Nightmare Mountain (10 page)

Could a nice man like Uncle Phil have a creep like Craine for a brother? As she looked at him, she knew it was true. He had the same build as Uncle Phil and the same brown eyes. All he lacked was the beard. And the smile.

Buckie stopped. The fur stood up in a little ridge along his back and a low, growl came from deep in his throat.

Molly put one hand on Buckie’s head and stroked him. Buckie stopped growling. Molly realized that Craine was concentrating so hard on the llama he’d roped that he had not heard the lift return, nor did he realize that Molly and Buckie were now walking down the path.

“Heel,” she said softly. She started walking again and Buckie stayed beside her. She kept her eyes on Craine. He still didn’t notice her but the frightened llama did.

When the terrified llama saw another person approaching, it panicked and jerked harder on the rope. Craine yelled, lifted his arm, and tried to hit the llama. As his raised arm swung toward the llama’s head, the frightened animal spit at him. A large green cud flew from the llama’s mouth and hit Craine right in the face.
It splattered onto his chest and into his hair.

Craine jumped back, dropped the rope, and the llama ran off.

If Molly had not been trying to remain unseen, she would have cheered.

Cursing, Craine wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. Then he bent over, scooped up some dirt, and tried to clean his face with it. He removed his jacket and flung it on the ground.

Molly walked faster and Buckie stayed right beside her. She crouched down as they passed the truck. For a few yards, it would block her from Craine’s view.

She counted on his anger to help her. She knew he was furious at the llama and he wasn’t thinking of anything except getting rid of the terrible-smelling cud that had landed on him. If she took advantage of the situation, perhaps she could get away before he thought about her.

In a few moments, he would probably wonder where she was and be angry at her for not returning with Buckie. Would he take the time to look for her? The lift was back up at the top, so he would assume she was still up there, too.

Would he ride up the mountain again? Would he go looking for her or would he give up and leave? There was no way to outguess him. If he went up the mountain, he’d realize she wasn’t there. He would find Glendon alone and there was no telling what he’d do then.

She glanced back over her shoulder. Craine was kneeling down, trying to clean the front of his jacket by rubbing it on the ground. Molly walked faster. The possibility of escape gave her new strength.

When she reached the barn, she looked ahead at the long empty path that led to the house. All Craine had to do was look this way and, if she were on the path to the house, he’d know it. He could catch her easily.

She decided not to chance it. Instead of going all the way to the house, she ducked into the barn, taking Buckie with her. From the back window of the barn, she could see the lower pasture. She could see the truck. If he went up on the lift, she would see it moving and would have time to run to the house and call for help.

If he didn’t go after her—if he got in the truck instead and drove away—she could hide in the barn until he was on his way to town.

She saw him straighten and look around. The llama had disappeared into the grove of trees on the far side of the pasture. The other llamas had followed it. Craine ran to the bottom end of the lift and looked up. Molly held her breath. He turned, sprinted to the truck, started the engine, and drove away from the pasture.

Molly breathed faster. He was leaving. He was so angry that he was going to leave without her.

When she was positive the truck was headed her way, she moved back from the window. She kept her hand
firmly on Buckie’s harness, to make sure he didn’t run out of the barn and give away their hiding place.

She heard the truck go past the barn but it didn’t seem to continue down the lane toward the gate. Instead, it headed toward the house. She stood perfectly still, straining her ears.

She couldn’t tell where Craine was by listening so she walked to the front of the barn and peeked out the window that faced the house.

Craine leaped out of the truck. He charged around the side of the house, toward the old shed. Why was he going back there? Surely he wouldn’t be looking for her. He thought she was still up on the mountain.

She waited, every muscle so tense that she thought if she were forced to bend, she’d snap in two. Moments later, Craine returned. He went straight to the truck, got in, and took off down the lane.

She watched until he went through the gate, made the turn toward town, and vanished from her view. Then, feeling faint with relief, she left the barn and hurried to the house. She stumbled as she went up the porch steps and she realized how weak she was.

Just a little longer, she told herself. Just keep going until you’ve made your phone call. Then you can collapse if you want to.

She pushed open the door and went inside. She felt unreal, as if she were floating on a cloud somewhere and
watching herself act out a part in a play. With effort, she made it to the kitchen and saw the sheriff’s card right where she’d left it, on the counter next to the telephone.

She was almost giddy with exhaustion. The numbers on the card blurred slightly when she tried to read them. She blinked and looked again, willing the numbers to focus. When they did, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

There was nothing. No dial tone. No sound at all. She clicked the receiver button up and down but even as she did it, she knew it wouldn’t help.

That’s why Craine had stopped the truck; that’s why he went around the side of the house before he left. He had cut the telephone line. Craine had made sure he’d have plenty of time to get away.

Slowly, Molly replaced the receiver. She thought of Glendon, lying alone in the snow, injured and scared. Her whole body ached with fatigue as she sank down on the kitchen chair and wept.

She couldn’t do it.

Molly knew what she needed to do, but she simply couldn’t do it. Her strength was gone. There was no way she could climb back up to the lift and go after Glendon and help him get down off the mountain. The thought of moving as far as the front door was more than she could bear.

She had told him that if nobody came for him soon, to get himself to the lift and come down. But would he do it? Could he? She remembered how sick he looked when she left him. His face was too pale and his lips looked blue. She thought about how long he’d been unconscious and about his broken arm. Was he able to crawl to the lift? If he did, could he make it from the lift to the house?

He would die up there. She knew it. No matter what she had told him to do, he was too weak to follow her instructions. Glendon would freeze to death and when Uncle Phil came home, he would have to go up the mountain and bring down his son’s body.

No! Molly sat up straight and brushed the tears from her cheeks. No, she thought. I won’t let it happen. I won’t! I’ve made it this far and I’ll make it the rest of the way.

She stood up and a feeling of dizziness washed over her. She grabbed the back of the chair and steadied herself. Then she took a deep breath, went to the kitchen cupboard, and removed a container of hot chocolate mix.

She filled a mug with milk, heated it in the microwave, and stirred in several heaping spoons full of the chocolate mix. Leaning against the counter, she drank quickly, feeling the hot liquid on her throat as she swallowed.

She put a slice of bread in the toaster and then dunked the toast in the hot chocolate and ate it. Immediately, she felt stronger. While she ate, she gave Buckie some dog biscuits.

As she watched him crunch the biscuits, she considered trying to send him for help. She could tie a note to his harness and tell him to go to town. She’d read stories of dogs who saved their owners by running many miles for help. Buckie was smart. Maybe he would go all the
way to town and find someone to save them.

But what if Buckie didn’t go to town? What if he ran the wrong way? What if he chased a rabbit or a squirrel? The nearest town was several miles away. What if nobody found the note on him? Or what if Buckie got lost and never came back? What then?

Molly sighed. She knew she couldn’t stay here and hope that Buckie would bring help. Not while Glendon was lying up there in the snow. She would have to save him herself.

She wished she had a Thermos bottle, so she could take some hot chocolate up to Glendon. He needed warmth and nourishment, too. But she didn’t know where a Thermos bottle was and she knew she couldn’t waste time and energy hunting for one.

As she finished her hot chocolate, she tried to think what she should take with her. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to make it back to Glendon at all, much less carry any supplies, but she knew she should try to figure out what she was going to do before she left.

A rope. If she had a rope, she might be able to use Buckie’s strength, like she’d wanted to do the night before.

Food. She put a banana in her jacket pocket, thinking it would be easy for Glendon to eat.

A splint. Glendon needed something stronger on his arm, to hold it straight while she moved him down the
mountain. She looked around. A pottery jug on top of the stove contained an assortment of cooking utensils. Molly selected a long-handled wooden spoon and then grabbed a dish towel, too. Both fit in her second jacket pocket.

She found a piece of paper and quickly wrote a note.

Dear Uncle Phil: Glendon and I are up on the mountain. There was an avalanche and he was hurt. Your brother, Craine, stole the llamas.

She signed her name and put the note on the kitchen table. If she and Glendon didn’t make it back, Uncle Phil would know where they were and what had happened.

“Come, Buckie,” she said, and she and Buckie left the house together.

She went to the barn first, found a coil of rope hanging on a nail, and put it over her shoulder.

Once more, she started up the trail, her legs hurting with every step she took. Buckie stayed at her side even though she didn’t tell him to heel. She wondered if he sensed how tired she was. Maybe he was trying to encourage her to keep going. Or maybe he was tired, too.

As she passed the lower pasture, she saw the llamas watching her warily. Craine’s rope still dangled from the neck of the dark brown one. Remembering how that llama had spat its cud all over Craine, she smiled. If the llama hadn’t done that, Craine would never have driven off without her.

“Thanks, brown llama,” she called. She hoped the one Craine caught today spit on him, too. It would serve him right.

As the path got steeper, it was harder for Molly to keep going. Her back ached. Her shoulder throbbed and her feet hurt, right down to the ends of her toes. She suspected that her feet had frostbite and maybe her hands, too.

Finally, she reached the lift cables and flipped the switch. She could hear the cables creaking as the lift came back down. When it reached the bottom, she sat down on it, grateful for the chance to rest.

Without being told to, Buckie sat beside her. Molly pushed the switch again and the lift swung once more into the air and up the side of the mountain. This time, she thought, it really
will
be the last trip up.

Buckie leaped off the lift as soon as it stopped and ran straight to Glendon. Molly moved more slowly. It was even harder to walk in the snow than it had been on the trail. She kept her head down, for the wind was blowing again and small icy particles of snow stung her cheeks.

“Ooauawwooh!”

Molly’s head jerked up and a shiver of apprehension made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She looked ahead.

Buckie sat in the snow beside Glendon, with his head
thrown back and his muzzle pointed at the sky. He howled again.

Molly remembered Glendon’s words. “Dogs howl like that when their owner dies.”

Was Glendon dead? Had she struggled up here, only to find that she was too late?

Tears spilled from Molly’s eyes and froze to her cheeks. She plodded forward until she reached Glendon.

His eyes were closed.

Crying harder, she dropped to her knees beside him and rubbed her mittens on the sides of his face.

“Wake up, Glendon!” she cried. “I’m here and I’m going to take you home. Wake up!” She was sobbing now, nearly hysterical. Without knowing what she was doing, she lifted Glendon’s head and held him close, trying to warm him.

“Come, Buckie,” she cried, and when the dog stood beside her, she circled his neck with one arm and drew him close to Glendon, too. Buckie began to lick Glendon’s face, slurping his big tongue on Glendon’s eyes and cheeks and chin.

Molly rocked back and forth, cradling Glendon’s head with one arm, hugging Buckie with the other.

Glendon moaned.

Another shiver went down Molly’s spine but this time it was a thrill of excitement. He was alive!

Moving quickly now, she tied the wooden spoon to
Glendon’s left arm, using the dish towel and trying not to move him any more than necessary. Then she took the coil of rope off her shoulder and carefully tied one end around Glendon’s feet, pulling the knot tight. She fastened the other end to Buckie’s harness.

Bending down, she put one hand firmly under each of Glendon’s arms, and lifted until his head rested against her stomach.

“Go, Buckie. Go.”

Buckie started forward. The rope went taut and Glendon groaned again as Buckie struggled to move. Molly lifted Glendon’s shoulders higher, trying to take more of the weight herself. His arms dangled down, with his fingers trailing in the snow. She looked at the left arm. It seemed straight; the spoon was doing its job.

Slowly, slowly, they moved toward the lift. The crust of ice which had formed on the snow overnight helped. Molly was glad that Glendon wasn’t any bigger than he was. She could tell it was taking every bit of Buckie’s strength to pull that rope.

Buckie put his nose down, clearly straining with every step. Molly followed, trying to keep Glendon’s head up, trying to help carry some of the weight.

“Go, Buckie. Good dog!”

When they got to the lift, Buckie stopped and Molly gently rolled Glendon on to the lift bed. Buckie sat beside them, his sides heaving, and his tongue hanging out.

“Good dog,” Molly said, and she nuzzled her face in the fur on Buckie’s neck. “Fine, fine dog.”

When the lift lurched to a stop at the bottom, Glendon opened his eyes. “Molly?” he whispered. “Is that you?”

“We’re almost home,” she said. “Just a little longer.”

She wasn’t sure if she was trying to encourage Glendon or Buckie or herself but she liked hearing herself talk.

“I can see the barn now, and the house,” she said. “Soon we’ll have something hot to eat and warm blankets on us.”

One step, two steps, three steps. Molly’s vision blurred again and she began counting the steps out loud, trying to keep herself coherent. One step, two steps, walk, walk, walk, walk.

They passed the barn and headed for the house. At last, when she thought she could go no further, they reached the back porch. Buckie stopped at the bottom of the porch steps and looked at Molly. She imagined he was asking if she really expected him to pull Glendon up those stairs.

There were only two steps but there might as well have been fifty. Molly knew that neither she nor Buckie had enough strength left to get Glendon into the house. But she couldn’t leave him outside. Although it was warmer down here than it was up on the mountain, it was still
chilly and the ground was damp. Glendon needed to be where it was dry and warm.

She put Glendon’s head down on the ground and untied the rope. As she climbed the porch steps, she swayed slightly and had to grasp the railing in order to keep from falling.

Once inside, she heated another mug of milk and stirred hot chocolate mix into it. She took a few sips herself and then carried it outside.

She sat on the bottom step, and lifted Glendon’s head. He shifted and opened his eyes.

“Drink this,” she said, and she put the mug to his lips.

Glendon took a sip, choked, and spit most of the hot chocolate out.

“Try again,” Molly said. “You have to drink it. It’ll give you enough strength to go inside, where it’s warm.”

Glendon took another sip and this time it went down. He took another sip and then another. When he paused, Molly took a turn. She didn’t care if they shared the same mug. It tasted wonderful.

She offered the mug to Glendon again and this time he took it in his right hand and held it himself.

When it was empty, Molly said, “You need to get inside. See if you can make it up the steps.”

She held out her hand to him. He took it but she was unable to pull him to his feet. She dropped his hand.

“Crawl,” she said.

Using his good arm, Glendon crawled slowly up the steps and into the kitchen. Molly held the door for him and Buckie ran forward every few feet to sniff Glendon’s face and lick him on the cheek.

When he was inside, Glendon put his head down on the floor.

“I can’t go any farther,” he said. He was shaking so hard he could hardly speak.

“You don’t need to,” Molly said, as she closed the door. She knew there were plenty of blankets upstairs on the beds, but she didn’t have the energy to climb the stairs and get them. She picked up the throw rug from the kitchen floor and put it on top of him.

“Up on the mountain, when I came to,” Glendon said, “you were crying.”

“You were so still, and Buckie sat beside you and howled. It scared me. I remembered what you said and I thought . . .” Her voice quavered.

“I guess I was wrong about the howling. Maybe dogs do that when they sense death is near.”

“Well, I hope he never does it again.”

“Me, too.” Glendon smiled at Molly. “I’m hungry,” he said.

“So am I,” Molly said, “but I’m too tired to do anything about it.” Then she remembered the banana. She
reached in her pocket, took out the banana, peeled it, and broke it in half.

“Here,” she said, as she handed one-half to Glendon. “Here’s your dinner. Or is it breakfast?”

Glendon smiled at her again and ate the banana. “Thanks,” he said.

Molly sat at the table and looked down at her cousin. She didn’t know which amazed her more—the fact that the two of them were still alive or the fact that Glendon kept smiling at her. She wondered if they could possibly be friends, after all.

She also wondered why he’d been so mean to her before.