Page 62 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

There’s going to be a gun.

I walk the route Evan describes and find no abandoned package, discarded clothing, or vehicle positioned for a fast exit. The overflow lot has three ways out, including a narrow maintenance road leading toward the highway. We blocked it to incoming traffic, but the barrier can be moved by anyone willing to get out of a vehicle.

“Put someone here,” I tell Evan. “No unattended post for the rest of the festival.”

“I’ll arrange it.”

“Have Wade review footage from every entrance. Start yesterday morning and flag anyone matching the original man, even if the clothing is different.”

“That could produce fifty possibilities.”

“Then we eliminate forty-nine.”

Evan nods and reaches for his radio.

I remain near the overflow entrance long enough to inspect the barrier and test the chain securing it. The lock holds. A vehicle could still cross the grass, but not without drawing attention or damaging its suspension.

My team has increased coverage. Deputies remain on-site. Emergency routes are clear, and every employee has the original description. We have taken every reasonable precaution based on the information available.

It does not feel like enough.

I return to the south lot, where Wade waits with a phone in his hand. He enlarges a still image from the camera. The man’s face is turned away, but the dark jacket, cap, height, and build match the person Evan followed.

“Next camera loses him behind the woodworking truck,” Wade says. “Then this man comes out.”

He moves to another image. The jacket and cap are the same. This time, the man’s face is visible.

I recognize him from the vendor files.

“Name?”

Wade checks the screen. “Travis Holt. He’s listed as an assistant for Holt Custom Furniture.”

The pickup beside us bears the same name.

“Bring the vendor over.”

The owner arrives several minutes later, wiping sawdust from his hands. He is in his late fifties and irritated about being pulled away from customers until I show him the image.

“That’s my nephew,” he says. “He came out to bring more brochures.”

“Why did he change direction when he saw security?”

“He probably thought you’d check his wristband. He forgot it in the truck earlier.”

“Where is he now?”

“At the booth, unless he wandered off again.”

We find Travis helping a couple load a small end table onto a cart. He produces identification and answers my questions without resistance. Evan confirms the shoes, jeans, and jacket match the man he followed.

Travis voluntarily unlocks his phone and allows Wade to review his recent photographs. Several show the festival, but none show locks, cash boxes, or booth 37. The original man remains unidentified.

The sighting resolves nothing except the immediate question of whether the man near the service entrance is the one we want.

I should feel relief. Instead, the absence of a usable lead leaves me with the same warning and less time.

I check the cabin camera on my phone. The porch remains empty. No movement appears near the windows or door.