Mrs. Phelps, the daughter, gave a quick squeak of alarm when Gulliver smelled her shoes, and danced back mumbling her discontent.
“The animal is wasting time! He acts like he doesn’t know what he’s doing!”
I gave her an angry glance and kept my mouth shut. I knew she was upset, but she wasn’t worthy of any explanation about Gulliver’s methods. I’d let Hank cure her ignorance about the search if he so desired. Gulliver went back down the steps and we started around the house for the second time, on the same path we had taken earlier.
I knew the day was slipping away in the afternoon sunshine, but you can’t rush a bloodhound’s nose. I followed Gulliver as he was heading again for the backyard and lifted my gaze to the edge of the clearing. There was a narrow path there that led to the creek where we had found her last year.
Gulliver stopped so suddenly, just when I had taken my eyes off him, and turned so quickly, he almost ran into me in reversing his forward motion. I danced out of his way as he hurried by, hesitated for a heartbeat, and took a new direction that headed directly toward the creek path. His tail was high and rigid. His body stance became taller and his pace increased. I trotted behind him with quickening breaths of tentative optimism. He seemed to be locked onto a viable man-trailing scent.
When Gulliver was fully committed to the creek path, and we were several yards into the swamp and out of the line of sight, I pulled him off the scent on a temporary halt for a radio check.
“Rescue One to base. Rescue One to base. Do you read me? Over.”
Hank answered. “Base to Rescue One. I read you loud and clear. Over.”
“Rescue One to base. Gulliver has chosen the creek path on the east side of the house and seems to be on a good trail. I’ll call Rescue Two and give instructions. If I can’t reach her, call me back. Over and out.”
“Rescue One to Rescue Two. Do you read me? Over.”
“Rescue Two to Rescue One. I read you loud and clear. Over.” Jasmine’s transmission was also clear.
“Rescue One to Rescue Two, take the creek path on the east side. If I cross a path and turn, I will call it in. If you make a choice without hearing from me, keep track and call it in. Give me a ten-minute start. Over.”
“Rescue Two to Rescue One. Read you five by five. Over and out.”
Well, we were off to a promising start. All the radios worked so far. Communications were sometimes iffy here in the dense old growth of thick, towering trees, low areas of boggy sloughs, and the high banks on the Sewanee River and its many fingers of creeks that meandered throughout the entire swamp area. I checked the time and it was now almost four P.M. I knew we would find the creek soon, and didn’t need to dig out Gulliver’s water dish, but I unhooked a canteen and took a deep drink of clear town water. The creek water wouldn’t hurt me but I shied away from the tea-colored water that sometimes had diminutive additives that I couldn’t identify.
I started Gulliver back on his trail with the command, “Find your man, find your man.” We feminists only used correct sex titles when it wouldn’t confuse the bloodhounds. More men got lost out here than women, and the bloodhounds didn’t seem to recognize human gender, only their own breed’s sex when they were feeling randy or in love.
15
“Shit Happens”
August 27, Tuesday, 4:00 P.M.
The narrow trail’s surface was a mixture of peat and clay and mud, much of it covered with pine needles, pine cones, oak and bay leaves, and windblown moss. The moist morass made a slippery surface for walking. I noticed that in the year past, since I had last walked this way on the first rescue, the path had narrowed and was being closed with new growth pushing through the ground. Young pine saplings, along with oak and blackthorn shoots, were struggling to establish roots.
Mr. Hiram’s heirs obviously didn’t come this way to the creek to fish and swim too often, and I imagined that his walks with a fishing pole and Miz Beulah had been sadly curtailed. This path would be lost in another couple of years without being hacked back and cleared.
Gulliver was steadily forging ahead and had to wait, acting impatient when I had to apply my machete to a clinging, intruding vine blocking my way. The path had an almost solid canopy of thick boughs of pine and oak as low as two or three feet above my head and received very little sunlight. No breeze could penetrate the trees and heavy brush and the air was clammy and difficult to breathe.
The narrow passage led in a long, gradual curve to the left, and I knew this would lead me closer to the creek very soon. I couldn’t remember how many other trails might cross the one I was now traveling. I estimated that Miz Beulah had been alone now for five hours or more. I felt the need for haste but had to proceed prudently. I didn’t need a twisted ankle or a bad gash on my face from thorns.
We approached our first intersection, a narrow Y that didn’t noticeably slow Gulliver’s progress. He went left, which I knew was the correct way to the creek. I had to halt him to inform Jasmine.
“Rescue One to Rescue Two. Rescue One to Rescue Two. Do you read? Over.”
It took two more tries before I heard Jasmine’s intermittent raspy response.
“… Two to Rescue … Repeat. Over.”
My heart sank. We couldn’t be more than three or four hundred yards apart and already we were experiencing transmitting problems? I cursed the thick humidity, heavy growth, low areas, gremlins, or whatever. I finally got through on the third effort and explained the direction we’d taken.
My voice had risen considerably and my mouth was dry. I couldn’t remember how much farther it was to water and Gulliver was panting. I removed my pack and dug out his water dish and emptied the balance of my first canteen. I had another full one on my belt and two emergency quarts in my pack. He lapped it up noisily and waited for more.
“That will last you because we’ve got creek water coming up for you soon, big guy, but I have to conserve mine. You shouldn’t have cadged that second handful of jerky. It makes you thirsty.”
I put him back on the trail, unconsciously blowing the small puffs of air from my lips that kept the gnats away from my mouth and nostrils. When I’d first entered the path, I had tied a bandanna around my head to protect my ears from the dive-bombing sand flies. I now only had to wipe my face with an additional bandanna every thirty seconds to keep the rivulets of sweat from burning my eyes. Thank God we only had another two weeks or so of gnats and then they would be history until next May. This would leave only mosquitoes, horseflies, yellow flies, sand flies, honeybees, wasps, dirt daubers, and a few more varieties of insects that I have had the misfortune of meeting but never identifying. After crushing them, all I would have left to inspect would be a wet black smear.
The light was fading. I couldn’t glimpse enough sky to judge if it was low thunderstorm clouds heavy with rain or just the sun easing behind the tall forest that would block the receding rays. Whatever the reason, I didn’t like the coming darkness. Stumbling around in this tiny corridor with only a headlight and a flashlight was not conducive to easy walking. I was now having to watch for the almost hidden small cypress roots that can send you sprawling on your hands and knees if you trip on them. This meant we were getting closer to the water, but it was also slowing our forward progress.
Jasmine and Ramona should be joining us soon. Even though she had left minutes behind me, I had been slowed by chopping back the obstructive vines and protruding limbs. The path should be easier for her and they should be traveling faster. I was looking down at my feet and almost stumbled over Gulliver because he had suddenly stopped trailing and was turned sideways and sniffing at something in the clump of six-inch grass. I caught a faint odor of urine and saw a small pile of feces and some faint stains on a handful of pulled-up grass. Miz Beulah had made a rest stop.
I stood there worrying about her running into the numerous vines that had tried to claw me on our trip. She might not know how to or couldn’t avoid them, and if she was scratched, the cuts could become sep
tic in a short time in this heat. I also belatedly remembered that I hadn’t questioned Mr. Hiram very carefully about her health problems. I felt a pang of guilt. She could have adult onset diabetes, and if so, by now might be hypoglycemic. Nothing was mentioned about insulin, but many people take a couple of pills a day and are supposed to watch their diets but don’t consider themselves as having a disease. I tried to find comfort in the fact that Mr. Hiram took excellent care of her and would have mentioned the illness, hopefully. However, he was also upset and feeling guilty about her slipping away and might have temporarily forgotten. Diabetes could exacerbate any infection. I also remembered the thin moccasins that covered her feet.
I was surprised when Gulliver turned and headed back toward me. His stance was rigid and his expression seemed intensified as he nosed around tracking the scent. He was going over the same ground that we had just passed.
“Hey, Gulliver? What’s happening?”
I was working him on the six-foot lead, as we didn’t have much room and he always wanted to move like a freight train. I tugged him backward and finally stopped him.
“Why would she turn around here?” I asked him, confused. “She was heading toward the creek. Let’s try it again a little farther along this trail, before we backtrack. We know she couldn’t have made it turning off the path. She couldn’t have moved three feet through the heavy brush.”
Gulliver didn’t seem impressed with my reasoning, but I got him to turn around, reluctantly, and head in our original direction. I should have known better than to argue with his gifted nose. Less than fifteen feet of his casting back and forth and humming a low, frustrated whine, he pulled up short and stood slouched, then turned his head in my direction looking lost and uncertain.
I peered ahead of him and saw the reason. The path had simply petered out. All that was in front of us were heavy vines, a thick growth of gallberry bushes, and solid trees several years old. A dead end. It was that time of day when the natural light was muted, and too soon for a flashlight or headlamp. I stooped and patted Gulliver’s head and rubbed his ears.
“I should have known your nose is better than my guesses. You are a great man trailer and I’m a klutz. Shall we turn around?”
A few yards back down the trail, we heard Jasmine and Ramona seconds before we saw them making their way toward us.
“Are you all right?” Jasmine called out anxiously.
“Fine. We’re just lost, like you two.”
Gulliver and Ramona greeted each other like long-lost relatives. They twisted their short leads together and whined and smelled each other with delight.
“Let’s take a break,” I suggested and slumped against a raised mound at the base of a gnarled water-oak trunk. Jasmine took a moment to inspect a safe area and slid down near me.
Jasmine’s face looked drawn in the subdued light.
“You look tired.”
“I’m sitting too long in too many classes trying to finish my second year. And the heat is getting to me. I’m cutting down next month. I’ve already filled out my schedule for fall.”
“Great. Rosie’s offered to take two of our regular search visits each week, and I’m not taking any more new contracts until we can get another trainer who can handle Rosie’s and your overflow. It’s too much for both of you.”
“Why are we lost? Did Gulliver lose the scent?”
“Gulliver and I agree that she must have doubled back. This path dead-ends a few yards behind us. With her traveling this area twice, it made the trail easier to scent. My guess is that she took the right path back at the Y crossing and Gulliver failed to catch it, or she decided to step off this path on her way back and take a shortcut through this monstrous growth. She has fifty years of memories of this land in her confused mind. I don’t have any idea what she might think of next. I didn’t notice anywhere she could have left the trail coming in, but I wasn’t checking it too closely because Gulliver was confidently covering ground on the path. If she decided to blaze her own way to the creek, I’ll tell you true, we’re in a whole heap of trouble.”
“So now we slow down and check both sides of this trail on the way back … with lights,” she added.
“That’s the plan,” I said with a sigh. “You take the left, and I’ll check the right side.”
Standing, I stretched and we both started untangling the dogs’ leads. We took out headlamps, and adjusted them to shine straight in front of where we looked. I held my lead in my left hand, and carried the five cell in my right. It had a wider beam and was worth carrying the extra weight. Thick, dark green foliage with black shadows absorbed the light and reflected an unwavering wall of gloom. I occasionally clenched my eyes then stretched them wider to try to achieve better night vision. It didn’t seem to help much.
Gulliver was impatient with the slower pace and kept trying to pull ahead. He was following a strong trail and couldn’t understand why we were stopping so often to check the bushes. He kept glancing back at Ramona and Jasmine, working behind him. He started a soft whine of discontent.
“Take it easy, Gulliver, we want to make sure. Slow down, ease off.” I repeated the refrain often to reassure him that he was doing a good job.
My left arm began to ache from the strain. I couldn’t switch hands while using the flashlight because it was too awkward. I was forced to tie my extra bandanna around my forehead. It was too much effort to keep swiping my eyes with the hand that held the flashlight. After twenty minutes I called a halt, pulled Gulliver off the scent, and walked back to Jasmine.
“Let’s change sides. My left arm is killing me. He keeps pulling ahead.”
I moved to the left, and it seemed to rest my left hand. Gulliver was still straining ahead. He surely didn’t appreciate the slow pace and I almost missed the small opening in the bushes. My light raked over it and I had only a nanosecond vision of a small tunnel, then the unbroken brush returned.
I pulled up on Gulliver’s lead and walked back several steps. Ramona and Jasmine joined us and we both investigated the narrow opening with our lights while the dogs wriggled with impatience. Ramona pushed forward and lowered her nose first. Gulliver stood still and watched her work.
“It looks like a deer, or a small-animal trail,” I said hopefully. No way did I want to stoop or crawl through the heavy brush after dark.
“Ramona wants to go in. What do you think?” Jasmine asked while leaning over and peering into the dark slit, holding firmly to Ramona’s leash.
I sighed with disappointment. “Then we try it. I’ll be right behind you. Be careful.”
Snakes crawled freely and fed in early darkness and early morning. A full cast of wild creatures lived in this environment and moved around this swamp in a two-hour cycle of forage and resting. I had no desire to meet any of them on a night trail in thick brush while stooping or crawling.
16
“A Less Than Perfect Rescue”
August 27, Tuesday, 7:30 P.M.
“Can you stand up?” I called, more to keep voice contact than to get information. I didn’t like Ramona and Jasmine disappearing in the darkness and not knowing what they were doing.
“So far,” Jasmine answered, her voice already subdued by the thickness of the surrounding foliage.
I was hovering so close that I was bending over Gulliver, trying to walk by his side instead of staying behind him. After an interminable wait of thirty seconds, I called again.
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing so far,” she said, sounding a tad testy. “Do you want to lead? I think we still have room enough to change places here.”
“No, no,” I yelled quickly, “just checking that you’re all right.”
“Well… if you’re sure.”
I bit my lip and told myself to shut up. It would seem as if I didn’t trust her to lead if I kept up a running dialogue of questions. I wasn’t used to being second on a trail. In fact, I couldn’t remember an instance when I hadn’t been behind the lead man trail
er. This time I managed to stay silent a full five minutes.
“Does it seem that Ramona is on a viable scent?”
When she didn’t immediately answer, I quickly surged forward and almost stepped on her. She was squatting in the path with her hand guarding her eyes to keep me from destroying her night vision with my light.
“You rang?” Her tone was wry.
“Sorry, I’m just nervous. We’ve used up a lot of time. I know it’s a cold trail. Just checking.”
“You’re having an anxiety attack because you’re not leading the pack. I would suggest that you and Gulliver take the lead and we’ll all feel better. What do you say?”
“Are you sure? It’s not that I don’t trust you …”
“Believe me, Jo Beth, Ramona and I will be much better off ten paces to the rear. Trust me on this. Move past, please.”
I turned my light on the narrow sides of the opening and sucked in a startled breath.
“What in God’s name is all this?”
My light was not penetrating more than a foot on either side of the narrow trail. I gaped in wonder at the solid wall of vegetation hemming in our clearance and the tiny opening we had to advance into.
“You mean this?” She was pointing around at the morass on all sides of her. Her voice rose, light and chirpy. “This is the new growth of Chinese tallow trees. They are indigenous to China and were imported in the nineteen thirties and planted in the South Florida Everglades to keep the topsoil from eroding away. For the past sixty years or so, they’ve been traveling north and infesting hundreds of thousands of acres. I’ve read that they’re hardy little buggers and can grow a foot a month in a wet climate. I’d judge these beauties to be about six months old. Can you imagine what they are going to look like in six years?”
A Bloodhound to Die for Page 10
