Bones (21 page)

Or was it? I thought back to my last conversation with David, as I left for my walk with Bingle. David had hinted that Ben had troubles before we began our journey to these meadows. Whatever those troubles were, I supposed it would be a long time, if ever, before Ben Sheridan would confide in me.

When I woke up, Bingle was gone. Worried, I put on my boots and jacket. I had just stepped out into a misty morning when he returned, his fur damp and muddy, his mouth looking swollen.

Oh, hell, I thought, he's met up with a porcupine. But as he drew closer, I saw that he was gently carrying something in his mouth.

Please don't let it be something from the meadow, I prayed. He looked at me uncertainly, as if he expected me to do something. Not knowing what my part in this script was, I stayed still. He shifted his weight, looking anxious, then lay down at my feet. Very slowly and carefully, he opened his mouth, and, between my feet, deposited what he had been carrying.

Eggs.

Three small eggs.

Quail eggs. I hoped that he hadn't taken every egg from the nest. Perhaps I should have scolded him, but between my relief at not having someone's remains disgorged on my boots and my inability to guess if this was something he had been praised for doing in the past, I only managed a feeble, "Gracias, Bingle."

He wagged his tail.

"I suppose you want one of these on your dog food."

He kept wagging his tail. On the fur on his chin, I saw something that looked suspiciously like egg yolk.

"Then again, I guess you've already had breakfast."

There was no way to put them back at this point, and as my stomach growled, I decided I wasn't going to waste the food. I carefully stowed them inside the tent. I had a wild vision of J.C. finding them there and refusing to allow me to leave on the helicopter as punishment for disturbing local fauna. Telling him the dog brought them to me probably wouldn't get me out of trouble.

Although the rain had let up, a heavy mist seemed to be settling in. Near the tent it was not terribly thick, but I doubted that visibility near the low, flat meadow would be good enough to allow a helicopter to land. I tried not to let this distress me, but the thought of not seeing the helicopter arrive that morning was upsetting. If Parrish didn't find me, I could manage, but what would become of Ben? The fever, the loss of blood, the possibility of infection--if Parrish never showed his face, Ben's life would still be in danger.

The rainwater bucket was full again. It felt good to have something going right. That feeling of confidence was not destined to last long.

Bingle joined me as I left for a walk to the stream. The rain in the container would help, but wouldn't be enough. I decided I would refill our water bottles, which shouldn't take long; my Sweet Water unit could filter a quart of stream water in a little over a minute.

I walked quickly. I didn't want to leave Ben alone for any extended period of time. The ground was soft and muddy, but not impossibly so. On the way, I found a long, broken branch that ended in a curving fork. I picked it up and tried leaning on it, placing the forked end under my arm. It easily withstood my weight, but was a little tall for me--which would make it about right for Ben. I took it with me, thinking I might be able to fashion it into a crutch. If we had to move again, a crutch would be useful.

I stepped through the trees toward a sound that grew louder and louder. To my shock, the stream was now a much higher, debris-filled torrent, wildly coursing through the forest, and moving far too rapidly to be entered at this point. It cut us off completely from the meadow.

The meadow where the helicopter, if it arrived, would be landing.

** CHAPTER 23

FRIDAY MORNING, MAY 19

Southern Sierra Nevada Mountains

When I got back to the tent, Ben was still sleeping. I used a piece of string to make three measurements--from his armpit to his elbow, from his elbow to his palm, and from his armpit to the bottom of his foot. I went back outside and checked the full length against the branch. A little short, perhaps, but I thought it might do. I used rope to fasten a short, thick stick at the place where I thought his hand might rest. I was taping cloth padding there and in the fork when I heard Ben call my name.

I went into the tent. "Ben? How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"Good. Let me get some more Keflex for you."

"I'll take some a little later. I--I need to relieve myself. Would you please help me dress?" he asked.

"Oh. If you're in a hurry--"

"Not that much of a hurry."

The humiliation was obviously about to do him in, but we managed to find a shirt and a pair of shorts that would fit him from among those I had gathered from the camp.

"Did David train Bingle to steal eggs from birds' nests?" I asked, trying to distract him.

"What!?"

"Uh--that was a change of subject. This morning, Bingle brought me those quail eggs--the ones on my sleeping bag."

He looked over at them. "No, in fact, he's trained not to disturb wildlife. Very strange. He likes eggs, though." He smiled a little and added, "Maybe he's courting you."

"I don't think dogs carry out what most women would think of as courtships," I said, "although the average guy probably admires their direct approach."

I helped him to sit up.

His skin was a little too warm; the flush on his face was obviously not just from embarrassment.

"You seem to be a little feverish."

"Help me with the shirt, please," he said, ignoring my comment.

I got him started with it, but he batted my hands away when I tried to do the buttons.

"God damn," he said, lying back down, his hands shaking after the third button.

"You're not doing so bad, all things considered," I said, finishing up without further objection from him. "Need to rest, or you want to try a trip outside?"

"Rest--just a few minutes," he said, breathing as hard as if he had been running.

"Want an egg for breakfast? They're little but--"

"You should eat them. Or give them to Bingle."

"I think he's already eaten."

"You gave me the soup last night. You didn't have anything to eat, did you?"

"No, I ate some soup. But of the two of us--"

"You're doing all the physical labor. You need strength. Eat the eggs. Have some soup, too. It's all he left us, isn't it?"

"We're near a meadow. There are dandelions out there, and other things to eat. Besides, J.C. isn't going to forget about us. As soon as the weather clears, the helicopter will come."

"Eat the eggs before J.C. gets here."

"But--"

"While I rest. Please."

So while Bingle looked on, I scrambled the eggs, which combined to make a little less than one chicken egg's worth of breakfast. I put a small forkful into the furry thief's bowl of dog food and ate the rest.

I helped Ben get out of the tent--no easy task--and showed him the crutch. He put it under his arm and leaned on it. It fit better than I thought it would.

"I need two," he said.

I laughed.

"I mean, thanks. I didn't mean to--"

"It's okay. You do need two. I'll try to find another branch. In the meantime, lean on me."

Slowly, we made it from the tent to a tree. "Can you manage from here?" I asked. "Call me when you're finished--I won't watch."

"I--not so close to the camp," he said.

"Ben, under any other circumstances, I'd applaud your sensitivity. But you're running a fever and you look as if you're about to pass out. Bingle has marked all of these trees already, so show him who's alpha. Even injured, I'll bet you can hit higher."

"No," he said. "Not here."

"Jesus. You're not exactly in a position to argue, you know that?" But I helped him move farther into the woods.

It was while I was waiting for him to finish that I heard Bingle barking. "Shit! I'll be right back!"

I ran back to the camp. Bingle wasn't there, but his fierce, warning barks continued.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. Don't let him kill the dog. Don't let him kill Ben. Don't let him kill me.

I had no weapons other than my knife. I picked up a large stick, which even then I knew would probably be utterly useless, but it gave me some primitive sense of power--that cave dweller bashing power, I suppose.

More cautious now, I made my way toward the barking, which was coming from the woods nearer the stream. Exactly which direction, I couldn't tell, but the dog seemed to be in front of me. I moved from tree to tree, running in a crouched position, staying as close to the ground as I could.

"Bingle!" I said in a low voice, even before I saw him. "VBingle, ven aca! VCallate!" I didn't dare to shout it. But the dog must have heard me, because he stopped barking and began running toward me. I heard a shot, and Bingle yelped, but he kept running.

He soon reached me, panting and agitated. I dropped my bashing stick and ran my fingers over his fur, but I couldn't find any wounds. I whispered praise to him and tried to stop shaking. Where was Parrish?

I waited, whispering to Bingle to stay still, to stay quiet. He obeyed, anxiously watching me.

"Irene Kelly!" a voice called out.

I thought Bingle whimpered, then realized I was the one who had made the sound.

"Thanks to that ill-mannered mutt," Parrish shouted, "I know exactly where you are, Irene! I know, do you hear me? Yes, of course you do! I know exactly where you are!"

I held on to Bingle.

"I will find a way across, Irene!" he shouted. "I will find a way across! Did you think a little water would keep you safe? Think again!"

I didn't move. My heart was hammering in my chest.

I waited, but he didn't say anything more. If I had been alone, I probably would have just taken off with Bingle, but I had Ben to think of. As quickly and as quietly as I could, I ran back to the camp.

I hurriedly took up all the used bandages and anything that had blood on it--including the pants I had cut off Ben, and hid them beneath a pile of leaves, away from the camp. I returned to the tent and took up Ben's sleeping bags, his shaving kit, three water bottles, matches, a mess kit and the soup. I grabbed some bandages, the aspirin, and the Keflex. I left my sleeping bag, but took some clothing, mostly rain gear. I took Bingle's food and harness. I folded the tarp and was ready to leave, when I saw one last item. I grabbed David's sweater, which Bingle quickly took from me, and together we ran toward the place where I had left Ben.

He wasn't there.

"Ben?" I called softly. Had I mistaken the place?

"Over here," I heard him say.

"Where?" I asked, but Bingle, wagging his tail, moved to a fallen tree. If his mouth hadn't been full of sweater, he probably would have barked.

A pile of wet leaves moved, and Ben's head emerged. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"A little damp, but okay."

"Thank God you hid. Listen, Bingle was barking--"

"At Parrish," Ben said.

"Did you hear him?"

"Parrish? Not really. Just a voice. Couldn't make out what he was saying. But Bingle's bark--it had to be Parrish. I managed to drag myself over here."

"He's going to try to cross the stream--the stream has been swollen by the rain, so luckily for us, crossing it won't be easy. Still, he might find a place where it narrows, so we may not have more than a few minutes."

"Then listen--"

"I'm going to draw him away from you," I said. "Even if he catches me, he'll probably--well, you'll still have some time."

"For God's sake--"

"I don't think he knows you're alive," I went on. "I tried to bring or bury anything that might let him know you were at the tent. I brought the sleeping bags and a tarp, and a little food and water. If you can hold out until the helicopter comes, maybe light a signal fire when you hear it--I don't know, that might not be safe, either--anyway, here's the water and the Keflex, I'll look for a place to hide you, and I'll be right back."