Slickrock (Gail McCarthy Mystery) (22 page)

He started toward the horses, a little stiffly, but looking a lot better than before the torbugesic. I watched him untie them with his left hand. The little freckled dog ran up to him and wagged her tail.

He turned to me. "I might need help with this."

"That's what I figured." I took the pack horse's lead rope. "I'll hold her."

Blue got his left foot in the stirrup, while I steadied the dun horse by the bridle reins. Gripping the saddle horn with his left hand, and protecting his right arm as well as he could, he swung his right leg over the saddle; I could see by his face that it cost him. When he was settled I handed the lead rope to him and went to get my own horses.

Roey gave an excited yip as I mounted, and dashed over to her new canine friend, wagging her tail wildly. The dogs were ready to roll.

I wasn't so sure about Blue. He'd dealt with being doctored, and he seemed determined to move on, but just getting aboard his horse had been difficult, I knew. He sat crookedly in his saddle, reins in his left hand, lead rope dallied around the saddle horn, head down.

"Let's go," he said quietly. Turning his saddle horse he headed back toward the trail.

"Do you know where we're going?" I fell in behind him.

"Pretty much. We leave this little meadow where the trail forks and the sign says Kerrick Meadow that way."

I remembered the fork and the sign.

"Then the trail goes down into Cherry Creek Canyon and out the other side. Benson Lake is just before we get to Kerrick Meadow."

We were riding through the near-dark; I saw Blue rein his horse left at the trail fork and followed him. My horses seemed to be moving confidently, undisturbed by the lack of light. I was worried, though.

"I'm not sure I like this riding in the dark," I said.

"No one can see to shoot us in the dark," came back Blue's reply.

They would have a hard time setting snares in the dark, too, I added to myself. And I knew perfectly well that horses have much better night vision than people. Still, I wished the moon would rise.

We were riding through level, fairly open country; the trail was mostly dirt. At the moment, the darkness did not present much threat. As far as I was concerned, it would be an entirely different deal when we were descending into Cherry Creek Canyon.

We rode. Blue's pack horse had a flaxen tail; the pale straw-yellow color showed up well in the semi-dark. I fixed my eyes on her tail, and tried to trust that Gunner would see and deal with the footing.

We rode. There was a glow on the eastern horizon; the moon would rise soon. Dusk had definitely verged into night; stars showed as pinpricks in the blue-black sky.

Steadily the glow intensified. I watched the mare's tail glow whiter in the silvery light. We rode out of a small grove of trees, and the moon was visible above the rim of Cherry Creek Canyon. A gibbous moon, big enough to shed some useful light.

The trail began descending through granite; I was torn between fear and awe.

Cherry Creek Canyon was a sight. Moonlight reflected on the tumbled granite slabs and scattered scree. Ridges stretched out in the distance, impossibly rich with light and shadow, intricate and mysterious as a Chinese wood-block print. All black, silver, and gray, and yet each nuance, each shade seemed to have meaning.

I stared. Moonglow lit a granite world; trees were black silhouettes. I forgot my fear, I forgot the sniper. The great canyon glowed, as it did every moonlit night. Shadows of pine boughs laid bars across the path.

This is always here, I thought. Eternally present. Always, in myriad forms, the natural world sends its message of beauty blooming; we so seldom hear it or see it. I felt almost thankful that danger had driven me into this canyon by moonlight.

Blue's voice broke the spell. "How are you doing?"

"Okay. How about you?"

"I'm hanging in there."

"Good. This is really something, isn't it?" The moment the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. How inane could you get? That's the trouble with things like beauty and truth. They don't translate into words.

Blue seemed to understand, though. I heard his voice come floating back. "It sure is."

I sighed and looked out over the endless vistas of silver granite under the three-quarter moon and thought how lucky I was. I'd survived so far, and now I was here. Things could be worse.

Three hours later, I wasn't so sure. We'd traversed Cherry Creek Canyon and were traveling through some rocky country to the east. Blue had assured me that the cutoff trail to Benson would appear any minute-but so far it wasn't appearing.

I was tired, the horses were tired, the dogs were tired. Blue and I had quit talking. We just rode.

I could only guess at how much pain the man ahead of me might be in. He said nothing. I could see how crookedly he slouched in his saddle, though, his whole body curved protectively around his right arm.

Suddenly he pulled his horse up. I saw him look down, saw him rein the horse to the right. In a minute, I knew why. The small wooden Forest Service sign indicating the cutoff trail was plain in the moonlight. We were on our way to Benson Lake.

I didn't ask how far it was; I just followed the pack mare's flaxen tail. On and on, down and down-the trail descending into a dense forest where the moonlight came in shafts. The trail wound between trees, crossed a creek, then followed its banks. More trees.

And then, without warning, the forest fell away. The trail led into a small meadow with the stream running through it and beyond ... my God. Beyond stretched a half-mile crescent of shining white sand, ringing dark water. The moon lay a silver path down the middle of the water, bright as a fairy tale.

Blue pulled up and I rode alongside him. He turned his head to meet my eyes.

"So what do you think of Benson Lake?" he said.

TWENTY-ONE

We made camp on the beach. What camp we made, anyway. It was mostly a matter of unsaddling and unpacking the horses and putting them on run lines in the meadow. After that, both Blue and I threw our sleeping bags down on the sand.

"Do you want another shot of torbugesic?" I asked him. "It might help you sleep."

"Okay." He sat down on a fallen tree.

I got a syringe, needle, and the drug out of my saddlebags and filled the syringe by the light of the moon. Blue rolled the sleeve back on his left arm. His forearm was pale in the moonlight, the skin cool to the touch and yet warm, too, as I rolled it with the tips of my fingers.

How can skin be cool and warm at the same time, I thought distractedly as I found the vein and injected the shot. I held his arm with my left hand; I could feel the long bones and hard muscles cradled in my palm.

When I was done, we both waited. After a minute, Blue looked up at me and smiled. "That's better," he said.

I smiled back. "Good. Do you want something to eat?"

He shrugged his good shoulder. "I don't know. We'd better not build a fire."

"You think someone's followed us?"

"I don't know. If they have, they're pretty good. I haven't noticed anything, have you?"

"No."

"But lighting a fire would be stupid," he said. "Anyway, I'm so damn tired. I just want to go to sleep."

"How about a granola bar?" I had a couple of these stashed in my saddlebags for just such an emergency.

He shrugged again.

"Have one. You'll feel better in the morning."

"All right." He took the foil-wrapped bar I gave him and began munching steadily, as if eating it were a chore he had to complete.

I did the same. The granola bar didn't have much taste except sweetness, but I knew I should eat. As far as I could remember, I hadn't eaten a thing since the granola bar I'd had early this morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

When we were done chomping, Blue began taking off his boots. Or he tried to, anyway. Pulling off cowboy boots using just your left hand isn't easy. Especially when you're right-handed.

I watched him for a minute. He kept struggling.

"Let me help," I said.

"All right."

Taking hold of the heel of each boot in turn, I pulled them off his feet. It was an oddly intimate gesture and reminded me suddenly of the boyfriend I'd had in college. I looked at Blue and our eyes met. His looked surprised, as near as I could tell in the moonlight. , 'There," I said. "Good night."

"Thank you, ma' am." He got stiffly to his feet and walked over to his sleeping bag.

I unlaced my packer boots, which were a good deal easier to get off than Blue's traditionally styled cowboy boots, and crawled into my sleeping bag with relief. Roey curled up next to my body and I rubbed her head for a while.

Glancing over, I could see a small white shape curled up next to Blue Winter. Freckles slept with him, then, just as Roey did with me.

As if he could feel my eyes on him, I heard his voice come out of the night. "See you in the morning, Stormy. Thanks for everything.”

"Right." I smiled to myself. By my reckoning, this was really a sweet man. What did he have to thank me for? A bullet in the arm, and the abrupt end of his planned vacation?

Or could this whole thing be about him? Was I the one who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Had the booby-trapped trail been prepared for Blue, and I happened to ride down it first?

And if so, my mind asked, did Blue really know what was going on here, and was he hiding it from me? Was that why he was so sure which way he wanted to ride out? Perhaps he knew just who the pursuit was, and where they were coming from.

On and on my mind went, inventing new and more complicated scenarios every moment. Just shut up, I told myself. Roey snuggled up to me.

My instincts said that Blue Winter was all right. If there were things he wasn't telling me, so be it. I was going to trust him and see where it got me. It was a cinch I didn't know what was going on, anyway, and I needed help. More than that, I wanted company.

The motionless shape in the sleeping bag ten feet away might not seem to be doing much for me, but he dispelled the frightening emptiness of the night in an amazing way. For a second I imagined myself lying here alone, not knowing who might be out in the dark, stalking me. I shook my head abruptly. No thanks.

Snuggling deeper into my bag, I tried to fall asleep. Maybe it had all been some isolated craziness, as I had first thought. Maybe that loony from Wilma Lake was camped along the trail to Cherry Creek Canyon. Maybe we had left the whole thing behind us. On that comforting thought I fell asleep.

I awoke to sunshine. On my face, on the aspen trees in the meadow, on the white sand of the beach. Turning my head away from the light, I closed my eyes. It was comfortable here in the sleeping bag, curled into the forgiving sand. I didn't want to get up.

I could see the horses looking impatient out on their run lines; they'd eaten all the grass within reach. Reluctantly I struggled out of my bag and pulled my boots on.

Glancing over at Blue's prostrate form, I ascertained that he was still asleep and decided to let him be. I walked out into the meadow, Roey following me. Freckles stayed with her master, though she flattened her ears and wagged her tail when I looked at her.

Gunner and Plumber nickered when I approached them; Blue's two horses followed suit. I studied the situation for a moment. Then I untied Gunner, an easygoing horse who could be trusted to get along with the others and stay out of trouble. Plumber was a little feistier, apt to pick fights with other horses.

Moving Plumber along the picket line so that he could reach more grass, I approached Blue's two horses. The small sorrel mare pinned her ears. The big dun gelding regarded me with wide, alert eyes. I moved the gelding down the line and retied him, then walked cautiously toward the mare. In general, I mistrusted cranky mares. I'd been kicked good and hard by a few of these.

This mare made a ferocious face at me, but when I took hold of her lead rope her ears came up and she made no attempt to bite or kick. I retied her where she could reach a new patch of grass and left all four horses happily munching.

Walking back to camp, I turned to watch the livestock grazing, their red, brown, and gold coats bright in the sunshine. It was a peaceful sight; yesterday's adventure seemed like a bad dream.

A little breeze rustled through the aspen trees that dotted the meadow, and I smiled. I loved aspens. Of all the mountain trees, they were my favorites. Always flickering, always talking, their green and silver leaves a glittering kaleidoscope against the sky.

"Pretty, isn't it?" came a voice from behind me.

Blue was awake. I turned to look at him, and beyond him at the white sand beach and the water of the lake-bright blue-green in the morning light.

"It's great," I said. "How do you feel?"

"I hurt." He smiled briefly.

I studied him. "Do you want me to give you another shot? I've got five doses left."

Blue lay on his back, staring up at the sky. "What's the plan?" he said, after a moment.

I stared back at him. "We ride out, I guess."