The River of Bones--An Archie Hunter Adventure

by E C Hunter

  Archie walked on. After another hundred metres he was able to see something lying on the track. He picked up speed. Lying in the dust was a piece of the willow Milly had used to weave the bed of the travois. He looked further up the road. Pieces of the travois were strewn in a long arc round the bend in the track. There was a dark shape lying close to one of the long poles he had so recently cut from the forest. There was a slide of disappointment in his gut as Archie realised that it was the tarp. He folded it quickly and stuffed it into his pack. Of Magnus there was no sign.

  Hoofbeats broke through the silence. A few moments later Milly brought her horse to a skidding stop in a cloud of dust. She still looked cross and with the rifle slung across her back Archie was reminded of some terrifying warrior maiden.

  “What the hell happened?” She asked.

  “The horse bolted, no idea why. There’s bits of the travois everywhere but no sign of Dad. No sign of the horse either.” The conversation was strained. Each acutely aware of the others anger. To cover his angst Archie tried to make sense of the tracks in the dust but it was just confused scuffing. The only definite tracks were those of the horse, suddenly free of its burden and speeding away. Archie felt the now familiar slide in his gut. No. He pulled himself up short. Take a lesson from Milly and get your act together. Archie lifted his head and mentally shook himself down. “OK, what are we going to do?”

  “Looks to me like your dad must have come separated from the horse about here, we need to search the edges of the road. You take that side” Milly indicated the left hand side to Archie “I’ll take this”. She dismounted and secured the horse. They both backtracked to a good way before the first piece of debris and combed their way through the tangle of maple saplings, briers and bunchberry. The search was fruitless, there was no body, no easily distinguished tracks, nothing. Archie was just about to give up when he noticed a faint but pervasive odour lingering on the air. It could only be one thing. Ma and Pa were around - or at least had been. What conclusion could he draw but to assume that they had taken Magnus. Certainly they would be capable of carrying him, the male was huge, at least twice the bulk of Magnus and good sixty centimetres taller.

  That merely left one question. Why? Did they mean him harm? Surely if that were the case they would have just killed him and left him…unless. Archie shook his head to clear the unwanted vision of the two adult Sasquatches ripping his father to pieces and consuming him, bit by abhorrent bit. Archie looked again, harder, employing all the knowledge of tracking at his disposal but there was nothing. Not a thing to indicate which way they might have gone, if indeed they had Magnus at all. Yet again, a bubble of uncertainty for Archie to dwell in. Milly looked over and saw a change in Archie’s expression.

  “What is it?” she called

  “The Sasquatches have got my dad.”

  “Sure?”

  “No, but I’d bet on it, but why would they?”

  “They’re probably going to take care of him. They aren’t monsters, they know he’s precious to you, they can probably smell that you’re related. I know it, I know they’ll look after him.”

  “I sincerely hope so, but how will we find him?”

  “We won’t, they’ll find us when they need to”. Milly sounded certain, Archie wasn’t so sure but let it go. She seemed to have some kind of empathetic connection to the animals that he could only dream of.

  “Right now, we’ve got to find their son, our priorities have changed. We’ll have to head back to Ingonish, that’ll be where dad’s keeping Stinky. Probably in one of the containers. Maybe even the one they had your father in.”

  “I should think they’ll have to keep him sedated, he’d be impossible to handle otherwise.”

  “Not difficult for my father.” Said Milly “He’s into all kinds of substances, selling them, not using them.” She added. Archie couldn’t believe how casually Milly referred to her fathers’ side-line as a drug dealer. “He’s an idiot, hasn’t a clue about what some of this stuff does either. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “Great, so he could have dosed our boy up with anything, he might be totally manic or sound asleep. Either way we’re not going to be able to shift him.”

  “Don’t stress about it Archie, we’ll make a plan when we get there.”

  “Look, I really think I should find my dad first, I know Stinky is important to you, but I’m afraid my dad just tips it for me.”

  “How are you going to find him Archie? Eh? We’ve already looked for him, there’s no sign, you won’t find him.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to try.” Archie was firming his vision. “I haven’t spent this long looking for him only to lose him again after I find him.”

  “Archie, you will not find him. I can guarantee it. We knew where he was before and it was him that found us. This time, we haven’t a clue.” Milly sounded irritated. “I’m certain, totally certain that he’s with the mom and pop and they’re looking after him.” Milly stared at him with her hands on her hips. It just wasn’t possible to argue with her. Feeling swept along and more than a little guilty Archie let out a sigh and capitulated.

  Chapter 32

  Magnus hovered on the edge of consciousness for two days. Sometimes he was aware of movement around him, of gentle sounds, strange aromas. Sometimes he was dead to the sensory world. On the third morning, the movement of the maple leaves and the early mist made the sun seem almost ethereal and the deep green shade of the woodland floor a luminous green pool. Into this Magnus surfaced. He opened his eyes, slowly, painfully. Someone was leaning over him, he could not make out their features, the sun had created an aura, a halo of light around this person’s head. He tried to make sense of the situation. Hospital? No, too many leaves. Certainly not home, smell all wrong. A cool leathery hand pressed itself to his brow. Mrs Urquhart? No. She had big hands, but she wouldn’t be using the backs of her fingers and probably the hair on them wasn’t quite that wiry.

  Magnus’s vision began to improve, to focus. The majority of his field of view was filled with a forearm. A very large, very hairy forearm. He tried to sit up. The huge arm gently but firmly pushed him back down onto the mattress of fragrant fir branches. He raised a hand to look at it. There was something odd. It was covered in bits of bark and fir needles and felt curiously sticky. Instinctively he raised it to his nose and sniffed. A wonderful aroma lifted his spirits, a familiar and wholesome smell. Balsam fir. Magnus looked down at his body. He was naked and seemed to be entirely covered in balsam fir resin.

  Magnus tried to look again at his nurse. She had moved down his body a little way. He could see a strong jaw chewing behind a leathery looking face, surrounded by a fringe of dark shaggy hair. As he watched the chewing stopped and the nurse spat a ball of dirty looking resin into her hand and proceeded to smear it on a wound on his hip. It was both astringent and soothing at the same time. Magnus turned his head the other way. Squatting some way off was another figure. He was unmistakably male. He had the same flat leathery face as the female but with an exaggerated brow ridge. The top of his skull was high and domed towards the back of his head. It was however the eyes which drew Magnus’s attention. They were dark, dark brown and set deep into the face. In them Magnus could see a quiet, intelligent dignity. There was something about those eyes that lifted this creature more than a little bit beyond a chimpanzee or gorilla.

  The head was sat on a neck so massive that it appeared to be almost no neck at all. Magnus took in the huge chest, biceps like small trees, long forearms resting in the lap. But it was the eyes which drew Magnus’s attention back. They were studying him with unguarded interest in exactly the same way that Magnus was studying their owner. The animal radiated power and calm and Magnus knew in an instant that these creatures could not and would not harm him; nor indeed anyone, if they did not have to. He knew too now, with a certainty why and how they had managed to stay virtually hidden for so long. It was simple. They were good at it because they were i
ntelligent. They went beyond tool use and self-awareness into areas of intellect much closer to the human experience.

  The female was still ministering to him as he thought. Whilst her fingers were thick and strong her movements were fast and deft. This dexterity surprised Magnus. He had expected few fine motor skills. As he watched she spread more of the resin paste gently into a deep cut. He winced at the sting of it. She made a small cooing noise. Compassion. She was showing concern and compassion. She turned to look Magnus in the face. The look of sheer kind-heartedness put him in mind of a favourite aunt. He felt entirely safe and, yes, loved.

  Without preamble the female rolled him gently onto his front and set about slathering more of the resinous goo. After the initial revulsion it’s warmth and viscosity were comforting and soothing. She popped another lump of dry resin into her mouth and began to chew. With it she included a few leaves from a small pile which Magnus had not noticed before. He could see sage leaves, something that might have been a member of the woundwort family and some willow bark. She made a small grunt and gestured at the male. With his head on one side Magnus could not make it out clearly but the male immediately stood and left.

  He returned a short while later carrying a bundle of plants and fungi which he laid beside the female. She made another small sound and continued her work. Communication. They were clearly communicating on a very subtle level. It was economical and without embellishment but it was efficient. Cooperation too. The male had honoured the females request with recourse to surliness or query. Humans had much to learn from these folks Magnus thought as he lay still while the female basted a fairly intimate part of his anatomy with the resin and spit mixture.

  At length the treatment of his skin was done and the female turned to perform another task. She took the bundle of herbs and fungi the male had gathered, stripped the leaves and popped them into her mouth. She chewed at length and Magnus could see the bolus of green mush circulating as she masticated. He had a sense of what was coming and began to steel himself to the inevitable. The female loomed over him and took hold of his chin. One long brown finger slipped into the corner of his mouth and gently prised it open. Magnus gulped as the female leaned over him and dribbled the leafy, gooey mass into his mouth. He gagged and a light sweat broke out on his forehead. The female gently closed his mouth with a finger and made an unmistakable ‘swallow’ gesture. There was far too much in his mouth to get down, it was a Sasquatch sized portion. He tried to separate some of the mix but it was impossible. A trickle of the goo slipped from the corner of his mouth. The female gave him a reproachful look.

  Magnus managed to gag down a little of the mix, and things became easier. He followed it with a little more, managing not to retch. The last swallow was the worst. He’d had too much thinking time and the warm Sasquatch saliva felt slick and alien but at last it slithered down and the job was done. Magnus felt a wave of exhaustion come over him. His limbs felt like lead and his eyelids were drawn irresistibly together.

  Chapter 33

  They took turns riding their one remaining horse, the other trudging behind. Milly was still radiating stiff disapproval and Archie was deep in a pool of misery. Not least because they had done another U turn. Food and water were beginning to become an issue again and the splinter wound on Archie’s arm was looking angry and swollen. Archie gave it an experimental poke. He winced and a thin trickle of puss and lymph slid from the end of the wound. Not nice. See pulled up her horse and looked down at the wound.

  “I didn’t see that before” An accusatory statement, not a question. “We should do something about it.”

  “It’ll be alright, I’ll just put a bit of Savlon on it. Got some in my pack.” Archie rooted around for his first aid kit and pulled out a tube of antiseptic and a dressing. He smeared a glob of the cream onto his wound and then tried to apply the dressing with slippery fingers. With growing exasperation Milly watched his fumbling. With an exaggerated sigh she jumped down from the horse and took over the operation. With her typically efficient movements she was soon smoothing the dressing into place. Her touch lingered a little longer than necessary on his arm. Archie felt it as a jolt through his body and an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. He looked up from his arm to Milly’s face but she was already turning away, task completed.

  Before Archie could even speak Milly had swung back up onto the horse and was riding away. All he could do was shrug and follow. The day was long and rapidly became tedious, trudging along the dusty forest road, trudged so many times before. Hunger was starting to bite deeply before the day was done and their meagre supplies were almost exhausted. They both needed a good meal. The water left in the canteens was looking sparse too. They needed to re-supply.

  “Archie, we need to eat.”

  “Uh hu.”

  “Maybe you’d forgotten but you’ve got a gun.”

  “Rifle, big difference.”

  “Whatever.” Irritability setting in. “You could shoot something”.

  “This thing would wake the dead, short barrel, big cartridge. Noisier than the gates of hell. In clear weather like this the sound will bring all your dad’s nasties in on us like homing missiles. Besides, I don’t have a permit to even carry this thing, let alone shoot anything.” Then Archie realised something. If a shot, or succession of shots were heard by a DNR officer, they’d come running. If. Then all they would have to do is explain the situation. Ha! Explain a kidnapped father, a different murderous thug of a father, an imprisoned Sasquatch, a dead Sasquatch, a number of cases of assault by Sasquatch, two instances of horse theft. Perhaps not such a good idea. No, Archie decided, stick to the plan. But food, that was another thing. He began to think. What had he seen? There were plenty of ruffed grouse, snowshoe hares and the odd moose and black bear. He quickly discounted the larger two animals. Surely it must be possible to catch a couple of grouse though. Sometimes they seemed as tame as chickens, scuttling up the track ahead of them.

  “Let’s stop here, make camp and I’ll try and catch a couple of these ruffed grouse” Archie suggested.

  “Yeah, right. Like to see you try.” But Milly dismounted and led the horse off the track. “By the way, we call them partridges”. Archie grunted. He didn’t need to know that, right now he needed some willow wands, a piece of cord but most of all some bait. He rooted in his pack for the discarded cereal bar packets. By opening them out and shaking out the least few crumbs he amassed a meagre pile of oats and dried fruit.

  “Can you collect some berries? Anything, doesn’t matter what” he asked Milly. Archie himself set about cutting the willow. With a number of thin sticks he fashioned a crude basket, about twice the size of a biscuit tin. It looked like a lopsided, truncated wizards hat, Milly gave a snort of derisive laughter when she saw it.

  “You’ll not be laughing when you’re tucking into a nice fat roasted partridge”…he managed to say partridge in inverted commas. Milly handed him the berries she had collected and Archie added the few crumbs he had. On the edge of the track Archie made a small pile of the booty and tied a length of his precious Purlon cord to a short stick. He then laid the cord into the nearby undergrowth, making sure it would not catch or snag. Then, with exaggerated care he propped one edge of the wizards hat on the stick, the theory being that the grouse would see the food, walk under the basket, he would pull the cord and the basket would fall, trapping the birds.

  “Perhaps you might like to go and light a fire?” Archie suggested to Milly.

  “No way José, I’m staying right with you to see the action.” Archie lay down on his front in the bushes, Milly followed suit. Archie focussed on the trap, adopting the alert but calm attitude used by hunters and photographers the world over. The minutes rolled on and he became acutely aware of Milly’s body heat close alongside him. Suddenly he felt her eyes on him and glanced to his side. She was staring at him, watching him like he was watching the trap. Flustered, he looked back to the trap. The pair lay side by side for another half an
hour, Archie aware with every fibre of Milly’s scrutiny, feeling it almost as a burning.

  A soft fluttering of feathers announced the approach of a covey of grouse. Archie could see the grouse slowly pecking their way towards them. Occasionally a bird would rouse itself, the sound Archie had heard, and then walk a few steps. Their progress was painfully slow. Walk, peck, walk, peck. A bird reached the edge of the trap. Saw the bait, darted in, grabbed a berry and was out again before Archie could react. The other birds in the covey milled about on the edge of the trap casting longing glances at the bait. Another one bravely stepped forward and grabbed a piece of cereal bar. Again Archie was too slow. More agonising seconds passed as the birds fussed and faffed about the trap. Archie was becoming increasingly frustrated, willing the birds into the trap. Without warning, the birds as one moved on to the bait and pecked furiously. Archie tugged the cord, the supporting leg collapsed and down came the basket. Two birds’ reflexes were like lightening and they managed to escape, the remaining three were caught fair and square. Archie turned to Milly ecstatically, she was still studying him intently. Slightly disconcerted Archie leaped to his feet and raced over to the trap. The birds inside fluttered slightly as he approached but other than that were surprisingly unconcerned.

  Lifting a corner of the trap slightly Archie slid a hand in, took hold of a bird and brought it out. He turned his back on the others and with a motion long practiced with grouse at home broke its neck. He repeated the process with a minimum of fuss and stress to the birds, all the while working calmly and quietly. Soon there were three rather sad looking feathery bodies lying on the side of the track.

  “I’m impressed”. Milly wandered up as Archie was gathering the birds, “Reckon you’ve done that before.”

  “Once or twice”. Archie tried to sound casual. In truth he had dispatched many hundreds of grouse, pheasant and partridge while working on local shoots with his dog, picking up the birds. “The next bit is a little more complicated, do you know how to dress a bird?” Milly shook her head and Archie sensed another opportunity to impress her. “There’s a way to do it without a knife but it’s a bit wasteful so we’ll do it the usual way, grab a bird.” They sat at the edge of the track and Archie showed her how to pluck the bird.