Page 1 of A Mile of Ocean

Prologue

Tuesday, April 21, 1964

Green River, Wyoming

While drying his supper dishes, the rancher and widower Noble Colter hummed along to the radio. It was the same Silvertone model that had sat on the kitchen counter in the same corner since 1955, a Christmas present for his late wife, Crystal. Bought at Sears and Roebuck, he remembered carting it home in his 1949 Ford truck. The tunes were still country and western, still played out of Newcastle from station KASL 1240 AM, just as they had been back when Crystal was alive before the cancer took her. He could remember those good times on nights like tonight when the music had him longing for those days again.

While crooner Bobby Bare lamented about being five hundred miles away from home, Noble shuffled around the kitchen until he had all the plates stacked neatly on the shelves where they belonged, just like his wife had taught him.

Creeping up on eighty, Noble was considerably slower these days but could still take care of himself. So when the dogs started fussing, alerting him to something outside, he went to the front window to look out. A sharp bark from his oldest dog, Buck, a Blue Heeler, snapped him out of his melancholy reverie. Buck rarely barked unless something or someone threatened hisspace. On the other hand, Buck’s brother, Cutter, had a habit of yapping at anything that moved. Cutter seemed the most distressed as Noble tried to ignore the racket by telling himself it was probably a rabbit heading for the garden.

Noting the time approaching nine o’clock, Noble didn’t want to miss his favorite TV show,The Fugitive. After watching the program all season long, tonight was the finale. He flipped the knob on the woodgrain maple TV console, also bought at Sears, to ABC’s Channel 5 and settled back into his easy chair to watch the drama that was Dr. Richard Kimble in black and white.

He put the ruckus from the dogs on the back burner, deciding they had likely caught the scent of a coyote sniffing around the barn, desperate for anything to feed their young pups. They could be more aggressive this time of year, protecting their brood in spring than at any other time. But he hadn’t seen a coyote in weeks, let alone one bold enough to approach this close to the house.

The barking went on for ten more minutes. At the first commercial break, Noble decided he needed to take a look outside. He took down his shotgun from its place over the fireplace mantel and headed out the front door. He stood on his porch in the chilly night air, staring out into the blackness toward the barn. He didn’t see a thing out of place. But knowing his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, he held the pump-action shotgun close to his side. A blast from a 12-gauge would stop anything if he got close enough to hit the target. And he wasn’t that blind.

Noble squinted into the darkness, his eyes straining to catch any movement. He descended the porch steps, his boots crunching on the gravel pathway, and began a slow shuffle toward the barn. As he got closer, the dogs grew more frantic and upset. Noble tightened his grip on the Winchester, ready for whatever might emerge from the shadows.

The barn’s silhouette stood steadfast against the faint glow of moonlight. He patted the 12-gauge, raising it slightly, ready to fire whenever the vermin made itself known. The sound might at least scare the critter off, even if his lousy eyesight hindered the situation.

In the dim light, he finally made out the shape of a figure lurking near the barn door. It wasn’t a coyote but a man. Noble didn’t recognize him. He called out, his voice firm and unwavering, “Who’s there? State your business now! I’m armed, and I don’t mind one bit sending you into the next world, whatever it is.”

The dogs circled the stranger, who froze, then slowly raised his hands in surrender. A young man’s voice responded, shaky and unsure. “Hey, there. I don’t mean any harm. No need to shoot me. I just needed a place to stay for the night. I’m going to turn around now so you can see my face. Is that okay?”

Noble lowered his shotgun slightly but kept his guard up. “Sure. Turn around. I want to see who’s arrogant enough to think they can upset my dogs this time of night. You’re trespassing on private property and sneaking around where you shouldn’t be.”

The man stepped into the moonlight, revealing a tall, gangly frame. He wore a green Army jacket with a 5th Special Forces patch prominently on the sleeve. His black combat boots clashed with his faded, threadbare blue jeans. A tri-colored baseball cap covered his mop of chestnut hair. He had a small gap between his front teeth and a scruffy beard. His steel blue eyes seemed wary of the situation but stayed trained on the older man. An olive-green backpack hung from his shoulder. “The name’s Barrett, Barrett Callum. I’ve been traveling and ran out of money. I saw your barn and thought I could rest here tonight.”

Noble’s face tightened as he hollered at the dogs, especially Cutter, to quiet down. A bit confused, he stared at the tri-coloredbaseball cap with the W insignia. “Without asking first? Where you from? That cap says you’re local. If that’s true, you should know better than wander up to a man’s house in the middle of the night with no warning. This is Wyoming, son. We shoot people like that and ask questions later. ”

Barrett’s demeanor changed. His face morphed into cold impatience, coupled with frustration. He took two steps closer, his blue eyes simmering in outrageous fury. “Look, old man, you don’t want to mess with me. I don’t want any trouble. Go back inside. Take your dogs with you. Pretend you never saw me. I’ll bunk here out of the cold with or without your say-so, anyway.”

Noble raised the shotgun and leveled it at the man’s chest. “Says who? I go back inside I’ll call the sheriff.”

“No, you won’t,” Barrett declared. “I cut your phone lines before your dogs could make a sound.”

It was that statement that made Noble realize he was in trouble. His slower reactions were no match for the younger man’s speed and agility. The man shocked him by dropping his Army pack on the ground, then lowering his head, charged, and tackled him to the ground. The two men tussled for control of the shotgun. But Callum had no problem overpowering the elderly man, twisting and jerking on the Winchester before finally wrenching it out of Noble’s arthritic hands.

Barrett shifted his weight on the old man’s chest, allowing him a chance to catch his breath. “See how the situation can change dramatically if you’re not careful?”

Growling, teeth bared, Buck and Cutter started to make their move. But Barrett, still sitting on Nobel’s chest, pumped the shotgun. “Call off your dogs. Now!”

“I can’t breathe.”

Barrett rolled off the older man, but he stood towering above Nobel’s head, aiming the shotgun at him. “Call off those dogs, or I swear I’ll kill them where they stand.”

“Buck! Cutter! Down. Stand down,” Noble whooshed out. Fear ran through him as he tried to get to his feet.

But the man planted his boot back on Noble’s chest. “Where are your people? Your family?”

“None of your beeswax,” Noble huffed in a ragged breath. “Don’t hurt my dogs.”

“All you had to do was offer me a place for the night. Would that have been so hard? Is everyone in Wyoming as unfriendly as you are?”

“I’m set in my ways. Sue me.”

“What’s your name?”

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