”

            Stephen made a face at Philip and swallowed a bite of sausage.  “Dad, the trees don’t care what I wear.”

            “Yes…they…do!”  Philip said with great authority.

            Even Stephen laughed this time.

            “Philip, I hate you.”

            Philip grinned.  “I hate you more.” He took another bite of his waffle, which made his waffle ‘L’ shaped.  Then he held it like a gun and pointed it at Stephen. “Now hand over your sausage, mister.”

            Stephen rolled his eyes and gave his second sausage to Philip.

At the stroke of eight, on the very last chime, the short parade of two pickup trucks and a Jeep headed west on Stage Coach Road.  Each vehicle pulled a small open trailer loaded with two snowmobiles, camping and fishing gear.

The forest reserve area designated by their tree-cutting permit was in the Copper Creek Forest.  The tree hunters planned to set up their day camp at Broken Arrow Lake just at the south edge of Black Eagle Pass, forty-seven miles from town.

            The short convoy of vehicles bumped over roughly graded snow-packed roads covered further by the early morning snow.  Even with tightly packed gear and seat belts for the passengers, everything bounced.

            Philip Peters had taken the middle space between Leif and Stephen in the back seat of Mr. Anderlund’s truck.  He slurped the hot chocolate in his thermos through a straw.

            “Will you stop that!” Stephen snapped.  He still wasn’t fully awake. Everything seemed to annoy him.

            Philip wasn’t so easily put off.  “Merry, Merry, Merry…MR. STEPHEN!”  Philip crossed his eyes at Stephen then took one more long sip of his cocoa before he replaced the cap. 

            Mr. Anderlund looked in his rearview mirror.  “Stephen, now leave Philip alone.”

            Philip looked back at Stephen with a mischievous grin.  “Yeah, Stephen.  Leave Philip alone.”

            Leif tapped Philip on the shoulder and shook his head then scolded his brother.  “Stephen, you’re like this every year.  You start out spittin’ and grumpier than a wet cat. Then when we get there you’re the first one out’a the truck in a race to find the best tree!”

            “Mine was the best last year.”  Philip looked straight ahead over the top of the front seat through the windshield. 

            Stephen stopped making breath circles on the cold window.  “Not in your wildest imagination!  Are you cracked? Your tree was shaped like a mushroom and the branches were completely missing on one side.”

            Philip was unfazed.  “My mom said it was perfect for the corner.”

            Stephen shook his head.  “She’s your mom. She has to say that.  Besides, in a corner was the only place that forest reject could go.”

            Mr. Anderlund spoke up.  “Why don’t you play some “I Spy”? We’re almost to the campsite.”  He didn’t understand why every year this trip seemed to take longer and longer.

            Leif wiped the frost away from his window.  When he looked out all he could see was several shades of white. “Dad, it’s still snowing.  We can’t see anything.”

            Eric had climbed into Granddad Salas’s Jeep with Joey.  Granddad Salas always kept a deck of cards in the glove compartment.  Eric and Joey played a “Go Fish” version of “Old Maid” using the joker from the deck.

            Marc Molosky rode alone with his grandpa.  He was glad to have this private time to plot his snowball-war, counterattack against Eric.  Grandpa Molosky had a design modification idea that Marc liked.  He played his Game-Boy while he listened to his grandpa’s idea.

            “First, you need to concentrate on building your front wall higher.  Much higher. Then build yourself a catapult from some of the parts of your dad’s old toy Mechanic Set.” 

“The catapult can be throwing snow from one side of the high front wall, while you throw from the other side.  Eric will get pelted at from two sides.  The surprise alone will be worth the effort.  But you’ll have to spend some time in the garage–away–from the television.”

            Marc wasn’t sure.  “Maybe I could just hide Philip on one side and he could be my catapult.”

            “Philip?  His aim is just as bad as yours though I’ve seen an improvement with that lasso of his.  But aren’t your war rules that you make your own stuff and you have the same number of troops in each fort?”

            Marc made a face and nodded.

            The road curved sharply to the left, then up a slight hill, then down again.  Black Eagle Meadow appeared before them with Broken Arrow Lake hugging the ridge half a mile to the far right. 

            Shades of white and gray defined the shapes of rocks and evergreens. An icing sugar wonderland of frost coated the bare branches of leafless shrubs and trees. The meadow was jaw-dropping-fabulous.  It looked like it had been taken from an artist’s painting. Tiny ice crystals twinkled as the sun played peek-a-boo behind rolling clouds.

            The mini-convoy slowed then stopped one behind the other in the middle of the lake access road. Eric, Philip, Stephen, Joey, Marc and Leif tried to escape their cramped seats, but when they bailed out they landed in hip-deep, fresh powder.

            As Mr. Anderlund passed by Leif and Philip he laughed.  “Guess the first items we unpack are the snowshoes. You kids better be nice to me, or perhaps I leave you stuck right where you are for the entire day.”

            Grandpa Molosky had just retrieved two show shovels from the back of his truck and had reached the Jeep where Granddad Salas waited. “Carl, that actually sounds like a good idea.”  He winked and took one of the shovels.

Following behind each other, the two grandfathers cleared a narrow path to the nearest edge of the lake. Then they cleared a twelve-foot circle to make a day camp.  Joey and Eric were the first to strap on their snowshoes. They carried the bricks to stack around the fire pit.

            Stephen carried a long handled cast iron pot for Grandpa Molosky’s famous potato chowder and Philip brought the cast iron frying pan to cook the freshly caught fish for their lunch.       

            After years of tree hunting, first with their own kids then with their grandchildren, the division of labor for “tree-day” was well established. Mr. Anderlund and Grandpa Molosky were in charge of fish and food.  Granddad Salas, took one wood saw, and the youngest ‘hunters’ Eric, Marc, and Philip.  Stephen, with the second wood saw, headed off with Leif and Joey.

            Besides the snowshoes that made walking in the deep powder possible, everyone wore a whistle around their necks in case someone wandered out of sight of their group.

            Philip, Marc and Eric looked forward to “tree-day”.  Because they were out in the cold they could eat all the cookies, granola bars and marshmallows with hot chocolate they wanted to keep their calorie count high.

            With their pockets bulging with snacks, the two tree hunting groups, headed off in opposite directions.  Stephen had helped his dad carry their small wooden fishing platform out on the lake ice. As they left the day camp behind, Mr. Anderlund was drilling his hole and Grandpa Molosky was at a picnic table.  He added chopped potatoes, chopped celery and chopped onion to water and powdered milk.  A brisk orange and yellow fire reached into the air, promising a warm reception when everyone returned.

            Including trees for themselves, the evergreen shopping list required that the tree hunters harvest nine trees. Mosquito Creek Inn needed two.  There was always one tree in the lobby and a second tree in the main dining room.

                                                                                                                       

Gordon McKenna’s family and his grandfather Park Sullivan, who owned the newspaper, each needed a tree. They also needed one for Hanna Gaikis and her mother.

            Stephen, Joey and Leif made a single file path that followed the edge of the lake to a patch of growth between the north end of the lake and the south ridge of Black Eagle Pass.

            Granddad Salas took Philip, Marc and Eric into a growth area that was much closer to camp. Philip found his tree first.  He always chose trees that were not much taller than he was.  This one was dense, with thick short branches so close together that Granddad Salas wasn’t sure how they could ever string lights or hang decorations.

            “Can I use the saw Granddad?  I wanna cut it down myself.”

            Granddad Salas sized up the area around Philip’s tree. “Well, you’re going to need to clear away a lot of the snow around the base.  Let me get it started for you then you can give it a try.

            “Mr. Salas, can we cut down our tree too?”  Eric was suddenly very excited about his hunt.  Granddad Salas nodded.

            Philip and Marc were already out of their snowshoes and almost completely hidden by flying snow as they hand scooped enough space from around the base of the tree to

reach the trunk with the woodsman’s saw.

                                                                                                                       

            “Eric, you might as well scout around and see if you can find a tree for your house. Stay close. Blow your whistle when you find one.”

Eric was off as fast as his plodding snowshoes would let him.

            “Philip, you’re going to need some help with that saw. Marc you crawl further over there and sit on the other side of the tree directly opposite from Philip. Think of using this saw like a teeter-totter. So, when Philip pushes forward, Marc pulls back.”

            After a few more clumsy passes with the unfamiliar tool they got the hang of it. They were making great headway when suddenly a load of snow disturbed from the larger tree branches above dropped straight down.

“Ugh!” Came a muffled chorus. Both boys and the small

tree had disappeared.

            Eric’s whistled sounded three bursts.   He found his tree.

            Granddad Salas blew his whistle in response, two short sounds for the; “come-back” signal.  He hurriedly unbuckled his snowshoes then slid on his belly toward the covered boys. Using his right snowshoe as a shovel, Granddad Salas cleared the snow to dig out Philip.

Eric picked up Granddad Salas’s left snowshoe to clear away the snow around his younger brother.

Marc shook the snow from his head and looked up. “Wow! Look.”  He pointed with a newly freed arm. “There’s a ton more in all those branches.”   

            “Eric.  Help me finish this.”  Granddad Salas was still on his belly.  Eric took Marc’s place.  Eight more passes with the woodsman’s saw and Philip’s tree toppled over.

            “Yippee!”  Marc and Philip cheered. 

            Philip strapped his snowshoes back on to his boots then hauled his prize toward the day camp.

            Granddad Salas buckled on his snowshoes and struggled to stand. “Okay.  One tree down, three to go.”  He was already wishing he was at home in his recliner. “Eric, lead us to where you found your tree.”

            Stephen had gallantly promised Hanna that he would find a perfect tree suited to the small basement apartment she and her mother shared.  The snow was so deep or drifted that not many suitable small trees were easy to spot.

He could only see the very tips peeking out from the snow surface, which meant he had to dig down around the trees to see what they looked like.  Digging took valuable time.  Then he had an idea.  He decided he would cut the top off of a larger tree that he had spotted.

Leif’s assignment was to find two fifteen-foot fir trees for the Inn.  He tagged one that grew alone among a stand of large boulders.  The second tree was another loner that grew closer to the lake edge.  With both choices marked, he hurried back to the day camp to get Grandpa Molosky.

Joey hiked another half mile further west along the lake’s northern edge.  Stephen had bet him that he could find a better tree for Hanna and his house, and have them both back at the camp before Joey found his tree.  The wager was for ten dollars.

Joey was determined to win.  The extra money meant that he could buy a much better Christmas gift for Mia.  Then he spotted what appeared to be a likely candidate.  It grew at the end of a narrow peninsula of earth and rocks that jutted out into the lake. The shape was almost completely covered by thick, rounded mounds of snow.

            He made a beeline for the tree.  To get a better look, he stood back then pushed at the trunk with one end of his saw.  The coating of snow dropped to the ground.  He moved closer and shook the trunk harder with his hand firmly gripping the middle of the trunk.  He guessed the height was about seven feet.  There were no broken branches or bare spots.  The tree was a perfectly formed cone, with abundant, healthy branches. 

“Yes!”  He checked across the lake.  He couldn’t see Stephen.  The ten dollars was almost in his pocket.  He went to work.

When Leif reached the camp, his dad was still fishing. Mr. Anderlund had six small trout on the ice beside him. Mr. Molosky was by the fire stirring the bubbling potato chowder.

“I found two really great trees for the inn.”

Grandpa Molosky moved the huge pot away from the direct flame.  “Let’s bring’em in then.” He donned his snowshoes, and retrieved the chain saw.

 

            Stephen had climbed to within five feet of the top of a twenty-two foot spruce.  It had a perfect tip for the star he was going to give Hanna for Christmas.  He expected to win the ten-dollar bet with Joey, which meant he could buy the rhinestone-covered star he saw at Trask Hardware.

            The top of the tree began to sway as he tried to saw with his right hand while holding on with his left. He heard Mr. Molosky’s chain saw roar and wished he had something easier to use than a small pruning saw.  Joey had disappeared with the larger saw, but as Stephen listened to the chain saw, he had another idea.

            Leif and Grandpa Molosky pulled the newly felled tree behind them, heading for the second tree Eric tagged for the inn. The path narrowed. As they squeezed through a small stand of trees, Stephen cried out above them – then landed on his back at their feet. The pirated treetop came with him. The small saw was still gripped in his right hand.

            “Oof.”  Was all Stephen said, as the deep powder broke his fall.  He blinked, spitting away snow and pine needles.

            Leif and Grandpa Molosky looked up at the mugged evergreen, then back down at Stephen.  Mr. Molosky shook his head.

            Leif couldn’t resist.  “Looks like that tree got you back.”

            They moved off to the side and walked around the prone Stephen, dragging their first evergreen behind them.

            Stephen wiggled to a sitting position and then used low tree branches to help himself back to stand up. “Rats!” He thought.  I still need to find a fabulous tree for our house.

He wandered closer toward the lakeshore and in the general direction of the camp.  Stephen didn’t see anything that looked even decent.

He heard the chain saw again.  Then when he no longer heard the chain saw he began to panic.  He had to find his second tree and beat Joey back to camp. Stephen swung around desperately searching the tree line. He almost missed seeing it - and then - there it was, clumped in with several other trees.  If the branches were good on the side he couldn’t see, he’d take it.

Leaving Hanna’s tree, he hurried as fast as the snowshoes would let him to inspect behind the seven-foot pine.  Carefully, he pushed other tree branches out of the way and declared it the winner.     

            “Mr. Molosky.”  He called out when he spotted his brother and Eric’s grandpa. Each of them dragged a tree in the direction of camp.  “Will you cut this for me?  All I have is this.”  He held up the pruning saw.         

            The muscles in Joey’s right arm burned.  The trunk was dense and thicker at the bottom than he had expected.  When he switched arms, the going was slower. He was through two-thirds of the trunk when he realized the chain saw had not started up again.

            He looked up to see Mr. Molosky and Leif both dragging two large evergreens toward camp.  A short distance behind them, he watched Stephen drag one tree, and then he stopped to pick up a second smaller tree.  Alarmed, Joey began to push on the upper trunk of his tree. 

Pressing with all of his weight, the partially sawed trunk snapped.  Tree and boy toppled over. Scrambling to untangle his snowshoes from the lower branches, Joey grabbed the saw and a lower branch so he could pull the tree behind him.

He started to return to the day camp the way he came. But as he hurried, he realized he had a much longer distance to go than Stephen – unless he cut across the lake…   

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