Slickrock (Gail McCarthy Mystery) (24 page)

"Probably. Depends on the wind. And how panicked the horses got. I'm not sure we could hold them."

I watched for the slight relaxation of his facial muscles, heard the tiny sigh as the drug kicked in. Then I looked up the canyon. Smoke billowed fiercely; the haze in the air was getting thicker every minute.

I looked back out over the lake. Then I looked at Blue.

"How about we swim to the island?" I said.

His eyes moved sharply to mine and I could feel the quick calculations in his head. "We could," he said. "Swim the horses, you mean."

"Yeah. And the dogs."

"We could do it. There's a sort of rocky beach on the far side. And there's room to camp once we get there."

"We'd be safe," I said.

"If we made it."

"They can swim that far. So can we. So can the dogs."

Blue got slowly and stiffly to his feet. "That's true," he said. "I once scared up a fawn on the shore of this lake. It could only have been a few days old. It swam out to the island and made it. I watched."

I looked back up the canyon. Heavy clouds of smoke seemed to pour toward us; the fire was definitely moving our way.

"Let's do it," I said. "We can't just stand here talking. Can you handle it, with your arm?"

"Sure. I grew up on a lake. I could swim out there with one arm, if I had to."

"What about the horses? How should we take them, do you think?"

Our four equines stood quietly, unperturbed. The fire wasn't yet close enough to alarm them. Smoke in the air didn't register as a threat.

"We'll ride the saddle horses and lead the pack horses. We'd better leave the packs and the gear on the beach. Those loads would make it tough on the horses to swim."

"Okay." I started hauling my pack bags toward the lake. "Should we leave the saddles on?" I said over my shoulder.

Blue took hold of one of his own pack bags with his good arm and dragged it after me. "The saddles should be fine," he grunted.

Even as I toted my gear, my mind dithered. Was I doing the right thing here? What was the best choice, for me, for my animals? For Blue, as far as that went. He seemed oddly detached about the danger we were in; I could only assume that the pain in his arm was overriding all other worries.

Try as I might, I could think of no better plan. I knew little or nothing about wildfires and how they behaved. The notion of standing on the beach while flames torched the forest in front of me did not appeal to me one little bit. I had read that big fires sucked up oxygen in incredible ways; I had heard how unpredictable they could be. I knew horses were terrified of fires. I wanted away from this one.

Dragging the rest of my pack gear down to the lake, I asked Blue, "Can you get on your horse?"

"I think so. You might have to help me."

He was towing his second pack bag; I forbore to tell him that I could do it.

When the gear was in a pile on the beach, we went back to the horses. I could see an occasional flash of orangy flame through the smoke; it scared me.

"Come on," I urged Blue. "Let's go."

The dogs wagged their tails as we untied the horses. They didn't know we were in danger; they thought we were moving on in the normal way.

Let's go, let's go, the words rattled in my brain. Blue stared at Dunny as if the effort of getting on him was too much. How in the hell was he going to swim across the lake if he had to?

I stepped to his side and bent over, lacing my two hands together in a cup. "I'll give you a leg up."

Blue didn't say anything, but obediently lifted his left leg and set his toe into the step I'd created. Like everyone who's spent time with horses, he knew about getting a leg up.

"One, two, three," I said. I lifted, he pulled with his left arm and swung his right leg over Dunny's back. Thank God the gelding stood still. Blue was on, looking a little unsteady, but there.

I handed him Little Witch's lead rope and climbed on Gunner. We both called our dogs and headed off across the beach. I coughed. The smoke grew thicker every moment.

"Have you ever swum your horses before?" Blue asked.

"No. Not these. I used to swim the horse I had when I was a teenager, though. Bareback in the San Lorenzo River."

Blue smiled-a motion that came and went in an instant. "Then you know never to get in front of a swimming horse. They'll try to climb on you."

"Yeah," I said.

''They reach out in front of themselves with their front feet," he went on, "but they don't reach behind. You're perfectly safe right behind your horse. In fact, if he's having trouble swimming, it's best to slip off the back and hang on to his tail."

"Can't all horses swim?" I asked.

"Not necessarily. I had a big palomino gelding when I was a kid who couldn't. I went camping with some friends by a lake and we all decided to swim our horses. This horse went in just fine; the lake was one of those with a shore that shelved down and then dropped off. This horse stepped off that drop and went straight to the bottom."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Down he went all the way underwater. Me, too. The waters just closed over my head; I didn't know what would happen."

"So, what did happen?"

"He went all the way to the bottom and then shot straight up and out of the water, like a dolphin. Then down to the bottom and then straight up again. It was a wild ride, I can tell you."

"Great. Jeez, I hope neither one of my horses do that."

Blue laughed. "They probably won't. I never knew another one that did. Just don't let go of your horse, whatever you do. Because if you're swimming out there and he sees you, he's going to figure you're something he could stand on."

"Great."

We were on the shore now. Fire behind us, water before us. I looked back over my shoulder. Smoke was gray everywhere. A fine dusting of ash covered my arms and Gunner's mane. I coughed again.

Digging into my saddlebag, I found the gun and got it out. "Heel," I said firmly to Roey. Then I looked at Blue. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready." He tipped his fedora down a little further over his eyes.

I clucked to Gunner and kicked his ribs and he stepped into the lake. He waded to his knees with no resistance, Plumber following. Roey followed Plumber, looking nervous.

Gunner moved forward; my boots were in the water. It was cold, damn cold. We were committed now.

Deeper and deeper. Icy water over my thighs. I could feel the horse begin to grow weightless, to float. Water to my waist, water all around me. I held the gun over my head with my left hand and clung to Gunner's mane and the reins with my right. I barely felt the cold, so much adrenaline was pumping in me.

Gunner swam; I could feel the long strokes of his legs under me, see his head in front of me, nose determinedly lifted out of the water. I could only guess at his expression.

I looked back. Plumber swam, head up, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. Roey paddled behind him.

Next to me, Blue clung to the swimming Dunny. I looked over my shoulder; Freckles was still on the shore, dashing back and forth and uttering frantic yips.

"Your dog!" I yelled to Blue. He turned and called. We both watched the little dog race back and forth, back and forth, crying. "Come on, Freckles. Here, girl," Blue called again, his voice calm. I looked at the billowing smoke filling the sky and felt anything but calm.

"Will she come?" I asked him.

"She doesn't like to swim. But she'll come."

Once again he called her; I could see her put both front feet in the water, hesitate, and then plunge forward. Then she was swimming, a ways behind us, but following. We were all afloat.

I looked ahead. The island seemed a long way away. But it was clearly visible with its trees and clumps of rocks. I guided Gunner straight toward it, prayed he'd make it.

I looked back at Plumber and Roey. Freckles was just visible, a tiny white dot in the water. Beyond that was the sand of the beach, a pale crescent beneath an angry blanket of roiling smoke. I could see an occasional flash of flame as trees in the little wood beside the lake torched alight.

Once again, I glanced at Blue. His face was steady and impassive, his eyes straight ahead. I couldn't imagine a man who was any calmer under pressure than this one.

The island was closer now, but I thought Gunner was tiring. He seemed to struggle more to keep his nose up; his swimming felt more frantic.

"How does my horse look?" I called anxiously to Blue. His eyes moved to Gunner.

"He's doing okay," he said. "We'll get to the island. Don't worry."

I let my feet slip out of the stirrups and my legs float to the surface, clinging to Gunner by his mane.

"Don't let go," Blue warned.

"I won't."

The island was distinctly closer. We'll make it, I told myself. "Come on, boy," I urged Gunner. I doubt he heard me. The splashing hooves and the now-audible roar of the fire drowned out all but yells.

"The beach is on the far side," Blue shouted.

I could see only rocks, steep and precipitous, but I obediently steered Gunner to the left, following Blue's lead. In a moment, a small shelving, pebbly bank came into view. Must be what he meant.

Aiming for the so-called beach, I prayed silently that we would make it, we would all be okay. The two dogs still followed, Freckles swimming steadily at the rear.

The beach was close now. Suddenly I could feel Gunner's hooves touching bottom, the lift of his body under me as he picked up his own weight again. I reached my legs down his sides and clung with my knees and calves as he heaved himself out of the water, as anxious to be on solid ground as I was.

I could see Dunny scrambling ashore next to me, the two pack horses following in our wake. I looked back just as Roey made a landing; a minute later Freckles touched ground, looking scared, but all in one piece.

Suddenly Gunner shook himself, a vigorous, rattling motion that made me gasp and grab his mane. I could feel Blue looking at me.

When I met his eyes, he smiled. "I hate it when they do that," he said. "I once fell off a horse when I was a little kid because he shook like that. I've never forgotten."

"Uh-huh." I said it absently; I was staring back at the fire. The little forest by the meadow was alight and burning, by the look of it. It was hard to tell because of the smoke.

I turned back to Blue. He was slowly lowering himself off Dunny, protecting his right arm as much as possible. Despite the pain he was undoubtedly in, not to mention our current predicament, his face remained detached. I was beginning to wonder if there was anything that could rattle this guy.

Dismounting, I looked around for a place to tie my horses. Choices were few. Half a dozen small pines formed a grove near the pebbly beach. Beside them was a fire ring-which looked as if it had only been used once or twice. As for feed, there were enough scrubby tufts of grass to give each horse a few mouthfuls, that was it.

Thanking God they'd filled up this morning, I tied Gunner and Plumber to the pines and walked over to a large rock that faced back toward the beach and our former campsite.

I sat down, soaking wet and beginning to shiver. Smoke filled the air, thick and smoggy as L.A. on a bad day. I couldn't even see the mountains that ringed the lake. All the beauty of the Sierras disappeared in an ugly haze.

Roey sat down next to me and I hugged her wet body to my side, feeling forlorn.

Oppressive and ominous, the smoke made me claustrophobic, even though I supposed we were perfectly safe here. But I was trapped, stuck on an island in the middle of Benson Lake, a long day's ride from any help.

Not for the first time, I wondered what in the hell I was doing here. Smoke seemed to press down on me like a gigantic hand. Life had never seemed grimmer. Some vacation.

TWENTY-THREE

Blue came and sat beside me. Seeming to guess at my thoughts, he put his good arm around my shoulders. "We'll be okay," he said.

"Will we?" I knew I sounded pathetic.

"Sure we will. We'll spend the night out here. By tomorrow that fire will have spent itself. The meadow's too wet to burn anyway. We'll swim back across, let the horses eat, and have a look around, see what's what."

"See what's what?" I asked him.

He turned his head away. "Find the best route out, I guess," he said noncommittally.

"What do you mean?"

He looked back at me for a long second, as if weighing what to say.

"What are you thinking?" I demanded.

More silence on Blue's part.

"Come on."

"Do you think this fire just happened by accident?" he said at last.

I gazed at the shore of Benson Lake, almost hidden now by a heavy curtain of smoke.

"Do you think it was set deliberately?" I asked him.

"I wonder. It's too early in the year and we're too high up for a fire to be very likely. There hasn't been any lightning. If it was a runaway campfire, where were they camped? There aren't any good campsites in that canyon."