The Saga of Lisa and Kelly Lange
The Conclusion
At the end of their first day’s ride, Lisa and Kelly were glad they listened to Joe’s trail recommendation. The narrow razorback ridge offered breathtaking views of mountains, plunging streams, and deep canyons boasting pastel sedimentary layers.
At one stop, they found an intact Shoshone basket under an overhang where they had lunch. They wondered aloud how other visitors had not noticed such a beautiful piece of art. Believing it to be an artifact and fearing someone might remove the basket, they carefully hid it in the deepest recesses of the rock shelter.
Lisa’s 2002 cell phone was not GPS-equipped but it had a camera. So, she took a picture of the artifact and approximated its location using a topo map. She then texted Joe a picture of the basket and the coordinates.
Late in the afternoon, twenty-one miles out and on day two of their trek, the sisters hobbled their mustangs and set up a picket line for the pack mule. The women then set about cooking a meal over their camp stove.
The wind shifted in the early evening. Lisa got up to check the horses and thought she smelled wood smoke rising from the canyon below their camp.
Alarmed that it may be a wildfire, she and Kelly hiked a short distance down the slope toward the canyon’s rim. There was no sign of a fire in the area, and Joe had said no other permits were issued for the Tonopah region.
“That’s strange,” said Kelly,” there must be someone down there, don’t you think?”
Lisa agreed, saying, “Not to overreact, but maybe we should read about the serial killer that Joe told us about.”
Edward Moffat was wanted by the FBI and law enforcement agencies in California and Nevada for at least 14 abductions and murders of young women hiking in three large national forests over a 10-year period, including Humboldt-Toiyabe.
The 44-year-old monster was previously a blackjack dealer at a Las Vegas casino. Before he turned to murder, he was arrested as a sex offender and was on parole. It was at this time that he went on the lam.
The FBI warned local law enforcement groups that, even though he had been inactive for close to a year, this type of predator rarely quits altogether and that he could resume activities at any time.
The flyer warned that the suspect should be considered armed and dangerous and that no attempt should be made to approach or apprehend him.
Early the following morning, Lisa and Kelly broke camp and mounted their horses for another day on the ridge trail. Shortly after their departure, the ridge narrowed considerably. The drop to the canyon floor was steep but visible from the saddle, so they rode single file to be safe.
Less than a mile down the trail, Lisa turned to get Kelly’s attention by pressing her shush finger to her lips and dismounted without speaking. She motioned for Kelly to stay and carefully walked over to the edge of the precipice. Looking down, she saw a red-headed bearded man making his way down to a small stream, where he filled a container.
Lisa backed away from the cliff’s edge and whispered, “Follow me,” to Kelly. Together, they walked a short distance back the trail and gathered behind a large boulder where they could talk.
“Kelly, remind me what the description of Moffat was on the FBI flyer,” said Lisa.
“It said he was approximately six foot tall, with red hair, freckles, and green eyes. It also said he has a black widow spider tattoo on the left side of his neck,” Kelly replied.
Lisa’s eyes widened, saying, “I think he’s down in the canyon right now.”
“Oh crap, what do you think we should do?” replied Kelly.
“If this guy is a serial killer, we can’t let him get away, he’ll do it again, that’s what serial means,” said Lisa.
“Yeah, but before we do anything, we better make sure it’s Moffat.” Why don’t we call the ranger station?” Kelly remarked.
“We can’t, said Lisa. The battery is dead, and we don’t have any way to charge it. Let’s both take a gander at him, grab Dad’s 30/30 on the pack mule.”
The sisters edged carefully toward the canyon on all fours. Kelly slowly pushed the rifle barrel over the rim until the scope lined up with her right eye, saying, “He’s still down there at the stream. He has red hair all right, but I cannot see the left side of his neck. We gotta get him to turn around without giving our location away.”
Lisa said she had an idea. While Kelly kept the scope’s crosshairs on the man, she backed away and carefully made her way back the trail a few yards.
Signaling Kelly first, Lisa lobbed a rock high into the air and down into the canyon. The thud made the man turn around momentarily, long enough for Kelly to see the ugly tattoo; he was undoubtedly Edward Moffat.
Certain who they were dealing with, they retreated back to the boulder to discuss their next move.
“You know, one well-placed shot with the carbine, and all of this would be over,” Kelly exclaimed.
Neither of the sisters was capable of pulling the trigger when other options were available: Neither wanted to live with the prospect of having killed someone.
That evening in their tent, they discussed several strategies for ending Moffat’s crime spree. By the first light of dawn, they had agreed upon a plan.
Assuming that Moffat’s morning trip to the stream for water is a daily affair, the Langes decided to split up and put Moffat in the middle, the old military “pincer” move.
Shortly after dawn, Kelly headed back up the trail and down a side trail into the canyon, where she would slowly and cautiously make her way up to the stream.
Leading her pack mule, Lisa went further down the trail where the map indicated another trail descending into the canyon. From there, she proceeded toward the stream as quietly as possible in the opposite direction from Kelly.
When Lisa caught sight of the stream, she tied the mule to a tree and took the carbine with her on her mustang. She just hoped that Kelly was somewhere hiding in wait on the other side of the creek.
After an hour of monitoring the creep’s watering hole, Lisa heard loosened rocks rolling down a steep hillside to her right, just out of view. When she saw a shock of red hair come into view among a grove of junipers, she told herself to be patient and to wait until Moffat was squarely in the open section of the streambed.
He seemed to be proceeding straight to the target and not as cautious as she would have assumed.
Kelly made the first move and burst out of the junipers on the far side of the creek at a full gallop. Lisa squeezed her legs and lifted her horse’s reins; he bolted straight toward Moffat, catching him totally off-guard.
Kelly later said she would never forget the look of panic on the monster’s face, the same fear and panic he had inflicted on his victims for a decade. He looked at Kelly coming at him like a runaway train, and when he pivoted around in the other direction, he saw, heard, and felt Lisa’s horse charging at him full bore; there was nowhere to run.
Both horses reached the stream at the same time. Moffat panicked and tried to run, but the sisters were such skillful riders they had him cornered. When he attempted to break out, Kelly’s horse reared up, and as the combined weight of the horse and rider came down, the hooves pulverized both knees like a sledgehammer smashing a walnut.
Edward Moffat, a despicable predator, would never slink about in a national forest again.
After a decade-long reign of terror, Moffat was lying on the ground in the fetal position screaming, a now helpless abuser of women. Lisa dismounted and handed the carbine to Kelly.
Moffat was as limp as a rag while Lisa tied him up. Looping her rope around the saddle horn, her horse dragged the killer up the bank to the sound of him screaming in pain.
At first, he wouldn’t speak; he just glared at the two women who had captured him with little resistance. Once he was securely bound to a tree, Kelly and Lisa decided to find his hiding place. Daily trips to the water created a less-than-subtle trail.
The trail went up a steep scree slope, and after several minutes of hiking, they came upon the dark mouth of a cave.
After stepping into the cave and waiting until their eyes adjusted to the low light, they saw numerous boxes of military MREs stacked against one wall. They heard whimpering coming from the recesses of the cavern and were appalled to see an emaciated woman, bound and gagged, sitting in a corner sobbing.
Kelly pulled out her knife and released the woman from her imprisonment; God only knows how long she had been held captive to serve Moffat’s perverted needs.
Lisa and Kelly gently helped the young native woman to her feet and walked her out of the cave. Once in the light, they noticed the numerous burns, bruises, and cuts covering her naked body.
When asked her name, she said proudly, “I am Jennifer White Elk of the Shoshone Tribe.”
While Moffat moaned in agony, Lisa bathed Jennifer, dug some clothes out of a saddlebag, and helped her get them on. Kelly set about making a travois from pine saplings.
Although the canyon trail was more rugged and longer than the ridge trail, the sisters decided to drag the monster back on the roughest terrain possible.
When Moffat protested, Kelly kneeled beside him, looked him in the eyes, and said, “I’m not going to ask my poor old mule to drag your sorry ass back up to the ridge. Get used to pain; you’ll know it well during your ride out of this wilderness.”
Moffat spat at Kelly, who just laughed and said, “Is that all you’ve got, Badass? Enjoy the scenery today; you won’t see anything but concrete walls and bars for the rest of your life, you psychopathic miscreant.”
Two months later, in Purple Sage, California.
When the Lange sisters stepped onto the Queen’s stage to tell their story, everyone in that gymnasium stood up, clapping and cheering until Lisa and Kelly started to speak.
The Lange sister’s experience spellbound the large crowd. The assembled consisted of park rangers from several national parks and forests. Also present were representatives of local tribes, including Jennifer White Elk, who was now looking healthy and happy.
Lisa smiled ear to ear when she saw Joe’s face in the crowd; she knew that she felt something for this hat-tipping handsome man.
After their presentation, a middle-aged woman holding a Shoshone basket approached the sisters with Jennifer White Elk by her side.
Mrs. White Elk embraced Lisa and Kelly. And, with tears streaming down her cheek, she handed them the basket, saying, “I can never thank you enough for bringing my daughter back to me and her tribe.
“This is the basket you found in the backcountry; it is not an old basket; in fact, my sister made it just a few years ago. Jennifer was gathering pine nuts in the basket when that terrible man abducted her nearly two years ago. She wants you to have it so you will always be reminded of your courage and strength. Our tribe will never forget you.”
As the women prepared to leave for their trip back to Sedona, Joe helped them load the horses and mule into the trailer. While Kelly said her goodbyes to the Queen of Purple Sage, Lisa and Joe chatted on a bench.
When Kelly returned, Lisa rose from the bench, saying, “Well, I guess this is goodbye, Joe; I would have loved to get to know you better.”
Joe stood up and, holding both of her hands, replied, “I visit my family often in Thoreau, and it’s only a three-hour drive to Sedona. Perhaps we could both get to know each other better.”
Lisa hugged Joe and whispered in his ear, “I would like that, Joe. Just make it sooner rather than later.”
Ken Springer
ken1949bongo@gmail.com
This short story is dedicated to my young granddaughters, Kahlan and Elianna, in the hope that they will grow up to have the courage and confidence of the real Lisa and Kelly.