No Going Back (30 page)

‘I'll do my best. Will you see if you can get hold of Tom and tell him what's happening?'

Hilary nodded, then with a growled ‘Goo-arn!' she slapped the pony on the rump, and with a lurch, Daniel was on his way.

FOURTEEN

D
aniel found the turning on to the sheep track with no trouble, after a short battle of wills with Drummer, who – not unnaturally – baulked at the notion of turning away from home once again, but as they headed out across the open moor, the weather closed in.

When he set off, there were no more than a few flakes swirling about in the gusty breeze without ever seeming to touch the ground, but then the few became many and suddenly it was as if a white veil had been drawn across Daniel's view. He had no choice but to trust that Drummer could somehow follow the narrow path, as Hilary had said he would.

Even for someone who'd spent several years of his working life in close partnership with a dog, the feeling of being totally dependent on an animal for his very survival was slightly unsettling.

In contrast to his relationship with Taz, he and Drummer had no history – the pony owed him no loyalty. His reliance on the animal was completely one-sided and it was, in essence, only looking after Daniel as a consequence of its own self-preservation.

Daniel was under no illusions that, if he fell off, the pony would stick around to wait for him. The most likely scenario was that it would turn round and head for its stable without so much as a thought for its erstwhile rider, and this made it imperative that he use every ounce of his concentration and limited experience to ensure that it didn't happen. The thought of being set afoot in these conditions, with very little idea of where he was, didn't appeal to him at all, and that was the best possible result. If he were injured in the fall, he might lie unconscious for a long time before he was found, and in that case the prognosis would be grave.

Transferring the reins to one hand, Daniel wound the fingers of the other tightly into Drummer's rough mane. Although they weren't travelling particularly fast, he was caught dangerously off-balance several times by unseen twists and turns in the path, and only hung on by the skin of his teeth. The stinging wind numbed his face, and his fingers became stiff with cold as melting snow soaked his gloves.

Once or twice, when the wind blew extra hard, Drummer slowed, instinct urging him to angle his rump into the wind and wait out the storm, and Daniel had to drive him on with his heels and the end of the leather reins.

The only one who seemed unaffected by the conditions was Taz, who ran alongside or behind the pony with every appearance of enjoyment, his thick double-layered coat keeping the chill at bay and his strong claws finding good purchase even on the frosty ground. The only sign that he was even aware of the snow was in the way he flattened his ears against his head.

Just as Daniel was beginning to wonder if the whole idea had been a foolish and dangerous mistake, the snow stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

The wind continued to whistle over the surface of the moor and the sky still held that leaden, yellow-grey look that promised more snow to come, but any improvement – however temporary – was cause for celebration in Daniel's view.

Sitting up, he brushed the snow from the saddle and the creases of his clothing before it could melt, while Drummer paused to give himself a huge shake. The moor stretched away from them on all sides, the covering of snow rendering it almost featureless, and the thin white line of the path he was following headed down into the shallow valley and on up to a cluster of rocks on the horizon.

Looking ahead and to the right when they finally breasted the rise, he could see a group of stunted pine trees. Close by were the tumbledown remains of a number of stone buildings and the jagged broken column of a chimney. There could be no doubt that he was looking at ruins of the old King's Hat Mine. Daniel's spirits rose like a lark on a summer's day. They were on the right track.

With their goal in sight, Daniel asked Drummer for more speed and within minutes they came out on a track that was, if Hilary was to be believed, the one that Macek had taken. Turning right, the ruins stood out starkly against the lowering cloud, the mossy grey stones dusted with windblown snow, giving the effect of an old black and white photo.

At the pony's feet were the clear double lines of a vehicle's tyre tracks in the snowfall. The weather had, after all, been a blessing in disguise.

Sending a heartfelt thank-you winging back over the moor to Hilary, he pushed the pony forward again. Not knowing how soon he might come up with the Romanian, and not wanting to lose the element of surprise, Daniel called Taz to heel.

Cautiously rounding the corner, moments later, he saw a low bridge crossing what was possibly the tailrace of a long-gone waterwheel, before the track forked into two smaller paths. These were presumably the bridleways Hilary had spoken of.

Daniel couldn't see the Nissan itself, but as he crossed the bridge, the telltale tyre tracks were clear, leading round the side of the hill on the right-hand path.

Patting Drummer's steaming neck and reminding Taz to stay to heel, Daniel rode on, wondering if Macek actually knew where he was going or whether he was merely keeping on because he felt he had no alternative.

The path was clearly not meant for cars, however rugged their construction, and the fact that Macek kept having to detour around boulders gave Daniel hope that the Romanian might yet find himself halted by an impassable obstacle.

Drummer was moving at a ground-covering jog now, his hooves rattling on the frost-hard, stony path. It was a hybrid landscape, a mixture of dark-brown heather and whitened turf. Some areas had been blown clear of snow, while mini drifts, no more than inches deep, lay in the depressions and the angles between rocks and ground.

Suddenly the distant sound of a vehicle engine carried back on the wind. Ahead, the path turned and dropped out of sight round a steep rocky slope, and he reined Drummer in to listen. As keen as he was to catch up with the Romanian, he didn't want to run into him unprepared.

In the relative quiet of their stillness, the relentless wind provided a backdrop against which Daniel was gradually able to pick out other noises: the liquid arpeggio call of a curlew, the gurgle of an unseen stream and then what his ears strained for, another burst of engine noise.

With his heels, he edged Drummer forward to the top of the slope and there, less than a hundred yards ahead, in the bottom of the valley, was the Nissan. It appeared to be stationary and as Daniel watched he saw its reversing lights come on and heard the roar of its engine, but it didn't move.

At last, it seemed, Macek's luck had run out.

Without pausing to ponder the cause of the Romanian's misfortune, Daniel pushed Drummer on. The white line of the path wound down through 18-inch-high mounds of decaying bracken, the bent brown fronds showing dark where the Nissan's wheels had disturbed the snow.

The 4x4's engine roared again, but it seemed to be well and truly stuck, up to its hubcaps in the snow, which appeared to be a great deal deeper in the bottom of the valley.

Drummer was moving at a fast trot as they hit the level ground, and Daniel kicked him into a canter, his eyes on the vehicle's left back door. If he could get that open before Macek realized what was happening, he would at least know if the girls were inside. It was of course quite possible that the Romanian had activated the child-locks, but he had no other plan.

He was within 20 feet of his target when with no warning whatsoever, Drummer dug his toes in sharply, dropping his head to retain his balance, and tipping Daniel, without ceremony, over his ears.

The landing was soft. Daniel hit the cushion of snowy vegetation shoulder first, loose snow cascading on top of him as he rolled over on to his back. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to hang on to his reins, so, although Drummer threw up his head and pulled back, he could go no further than Daniel's outstretched arm would allow and within moments, he was back on his feet. Crooning softly to soothe the pony, he reached up to scratch him behind his ears, sparing a few words of reassurance for Taz, who was fawning anxiously around his legs.

Turning to look at the 4x4 again, he frowned. The engine was still revving furiously, but the vehicle appeared to be sinking into the snow. Much deeper and it would be difficult to open the doors.

Daniel looked more closely at the stretch of ground between himself and the Nissan. At first glance it had appeared the same as the rough slope of the valley side, but now he could see that there were fewer tussocks of grass and heather, and the tracks left by the 4x4 cut dark, water-filled scars across the thin white carpet of snow. Nearer to him, several stunted hawthorns grew, their gnarled trunks twisted and bent away from the prevailing wind, but none stood further out in the valley bottom.

Realization hit Daniel like a cold shower. The Nissan wasn't sinking in the snow – there hadn't been enough for that. Suddenly the pony's violent reaction made sense. He was standing on the edge of one of Dartmoor's famous – or infamous – bogs, and if it hadn't been for Drummer's native savvy, he would now undoubtedly be in the same predicament as the Romanian. He realized that this was what Hilary had meant when she begged him to trust the pony, whatever happened.

Out of interest, he stepped cautiously forward, testing the ground with his weight. He didn't go far. The frozen mat of vegetation that covered the bog dipped as he leaned on it, sending ripples out across the surface of the mire. It was a bizarre feeling, for all the world like treading on the thick skin of a very big custard. He remembered Hilary calling them quaking bogs or featherbeds and could now see why. He moved back quickly to firm ground.

Daniel peeled off his wet gloves and took his phone from his pocket. If he could reach the emergency services, how long would it take them to get there? Too long, he feared, but it was worth a try. He looked up. The sky was still grey, but only the odd lost flake floated mournfully down. Would the chopper risk taking off? He wasn't sure. One look at the mobile's display, however, told him that he was on his own. No signal was available in the valley and a glance at the foundering vehicle was enough to tell him that he didn't have time to waste returning to higher ground. He would have to trust that Hilary had been able to contact Tom Bowden. In the meantime, it was clear that if anything were to be done, he would have to do it.

Macek was still revving the engine, the exhaust blowing out a spray of dirty water each time he trod on the accelerator pedal, but even as Daniel watched, the Nissan spluttered and fell quiet, finally overwhelmed by the thick, peaty bog water. Then, for the first time, Daniel actually saw the Romanian, as the driver's door was pushed open, its lower edge scraping an arc through the sludge of mossy mud. Keeping a firm hold of the doorframe, Macek tested the surface of the bog with one foot, withdrawing it hastily when his leg plunged in up to the knee.

It was apparent that Macek hadn't fully appreciated the gravity of his situation until that moment and his first instinct – somewhat bizarrely – was to try and drag the door shut again. In this he was foiled. His weight on the sill had tipped the vehicle sideways a little, digging the point of the door into the mud so that it was impossible to move.

Macek looked up and around, his wild eyes alighting on Daniel. He stared for a long moment, then looked around again, as if hoping that some other, more palatable, solution to his dilemma would miraculously appear.

Daniel waited, saying nothing, and eventually the Romanian's gaze returned to him.

‘Well, help me!' he shouted angrily. ‘Don't just stand there! It's sinking.'

The Nissan was indeed sinking. Some of these bogs were rumoured to be 20 feet deep or more, Tamzin had said, and although Daniel had no particular misgivings about seeing Anghel Macek disappear into its peaty depths, there was something he had to know first.

‘Where are the girls?' he called.

‘What girls?'

Daniel shook his head in disbelief. ‘Now is not the time to be stupid,' he told the Romanian. ‘If you don't tell me where the two girls are, I'll just walk away without a backward glance. Nobody will ever know I found you.'

‘No!' His voice was almost a scream. ‘You can't do that! All right – they're here. In the car.'

‘Show me.'

Macek glanced down at the ever-encroaching tide of slime that had now topped the sill and started to fill the footwell. Raising his free hand in supplication, he looked up at Daniel again.

‘I can't. How can I? They're in the back. You'll have to help me.'

Daniel was busy unhooking the stirrup leathers from Drummer's saddle, thanking God for Hilary's well-maintained tack. The leathers were soft and supple, and the sprung bars that held them in place were well oiled and opened easily to allow them to be pulled free.

‘Find a way,' he said coldly, without looking at the Romanian. ‘Open the window. I want to see them.'

With both the stirrup leathers removed, Daniel unbuckled them, cursing fingers that were stiff and slow with cold. He slid the irons off, rebuckling the two together to create one long strap, some 10 feet long.

The Romanian had ducked back inside the vehicle now, and while Daniel waited for a sight of the girls, he undid the stud fastenings on Drummer's reins and attached the resulting 7-or 8-foot length to the two stirrup leathers. The pony was wearing a head collar over his bridle with the rope knotted round his neck, and once Daniel had unclipped it, this added another 5 feet or so, but he still wasn't sure it was enough.

Looking round desperately, his eyes fell on the girth that secured Drummer's saddle. A length of padded leather, 4 inches in width and some 3 feet 6 in length, it had two buckles on each end, one of which with any luck could be used to incorporate it into Daniel's makeshift safety line. As he lifted the saddle from Drummer's back, the pony moved away a step or two before standing with his head lowered, steam rising from his sweat-streaked body, too tired to think of heading for his stable.