by Gwen Moffat
Miss Pink murmured agreement. They had stopped and she was staring at the bare patch where the horse had been tied.
‘We’ll give the landslide a miss,’ Sophie went on. ‘We can go out by way of Benefit, show you a ghost town.’
That suited Miss Pink, anything to avoid the landslide and that dizzy drop to the river. In the event, the alternative wasn’t much better. They climbed to the rim by a line that went straight up: no zigzags; worst of all, no resting places. Once on that slope, you were committed — and the mare was no climber. She lunged and pushed, trying to shoulder past the grey, throwing her head, her eyes wild. The slope was scattered with stunted pines and Miss Pink was slashed and whipped by branches. Once her knee struck wood but there was no time to take breath, to feel pain. At one point, her hand slipping on the wet horn, she gasped, ‘I can’t stay on!’ and ‘Nearly there,’ Sophie called jauntily.
They came over the lip of the escarpment and stopped, mare and rider shaking uncontrollably. Miss Pink stared at her companion, speechless.
‘You came up that nicely,’ Sophie told her. ‘I forgot to tell you she’s inclined to throw her head when she’s going uphill. I knew you’d enjoy it, being a mountaineer.’
A narrow path took off through the sage and prickly pear. They were on a wide shelf, still part of the canyon with more crumbling cliffs above, but the trail now mercifully safe; no abyss immediately below, no lethal slopes to traverse. They passed through a belt of big trees, walking quietly on pine needles, and came to a slope where the trail rose gently. At the top they were at last clear of the canyon and ahead there was grassland with aspens in the gulches and, at the head of a shallow depression, a cluster of wooden buildings. Beyond were spoil heaps and a dirt road.
Smoke rose from a chimney. ‘Hello, someone’s in residence,’ Sophie remarked, halting. ‘Horses in the corral too.’ There was no response. Miss Pink was slumped in the saddle, her feet dangling, easing her aching knees. If Sophie were proposing to go visiting she could go alone. ‘Right,’ she said, reading the signs correctly, ‘we’ll give it a miss, come back another time. Besides, I want to get home, find out what happened when Charlie met Jen — if he’s talking,’ she added grimly.
They skirted the ghost town and picked up a trail that took them to the swing bridge. When they passed his house it looked as if Clyde had come and gone, his door closed and his pick-up absent. On the other side of the creek smoke was rising from Byer’s chimney. At Val’s ranch a solitary horse hung its head above a pile of hay, the picture of exhaustion. There were panniers on the ground, a packsaddle, a tarpaulin, a sprawl of tack.
‘Hi, you guys!’ Val emerged from the barn. ‘This is Charlie’s packhorse. It came in some time ago, must have followed us down.’
‘The one that was outside the cabin’s gone,’ Sophie said. ‘You’re right, this has to be the same one.’
Val took a halter off the packsaddle and held up the frayed lead rope. ‘Broke free,’ she said. ‘Maybe that old bear spooked it. So where’s Charlie? Did you see any sign of him at the lake?’ Sophie shook her head. ‘Nor the stud?’
Sophie said meaningly, ‘We figure the packhorse had been standing there rather a long time.’
They thought about it, all three knowing that Charlie might have wounded the bear and was following its trail to finish it off; on the other hand, the stallion could have thrown him. Charlie could be in the canyon. He could be below the trail.
‘There was no sign of him anywhere,’ Miss Pink said. ‘I mean, nothing to show that the trail had given way.’
‘We turned off for Benefit,’ Sophie pointed out.
‘But we went up the length of the canyon,’ Miss Pink insisted. ‘There was no mark even at the landslide.’
‘We would have noticed,’ Val put in firmly, ‘Clyde and me. But there needn’t be any sign of the trail collapsing, his horse could have jumped off; that animal spooks at shadows.’
‘Why would he be on the home trail when he’s left his packhorse at the cabin?’ Sophie asked and Miss Pink was reminded of the endless, often fruitless speculation that arises with the first indication that a mountaineer is missing. ‘I figure he’s upstream of the cabin,’ Sophie insisted. ‘But then again, if his horse threw him, where’s his horse?’
Miss Pink said quietly, ‘Is it possible he could have had some kind of medical problem, like a slight stroke, and he forgot all about the packhorse? He felt ill and came out to the ghost town as the nearest place to get help? Someone was there.’
‘I wonder if those people are on the phone —’
‘Someone’s at Benefit?’ Val put in. ‘Who?’
‘We’ll call Sam, he might know.’ Sophie was taking the initiative. ‘I’ll go to Edna, see if by any chance Charlie’s called home — from somewhere, anywhere; if he hasn’t we’ll send Byer up to the cabin, see if Charlie left any indication… Val, you call Sam, ask him who’s at Benefit and get their number, then you call them. And ask Sam to contact Bret Ryan, find out if he knows anything.’ She glanced at Miss Pink meaningly. ‘Melinda, will you explain about Jen and Charlie?’
‘What the hell!’ Val gaped. ‘Jen? And Charlie? What’s going on?’
‘She’ll tell you.’ Sophie mounted her horse and cantered down the drive. Val turned to Miss Pink, wide-eyed and angry.
There wasn’t much to tell because she left out the essence of Jen’s telephone call, shrinking from being the one to tell the mother that her daughter had been pregnant and had gone to her grandfather for assistance. She said only that Charlie had fixed a meeting at the cabin for some time yesterday. And that was that, she assured the stunned woman; this was all she knew and there had been no subsequent developments — again to her knowledge. That, at least, was the truth.
Val wasted no time asking what Miss Pink knew of her relationship with her daughter, she flung indoors to telephone Sam Jardine. Miss Pink started to unsaddle. She took her time and was still rubbing the mare down when Val emerged to say that no one had any news of Charlie, but that Sam said Bret Ryan had rented a cabin at Benefit and was to start work for him this coming week. Miss Pink looked expectant and Val went on reluctantly, ‘Sam says our daughter is around, somewhere.’ She assumed an air of nonchalance. ‘She could be with Bret Ryan, even at Benefit — that is, if she isn’t with Sam himself.’ She hardly knew what she was saying. She looked out across the canyon, then her gaze travelled upstream to where the cabin would be and her eyes came back to the older woman. She looked terrified.
Guessing the reason for that terror Miss Pink said, ‘The most likely explanation is that the stallion threw your father.’
‘I hope so.’ Val stared at the other, her eyes unfocused. Was she trying to find a connection between her daughter visiting her grandfather and the man being missing at this moment? She said dully, ‘Edna says Charlie hasn’t phoned home. Sophie says I have to call Byer, send him up to the cabin.’
Miss Pink glanced at the sky. ‘It’ll be dark soon.’
‘He’s got a couple of hours of daylight and then there’s a moon. Maybe he won’t find Charlie but if the stud’s anywhere near the trail he’ll come to the other horse; horses hate being on their own out there.’
She called Byer and then announced that she was going to Glenaffric. Miss Pink guessed that she wanted to question Edna regarding Jen’s telephone call. She left in her pick-up and Miss Pink, grateful for the chance to relax, dehydrated after a hot day, found beer in the refrigerator and collapsed in one of the porch chairs.
Alone, she became aware of her isolation. There was no house in sight, although she could see the cottonwoods round Byer’s place and the tip of the roof that would be Clyde’s cabin. He’d left very sharply, she mused, he could hardly have taken time to shower and change after he’d helped Val with unloading.
There was a pounding of hoofs in the dust, the click of steel on stone and the grey appeared. Sophie slid down and eyed her uncertainly. ‘This is turning out to be a problem,’
she said.
‘How is Edna?’
‘Difficult to tell. She’s a fluffy person until there’s a real emergency, then she goes quiet. Val will stay with her. We’ll go home; there’s nothing we can do here.’
Miss Pink was taken aback. ‘Don’t bother about me. Shouldn’t we stay, in case?’
‘In case of what? If he comes in under his own steam: walking because his horse broke its leg, whatever, then that’s fine. If he doesn’t come in, or the horse comes in without him, there’s nothing we can do until daylight. If he’s on the trail Erik will find him. If he’s off it, he could be anywhere. We have absolutely no idea where to start looking.’
Miss Pink had to accept this. With all those gullies and buttresses dropping hundreds of feet to the river the terrain was rougher than in the mountains proper. You can get out from a big cliff and study it through binoculars but there was no way you could study the Black Canyon — and moonlight only deepened the shadows. She got up stiffly and went to give Sophie a hand with her horse.
*
They parked the Cherokee and entered the Rothbury by the back way, a route that took them past the open door of the kitchen. A thickset woman was talking to a man in whites and, catching Sophie’s eye, made a gesture to detain her. ‘Pat,’ Sophie murmured. Miss Pink had the impression that Pat Kramer had been watching out for them.
Introductions were made as they moved along the passage. Russell’s wife was no beauty but her make-up was deftly applied, her thick hair well cut and rinsed silver, while her frock in shades of blue was expensive and chic. She looked powerful rather than heavy and every inch the successful businesswoman, except that at this moment she was obviously ill at ease.
The lobby was empty, although the restaurant hummed with activity. Pat lowered her voice as she faced Sophie. ‘What happened?’ she demanded. Miss Pink’s brain raced, looking for connections.
‘We don’t know.’ Sophie showed no surprise. ‘Byer’s gone up the trail as far as the hunting cabin.’
‘There’s no sign of Charlie’s horse?’
‘Only the pack-horse. That broke free and came down alone.’
‘But Val and Clyde were there last night. I don’t see how, if they were all camped together —’
‘They weren’t, Pat. Val was several miles upstream. Charlie was on his own.’
‘Oh.’ The woman turned to Miss Pink. ‘I’m not a backwoods person.’ She sounded apologetic. ‘I envy all you intrepid ladies. The Black Canyon has this reputation, isn’t that so, Sophie? You have to be very brave to have gone in there today.’ This to Miss Pink again.
‘How did you know we were there?’ Miss Pink appeared embarrassed, saying the first thing that came to mind.
Pat looked from her to Sophie. ‘My husband — Russell — you met him? Of course you did’ — she sounded arch — ‘you were in Irving with him. He went to Billings on business. We have an apartment there. Val called him.’ There was a pause. ‘They’re friendly,’ she added carelessly. Another pause. ‘And Russell called me.’ Her tone changed, became brisk. ‘But you must be exhausted. Let me get you something to drink.’
Sophie declined for both of them. They needed showers; she’d let Pat know if there was any news.
They were quiet in the lift but as soon as they closed the door of the apartment Sophie said, ‘You worked it out?’
‘Not really. I’m not taking things in. Tell me.’
‘When Russell goes to Billings “on business” Clyde joins him. Pat knows, of course; I told you they have a good relationship, she and Russell. Val knows too. Clyde has to come home now in view of Charlie being missing so Val called the Billings apartment from Glenaffric. Evidently she got Russell just. Clyde hadn’t arrived yet. Russell called Pat. Now do you see?’
‘It’s immaterial. I was merely surprised that Pat should know Charlie was missing virtually as soon as we did.’
‘Not missing,’ Sophie corrected sharply. ‘A bit late coming home, that’s all.’
But they both knew that every hour that passed without his showing meant that for some reason he was prevented from coming home.
5
Miss Pink tipped her hat brim to shield her eyes from the brilliant sun. ‘I have no sense of urgency,’ she complained. ‘Is it possible that Charlie can be playing some kind of practical joke?’
‘He’d never dare go this far.’ Sophie was grim. ‘It’s too public and the guy’s vain. Folk would say he was senile if he’d planned a disappearance just in order to annoy his family. And there’s the packhorse: what self-respecting rancher is going to leave an animal tied without food or water?’
‘Well, you wouldn’t.’ Miss Pink wasn’t really listening, nor was she attending to her horse. Aware that the search could take them over even rougher ground than yesterday, she was mounted on Sophie’s grey: old Jake, who plodded like a carthorse and could be trusted to avoid holes. So she wasn’t watching the ground, she was thinking. ‘In different circumstances,’ she said, ‘you might suspect a staged disappearance to avoid creditors or as an insurance scam, that kind of thing. But Charlie’s a rich man.’
‘He’s had an accident. We’ll find him; we have enough people looking.’
That was doubtful. Hundreds wouldn’t be enough to search the Black Canyon and they had around eight — ‘around’ because Edna was covering the ground between Glenaffric and the river in a Jeep, which couldn’t really be called searching. They did have a helicopter, privately hired. The sheriff had been informed that Charlie was missing but, with no chopper at his disposal, he was relieved when Edna said she’d hire one herself. As for the ground search, the trail was being covered from Ballard to the hunting camp, even beyond, to the lake.
At first light Miss Pink and Sophie had ridden the section between the swing bridge and the town on the premise that Charlie, after a fall from his horse, could have been disorientated, or the horse, riderless, could have gone that way because it wouldn’t cross the bridge. They’d found nothing, however, and were now riding over the grasslands above the canyon, making for the lake.
‘This country is too big,’ Miss Pink protested. ‘Look at it. Eight people and a helicopter: what can they do?’
‘You’d be surprised. People do go missing and are never found, but that’s way back in the high country. The canyon’s wild and dangerous but we know where he is, even if we can’t pinpoint the place. We’ve only just started — and here’s Bret Ryan. Now I wonder —’ A lone rider was approaching. ‘If Jen’s at Benefit she’s keeping clear of the family,’ she went on, ‘except for Charlie.’
‘We have to find her,’ Miss Pink said. ‘She could have been the last person —’ She stopped, appalled.
Sophie seemed not to notice any sinister significance in the words. ‘Bret will tell us where she is,’ she said firmly. ‘He has to tell us. Val says both he and Sam are being cagey. I won’t have that.’
His horse was tall but the man suited it; long and lanky himself, he appeared relaxed as he pushed through the sage but the eyes under the dark hat were intent. He sported a thick moustache, which gave him the air of an old-timer, accentuated by the buttoned-up, long-sleeved shirt and fringed chaps. He acknowledged Miss Pink with a nod, unsmiling, and shook hands.
‘Is Jen coming?’ Sophie asked.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Jen — Jardine, ma’am?’
‘We know she’s here.’
‘I guess she’s about somewhere.’ He held her gaze but he was defiant rather than honest. ‘Maybe she’ll meet up with us. How many people do you have and where are they?’
That, at least, was authoritative and Sophie had to back down, allowing the problem of Charlie to take precedence. She filled him in on the disposition of the searchers. Val and Clyde were concentrating on the area of the landslide, Clyde having driven back last night from Billings; Erik Byer was on his way to the hunting camp. He had been told to go there last night, she said, but he retreated from the landslide saying he was unable to se
e anything below the trail for the moon shadow. Actually, Miss Pink thought he would have had the last of the daylight when he reached the landslide but — a foreigner and a stranger to the canyon — she said nothing.
Sam Jardine would be joining them, Sophie told Ryan; as for himself, he was to do what he thought fit but they were all to rendezvous at Mazarine Lake and decide what to do if nothing had been discovered by that time.
He looked thoughtful. ‘Where will you guys be?’
Sophie hesitated. ‘If I have a choice,’ Miss Pink put in, ‘I’d prefer not to go over the landslide, nor down that steep bit we came up yesterday.’
‘Someone should do it,’ Sophie said. ‘Bret, would you? You know: the cut-off that goes down the escarpment upstream of the landslip?’
‘If you came up it yesterday —’
‘We weren’t looking for a sign. You take that section and we’ll go along the top to the lake. I think I can remember the line. I was with Val when she got a moose up there one time.’
Ryan opened his mouth, caught Miss Pink’s eye and thought better of it. He chewed his moustache. Miss Pink realised he was considerably younger than he appeared: late twenties, she hazarded; the clothes and his bearing disguised his youth.
Sophie stiffened. ‘I can hear the helicopter. We’d better split or they could think we’ve found something, bunched together like this.’
They moved off, the horses alert as the helicopter flew up the canyon, hidden from view but noisy in that confined space. When the upper band of cliffs showed ahead Ryan left them, making for the precipitous drop into the canyon; the others stayed high, walking side by side where it was possible.