Slickrock (Gail McCarthy Mystery)

by Laura Crum

  I turned Dunny loose and watched as he sniffed noses with Gunner. No squeals, no strikes. Gunner pinned his ears in a mild way, stating that he intended to be dominant, and Dunny moved off submissively and began eating grass. No problem.

  I walked back to camp and poured coffee. Blue propped himself against a log and took the cup I handed him. Sitting down on a rock, I took the first hot sip.

  Our eyes met. He smiled. "Ahh," he said.

  "It sure tastes good," I agreed.

  I stretched my back, feeling the warmth of the sun through my tank top. Sipped some more coffee and stared at the lake. "There's an island right in the middle," I said.

  "Yeah. I swam out there once. It's pretty big for an island in a Sierra lake. Almost half an acre, I'd say. Mostly rocks. There's a couple of trees and a little flat spot where it looks like somebody camped once."

  ''That must have been interesting." I could see a couple of pines and a rocky outcropping from where I sat. Looked like it would be a decent swim. If this were still a vacation, I'd be thinking of swimming out there in the afternoon.

  My eyes went back to the man beside me. He raised his coffee cup to his lips with his left hand; I could see the faint wince of pain at the movement. Sitting here in the sunshine, everything seemed peaceful and relaxing, but there was no getting around it, Blue had been shot.

  We needed to get him to a doctor, and more than that, we needed to get out of the backcountry, on the chance that whoever had shot him was after us. But I still sat, feeling the sun on my back, idly watching my companion.

  He raised his cup again and I saw the long muscles in his arm tighten; the light sparkled on the red-gold hairs of his forearm as on fine copper wires. I allowed the thought to cross my mind: This was really an attractive man.

  For a moment I stopped to wonder what attraction is composed of, anyway. Would another woman think Blue Winter was attractive? I didn't know. All I knew was that his long, lean body, red-gold hair and quiet gray eyes were speaking to my physical self in a constant, powerful way.

  Then I shrugged. He probably had a girlfriend. I had a boyfriend. For all I knew, he didn't find me physically attractive at all. Not to mention, his mind was hardly likely to be on such matters, not with a bullet in his arm.

  "How about a granola bar for breakfast?" I asked.

  “All right." He said it without enthusiasm.

  "I know. But it's quick and we should probably get organized to go. How long a ride is it to Bridgeport?”

  "A solid eight hours."

  "We'd better leave in an hour or so."

  "You're right."

  We regarded each other morosely. Packing up seemed like a big chore. Better than getting shot, though. I handed Blue two granola bars. "Eat these," I said. "You'll feel better."

  "Okay."

  We munched; I watched the horses graze. The dogs snoozed in the sunshine; the remains of my morning fire flickered. It was all so damn tranquil. ''I'd like to have a quick wash before we pack up to go," I said, as I stood up.

  "Go right ahead." Blue looked rueful. "I'd like one, too, but I don't think I can manage it." He smiled up at me. "I don't think I'm going to be much help saddling and packing the horses, either."

  "That's okay. I can do it. Is there anything you want before I go down to the lake?"

  "No. I'll be fine."

  "Okay." I took my boots off, got a towel and some soap, and started off across the sand. Benson Lake glittered ahead of me; the beach was warm and soft under my feet. I stared up at the towering rock walls that surrounded the water. This was really a unique spot.

  The lake sat in the bottom of what was more or less a thimble. The canyon we'd ridden down was the only way in, the half mile of beach with the small meadow beyond it the only level ground along the shoreline. By the looks of it, it would be absolutely impossible to ride around this lake, and damn difficult to walk.

  I was nearing the water; it was an odd feeling to be standing on a white sand beach lapped with little waves in the middle of the Sierras. Granite cliffs glowed in the sunshine. Suddenly, to my amazement, I heard a coyote howl. The sound echoed off the rocks and seemed to float upward-sweet, eerie, melodious-uncanny in the bright light of morning.

  I stood still. Another coyote answered the first, and then another. The cliffs carried the sound. Many voices now, as the howls rose to a long keening and then a crescendo of sharp ki-yi-yi's, bouncing off the walls, seeming to come from all directions.

  Mesmerized, I stood like a statue, as the strange serenade filled the bowl of Benson Lake. I had never heard coyotes sing like this in broad daylight. What could it mean? Perhaps there was a den in these rocks.

  The sound died. One last voice rose in a solitary, mournful howl. Then all was quiet. After a minute I walked forward and stepped into the lake.

  Icy water lapped my ankle; I jerked my foot sharply out and whistled. This lake was cold. For a minute I rethought my bathing plans. Maybe I'd just stay dirty.

  You'll feel better if you wash, I told myself. You've got a long ride ahead of you. But I damn well wasn't going swimming.

  I splashed water on my face and hands, washed my armpits briefly, and brushed my teeth. Then I toweled off, feeling a little cleaner and a lot wider awake.

  I could see Gunner and Dunny, a little ways down the beach, drinking out of the lake. I needed to take Plumber and Little Witch down for a drink before I packed them, I reminded myself.

  Gunner lifted his head, ears up, staring out over the lake. Suddenly with a snort, he whirled and ran, Dunny following him. For a second they thundered toward me along the beach, running free, manes and tails flying, a poster come to life. I watched them with a wide grin as they swerved off across the sand and galloped back to the meadow and their companions. Those two were feeling fresh enough to travel, anyway.

  Making my own, much slower, way back to camp, I untied Plumber and the mare and led them down to the lake, taking care to keep them well separated so they didn't fuss. No use getting a horse kicked if I could help it.

  Bringing them back, I tied them to trees near the gear and caught Gunner and Dunny. Blue watched me without a word. It didn't look like he'd moved all morning. I was beginning to worry about how he would deal with the traveling. Maybe another shot would do the trick.

  The brightness seemed to have gone out of the morning; as I brushed the two saddle horses and put pads and blankets on their backs, I could see a haze in the air.

  I heaved the saddles up and cinched them lightly, tied the saddlebags in place, and looked at Blue. He sat on the other side of the fire pit, half propped against his log, staring out across the meadow. I could smell the acrid tang of wood smoke, mingling with the clear, piney mountain smell. Camp smells of wood smoke, always.

  I started to brush Plumber and looked back at Blue. His face had a fixed expression. I turned around to look where he was looking. For a second I saw nothing, just the meadow under the hazy sky. Just the smell of smoke.

  Then I got it.

  "My God," I said. "There's a fire."

  TWENTY-TWO

  Up the canyon," Blue affirmed. I couldn't read either his expression or his tone.

  "Jesus, what do we do?"

  "It depends," he said.

  Smoke was growing thicker in the air every moment; panic grew inside of me. "Depends on what?" I knew my voice was shrill.

  "Get the binoculars out of my saddlebag." I got them and went to his side. He raised them to his eyes with his good hand and pointed them up the canyon. There was a long moment of silence, then he lowered them.

  "See for yourself."

  I looked. For a second everything was a blur; I adjusted the focus-instant sharpness. It didn't tell me much. Heavy clouds of smoke billowing into the air at the head of the canyon, that was it.

  "So what do you see?" I demanded.

  "The fire's in the canyon and the wind's blowing this way," he said.

  I looked at the aspen trees in the meadow. Sure enough
, the ever-present Sierra wind pulled their feathery tops in the direction of the lake.

  "So the fire will burn toward us," I said.

  "That's right."

  "So, what do we do?" I could hear my voice rising.

  "We've got a couple of choices," he said. "I don't think riding up the canyon is a good one; fires are unpredictable, and that wind is rising. We could get ourselves in real trouble." I listened to him, trying to keep my chattering nerves on hold. "We could wait it out, on the beach," he said. His laconic tone was getting to me.

  "Is that going to work?" I demanded.

  “Probably. "

  I stared at him. His face was quiet and he seemed in no hurry to do anything. "What are our other options, in your opinion?" I asked him.

  "I guess the safest thing we could do is hike around the lake to the far end. It's all rock; the fire won't get there. We'd be perfectly safe."

  "And leave the horses here?"

  "We can't take them around the lake; it's impossible. I've hiked down to the far end before." He gave me a brief smile. "You'd probably have to leave me, too. I don't think I could make it with this arm."

  I looked at him, then looked out over the lake; smoke haze, gray as fog, filled the air of the bowl. Without a word, I walked to Gunner and got the torbugesic and the syringe out of my saddlebags.

  "I'm giving you a shot," I said to Blue.

  "All right." He rolled his sleeve back. "You want to try hiking, then?"

  I met his eyes. "And leave the horses?"

  "We'd have to."

  "Is that what you want to do?" I asked him.

  "No. I'd wait it out on the beach, and stay with them."

  "Would we be okay, do you think? On the beach. Holding the horses." I injected the shot into his vein.

  "Probably. Depends on the wind. And how panicked the horses got. I'm not sure we could hold them."

  I watched for the slight relaxation of his facial muscles, heard the tiny sigh as the drug kicked in. Then I looked up the canyon. Smoke billowed fiercely; the haze in the air was getting thicker every minute.

  I looked back out over the lake. Then I looked at Blue.

  "How about we swim to the island?" I said.

  His eyes moved sharply to mine and I could feel the quick calculations in his head. "We could," he said. "Swim the horses, you mean."

  "Yeah. And the dogs."

  "We could do it. There's a sort of rocky beach on the far side. And there's room to camp once we get there."

  "We'd be safe," I said.

  "If we made it."

  "They can swim that far. So can we. So can the dogs."

  Blue got slowly and stiffly to his feet. "That's true," he said. "I once scared up a fawn on the shore of this lake. It could only have been a few days old. It swam out to the island and made it. I watched."

  I looked back up the canyon. Heavy clouds of smoke seemed to pour toward us; the fire was definitely moving our way.

  "Let's do it," I said. "We can't just stand here talking. Can you handle it, with your arm?"

  "Sure. I grew up on a lake. I could swim out there with one arm, if I had to."

  "What about the horses? How should we take them, do you think?"

  Our four equines stood quietly, unperturbed. The fire wasn't yet close enough to alarm them. Smoke in the air didn't register as a threat.

  "We'll ride the saddle horses and lead the pack horses. We'd better leave the packs and the gear on the beach. Those loads would make it tough on the horses to swim."

  "Okay." I started hauling my pack bags toward the lake. "Should we leave the saddles on?" I said over my shoulder.

  Blue took hold of one of his own pack bags with his good arm and dragged it after me. "The saddles should be fine," he grunted.

  Even as I toted my gear, my mind dithered. Was I doing the right thing here? What was the best choice, for me, for my animals? For Blue, as far as that went. He seemed oddly detached about the danger we were in; I could only assume that the pain in his arm was overriding all other worries.

  Try as I might, I could think of no better plan. I knew little or nothing about wildfires and how they behaved. The notion of standing on the beach while flames torched the forest in front of me did not appeal to me one little bit. I had read that big fires sucked up oxygen in incredible ways; I had heard how unpredictable they could be. I knew horses were terrified of fires. I wanted away from this one.

  Dragging the rest of my pack gear down to the lake, I asked Blue, "Can you get on your horse?"

  "I think so. You might have to help me."

  He was towing his second pack bag; I forbore to tell him that I could do it.

  When the gear was in a pile on the beach, we went back to the horses. I could see an occasional flash of orangy flame through the smoke; it scared me.

  "Come on," I urged Blue. "Let's go."

  The dogs wagged their tails as we untied the horses. They didn't know we were in danger; they thought we were moving on in the normal way.

  Let's go, let's go, the words rattled in my brain. Blue stared at Dunny as if the effort of getting on him was too much. How in the hell was he going to swim across the lake if he had to?

  I stepped to his side and bent over, lacing my two hands together in a cup. "I'll give you a leg up."

  Blue didn't say anything, but obediently lifted his left leg and set his toe into the step I'd created. Like everyone who's spent time with horses, he knew about getting a leg up.

  "One, two, three," I said. I lifted, he pulled with his left arm and swung his right leg over Dunny's back. Thank God the gelding stood still. Blue was on, looking a little unsteady, but there.

  I handed him Little Witch's lead rope and climbed on Gunner. We both called our dogs and headed off across the beach. I coughed. The smoke grew thicker every moment.

  "Have you ever swum your horses before?" Blue asked.

  "No. Not these. I used to swim the horse I had when I was a teenager, though. Bareback in the San Lorenzo River."

  Blue smiled-a motion that came and went in an instant. "Then you know never to get in front of a swimming horse. They'll try to climb on you."

  "Yeah," I said.

  ''They reach out in front of themselves with their front feet," he went on, "but they don't reach behind. You're perfectly safe right behind your horse. In fact, if he's having trouble swimming, it's best to slip off the back and hang on to his tail."

  "Can't all horses swim?" I asked.

  "Not necessarily. I had a big palomino gelding when I was a kid who couldn't. I went camping with some friends by a lake and we all decided to swim our horses. This horse went in just fine; the lake was one of those with a shore that shelved down and then dropped off. This horse stepped off that drop and went straight to the bottom."

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope. Down he went all the way underwater. Me, too. The waters just closed over my head; I didn't know what would happen."

  "So, what did happen?"

  "He went all the way to the bottom and then shot straight up and out of the water, like a dolphin. Then down to the bottom and then straight up again. It was a wild ride, I can tell you."

  "Great. Jeez, I hope neither one of my horses do that."

  Blue laughed. "They probably won't. I never knew another one that did. Just don't let go of your horse, whatever you do. Because if you're swimming out there and he sees you, he's going to figure you're something he could stand on."

  "Great."

  We were on the shore now. Fire behind us, water before us. I looked back over my shoulder. Smoke was gray everywhere. A fine dusting of ash covered my arms and Gunner's mane. I coughed again.

  Digging into my saddlebag, I found the gun and got it out. "Heel," I said firmly to Roey. Then I looked at Blue. "Are you ready?"

  "I'm ready." He tipped his fedora down a little further over his eyes.

  I clucked to Gunner and kicked his ribs and he stepped into the lake. He waded to his knees with no res
istance, Plumber following. Roey followed Plumber, looking nervous.

  Gunner moved forward; my boots were in the water. It was cold, damn cold. We were committed now.

  Deeper and deeper. Icy water over my thighs. I could feel the horse begin to grow weightless, to float. Water to my waist, water all around me. I held the gun over my head with my left hand and clung to Gunner's mane and the reins with my right. I barely felt the cold, so much adrenaline was pumping in me.

  Gunner swam; I could feel the long strokes of his legs under me, see his head in front of me, nose determinedly lifted out of the water. I could only guess at his expression.

  I looked back. Plumber swam, head up, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. Roey paddled behind him.

  Next to me, Blue clung to the swimming Dunny. I looked over my shoulder; Freckles was still on the shore, dashing back and forth and uttering frantic yips.

  "Your dog!" I yelled to Blue. He turned and called. We both watched the little dog race back and forth, back and forth, crying. "Come on, Freckles. Here, girl," Blue called again, his voice calm. I looked at the billowing smoke filling the sky and felt anything but calm.

  "Will she come?" I asked him.

  "She doesn't like to swim. But she'll come."

  Once again he called her; I could see her put both front feet in the water, hesitate, and then plunge forward. Then she was swimming, a ways behind us, but following. We were all afloat.

  I looked ahead. The island seemed a long way away. But it was clearly visible with its trees and clumps of rocks. I guided Gunner straight toward it, prayed he'd make it.

  I looked back at Plumber and Roey. Freckles was just visible, a tiny white dot in the water. Beyond that was the sand of the beach, a pale crescent beneath an angry blanket of roiling smoke. I could see an occasional flash of flame as trees in the little wood beside the lake torched alight.

  Once again, I glanced at Blue. His face was steady and impassive, his eyes straight ahead. I couldn't imagine a man who was any calmer under pressure than this one.

  The island was closer now, but I thought Gunner was tiring. He seemed to struggle more to keep his nose up; his swimming felt more frantic.

  "How does my horse look?" I called anxiously to Blue. His eyes moved to Gunner.