by Warren Adler
“Apparently we get back faster over Eagle Pass,” Scott said.
“Dad, please,” Courtney said. “The quicker we get out of here, the quicker we can report it. Isn’t that right, Tomas?”
“Si,” Tomas muttered, with a shrug.
“There is a mystery here, children—”
“Damn it, Dad,” Scott said, loud enough for Tomas to hear. “Why can’t you just accept Tomas’s actions? He knows the turf, we don’t. Frankly, I have one thing on my mind: Let’s just get the hell out of here!”
After their father was seated, although somewhat precariously, Courtney and Scott prepared to mount the other horses that each had rode before.
“You’d think Tomas was responsible for the bear attack,” Courtney whispered, a remark that struck a discordant note. Scott did not challenge the idea, but it did trigger an uncomfortable notion. Was it possible?
“You okay, Dad?” Scott called out to his father.
“Fine,” he replied, flashing a wan smile. “But very confused.”
“He looks like hell,” Scott whispered, after walking out of his father’s hearing range.
“Yes, he does,” Courtney agreed. “Considering our situation, we probably all look like hell.”
“We go now,” Tomas called.
A chill swept through Scott. But he could not deny that the stakes suddenly had become higher. His fear soared. The Mexican had shown himself to be a lethal combination of cunning and desperation. He was also a blackmailer, and he held the evidence of their incestuous relationship. Denial was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
Observing his father closely in the quickening daylight, Scott noted that his complexion was ashen. He looked older, the expression in his eyes troubled, his general demeanor sickly. His body seemed less jaunty and bent, which had little to do with the light. His persistent questioning, too, made him seem more irritable and petulant. Probably the shock of events, Scott reasoned.
“Who could have predicted this?” their father said.
“All that matters is that we get home safely,” Courtney said.
“Focus only on that,” Scott said. He was also concerned with the aftermath: the required payoff. They had given Tomas all their cash as agreed. Scott did not dwell on the other demand. One obstacle at a time, he told himself.
“We go now,” Tomas said, kicking his horse forward. He had arranged the string so that Temple followed him. Courtney and Scott brought up the rear.
Without a word, Tomas led the train through the meadow and away from the camp.
But something continued to nag at Scott. He remembered what Tomas had told him last night.
“I take care,” he had said. The words echoed in Scott’s mind. Take care of what?
For the next hour they moved through the empty trails as the sun rose in the sky. In the background beyond the steady thumping of the horses’ hoofs, the symphony of the wilderness rose and ebbed in a steady rhythm. Scott could hear the trill of birdsong, the quiet swish of leafed branches, and the occasional bleat of a running animal.
An odd serenity encompassed him as if all the pain and angst of what they had experienced in the last few hours had disappeared. Then, as swiftly as it had come, it vanished as memory kicked in. He could identify the red label that he had seen affixed to the fabric of Harry’s lifeless corpse. It was the wrapper from the bacon packages that had been hoisted up and down the meat pole.
It explained in sharp clarity the presumption of what had occurred. Tomas had used it as bait to draw the grizzly, and he embellished its meal with the flesh of the outfitter. Scott felt the sudden rise of bile in his throat, and it took a massive effort of will not to vomit.
Chapter 21
George Temple was never one to believe in omens. But what had happened so far in this abortive trek sorely tested his denial. And yet, he could not say that it was a total disaster. He had bonded with his children, reinforced certain conclusions about his own future and theirs, and generally reduced some of the psychological burdens that were inhibiting his future life with Muriel.
Heading home now, he felt enervated and physically and mentally diminished by the improbable events that had suddenly occurred. What he feared most at this moment was that he would not be able to make it over Eagle Pass. It was increasingly obvious that at seventy-odd years he did not have the strength and fortitude of a younger man, and he had greatly exceeded his own physical capacity.
Another by-product of this strange trek is that it forced him to face the reality of his mortality. All the cosmetic surgery, hair dye, and Viagra, all the dieting and exercise, all the vitamins and prescription elixirs to cope with or postpone disease, all the careful routine recommended to theoretically prolong life could not undue the stark fact that the curtain of his life’s drama was descending faster than he had realized.
It was true that his relationship with Muriel raised hopes for an expanded, albeit limited, future. She had forced him to look ahead with courage and discard the baggage of past years, and he had dutifully followed her sage advice. At this moment he felt too debilitated and beset by signs of physical and mental weakness to project his thoughts beyond the moment.
His short-term memory, for one thing, seemed failing. Misplacing his camera had been a profound loss, and he had wracked his brain to retrace areas where it might have accidentally landed. Years earlier it might have seemed a small thing, the result of simple carelessness, but in the context of the aging process, it suggested the beginning of mental decline. Sharing those camera images would trigger memory, validate a milestone, offer evidence of a bonding experience with his children, and as it was on their first trek, offer proof and pleasure of a transcendent experience.
Why couldn’t he remember what he had done with it? On the earlier trek he had not lost his camera. He rarely misplaced anything. In his business, he was always razor sharp, often boastful about his ability to remember the weight and quality of every gemstone in his inventory.
What he hadn’t told his children this morning was that, in the hubbub of his quick exit, he had forgotten to retrieve, of all things, his blood pressure pills from his possessions Tomas had ordered to leave behind. The shocking event of last night had simply crowded out all the little details of daily living.
He was secretly embarrassed by his forgetfulness concerning the pills, and he did not wish to tell his children. He was ashamed of these episodes and all that they implied about his mind. His children might think Alzheimer’s had begun its nasty work.
Perhaps that fear was why he had been so persistent in his questioning of Tomas. It took on the aspect of an exercise in mental gymnastics, one question leading to another, a kind of hysterical mind game.
He continued to review the details of this weird event. Why had Harry been attacked and not one of them? Was the odor of booze a grizzly seducer? Was Harry giving off a scent that attracted bears? Sober, Harry would have known how to handle the situation. And what of Tomas’s burning of everything in the camp? And his show of power with the rifle? And leaving behind the mules and Harry’s horse?
These were puzzles to ponder. Keep at it, he willed himself. It will tell your brain that you are still alive and functioning. He pondered the craziness of these events. They seemed beyond logic. He wondered if Tomas had simply been pushed beyond sanity by Harry’s abuse.
He wondered, too, if they would notice that he was having difficulty sitting upright on his mount, although he did muster the strength to hold on to the pommel and look as if he was properly seated in the saddle. It took all his willpower to accomplish this feat.
They moved forward in silence, Tomas leading them through trails that they had not traversed on the first day, although the topography seemed the same. They moved through forests of evergreens, then upward through snaking trails that took them high over deep canyons. The sun rose in the cloudless cerulean blue sky. His horse was second in the line of the train, behind Tomas. Scott rode in the rear.
About two hours into the ride, Tomas stopped the train abruptly. They were traversing a high path over a shallow canyon. Tomas’s attention was directed at the canyon floor, where even from that distance Temple could see a rider moving in the opposite direction from where they were going. Tomas lifted binoculars to his eyes and peered into them with deep concentration.
“What is it?” Courtney asked.
A ranger perhaps, Temple thought. “We should flag him down.”
“No,” Tomas said. “We go on.”
Temple turned to his son.
“Did I hear correctly? Did he say go on? Could be a ranger down there, an official. He might have a radio with him to get help. If not, he could come with us back to the camp and start to assess the situation.”
“I don’t know, Dad” Scott said.
Temple turned to Tomas.
“Let me have the binoculars, Tomas,” he said.
“We go on,” Tomas said.
“Obviously, he wasn’t a ranger, Dad,” Courtney said.
“Then why won’t he give me the binoculars?” Temple persisted. Tomas started to move forward.
“No,” Temple cried, keeping his horse reigned. “We’ve got to get his attention, Tomas. He could be someone to help us.”
Tomas turned in the saddle and looked menacingly at Temple.
“You old man. Hear me. You follow,” he said.
Temple peered into the distance. He could barely make out a tiny figure below and a horse bent over a stream.
“I’m going down,” Temple said, ignoring Tomas’s order. He saw a trail that could lead him down. A charge of adrenaline shot through him. He kicked his horse’s haunches and started to move.
“You no go down,” Tomas said. He unshouldered his rifle, cocked it, and pointed it at Temple. “You no go down. You listen.”
Scott kicked his horse’s belly, caught up to his father, and grabbed the reins of his father’s horse, stopping it.
“Don’t, Dad,” Scott said. “He means business.”
“But it could be someone to help us. Maybe a ranger,” Temple said. He looked at Tomas, who still held the rifle pointed directly at him. “Why is he reluctant? It makes perfect sense.” He addressed Tomas. “Why not?”
“You go. I shoot.”
Courtney brought her horse around so that it was between Tomas and her father. The rifle was now leveled directly at Courtney. Scott tensed.
“Okay. Okay,” Temple said, panicked, seeing his daughter at risk.
“Don’t be an asshole,” Courtney said. “What’s the point? Put it down.”
Tomas continued to point the rifle.
“He no go,” Tomas sneered.
“Okay then,” Temple said, his heart pounding. “Just put down that rifle.”
“Makes no sense,” Scott interjected.
“He’s right, Tomas,” Courtney said. “It won’t get you anywhere. Do I have to spell it out?”
It struck Temple as an odd response, but he dismissed it. He turned toward Scott who still held the reins of his horse.
“Okay, Tomas,” Temple said. “We’ll do it your way.”
Slowly Tomas lowered the rifle. Temple was relieved. But the excitement of the brief confrontation took its toll. He felt fatigued by the experience.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Temple shrugged.
“He’s illegal, Dad,” Courtney said, turning to Tomas. “Isn’t that right, Tomas?”
“No talk. We go.”
Temple looked downward again to where he had seen the rider.
“He’s gone now,” Temple mumbled. “You’ve made a big mistake here, Tomas.”
Tomas slung the rifle over his shoulder and moved his horse forward.
“This man is a menace,” he muttered to Scott.
“Just keep going, Dad. He’s got his reasons. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
“It makes no sense.”
“Don’t fight it, Dad, please,” Courtney begged. “We’ll be out of here soon, and all will be just fine.”
Temple felt trapped and followed in line. He could not understand Tomas’s logic.
The sun grew hotter, and they continued to move to higher ground. Temple began to feel dizzy. He called out weakly and slumped over the pommel. Scott rode up to him. His breath came in gasps.
“Rest,” Temple whispered.
“You no stop,” Tomas shouted, continuing.
“No way,” Scott called. “He’s having problems. I don’t think he’s well. Could be the altitude.”
Temple felt completely exhausted and suddenly very weak. A cold sweat began to pour out of him. Tomas galloped up to him, and both he and Scott helped him dismount, then they helped him walk to the nearby shade of an evergreen. They propped him against the trunk and gave him water.
“Rest for a while, Dad,” Scott said, turning to Tomas, who moved away and squatted nearby.
“The heat is all,” Courtney said. “And you’re probably dehydrated. Drink up and rest. You’ll be fine.”
“Probably his blood pressure,” Scott said. “We’ve moved pretty high up.”
Temple took deep breaths. His head ached, and he felt awful.
“I’m fine, Scott,” he lied. “Just let me rest a moment.”
“It’s all the excitement,” Courtney said. “It’s been a tough few hours.”
Temple nodded weakly. “And confusing.” He looked at his children, observing their faces. They looked concerned. It crossed his mind that maybe he would not survive this trek and worried that if he did die here, he could not make good on his promises to his children.
The idea began to prey on his mind. I’m being morbid, he told himself. In a few more hours, they would be back to civilization. He’d see a doctor, replenish his blood pressure pills. Besides, this was no place to die, in the middle of nowhere.
The trek, he acknowledged, might have seemed like a good idea at first, but it had gone awry. He was too old for it. Who was it that said, You can’t go home again? They were right.
“Have to move,” he whispered, rising unsteadily.
“You should rest, Dad,” Scott said.
His father shook his head.
“Help me up,” he said. Courtney came forward.
She joined Scott in helping their father mount up again. It was a chore, but he was determined.
“He be fine,” Scott mumbled, with an angry glance at the Mexican. “You Mexican piece of shit,” he mouthed under his breath.
If the Mexican heard, he made no comment. They got Temple into the saddle and put his feet into the stirrups.
“Hi ho, Silver,” he said weakly. Stay alive, he begged himself.
Chapter 22
Courtney’s thoughts churned with plans and methods to achieve them. She had no illusions about where she stood and what she wanted. It was about money, only money. Money to fund her career. This was her total focus. What was transpiring offered her both an opportunity and a rationale.
Accept the reality, she told herself. Life was finite. Her father was near his end. In terms of time, she had a lot more left on her lifetime clock than he did. Thus, the act she now contemplated would merely reduce a tiny portion of his allotted time.
She had carefully weighed the alternatives. If he died on this journey, she and Scott would share their inheritance. There would be no need for his generosity. And Tomas would be deprived of his blackmail ploy. It could be the perfect solution.
The idea had accelerated in her mind with greater force after the grizzly attack on Harry. The episode embellished the idea from a mere abstract wish to a real possibility. When Tomas leveled the gun at her father, she felt a strange exhilaration. If he pulled that trigger, it might have been the perfect solution.
On that idea, dire speculation had intruded. It would be clearly murder, requiring wasted time, long investigations, perhaps a trial. She rejected such an outcome, but it did not stop her imagining other scenarios.
In this wild place, danger was pract
ically institutionalized. It was everywhere. Harry had illustrated a number of possibilities, one of which resulted in his own death. Every act required a cautionary note. A fall from a horse meant injury or death. A
slip in a stream or lake could mean drowning. A tree might fall and crush a living creature. One could trip in a hole or on a boulder. A sudden fire might move too swiftly in the wind. A freak rainstorm could start a mudslide. There was no order out here, no police, no protection, except what could be devised by the rules of caution.
One was totally dependent on a horse’s instinctive desire to stay alive. A false step on a narrow trail that ran adjacent to a high canyon was a real possibility, especially on the many narrow switchbacks of Eagle Pass. In her thoughts, Courtney catalogued and narrowed the possibilities.
The point of the exercise was finding a way for death to happen to her father without consequences to her or Scott, although her brother was becoming more and more of an annoying obstacle. As she pondered, alternatives appeared. Was it possible?
She was increasingly certain that she could overcome her moral inhibitions and would be strong enough to withstand any attack of conscience or guilt. She knew she was seriously weighing both the method and the consequences. The point of the exercise was to get away with it, collect the inheritance, and get on with her career plans.
Of course, her father was a good man. He had been an adoring and caring father, had protected, supported, and loved her, for which she would be grateful as long as she lived.
She could say with absolute candor that she had loved him once in a daughterly way. His adamant refusal to continue his generosity had been a trial for her, but it appeared that he had reversed his decision and would put it into practice when he returned. She had no doubt, considering his history, that, if he arrived home safe, he would keep his word. But was that enough?
She could see obvious pitfalls ahead. Dear Muriel would surely find a way into his pockets. It was a natural progression, and while she welcomed her father’s current promise of generosity, she speculated that his sudden death would leave what she believed was his original intent intact. Muriel would be aced out.