“See, the problem is that women up here have their pick of guys,” one is saying. “So you can’t be choosy. Find one who’ll be grateful for the attention, make sure she’s liquored up… and then turn off the lights and pretend she’s hot.”
That’s theleastoffensive thing they say. It seems one of them is about to go on leave in Dawson City. His companion is giving him advice, which starts with getting women “liquored up” and ends with suggesting he find alcoholics and offer them money because there are “lots of boozers up here, and you wouldn’t believe what they’ll do for a C-note.”
“Miners?” I whisper.
Dalton only grunts, and the more I listen, the more I feel as if I’ve been transported back to the gold rush days, guys with a pocketful of money, looking for sex in the metropolis of Dawson City.
The important thing is that they didn’t hear us. They are, however, heading our way. Directly our way. I glance back toward where we left Storm.
Do we acknowledge that we’re here? We’re on neutral ground. We haven’t met any of the miners, though, and Rogers has made it clear that he would prefer his workers not to realize there’s another settlement nearby. I agree, especially after hearing that conversation. One of our fears is that the miners will discover there’s a town… with women and a bar. From what I just heard, that worry isn’t groundless paranoia.
Dalton motions for us to move north and get out of their path. From there, we can link back up to that larger trail and quietly retrieve our dog.
We start in that direction. The two men are making enough noise to scare off anything, and it easily tells us where they are. They keep talking, having now moved to stories of sex with drunk women. And, if I’m understanding correctly, sex with passed-out drunk women. I block it out. Nothing I can do except resolve even more strongly to keep our two settlements apart.
When we’re about thirty feet away, the men pass perpendicular to us, and I glance back to take a look. Considering what they’re saying, I’d like to commit these two faces to memory. I ease left so I can see them and, with a jolt, I realize I’ve met them. Both of them.
They’re not miners. They’re guards. I’ve been making a more concerted effort to distinguish them, mostly so if we have a problem with one, I can identify him. One of these two is about thirty-five, with light hair and a mole on his jaw. The other is the dark-haired one we saw just the other day.
So it’s not the miners talking about getting women drunkand having sex with them. It’s the guards… who already know about Haven’s Rock.
“Fuck,” Dalton mutters beside me, and I nod in agreement.
The one saving grace here is that no one has attempted to come to Haven’s Rock, despite knowing there’s a nearby settlement with women. That’d be Rogers’s doing. I hate to give the guy credit, but he runs a tight ship. I suppose that’s one advantage to the paramilitary nonsense. Rogers uses it to keep the guards in line. I can only imagine that they’ve been told what the penalty is for crossing onto our territory, and it’s steep enough that no one is breaking it, even for sex.
I turn to head back to Storm. While I would prefer not to bump into these guys, I’m not as concerned as I had been when I thought they were miners. We told Rogers we’d keep looking for signs that hikers hadn’t left, and that’s what we’re doing.
I only get one step, though, before Dalton touches my arm. He’s looking deeper into the woods, and when I go still, I pick up the tramp of footsteps.
“Moore!” a voice snaps. “Rico! What the hell are you doing out here?”
If it wasn’t for the profanity, I’d have presumed it was Rogers. Then the man says something I don’t catch, and I realize he has a British accent. Definitely not someone we’ve met.
I back up to where I’d been and peer through. The two guards have stopped. A third man joins them. He’s maybe mid-forties, with light brown hair, tall and wiry. I frown and glance at Dalton, who shakes his head, confirming it’s no one we’ve seen.
“Sorry, mate,” the light-haired guard says, affecting an accent himself. “We were just out for a ramble. Heading over to the pub—”
“I’ll ask you one more time. Where do you think you’re going?”
“We’re off duty, mate.”
“You might be, but you passed the boundary a half mile back.”
The light-haired man screws up his face. “Did we? Huh. Guess we missed the signposts.”
“If you have a problem, take it up with your boss, and somehow, I get the feeling, he’s going to tell you to go fuck yourself. Now turn around and go back.”
The light-haired man grumbles and shoulders past the younger one, but he does as he’s told. Dalton and I watch the newcomer as he stands there, peering around. Then he turns on his heel and stalks off.
“You’ve never seen him either, right?” I say.
“Never.”
“But he seems to be management. Second-in-command, maybe? At least that encounter tells us one good thing.”
“That the guards have a boundary they aren’t supposed to cross.”
I glance up at Dalton. “Two things, then. They have boundaries even off-duty and on neutral territory. But also they weren’t looking for our hikers. They’ve given up that search.”
