She slid to a stop.
The forest had grown unnaturally quiet. She immediately checked for signs of fog, before realizing what she was doing. Although this wasn't the Dark Wood, something was definitely amiss.
She saw movement again, this time ahead and much closer. Two rangy looking dogs stepped onto the path, barring her way. Gripping her staff firmly with both hands, she raised it like a club.
The dogs, obviously wild, didn't appear the least bit timid.
"I don't suppose you're brainy animals by any chance?"
The dogs bared their teeth.
"Well, I don't want any trouble, so please be kind enough to let me to pass."
The larger of the two lowered its head and, growling, began to inch forward.
"I don't think so!" Carole barked, whacking her staff against the nearest tree.
The dog barely flinched.
"Uh oh." She scrambled into the lower branches of the tree.
Both dogs moved beneath, snapping at her feet. She climbed higher.
"Now what? I can't wait here all day. But maybe..."
As she stared at the dogs she imagined a rabbit hiding in the nearby underbrush. The larger dog's ears perked up. She concentrated harder, imagining with greater detail. Both dogs looked towards the woods. She visualized the rabbit twitching with fear and racing away from the trail. With a bark, the dogs gave chase.
Where the dogs had stood, was now only trembling underbrush.
"Lucky for you I'm not traveling with a certain cat by the name of Brutus!" Carole called out as she jumped out of the tree and raced off.
She saw nothing more of the dogs, but kept a wary eye on the woods and a firm grip on her staff just the same, relaxing her vigilance only after bird and rodent sounds returned to the forest. Soon shadows began to lengthen. Evening was on its way.
Until now Carole hadn't given a thought to where she was going to spend the night, but with wild dogs about, she must focus on protection first and comfort second. Before she had begun to search out a suitable site, the trail opened onto a small meadow containing an old wooden shack and a stone walled well. The well was covered by a peaked roof. Carole walked towards the decrepit building, hoping her worries for the night were over.
She couldn't help but notice that a good deal of the meadow grass around the shack had been recently trampled and torn up. She looked closer. The dirt beneath was covered with prints, mostly dog, but some pig as well.
Dogs don't usually travel in pairs, she realized with a start. They travel in packs. She broke into a cool sweat, thinking how lucky she'd been.
What about her pigs? Had the dogs had been here before or after Runt and Smoky had passed through? At least one of the pigs--Smoky by the size of the prints--had been moving in the right direction. She couldn't see any sign of Runt past the building.
She followed the larger set of hog tracks across the meadow and over to where the trail started up again. It looked like Smoky had got away, but what about Runt? Carole crisscrossed the area a few more times, even walking a short way up the trail. She found no further sign of the little pig, but at least there wasn't any blood. Reluctantly, she returned to the shack.
The roof was sagging and boards were missing here and there, but at least the place still had four walls. She pushed against a wall. Surprisingly it held firm.
She peered through the front window. Nothing was inside save a stone fireplace with a rusted tin flue. She tried the door. It was jammed. She shoved. The door gave a little. She shoved harder, forcing it wide enough for her to squeeze through.
After dumping her gear on the floor, Carole looked around. It wasn't quite so bad from this perspective. If the dogs did turn up, she'd be a good deal more comfortable in here than up a tree. Providing the well still held water, her accommodations were almost luxurious.
She dug out her canteen. She still had plenty to drink but not enough to waste on a wash. Slipping back outside, she headed for the covered well.
As she drew closer, she heard splashing and grunting sounds.
* * *
- 14 -
Carole stepped toward the stonework, but found it so cracked and crumbly that she stopped short, for fear the whole thing might tumble into the shaft. There were two support poles holding the peaked roof and a metal crankshaft in place. The poles were almost completely rotten. She peered gingerly over the top of the masonry. The well cover was missing and it was too dark for her to see far inside.
"Anybody down there?"
"Wreeeeet!"
"Runt, is that you? "
"Reet, reeet reeeet wreeeeeeeeeet!"
"Okay, okay, I get it. Are you hurt?"
"Wret, rit."
"That's a relief. Bruises we can deal with. How about the water, is it deep?"
"Ret wreet, rit reeet, reet riit."
"Was it already down there or did the cover fall in with you?"
"Reet, reeet ret."
"It's a wonder you're still alive. So what exactly, are you doing down there in the first place? Where's Smoky?"
"Wreeereet! Writ ret reet."
"All right. Give me a minute to think of something, and it's not a stupid question at all. It's a very sensible question."
There was still plenty of rope wound around the crankshaft, though all that was left of the water bucket was a rusty handle. She unwound a length of rope and tested its strength. Definitely not in the best of shape. She was even more concerned about the wooden supports. She pushed on one pole and felt it sway.
"Okay Runt, I'm going to lower some rope. Think you're strong enough to hold on with your teeth?"
"Rrr...eet."
"Let's hope this works."
Carole tugged on the crank-handle but the apparatus resisted any movement. She jerked harder. The handle let out a loud squawk and rope began to snake down the shaft.
"Reet!" Runt squealed, a short time later.
"Get a good hold. I'll try to make this quick."
She gave Runt a few seconds to prepare himself, before calling out, "Here we go."
As soon as the slack was taken out of the line, everything began to shift and groan. Carole nervously eyed the support pillars. If they gave way, not only would Runt crash back into the water, but a good portion of the wall and the roof would likely topple onto him.
She tried to keep her rhythm steady, but the poles continued to wobble and the far end of the crankshaft began twisting out of its bracket. She dared not crank any faster, yet the wood wasn't going to hold together much longer. With a sickly crack, the pillar on her side broke free of the ground and began to topple.
Carole jammed her hip against the wood, wedging it in place while struggling to maintain her grip on the handle. Sweat stung her eyes, but she didn't chance letting go to wipe it away. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, a fuzzy snout appeared overtop the stonework. Two more cranks and a bluish-looking pig emerged from the well, his eyes wide, his legs sticking straight out.
With her hip wedged against the fractured pole and the handle anchored in the crook of her elbow, she reached out with her other hand and just managed to grab Runt's tail. "Listen up," she panted. "I'm going to swing you back and forth. On the count of three I'll pull really hard.
"Let go of the rope on three, got it?"
Runt's eyes opened even wider.
"Here we go." Carole soon had him swinging like a pendulum. With each tug, the supports shifted and groaned ominously. She had opened her mouth to count when, with a POP the second support pole snapped in two.
"Three!" Stumbling backwards, she yanked with all of her might.
Runt sailed--rear first--overhead. Wood and stone splashed into the water with a loud reverberating boom.
Runt leapt onto Carole's chest and smothered her with sloppy, ice cold kisses.
"Oh Runt, you're shivering like a leaf!" she laughed, squeezing him lovingly. "Come on, let's get you warmed up. You must be pretty hungry, too."
"Reet, reet!" Runt agreed
, prancing around like a puppy.
"That's easy to remedy." Carole led him to the shack and dug out a handful of oat cakes. "Here you are, courtesy of Maude Murtz."
Runt eyed Carole with astonishment.
"Call it a going away present."
Carole watched him devour his food. His shivering didn't seem to be lessening any. "We'd better get you warmed up some. I'll see if I can start a fire."
She collected dry branches from along the edge of the forest and stacked the wood in the shack, next to the hearth. When she had enough, she built a small teepee of twigs in the center of the fireplace, overtop a clump of dry moss. She grabbed the jackknife and flint rock from her pack and began striking the rock against the blade.
After a bit of fiddling, she had the blade sparking. A little more fiddling, and she managed to get the sparks to fly towards the moss. She had to fiddle and blow and encourage a lot more before she was rewarded with a small, candle-sized flame, to which she fed more moss. Eventually she had a pleasant blaze crackling and a warm pig snoozing. By then her shoulders were aching and her head throbbing, so she lay down for a short, well deserved rest.
Runt's persistent nudging pulled her away from the nightmare, a nightmare in which she'd been face-to-face with the growling maw of a werewolf. The beast's snarls followed her into the waking world. She jerked upright.
The fire had died to embers, yet still cast enough light to illuminate the toothy muzzles crowding the partially open doorway. Carole grabbed her staff and leaped at the dogs with a yell, stabbing and hitting until the growling animals backed away. She shoved the door closed; piled more wood on the fire and coaxed the flames to life.
Meanwhile dogs began to worm through gaps where planks were missing. She seized a flaming branch and shoved it into their faces. Growls became yelps, as the dogs scrambled away from the scorching heat.
Those still gathered around the door were now trying to dig their way in. Carole whacked at their paws until the digging stopped, but while she was doing this, other dogs returned to the gaps in the walls. She reached for another burning branch. She was forced to repeat these actions again and again, until the dogs finally gave up their attack and moved off.
She wiped a patch of glass in the front window clear of grime and peered outside. Close to a dozen canines were milling about the clearing and sniffing around the well. They looked ragged and hungry. Escape seemed impossible.
Carole returned to the fire. She flopped down beside Runt and reached for an oat cake. "Maybe it's time you tell me about those dogs."
The pig nodded. "Rit."
According to Runt, the pack had picked up the pigs' scent while Runt and Smoky were still deep in the forest, probably close to where she'd crossed paths with the two dogs earlier that day. The pigs had made a run for it. They'd gotten as far as the meadow before the dogs had finally closed in. Knowing he couldn't outrun them, Runt had headed for the well, hoping to stay out of reach of their snapping jaws, or at the very least to distract them long enough for Smoky to escape.
His plan had worked. The dogs chased him, which had allowed the larger pig to get away. Unfortunately--or fortunately as it turned out--the well cover had been so rotten that it collapsed as soon as Runt jumped onto it, dropping him into the frigid water below. He'd managed to clamber atop a large piece of wood and had hoped for rescue.
The tiny pig crawled onto Carole's lap and sighed contentedly, as if certain she'd figure a way out of this latest trouble. She looked down and breathed out a gigantic sigh of her own. "Unfortunately, those dogs are the least of our worries, Runt. A lot has happened since you left, an awful lot."
"Reet?"
"Well, for one, I ran into that howling creature we heard the other night."
"Wreeeeet?!" Runt jumped up.
"Yes, the werewolf, but don't worry. He won't bother us again, or anyone else for that matter."
Wide-eyed, the pig stared at Carole.
"Oh it's not what you're thinking. I had plenty of help. The problem is where that help came from and where we're likely to end up, before long."
Runt scrunched his snout.
"I know I'm not making a whole lot of sense, but explanations will have to wait. Right now we've got to figure out a way to lose those dogs."
Carole walked over to the window. The dogs were still milling about the meadow. "They're certainly in no hurry to leave, and we can't afford to wait around here forever. Not to mention our supply of wood won't last much longer." She went to the back of the cabin and peered through a gap, close to ground level. The forest was barely ten feet away. "You know what might work?"
"Ret?"
Runt trotted over and watched as Carole tested the strength of the board atop the gap. The wood moved encouragingly. She studied the board closer. "Just that one nail. Of course the real trick is keeping those dogs from figuring out what were doing." She picked up her jackknife.
"Rit?"
"By you keeping a lookout. Go stick your eye against a knothole and let me know if any of them get too close."
Carole dug at the wood around the nail. It wasn't particularly difficult work, though she was grateful when the board finally popped free of the wall. Swinging it aside, she stuck her head and shoulders through the opening. "Tight fit, but I think it's a go." She pulled herself back inside and replaced the board.
She went to the window. "Good. It looks like those dogs are going to settle in for the night. Let's catch some shuteye ourselves. Hopefully we'll be long gone before they even realize. Get me up a couple hours before sunrise, will ya Runt? I'm beat."
It seemed only minutes later when Carole pushed the pig's snout from her face. "All right already," she grouched, blinking sand from her eyes. She got up stiffly and stumbled over to the window. A number of lumps were silhouetted against the moonlit meadow.
"Okay." She yawned, grabbed her gear, and winced at the fresh blisters on her fingers. "We'll move straight into the forest for fifty yards before cutting back to the path. Let's go, quiet as field mice."
She pulled the board free, crawled through the opening and froze.
Two dogs were sleeping against the back corner of the shack. Sentries!
Before she could even think about what to do next, their noses began to twitch. A moment later, they opened their eyes and bared their teeth.
"Reverse!" She backed into Runt.
"So much for plan A." She replaced the board and leaned back against the wall. "Guess we do things the hard way."
The graying light of predawn found Runt and Carole peeking through the open doorway of the cabin. "We'll go straight for that main group of dogs sleeping over by the well," she whispered. "Hopefully we won't need them, but I'll hold onto a few branches, just in case. Ready?"
He nodded.
Carole slipped on her rucksack and pulled at the straps until they dug into her shoulders. "All right." She squatted low and motioned to Runt.
The pig leapt. He landed solidly on top of the pack with his hind legs straddling Carole's neck and his front paws gripping her forehead.
"Umph! You been munching rocks, you porker?" She shifted pack and pig until her load was balanced, and then pulled as many flaming branches from the fire as she could hold. Using her staff for support, she moved quickly to the door and slipped outside.
They charged, screaming and squealing. Eyes snapped open, and snarls of alarm turned into yelps of fear as Carole shoved the flaming brands at the dogs. The pack scattered in all directions.
She turned for the trail but three dogs came at her from behind the well. She hurled a branch at them. Two gave way but the third lunged for her legs. Twisting sideways, she swung her staff and hit the dog in the face as its jaws clamped onto her skirt. Material ripped as the dog jerked back with a howl. Another dog rushed in and got a mouthful of fire and spark.
Still screaming at the top of her lungs, Carole threw branches at the closest animals while speeding towards the trail at the far end of the meadow. She concentr
ated on putting as much distance as possible between herself and the dogs, before the bewildered animals realized that their pork dinner had also escaped.
"Keep an eye out, Runt," Carole gasped. "Let me know if--" She heard the growls before the rest of the sentence was out of her mouth. She looked over her shoulder, past Runt. Two monstrous dogs, fangs gleaming in the firelight, were charging after her.
Carole threw all but one of her remaining branches at them and kicked into a sprint. She glanced back moments later. The dogs were still closing in.
"Hang on, Runt!" She skidded to a stop and spun around to face them. Staff in one hand and sputtering branch in the other, she waited.
The dogs, one tan the other black, slowed to a measured pace but kept coming, guttural sounds escaping from their gaping maws.
Carole challenged the black one, thrusting flame in its face. The dog backed off with a snarl, but the tan raced in and clamped down on her staff. She jabbed with her firebrand and it leapt away. She pivoted, swinging hard. Her staff came down squarely on the black's head. The dog dropped, stunned. Carole twisted to face the tan, but her momentum combined with the weight of Runt and her pack was too great. Arms flailing, she stumbled backwards. The branch slipped from her hand and the tan dog lunged for her throat.
With a cry of desperation, she raised her staff. Amazingly, it jammed into the tan's open jaws. CRACK! The staff wrenched out of her hand as the dog slammed into her chest.
She lay on the ground, winded and gasping. Only after Runt gave a faint "Ri-i-it?" did she realize that the dog was still on top of her, and that her pig was trapped beneath her pack. She pushed the dog off and rolled over. The tan's body convulsed and became still.
"Anything broken?"
Runt got up slowly. "Ret." He went over to the dog and sniffed. "Reet?"
"I don't know. There's no way that poke should've killed it." Carole picked up her staff and examined it closely. "I thought this thing had snapped in two, but there's barely a scratch."
The Lost Witch Page 8
