the table. He looked toward Julie and caught her standing, applauding and smiling at him. After Julie stood up her father took the cue, stood up and took the walker’s hand like he was posing for a photo-op. He was!
The walker had resolved that with digital face recognition technology and high speed finger print retrieval it wouldn’t be long before Washington knew who he was and would attempt to discredit him. He considered it a foregone conclusion. He was just trying to get as much done as possible before that happened. He always had doubts about his mission, but he also felt the urgency that came with it. He had to talk to as many as possible before … what? Even if he was identified, perhaps his intent would still be considered genuine. After all, if the government tried to discredit him would it matter to the people he valued? Perhaps it would actually increase his credibility if the militia groups knew.
Ridge Parker rose to the occasion and asked if there were any more questions. One young man raised his hand and asked what plutocrats meant. The walker apologized for using that language and told him it meant “rich ruling class or governance by the wealthy”. The young man thanked him and sat down. There were no more questions. Ridge Parker then called for ice cream and everyone got up to take part. It evolved into an old fashioned ice cream social.
As everyone got their homemade ice cream, they started to talk in clutches and groups, gradually drifting to the walker and Parker, or the Lazenby’s. Soon the walker moved toward the Lazenby’s and was met with a firm handshake by everyone in his group. No one tried to pull him of balance and no one tried to crush his hand. They were all well behaved!
Ralph Lazenby asked several general questions about the number of groups in Montana. The walker did not know. No one knew, but the walker told him he kept finding them via relatives or associations. It was difficult. He had talked to seven groups in Utah. Some were polygamists, but were also patriots. There seemed to be more cohesion in Utah now among the seven groups. He noted that one group maintained no weapons, other than M-14 rifles. Every adult carried one and was intimately familiar with operation and maintenance. Those groups were also finding other groups and making them feel welcome. It had all been due to the walker’s influence, but he would never say it.
Lazenby was no fool. He asked why the walker didn’t just drive, or have someone drive him. He was told that it would be too easy to be waylaid or get someone else in trouble. He related the story about the Highway Patrolman in Wyoming. It seemed to satisfy everyone. They just shook their heads at the probable injustice.
Lazenby changed the subject, “I hear you carry a weapon. Would you like to try out our range tomorrow? It’s great, for around here. We have a twenty five meter, up to a three hundred yard range. The targets are automatic. We even have some lateral movers, if we can get ’em to work.”
“I’d love to shoot some. I haven’t had a free day in so long. I seem to always make it to a compound on Friday evening or Saturday morning and have just enough time to move on; the day after my presentation.” He lied. He didn’t like to, but here he was, at this point in time for a reason. Ridge Parker was the main reason, but Lazenby needed further study. He added, “What time do you want to meet?”
He and Lazenby and about thirty others agreed to meet at about 4:00 p.m. the next day, since the sun would be at their backs, just right to see the targets properly, and most people could get off work and arrive by then. The walker wondered how they would do with the sun in their eyes and the targets firing back.
Conversations continued after the Lazenby’s left with their entourage. The walker noticed that some of the group managed to straggle back in with the excuse of wanting more ice cream. He had to admit that it was awfully good. It really took one back to childhood. The conversations were loud and friendly. The walker asked Parker about the range. Parker told him it usually worked, but no one really took care of it between weekend meetings. Julie volunteered that her brother would arrive Friday evening and he usually took care of the range mechanics. That would be too late for tomorrow at four-o-clock. He asked if he could look at it sometime tomorrow. Julie readily agreed to show him where the “guts” of the beast were. He looked forward to talking to her, and to her brother when he arrived.
He was treated cordially by almost everyone that evening. He answered questions and tried not to be too aloof. It’s hard to be emotionless among so many happy people. There was some liquor involved. He could smell it. However, no one got out of hand and to him it seemed like a big family reunion with all the social intricacies of families. The meeting lasted late and he was obviously tired.
He was housed in a bunk house for men. He was shown to a small private room and made to feel comfortable. He always hesitated to try to sleep indoors since he knew the bad dreams would come. Nevertheless, he tried to stay down, so as not to disconcert his hosts.
6.
About 2:00 a.m. he got up and found a niche among pines to sleep. He met no one and was not challenged. The pine straw was dry and smelled like Linda. In the wee hours of the morning an old hound found him and lay with him. He found the hound’s neck, scratched a bit and the two old dogs slept soundly for about an hour. The brightness of morning brings out the bird sounds and although welcomed are not conducive to sleep. It always seemed to him they tried to catch up on the peeping they missed at night. They both stretched and yawned. One could smell and one could see. He thought they made a great pair.
As they were walking toward the clanging in the dining hall, Julie met them with a worried look, “I thought you left in the middle of the night. I went to your room … you weren’t there.”
“I was out looking for a good dog, and found one. He seems to like me for some reason.”
She grinned and leaned down to pet the old hound, “He’s been hanging around here forever. I don’t know where he came from. Everybody feeds him something and he gets petted by all the kids. He’s pretty aloof though. Always thought he was waiting for someone. I call him ‘Huckleberry’. You know the cartoon … never mind! Name him whatever you want. He comes anyway you call him. You gonna have some breakfast?”
“You buying?”
“Yep!”
“Okay then, let’s go. I hear the food’s great here.”
The three of them walked to the hall. The old hound stayed outside by the porch. The walker heard someone ask who the old hound was waiting for this time.
Breakfast was eggs, anyway you wanted them, as long as it was scrambled; bacon strips, beans, toast and home fries. It was fit for a king. He got the idea this was the way they always ate. Several of the ladies were slightly overweight, but who was he to … Julie said “Hi Mom!” to her mother, who was working behind the counter. The walker thought she was beautiful in her apron. She looked a bit like Linda would have looked if the Crone’s had let her put on weight.
The talk was small. He sensed Julie couldn’t wait to show him the “guts” of the shooting range. Much to the chagrin of Julie, her mother came out to sit with them after things slowed down some. He found that Altrise Parker was open, intelligent and kind hearted. She was a graduate of NYU. She thought she was going to be pre-law before she found Ridge, or Ridge found her. They met in one of her minor courses on Law and Society. He was going into politics and she was instantly in love. Ridge got an intern job with the governor’s office and they’d been willing residents ever since. Julie’s older brother was conceived in New York, and born in Montana.
Altrise was born and raised in Connecticut and Ridge in Jersey. They were a good fit. Although Ridge was only a state representative, he owned a lumber business in Great Falls. Apparently it was a lucrative one. He was seldom there though, because his son ran the business day to day. Altrise admitted their greatest aspirations were for Duncan to finish school and enter politics. He hadn’t finished college in Missoula, but was a genius in business. He’d grown the business in three years like his father hadn’t in fifteen before him. He loved the work; his father did not. That made a big difference; so said Julie,