Dark Tiger by William G. Tapply Page A

and tie it off. One of the men was Marty Dunlap. The other was younger, somewhere in his late twenties, Calhoun guessed. Both were wearing khaki pants and green flannel shirts. The younger man had his face jutted forward at Marty, and his hand gripped Marty’s shoulder. Calhoun read anger on the man’s face and in the tension in his neck and shoulders.
    Marty shrugged the younger guy’s hand away and turned to help ease the plane alongside the dock. The other guy stood there for a moment glaring at Marty’s back before helping with the plane.
    Calhoun stepped onto the dock, turned, and gave a whistle, and Ralph came bounding out of the plane. The dog headed for dry land. Calhoun knew what he had in mind.
    Marty Dunlap came up to him, clapped him on the shoulder, and gave his hand a shake. “Stoney,” he said. “Great to see you. Glad you could make it.” Calhoun saw that his green shirt had the triple-
L
logo, the same one that was on the fuselage of the float plane, stitched onto the left breast pocket.
    â€œI had a good pilot,” he said.
    â€œThat must be your dog,” said Dunlap, jerking his head in Ralph’s direction.
    â€œHis name’s Ralph,” said Calhoun.
    â€œThis is my son, Robert,” said Dunlap. “Robert, come here and meet Mr. Calhoun.”
    Robert Dunlap had black hair and pale blue eyes and neatly trimmed black stubble on his cheeks and chin. He was a few inches shorter than Calhoun but stocky and strong looking. His green shirt was identical to Marty’s.
    Robert held out his hand. The anger and tension Calhoun had seen in him a few minutes earlier was gone. Now he was smiling. “Welcome to Loon Lake, Mr. Calhoun,” he said.
    Calhoun nodded. “You can call me Stoney.”
    Robert nodded. “Sure.”
    There was a golf cart parked on the dock. Marty Dunlap went over and spoke to the young man who was sitting behind the wheel, a lanky redheaded guy who looked like a college kid, also wearing a dark green shirt with the triple-
L
logo over the pocket. The young guy nodded and steered the cart over to where the Twin Otter was parked, and he and Curtis Swenson began unloading supplies from the plane and piling them into the little wagon that the golf cart was towing.
    Marty Dunlap came back to Calhoun and said, “Let’s show you your cabin. You can settle in, get your gear stowed away. Dinner’s not for a couple hours. Robert, let’s help Stoney with his stuff.”
    Robert gave a little shrug, then hefted Calhoun’s duffel onto his shoulder. Marty took a couple of gear bags. Calhoun carried the bundle of fly rods and the last gear bag, and they all trooped off the dock and along a path that followed the rocky lakeshore past a big boathouse to the cluster of cabins.
    All of the cabins had screened porches across the front. Marty pushed open the screened porch door of one of the cabins. The porch was furnished with a small square table and chairs plus two comfortable-looking rocking chairs, and there was a wood box full of cut and split firewood.
    Robert opened the cabin door and they went inside. It was a single big room with a kitchen area at one end and a bed at the other end and plenty of windows. On the back wall was a woodstove with a sofa and some chairs clustered around it. Under a double window on the front wall was an eating table with four wooden chairs. There was a big closet in the back corner by the head of the bed, and a chest of drawers sat at the foot. A bookcase in the corner was packed with paperback books.
    Marty opened a door on the back wall. “Bathroom,” he said. “You got a toilet and a shower and plenty of hot water.”
    â€œAll the comforts of home,” said Calhoun.
    â€œNo TV,” said Robert.
    â€œI don’t have a TV at home, either.”
    â€œNo telephone,” said Marty, “and no cell phone reception, I’m afraid. We’ve got a satellite