Bridges to Burn

“She finally made her trip to Missoula to see the lawyer and learned about her inheritance, which was the Calder ranch.

We drove there to look it over and while there found the trunk which contained all this money, and George’s papers.

“The letter he left for the finders was interesting reading. He left a copy of a newspaper article describing the bank heist

and claimed that the money in the trunk was not the money stolen from the bank but was left by two young friends of his, for

safe-keeping. Then the two friends disappeared.

“Cindy and I both decided he probably planned the bank caper and then contributed to the disappearance of the two

friends.”

By that time they had arrived at the sheriff’s office. “An interesting story,” said Judd.

* * *

Awaiting was a fax from the FBI identifying the two men as James Thurwood, age 57, suspected of being involved in

several bank robberies in Alaska over the past 10 years. He had been released from a federal prison 15 years ago after

serving 10 years of a 20 years to life sentence for armed robbery. His constant companion was Arthur Street, age 53, who

had served time with him in the federal pen.

There were no outstanding warrants for either one, but after they left Alaska the bank robberies had stopped.

Judd showed Ben the fax and said, “How about that? I’m looking forward to an interesting interrogation. Want to listen?”

“I’d love to,” Ben replied. “But first let me go tell Cindy.”

Judd drove Ben back to the trailer park and then the two returned to the jail where Ben was seated with two of the

deputies in a room behind a two way window. He could see into the interrogation room and watched as Judd walked in

followed by the older of the two men, James Thurwood, who was in handcuffs and escorted by another deputy.

After Thurgood and the sheriff were both seated the deputy stationed himself by the door as Judd began his questioning

in the form of a statement that was a biography of Thurgood. “Your name is James Thurwood, correct?” Without waiting for

an answer Judd continued, “Born in Oklahoma, managed to stay out of jail until you were in your early thirties. Then you made

a mistake and got caught, which cost you ten years in the slammer.

“You were lucky again in Alaska and didn’t get caught after pulling some capers there. Then you made a mistake and

returned to Montana to see if you could be lucky again. But, you’re in my territory now thanks to some help from my good

buddies in Spokane.”

All this time Thurgood sat there woodenly, seemingly indifferent to what Sheriff Shepherd was saying. Judd continued,

“Your last heist, 27 years ago in Billings, you lost out also. Did you really think old man Calder was going to share all that

money with you? Old George is probably laughing in his grave right now.”

At the mention of George Calder Thurgood raised his eyes but still said nothing.

“Oh, you remember George? Want to tell me about him?”

“I want to see a lawyer.”

“When I charge you with something, then you can see a lawyer. Right now I’m trying to get your cooperation. If you’re

willing to cooperate maybe I’ll charge you with only one bank robbery and forget about the one in Billings.”

Ben grinned when he heard this, remembering that Judd had told him the Billings robbery was old hat and was long

forgotten.

“You have no proof of anything.” Thurgood muttered.

“Oh yes we have; we have an eye witness for the robbery her and we have fingerprints you and your partner left at

George’s ranch while you were searching for that loot.”

“I want to talk to a lawyer,” Thurgood said again.

“Okay,” Judd turned to his deputy, “book him; charge him with armed robbery, one count for now, and when his buddy

places all the blame on Thurgood maybe we’ll ease up on the charge on his buddy.”

At this Thurgood glanced at the sheriff and then was led out, none too gently, by the deputy.

When the other man was brought in Judd changed his tactics. ‘Well, Arthur Strait, you can thank your good buddy,

James Thurgood, for laying the blame on you for both the Libby robbery and the one in Billings some 27 years ago.’

Strait strained at his handcuffs and started to rise before the deputy pushed him back into his chair.

“That SOB,” he exclaimed. “He’s the one responsible. If he hadn’t decided to come back here to hit George up for our

trunk we never would have pulled the bank job in Libby.” Strait stopped suddenly when he realized he had been trapped into

a statement.

“According to your partner you are the one who was so anxious to come back and see George. You got hungry for real

dough and when you couldn’t find the trunk at George’s ranch you talked him into the job in Libby.”

“He’s a damn liar if he said that,” Strait replied.

“I guess the jury will have to decide who’s lying. Take him out and book him. The last statement was made to the deputy.

Judd came into the room where Ben was waiting, a big grin on his face. “I’m going to have a different lawyer assigned to

each of them so they can plead their cases separately. And I have two in mind who don’t like each other very much and will

each be trying to shift the blame to the other defendant. I think the judge will go along with my thinking when I explain what I

have in mind. That way our two rogues will be caught in the middle.

“I haven’t had this much fun since San Francisco,” Judd added.

“San Francisco?” Ben questioned.

“Didn’t I tell you I was a cop in San Francisco? I worked there 20 years then had enough of the city and moved here. Now

I’m in my third career: navy, cop, sheriff.”

“You were in the navy too?”

“I got a medical discharge after 8 years when I lost the vision in one eye in a training accident. The brass insisted I was

no longer physically fit, but hell, I didn’t have any problems as a cop. Now, I’ve been here 4 years and I have no problems. I

can still hit a target at 20 yards.”

Judd then informed Ben that the preliminary hearing for the bank robbery would be at least a week away. “Our circuit

judge usually comes on Tuesdays. As this is Friday he might not come for 10 days, unless he considers the case significant

enough to schedule a special hearing. Then, who knows? I assume you want to go back to your fishing but if you’re

interested in being an observer I can let you know when. It might be interesting to see the two attorneys tangle.”

“Let me know,” Ben replied. “Any good fishing spots you can recommend that are not too far away?”

“You might go to that campground where you found our boys’ pickup. There’s usually good fishing there at the mouth of

the river,” Judd suggested.

“I think I’ll do that and pay another visit to the ranch on the way. I’ll talk it over with Cindy and see what she wants to do.”

When Ben returned to the trailer park he described the two interviews he had witnessed and mentioned Judd’s plan to

have two alienated attorneys assigned to the perpetrators. “He also suggested that the fishing near the campground where

we found the perps' truck was good. If you’re interested we could go there and return here for the hearing.”

“Let’s do that,” Cindy agreed.

“Want to visit Uncle George’s ranch on the way?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

In the morning they again drove the motorhome over the bumpy, pot-holed road to the ranch. This time, as Ben had

feared the first time they drove it, the eggs and a few other items spilled out onto the floor. Of the six eggs in the carton, three

broke and mixed in with a carton of milk that had popped open. Cindy was able to leave her seat and secure the fridge

before more damage was done.

To their dismay the bandits had almost destroyed sections of the old ranch house in their search for the trunk or its

contents. In places they had torn up the floor and cut huge holes in the walls. The damage was so extensive Ben was certain

it could never be repaired.

“The state will probably have to demolish it,” Ben stated.

“It’s a shame,” Cindy agreed.

“While we’re here let’s move the motorhome closer to the creek and camp for a few days,” Ben suggested. “Last time

we were here we didn’t have time for anything but the trunk. We haven’t explored the area at all. Maybe we can find where

the road goes to.

“Not in the motorhome,” said Cindy.

“No, we’ll use the pickup.”

An open level spot was found close to the creek and the motorhome parked there. As soon as Ruff rediscovered the

creek he plunged in for a dip while Ben and Cindy found a shady area to sit with a cool one and relax. Much to their chagrin,

when Ruff left the creek he chose to shake himself directly behind them. Cindy squealed and jumped out of the chair.

“As long as we’re wet we might as well go for a swim too,” said Ben, then immediately removed his clothes and waded

into the water. Not to be outdone, Cindy soon followed, accompanied by Ruff.

As accustomed as he was to seeing Cindy in the nude, Ben still gazed in wonder at the perfection of her body. “You get

more beautiful each day,” he stammered, causing Cindy to blush.

In the morning they drove the pickup across the rickety bridge that spanned the creek and followed the old road. Ben

was in his element. “I’ve never seen a dirt road I didn’t want to explore,” he had said many times.

The road was even more washboardy than the section leading to the ranch. The pickup dipped in and out of potholes

with jarring impact in its occupants. In places Ben had to hop out and remove a tree that had fallen across the roadway,

sometimes using a saw to cut it away. At other times the foliage met in the middle over the road and brushed the top of the

shell as they drove. Half an hour after starting out, and a distance of only six miles, the road came to an abrupt end at a

rushing stream.

“I can probably cross it if I use four-wheel drive and the winch,” Ben told Cindy. “But this stream looks as good a place to

stop as any. The fishing might be good and it’s almost lunch time. Are you ready to stop?”

“I was ready an hour ago.”

After a leisurely lunch sitting on a blanket by the stream Ben decided to try the fishing. “It might be a little rugged going,

trying to negotiate this stream,” he said. “Would you mind staying here with the pickup while Ruff and I go fishing?”

“Not on your life,” she replied. “If my man and his best friend are going fishing his second best friend should b able to go

too.”

“I had already planned to take my second best friend. Ruff always goes with me; well, almost always. But I’d love to have

my best friend with me too.” Saying this, Ben kissed Cindy full on her lips and added, “Put on your old sneakers and plan to

get wet.”

The going was as rough as Ben predicted. Not only did the brush grow right to the stream's edge, much of it was thorn

bushes that pulled at their clothes and added a few scratches to exposed parts of their bodies. Also, many downed trees

had to be negotiated, sometimes by climbing over them, other times by sliding under.

After an hour of slogging they came to an open stretch of stream that looked to Ben to have ideal conditions for fly fishing.

While he and Ruff headed upstream Cindy sat on the bank and watched. The fishing was good; in less than an hour Ben

caught and released more than a dozen small trout. Three larger ones he kept for their evening meal. All the fishing was on

a short stretch of the stream never out of sight of Cindy.

Renegotiating the stream back to the road and then the road back to the motorhome was easier than the trip in. Many of

the obstacles had been removed or at least partially cleared. By late afternoon they were sitting by the motorhome having a

cold beer while Ruff frolicked in the creek.

* * *

After relaxing the next day, with an occasional dip in the creek to cool off, they returned to the main highway and

continued north to the primitive campground where Judd Shepherd had recommended Ben try the fishing.

As Judd said, the fishing at the mouth of the river was excellent; even Cindy got into it and decided to become more

active in Ben’s favorite hobby. Ruff, as he had been trained to do, waded with Ben, up to his haunches at times, and

remained still while Ben had a fish on.

A week later they got a call from Judd telling them the hearing would be in two days. It took a matter of about three hours

to hitch up and return to the trailer park in Libby.

The hearing was what Judd had hoped for, a shambles for the two defendants. Judge Parish agreed to Judd’s

suggestion and appointed the two attorneys he asked for. Each lawyer tried to outdo the other in laying the blame, resulting

in the judge declaring there was sufficient cause to hold the two suspects for trial.

“That was as good as a Broadway show,” Cindy commented as they returned to the trailer park.

Following the court entertainment they left the area and headed east. Ben had read in one of his Montana fishing guides

about several small lakes in the Choteau area and wanted to give them a try before closing out their summer travels and

heading for their home in Oregon.

The motorhome was parked in a small RV park in Choteau and the pickup used to explore the roads leading into the

mountains in the area. Some of the roads were as bad or worse than the road leading to Uncle George’s ranch. Each day

they drove slowly on these roads prepared to stay over for several nights in a tent if what they found appealed to them.

On the third day, after a bone jarring ride of almost 11 miles, both of them exclaimed at the sight of the lake they reached.

It was about two acres in size, in a beautiful setting. Trees flourished to the edge of the crystal clear water. An occasional

fish rising was the only sound they heard.

“Looks good,” said Ben. “Let’s try the fishing and stay a few days if it’s as good as it looks.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cindy replied. “But get the bug dope out; I expect we’re going to see, or hear, a few mosquitoes.”

After an hour of excellent fishing they both agreed they had found a place worth spending some time at. They also

discovered they were not alone at the lake. At the far end of the lake, about a quarter of a mile from where the road ended,

they spied a tent among the trees.

“Must be someone who wants to be alone,” Ben remarked. “And they must have backpacked there; I don’t see any sign

of a vehicle.”

“I wonder if they’re friendly,” mused Cindy.

Ben and Cindy set up their tent in a clearing 100 feet from the lake, in a campsite that had been used previously and

came complete with a fireplace and a latrine.

The remainder of the day they fished close to camp, catching and releasing many trout, keeping four of the largest for

dinner. Sitting next to the fire that evening both of them remarked at the silence surrounding them.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say we were a hundred miles from roads in the Canadian wilderness,” said Cindy. “And, since

our neighbors don’t have a fire they could be non-existent.”

During the night Ruff growled and Ben heard something moving outside their tent. When he shone a flashlight out the

door he saw a huge black bear rooting in the fireplace.

“I’m glad we locked up all our food in the pickup,” he mumbled to Cindy, who had awakened also.

In the morning they decided to walk around the lake, a distance they estimated to be about a mile. As they approached

their neighbor’s campsite they observed a young woman sitting near the tent, reading. She looked up as they approached

then returned to her reading.

“Good morning,” said Cindy, and then, in an attempt to be friendly, added, “You have a beautiful view from your

campsite.” And it was a beautiful view, a mountain peak dominated the scene at the head of the lake. To Cindy it was awe

inspiring.

“I like the view too,” the young lady answered with a smile. “It’s a gorgeous sight to wake up to.”

“Did the bear visit you last night?” Ben asked.

“If he did, I didn’t hear him.”

“We’re Ben and Cindy Foster, from Oregon,” said Cindy.

“I’m Judy Blank, from nowhere.”

“Nowhere?” Cindy and Ben said, almost in unison.

“Originally from Chicago, but now I’m just a nomad.”

“Oh, I see,” said Cindy, not seeing at all.

“Are you backpacking?” Ben asked.

“My car broke down in Choteau and I didn’t have any money to fix it so I walked from there.”

“What’s broken, do you know?” said Ben. “Maybe I can fix it for you. I’m a pretty good mechanic.”

“That would be nice,” Judy replied. “I think it’s the alternator.”

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