The next week, Yevgeny stayed within the walls of his hidden canyon. He explored the narrow, winding trail until he ran into a blank wall that would take a major effort to climb carrying a heavy pack and rifle. At the base of the wall he found a small catchment basin filled with water from the melted snow fifteen feet above the canyon floor. At least that was something. He was at most two miles from his cave camp.

Feeling more secure than he had since leaving the cabin, he moved slowly back to his camp, day dreaming about his reunion with Katrina and Maya. Yevgeny was nearly back to his cave site when he smelled cigarette smoke that lingered on the light breeze blowing in his face. He edged around the last corner of the trail and could now see the opening to his cave. There was no sight of any movement or any sound but the smell of cigarette smoke was stronger. He edged closer to the hidden opening to the canyon. Now he could hear voices. With his back to the wall, Yevgeny slowly moved closer to the thicket that concealed the entrance to the hidden canyon. The voices were Russian and he was close enough to understand what was being said. Yevgeny stiffened when he heard the dominant speaker saying, “I’m telling you, there is someone out here. There are still enemies of the Revolution and deserters living in the forest.”

A second voice said, “Sergeant, we’ve been out here looking for ten days and have only found one partial footprint on the stream bank.”

A third voice said, “That’s true but there are few sources of water in this area now that the snow is gone. Anyone hiding out here has to get water from that stream. All we have to do is wait a few days.”

Yevgeny could identify the sergeant’s voice when he spoke again. “I’ve been hunting men in this forest for the last two years. I know someone is hiding near here. No one is trapping now and there is almost no game for hunters in this portion of the forest. Anyone here is hiding from something. Remember, just ten days northeast of here five local police men disappeared with no trace. The body of one of them was found two weeks ago with a bullet hole.

“The police believe the killer is well armed and a highly skilled woodsman. It is also believed he killed three local trappers who were armed. Now tell me, would an innocent man get water from a stream and leave almost no sign anyone was there and no tracks leading anywhere? No, the man who left the partial footprint is skilled in the ways of the forest and is not innocent. We will stay here until we find him. I don’t believe he is more than few hours from right here.”

“Sergeant,” one of the earlier speakers said, “I know this part of the forest. For more than 20 years I’ve hunted here. A few years ago one of the elders in the village told me there are stories about a primitive settlement in a small hidden place in the hills with ancient paintings on the walls of several caves. He said the last person to see the caves died many years ago. But he swore the story was true.”

“He might be right,” the sergeant said. “Remember when you told me you smelled smoke a week ago? I wasn’t sure then but that was before we found the footprint. I believe now you did smell smoke. We need to search in the rougher country. The way these hills and ridges fold together, there may be hidden caves all around us. Look at the way those two ridges come together, not 25 meters from our fire. Drink your tea and let’s begin right here to search for a way to look between those two ridges.”

Yevgeny felt trapped. He could feel the trickle of sweat running down his back. He couldn’t hold them at the entrance. He only had 15 rounds left for his .30-40 Krag, not enough to engage three well-armed men. Also he didn’t know if there were more men nearby. He judged he could only count on having 15 minutes before they found the entrance. They were practically drinking tea in the entranceway.

No matter how much he tried to erase all signs of having lived for weeks in the cave, it wouldn’t be enough. The smell of his now dead campfire, or a few scattered green pine needles, his human smell, marks in the dust, his latrine, and food smells would give him away. Maybe if he had several hours he could sterilize his campsite but not in less than 15 minutes. No, his only chance was to travel light and try to climb out of the canyon where the steep cliff made this a dead-end canyon. Taking his rifle, water bag, food, and the city clothes he would need, Yevgeny concealed his tracks as he left the cave using his distance running gait down the canyon.

All of Barry Kelly’s novels are available in print in digital formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your local bookstore. Visit www.factsandfictions.com for more by the author.