Night of Shadows

by Marilyn Haddrill

  At that moment, the earth literally gave way beneath her.

  Melinda grabbed frantically at a small pinon tree, her arms wrapped around its slender trunk as she gazed in panic below her. She dangled above a manmade pit, with ugly, sharp‑edged metal stakes protruding from the bottom. She realized instantly this trap was not constructed for stray animals.

  It was cruelly designed for human prey.

  Beyond the armed sentries she had already spotted, Melinda realized Finch had employed other safeguards to make sure this site was never found and reported.

  Praying that the tree roots precariously grounded at the edge of the pit would hold her weight, Melinda slowly pulled herself upward. Sweat dotted her forehead by the time she made the final heave onto solid ground.

  She stood up hastily and, fearing that someone might have heard the commotion, ran through the brush directly toward Becky. She thought the way was clear. But when she heard the low growl ahead of her, the nightmare was complete.

  A crazed pit bulldog leaped straight at her, its sharp teeth aimed right for her throat. Melinda stood paralyzed with terror, unable to move. And at the last second, a chain stopped the animal's motion, jerking it back sharply within inches of her face.

  As Melinda backed up a few steps, the dog barked savagely while repeatedly lunging at her against the chain. In her haste to get away, Melinda stumbled and fell backwards. But she was on her feet again in seconds, sprinting in a wide circle around the dog.

  By now, she knew the guards had to be alerted unless they were stone deaf. She desperately needed to get out of here. And she felt like sobbing in relief when she finally spotted an alarmed Becky, whose ears were pointed directly at her as she stumbled down the trail.

  Then Melinda heard a shot. Something whistled by her ear.

  She instinctively crouched down and peered up at the ridge. The two men she had spotted earlier were up there, scoping the canyon with high-powered rifles. Melinda looked back in the direction of the low sun. It was still working to her advantage, hampering their vision.

  Melinda had to take the risk, get to Becky, and try to escape.

  She crouched low, approaching the horse cautiously to try and avoid alarming Becky into any sudden movement that might catch the attention of the riflemen. With shaking hands, Melinda untied the bridle reins and swung onto the horse's back.

  At the same moment, a gun fired. Dirt from a bullet spurted right where she had been standing.

  Melinda grabbed the saddle horn with one hand and bent low to hug Becky's neck with the other arm to keep from making such a convenient target. Then she used her legs to pound the horse's sides, urging her mount run faster and faster.

  A few more shots rang out.

  Melinda didn't know how she and the horse managed to avoid injury as they careened blindly through trees and over obscure animal trails. At times, a few low branches swept over Melinda's back, almost pulling her off. But she clung so tightly that she and the horse were melded together as one now.

  She had little recollection of the rest of that mad flight other than of gripping Becky's mane and letting the terrified horse find its own way.

  Finally, in a daze, Melinda became aware that the horse had stopped.

  With eerie silence surrounding her, Melinda sat up wearily in the saddle and looked down at her watch. Two hours had passed since their escape.

  Melinda felt Becky's sides heaving. The horse's nose was low to the ground, and she was letting out her breath in loud huffs. Its skin was drenched with the sweat, and the animal had gone as far as she could.

  Melinda collapsed, half fell out of the saddle, and rolled onto the ground beside the horse. She shook violently all over, and felt so ill that she wanted to retch. She would have, except that she couldn't find the strength.

  Holding carefully to Becky's reins, Melinda stretched out on the ground and closed her eyes. After about thirty minutes, she noticed that the heavy puffing from the horse's breathing had subsided. They were surrounded by still, blessed quiet, interrupted only by the soft rustling sounds of birds fluttering through the scrubby pine forest.

  She finally opened her eyes.

  Despite the agony caused by overtaxed muscles, bruises, and assorted scrapes, relief that she had managed to get away brought her strength surging back. But as she sat up, a new fear gripped Melinda.

  The sun was now low in the sky. And she had no idea where she was.

  By the slant of the late day shadows, Melinda guessed that the McClure place had to be somewhere to the left. But in sprawling country like this with miles of wilderness and no roads, she needed to have a better idea than this of just where she needed to go.

  She recalled how Mac had loosed his horse, Bismark, to find its own way back to the McClure ranch. Maybe Becky had the same homing instincts, and could get them home before darkness set in.

  Melinda climbed on the horse's back and urged her forward. Becky with the very first step stumbled and almost fell, then continued onward at a sluggish, lopsided gait. With sinking heart, Melinda realized the horse had gone lame. She tried riding Becky for a while longer, but knew she wasn't going to make it — at least, not if the animal had to carry its own weight plus Melinda's.

  She pulled up on the reins, and sat for many long minutes while she tried to think of what she should do next.

  Then the sound of shuffling leaves nearby caused Melinda to freeze, and hold tightly to the reins to keep Becky still. Maybe they had simply gone in a circle and were back where they had started this mad escape. Or maybe they had been followed.

  Then Melinda relaxed and released her grip when she saw a mule deer doe followed by twin fawns amble into the clearing.

  Becky's ears flicked forward, causing the three animals to hesitate about ten yards away and stare in unison. The doe reached down for a hasty bite of grass, but kept eyeing them warily. Finally, the three deer casually moved on and disappeared into a thick growth of trees.

  This sight more than anything reassured Melinda that they were, indeed, alone. Otherwise, the wildlife would be in hiding. Melinda smiled with relief. The sight of something from nature that was so enduring helped restore her sense of calm.

  Yes, she would have to spend the night out here alone. But she would manage. She told herself that she was safe, and tomorrow was another day.

  Still, Melinda was reluctant to make a move.

  By now, the trees were casting their long shadows. And the silence of dusk hung over the forest, until it suddenly came alive with the humming of insects. Melinda then spotted a hollowed rock, which still contained a small pool of water left over from the country's uncharacteristic recent rains.

  That settled it then. Becky needed the water, and she had her own canteen. And food. It was best to make camp here before the sun completely disappeared and she was left at the mercy of creepy night shadows that her imagination was too likely to reshape into all manner of monsters.

  And no matter if it was risky, she needed a fire. She needed the light, the warmth, and the comfort.

  Melinda swung heavily out of the saddle, making sure that Becky's reins were tightly in her grip. She felt as though the animal were her lifeline — her last remaining link to civilization. For a brief moment, she thought of that bustling Atlanta office so far, far away.

  Melinda pulled a rope from the saddle and tied it firmly through the mare's halter. Then she slipped off the bridle and fastened the other end of the rope to a tree. Melinda then tugged at the saddle, letting it drop to the ground.

  Becky's sweaty back steamed in the cool evening air. The horse limped for several feet, and then itself. Then she smelled the water, and eagerly lowered her head to drink until all the rain pool was gone. Melinda wished there had been more, but it would have to do for now.

  Melinda retrieved her own canteen from the saddle and drank her fill. She was sure they would be able to find more water tomorrow by searching the lower canyon bottoms. Of course, she would have to rely on her o
wn two feet and lead the lame horse. But she could do it, if she took her time. She just needed rest.

  Becky began to peacefully graze as Melinda stood looking around. Would Finch's people be able to track her? Maybe. She spied a large, heavy limb that might serve as a club. It wasn't much of a weapon compared with high-powered rifles, but it somehow made her feel better.

  Melinda then thought of the chained dog. Would they use it to sniff out her trail? Suddenly Melinda felt even less secure. She rubbed her bare arms and shivered in the evening chill, berating herself for not bringing a jacket.

  She opened the saddlebag, and took out the matches. But she soon discovered she was no girl scout. Although she took about twenty minutes to gather a huge a huge mound of wood, it was damp from the rains and she couldn't seem to start a fire.

  Finally, in desperation, Melinda realized she had only two matches left. After gathering her wits, she recognized what she needed to do next. She collected small twigs and dry grass, piling them underneath her carefully constructed tepee of wood. Then she ignited the smaller fire, and reverently nursed it until its heat began to spread to the larger sticks.

  Soon, she had a roaring campfire.

  Melinda examined the two matches left in the box, and hoped she wouldn't have to depend on them for future nights. But now was now, and she could not worry about tomorrow.

  The sound of steady munching from Becky reminded her of her own hunger. She took out all the food from the satchel, and arranged it on a rock in front of her. Although she was tempted to gobble everything at once, she forced herself to eat sparingly. She put away the rest of the food, realizing that she might need it for later.

  Then she stretched her hands out to the campfire.

  The pleasant woody pine smell and warmth momentarily gave her a sense of well‑being. But the light of the fire also heightened her awareness of the deep, inky blackness now surrounding her.

  Through Melinda kept trying to stave off a growing sense of panic, she realized she had never felt so alone. She rubbed her hands together nervously, and stared out into the void. The trees rustled quietly as a gust of wind lifted their branches. It sounded spooky out there. Like Halloween.

  Melinda knew she would get very little sleep tonight.

  The campfire flickered in a gust of wind, throwing sparks and smoke her way. As Melinda waved her hand, coughing and choking, the sound of a sharp thud caused her to freeze. Then, she realized that it had been only Becky stomping a foot, probably to rid herself of some insect. Melinda gritted her teeth, stared into the fire, and tried to control her stampeding imagination.

  She spent the next few hours torturing herself, wincing at every little rustle that could not be attributed to the wind. She put her head down on her arms that were draped across her knees, but couldn't hide from her fear. She began trembling with terror, cold, and exhaustion.

  "I can't take this any more," she groaned.

  The independent woman in her was disgusted to feel the tears sliding down her cheeks. Her self image as the woman who could master any situation was slipping fast. She didn't think she could feel any worse than this. But then she became aware of movement off in the distance. It was a steady sound, drawing nearer and nearer.

  Melinda raised her head slowly, somehow fearing that a sudden motion might bring whatever was out there down on her faster. She stared at the fire, but it was simply too late to try putting it out now.

  So instead she reached over cautiously and grasped the heavy branch she had selected as a club for self-defense. She scooted back, inch‑by‑inch, into the brush and out of the light of the flames. And, for once, darkness was her friend, serving as a cloak of invisibility.

  She stood in a half crouching position. She gripped the weapon, bringing it higher. And then, strangely, a primitive instinct for survival overran the fear. She was prepared to kill, if necessary.

  The thing — it was big — was coming closer. She grasped the stick tighter.

  And then she saw her monster move into the light — a tall gray horse, with Mac aboard.

  Stiffly, Melinda straightened up and moved back into the campfire's light. Mac dismounted. She wasn't sure if she should be overjoyed or not as she caught sight of his thunderous expression. She just stood, staring numbly, as she held onto the stick.

  "Either drop that thing, or use it," Mac growled. "You're making me nervous. You look like a wildwoman standing there."

  Melinda dropped the stick. Then, impulsively, she ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck. He responded with a strong hug. Then she started kissing him passionately. And he kissed back. They hugged some more. Then they kissed some more. And finally she just collapsed into his arms.

  Though he continued to hold her, Mac spoke sternly.

  "All I wanted you to do was wait. Couldn't you do that one little thing for me?"

  Melinda squeezed him tightly. "This has been the most awful day of my life. I've been shot at. I almost fell into a pit with big, sharp spikes. I was attacked by a vicious dog..."

  "Well, if you'd stayed where you belonged, none of this would have happened at all."

  Melinda released her grip and stepped back from him. "You're really mad at me, aren't you?"

  "Of course I am. You were almost killed." His voice was frosty. "I saw what happened. I was out looking for you — saw it all through my binoculars. I was too far away. There wasn't a thing I could do to help you. Do you have any idea how that made me feel? To almost lose you like that?"

  "No," Melinda answered meekly.

  Mac agitatedly began to unsaddle his horse. "You have no idea what lousy timing you have. You're lucky I found you. You're lucky you didn't cause more trouble than you could ever imagine."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. Really. But as it turned out — you gave us a break. You found by accident what we've been after for several days now. So I guess we owe you at least that much."

  Mac tethered his horse, then knelt down beside his saddle. He began pulling out a blanket from a bedroll. He handed it to her, and she gratefully wrapped it around her bare arms. Then she sat down on a log next to the campfire. He sat on a rock opposite her, still glaring.

  "Why should I trust you?" Melinda asked. "You don't trust me enough to tell me what's going on."

  Mac took a deep breath. "I can't."

  "Then you know all about those horses Finch has hidden away?"

  "I do now."

  "And you're not going to tell me what it all means?"

  "Please, Melinda. Be patient. Just a while longer."

  Mac reached into his saddlebag and pulled out the same dog-eared deck of cards he had found at the shelter when they were stranded together in the flood. He began shuffling, and gave her a big grin.

  "We can't go anywhere until morning. But at least we know how to pass the time until then."

  "Come on, Mac," Melinda said gently. "Who are you protecting? Is it Preston?"

  Mac said nothing. He picked up the cards he had dealt himself and started arranging them.

  "We have to go to the police," Melinda said. "I've just been shot at. Almost killed. Whatever it is you're doing, you don't have the right to put all of us at risk this way just to protect your brother. And what about Joan? We need to be out there looking for her."

  Mac continued to stare at the cards as if in deep concentration.

  "You've found out something!" Melinda burst out. "Please, Mac. You have to tell me what you know about Joan."

  "We think — she's alive. That's all I can tell you. We really don't know for sure."

  Melinda was unprepared for the tremendous emotional impact caused by his words. She bit her trembling lower lip, fighting the tears. Her depth of feeling was caused both by the hope that Joan might still be saved — and by the possibility that it was already too late.

  8

  After a night of irritating card games followed by a fitful rest, they broke camp at daybreak.

  Melinda rode behind Mac on Bismark a
s they led the lamed Becky back to the ranch. Melinda was bone-tired and sore, drooping against him, and guilty on occasion of falling into a dead sleep with her head resting against his strong back.

  When they finally arrived at the ranch, he pulled her off the horse and lifted her into his arms. As he carried her up the stairs and to her room, she was aware of voices sounding like Harriet, Preston, and even Scott Bradford expressing their concern.

  "No, she's fine," Mac kept repeating. "Just exhausted. Let her get some sleep."

  She was left, once more, in Harriet's stern care.

  She vaguely remembered a hot bath, and the fresh smell of a newly washed gown being slipped over her head. Harriet forced some food down her — biscuits, with a little jam. And warm milk.

  The milk, Harriet explained, was laced with "a bit of something to help you sleep." Melinda remembered being instructed that more food and drink were on the table by her bed. And then she rolled into bed and profound unconsciousness.

  Much later, Melinda jerked awake. She was bathed in sweat.

  She had been tortured by a confused dream involving pursuit by gunmen and a savage dog with fangs protruding from the face of Roy Finch.

  In the darkness, she could see nothing. But she remembered where she was, safely in bed at the McClure ranch. Melinda tested muscles that at first could hardly move from stiffness. And no wonder, she thought, as she recalled the previous day's events.

  The luminescent dials of the clock near her bed confirmed the worst. It was near midnight. She had slept through the day, and half the night. She remembered Harriet mentioning a sedative.

  Had she been drugged on purpose? To keep her out of the way? If so, what was so important about this night?

  Melinda started to switch on the light of the lamp by her bed. Then she thought better of it. Someone might be watching outside the door, to see if she was stirring.

  She remembered a candle on the dresser, got up, and fumbled her way over to it. She bent down, trying to see if Harriet by some miracle had left her dirty clothes on the floor.