He had barely touched the ground when one of the men, a security officer, was being lifted in. Another security officer followed, then a prisoner, who, though he had an IV was handcuffed. The sheriff recognized him...he was one of the Drysdale boys. He went to the others. A second prisoner he recognized, Terry Moore was handcuffed and had his legs bound, a bandage around his head. A security man sat with him. Deputy Fife sat a ways off, an IV in his arm, and another security man tended him. The sheriff came over, sat down beside him, and leaned against the same log. "Up to a report deputy?" he asked.
Fife took two slow, deep breaths and began. "When we got here and they'd already gathered a good supply of wood to start the fires. It was decided Ben would stay up here with one group working in these two plots. I'd go down below with the second one and work on those three. As I was walking off the security guy walked up, said 'Hi, I'm Tony Garfield. Do I hear another Brooklynite?' I said 'Right on!' and he attached himself to me. Come to find out he'd been raised in my old neihborhood! I knew his parents. Couldn't believe they'd gone Spir!
We were just working, the guys were ripping the plants up. We were putting them on the fire and throwing some wood on once and a while to keep it good and hot when suddenly shots rang out. Tony and I were hit immediately. Though I was hurt I dragged him behind the weed where we were under cover. He was hit in the head." The deputy continued as his voice began to tremble. "He died in my arms, seventeen year old kid, volunteer helping his people out, manned the radio, helped around camp. He wasn't even armed!"
The deputy began to sob heavily. "That's all. That's all I can tell you," he managed between sobs. "I guess I blacked out. When I came to I was up here and the medics were tending me."
He continued to sob and the sheriff put his arm around him and held him for a while, and didn't feel bad about doing it at all. Finally the deputy straightened.
"Better go get a report from Ben," he managed. The sheriff nodded and got up. Deputy McClain was still supervising the burning. More help had arrived.
"What happened Ben?" the sheriff asked.
"We were working along," the deputy answered, "I was up here with the chief of security. All of a sudden shots started being fired from the wood line, over there. Fife and the kid went down down there. We had to go down up here, then those guys started giving it back. These guys are professionals, sheriff, I'd say army trained.
Less than a minute the shooters broke and ran, making for the road where their vehicles were. But the patrol up on the other side cut them off. There was an exchange of fire down there. The shooters couldn't get to their vehicles so they retreated to the woods. There's two of them up there in the woods, we just covered 'em we didn't move 'em, and the kids down there. God damn, sheriff, WHY? What did they hope to gain? What did shooting at us accomplish? The damned pot was gone! They couldn't save it, why kill over it?"
"I don't know," the sheriff answered. "I'd better go look." He walked down and lifted the tarpaulin covering the young security man's body. Only one wound on the side of the head, pretty straight forward. He made his way to the wood line and examined the two bodies there. He immediately recognized them! It was Bob and Frank Moore. They had both received several wounds in the chest. He covered them back up, walked back to the prisoner and stood over him. "WHY Terry?" he asked. "This is insane!"
"Poppa went crazy," the boy answered, "started screaming they were burning our livelihood. All the money we'd have for a year; Bobby's college money, and it wasn't none of their business. He just went crazy, told us to spread out, and started shooting. Once he started the others joined in. But I didn't...I couldn't! You can check my rifle. It hasn't been fired. The clip's still full. Popa's been getting crazier and crazier ever since mama took the girls and left. He's been getting crazier and crazier!"
The boy stopped talking and just stared at the ground. "Have you got his weapon?" the sheriff asked the security man.
He nodded. "He's telling the truth. Hasn't been fired."
The sheriff saw an all terrain roll up. The colony's young leader climbed off the back of it.
"Whoa! Whoa! " the sheriff cried, "What are you doing here?"
"One of our people is dead," the young woman answered. "I have been summoned to give him his last blessings according to our traditions."
"All right," the sheriff agreed, "but you can't touch him."
"It's not necessary," the young Speaker told him. "Would you be so kind as to uncover him?"
The sheriff hesitated a moment then pulled back the tarpaulin. The Speaker knelt by the body, performed her people's ceremony, then rose.
"Thank you!" she remarked. "I'd better get back to the lodge."
"Not without more escort!" the sheriff insisted. "We've got several lunatics running around in these woods, and until we secure them I want all precautions taken. Four of you gentlemen escort this lady back to her quarters."
"Yes!" the head security man snapped. He pointed to four of his men. They mounted their all terrain vehicles and followed The Speaker and her driver.
"I'm taking Barney's car," the sheriff announced, "calling in the state police. I'm going up to the Moore house. If

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