Page 91 of Dead Mountain

“Sam Puller.” He stuck his hand in the window. “Nice to meet you both. I won’t ask what it’s all about. You warned me already—mum’s the word!” He laughed.

Nora could see a woman standing in the doorway of the lodge, wearing paint-spattered clothing and holding a roller. “That’s my wife, Jo,” Puller explained, clearly enjoying the rare chance at company. “It’s just the two of us here, we don’t get many winter visitors, and it’s always a pleasure. You want a cup of joe?”

“Sure, thank you,” Corrie said.

“We’d like to show you some maps,” Nora added. “Get your advice on what the best route might be.”

“Happy to help!” He glanced at his wife. “She’s been painting, as you can see. There’s always something to do around here.”

They got out of the vehicle and followed Puller into the lodge, Nora carrying a folder of maps. They walked into a magnificent two-story space with a gigantic stone fireplace, the walls decorated with antlers and Navajo rugs. “Spread those out here,” Puller said, “and we’ll get you some coffee.”

“Thank you.” Nora laid out a few maps on the giant wooden coffee table. Puller disappeared and returned a few minutes later with mugs of coffee, cream, and sugar.

“How familiar are you with the country, Mr. Puller?” Nora asked.

“Oh, pretty well.”

“We want to visit these three spots on the map,” said Nora, pointing out the markings she’d made. Her finger stopped at T1. “Ever been in that area?”

Puller peered down at the topo map, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “That’s in the Knot,” he said. “We almost never take guests that far south. But I’ve hunted elk in the area.”

“Any thoughts on the best route to get there?”

He held the map up and scrutinized it. “I don’t know that exact spot, but you’ll clearly need to follow the ridges.” He pulled a pen from his pocket. “May I?” he asked, laying the map back down.

“Please.”

“Okay. You’re gonna drive to the end of the plowed road through the ranch, about half a mile, to here.” He drew a line. “There’s a parking area that’s plowed out and a trailhead. Park there and take your machine through the notch. Follow the ridges, here, here, and here. Take it slow; there’ll be downed timber.” He continued drawing a line across the ridges, ending at T1. He hesitated. “Um, I know this is confidential and all, but . . . that’s kind of a strange place to go to. Godawful lonesome country. I can’t think of what might be there.”

Corrie smiled. “I’m sorry, Mr. Puller. I wish we could tell you more.”

“Right! You’re good until sunset, when the snow and wind will start picking up.” He hesitated. “You don’t plan to be out past dark, do you?”

“Hell no,” said Corrie.

“Good. These mountains are pretty but they’re not so friendly.”

“We might also want to visit these other locations,” Nora said, pointing at T2 and T3.

Puller scrutinized the map again. “Those are gonna be a lot harder to get to. You bring snowshoes?”

“We did.”

“With crampons?”

“No.”

He shook his head. “You’ll need snowshoes with crampons for traction. I’ve got some here.”

He disappeared, returning in a few minutes carrying two pairs. “These are Drifter Plus All Mountain, medium size, just about right for both of you. Pack those on your snowmobile, just in case.”

He proceeded to trace paths to T2 and T3. “I’m not sure if you can get to either of those two places and back out by sunset. What I’d recommend is if your first spot is a miss, you come straight back here. We’ll put you up for the night, and you can investigate the other two on Friday morning.”

“That’s really kind of you, Mr. Puller,” said Corrie.

“You can thank me by getting back before dark,” he said. “The sun sets at five. You sure as hell don’t want to be stranded out there overnight in a snowstorm.”

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