She shouldn’t have come back up here without completing the call to the sheriff. She knew that now. If his line hadn’t been busy, a search party would already be looking for them. She should have waited. She should have stayed until the call went through. But Glendon might have died if she’d waited any longer. As it was, he might never recover. People get brain damage if they go too long without oxygen; she learned that in science class last year.
No, she’d been right to rush back with Buckie and dig Glendon out of the snow. They might be lost and cold and Glendon was still unconscious but at least he was alive.
She wondered where the man was. Did he make it down the mountain ahead of the avalanche or was he, along with the truck and the llamas in it, buried somewhere beneath the snow?
She felt sorry for the llamas but she couldn’t help them now. She could only hope to save herself and Glendon.
Since she couldn’t find her way back to the lift in the dark, she decided to wait until morning. By morning, search parties would surely be looking for them—and if not, at least she’d be able to see and could find the lift and get down and go for help.
She knew she should keep moving. If she could keep walking, keep her body moving, she wouldn’t freeze to death. She’d seen a movie on television once where the hero made himself keep walking, even with a sprained ankle.
But what about Glendon? He couldn’t move. She couldn’t walk around all night, keeping warm, while she let Glendon lie there in a snowbank and freeze to death.
She pushed Glendon over until he lay on only half the afghan.
“Here, Buckie,” she said.
Buckie was there instantly. Molly lay down on the afghan beside Glendon, getting as close to him as she could. Then she patted Glendon’s chest. “Down, Buckie,” she said. “Down here.”
Buckie leaned over and sniffed Glendon. Molly reached out and stroked Buckie on the back. Particles of ice clung to his fur and she wondered if he would really provide some insulation and warmth or if the dog was just as cold as she was.
“Come on, boy,” Molly said, and she patted Glendon’s chest again.
Gingerly, Buckie eased himself forward and lay down, with his back legs on Glendon and his front paws and head on Molly. Molly pulled the side of the afghan up over her shoulder.
“Good dog,” she said. “Good Buckie.”
Buckie laid his muzzle on Molly’s shoulder and licked her cheek. His tongue felt warm and Molly put her arm up across Buckie and hugged him.
If we get out of this mess alive, Molly thought, Buckie deserves a whole box of dog biscuits. Maybe even a T-bone steak.
She couldn’t stop shivering but by huddling close to Glendon and Buckie, she was able to keep her teeth from chattering.
She closed her eyes and wondered if Aunt Karen was still alive. Maybe by now Uncle Phil had called Mom again. If he had, surely she would come home this time. She wouldn’t stay in Japan now, not when Molly was lost in an avalanche. Of course, she reminded herself, nobody knew about the avalanche yet.
Molly’s head hurt and she couldn’t think clearly. She was thirsty, too, and hungry. Maybe she had a headache because she hadn’t eaten anything all day.
She wished she’d brought some food with her. She’d trade her next five years’ allowance for a steaming cup of hot chocolate. With whipped cream on it. And a sprinkling of nutmeg. In fact, she’d even eat a plate full of peas or lima beans or beets. She tried to think of the worst food in the whole world. Cauliflower. Yes. Right now, she was so hungry, she’d even eat cauliflower!
She scooped up some snow and put it in her mouth, feeling it melt quickly on her tongue. I might freeze to death, she thought, but at least I won’t die of thirst. It was no consolation.
She wondered if Glendon would still hate her. If they were rescued, there was no doubt she’d saved his life. Would he appreciate it or would he be just as mean as before? She wondered why he was so unhappy. She knew it wasn’t just her visit that was bothering him. Something had happened to Glendon that made him so resentful. But what?
She didn’t think it was because his parents were divorced. Her own parents were divorced and she wasn’t mad at the world. And Glendon was fortunate that Uncle Phil had remarried. Even though Aunt Karen wasn’t Glendon’s birth mother, Molly knew she loved him—and he loved Aunt Karen, too, or he wouldn’t have been crying in the hayloft.
If they were rescued, she planned to ask a lot of questions. If they were rescued. It was, she knew, a very big IF.
She dozed, woke, and dozed again. The second time she awoke, she felt something wet on her face. Her eyes flew open; it was snowing. She sat up, leaning on one elbow. A light dusting of snow covered their clothing.
Buckie’s head was up; he sniffed the air and watched the snowflakes drift down.
Molly took off her mitten and put her hand on Glendon’s throat. She felt a pulse.
She looked around. Despite the snow, the first faint hint of daylight allowed her to see the flat top of Arrowhead Boulder. It was in the opposite direction from where she’d been dragging Glendon, the night before. If she had kept going, she would never have found the lift.
She would find it now. The lift, she knew, was just on the other side of the boulder.
She stood up, her bones creaking with the effort. Every muscle in her body ached but still she felt elated. We made it, she thought. We stayed alive through the night and now I can see to find our way back.
Buckie got to his feet and shook himself thoroughly. Molly pulled the afghan close around Glendon. Without her and Buckie next to him, Glendon would get cold quickly.
As she wrapped the afghan around him, he opened his eyes.
“Where are we?” he asked.
Relief washed over Molly. “Are you OK?” she said. “You’ve been unconscious since yesterday afternoon.”
“What happened? All I remember is a loud noise and I covered my head with my arms and then all this snow came down on me.”
“The man tried to shoot you and then there was an avalanche. We’ve been here on the mountain all night. Can you walk?”
Glendon started to sit up and then quickly fell back. “Ouch!” he said. “My arm hurts.”
“I think it’s broken,” Molly said. “I tried to take you to the lift last night but you were too heavy. Will you be all right here if I go now, by myself, and get some help?”
“I want to go with you.”
“I can’t move you. You’re too heavy for me.”
“OK,” Glendon said. “I’ll wait here.”
He didn’t sound very enthusiastic about it and Molly didn’t blame him. She would not want to stay on the mountain alone, either.
“I’ll get help as fast as I can,” Molly said. “You can keep Buckie here with you. He’ll help you stay warm, like he did last night.”
She tucked the afghan around his legs and then she called Buckie and directed him to lie next to Glendon.
When she started walking away from them, Buckie tried to follow her and she had to send him back. “Stay!” she said firmly. “Stay with Glendon.”
Buckie whined pitifully as he watched her go but he did as he was told. When Molly looked back, she saw the dog lying in the snow next to Glendon, staring after her with mournful eyes.
Molly got on the lift for what she hoped would be the last time. She flipped the switch and the lift quickly dropped to the bottom of the trail. She didn’t even have to close her eyes.
As she got off the lift, a quick movement caught her attention. She turned to look. At first she couldn’t tell what it was in the gray, predawn light but then it moved again and she saw that it was the two young llamas, gazing curiously at her from beside the barn. Apparently when they bolted past her, they were able to outrun the avalanche. They appeared to be uninjured.
It’s a good omen, Molly decided. It means everything’s going to be all right, after all.
The only light in the house was the one she’d left burning in the kitchen
. Was it possible that Uncle Phil hadn’t come home all night? If so, it must mean that Aunt Karen was still clinging to life and he didn’t want to leave her. That, too, seemed a good omen.
He was probably worried though, and wondering why she and Glendon didn’t answer the telephone.
She decided she would call the hospital first. She’d ask them to send an ambulance for Glendon and then she’d ask to speak to Uncle Phil. She would tell him that Glendon knew the man who stole Merrylegs. She wondered if Merrylegs’ baby was born yet.
As she passed the barn and started toward the house, headlights came down the road, paused while the gate was opened, and continued down the lane. Relief brought tears to Molly’s eyes. Thank goodness! Uncle Phil was home at last. Help was here.
She waved happily at the approaching headlights and walked toward them. They were so bright, shining directly at her, that she could see nothing beyond them. She didn’t mind. She was just glad to have Uncle Phil here; she was glad to let someone else be responsible for getting Glendon off the mountain. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was take a hot bath, have a hot drink, and go to bed.
She was only a few feet from the headlights when the headlights went out and the engine stopped. Molly blinked, still seeing bright globes of light before her eyes. Then her eyes focused properly and a chill went through her as she realized her mistake.
It wasn’t Uncle Phil’s car. It was the black pickup truck with slatted wooden sides.
Molly turned and ran toward the house. If she could get to the house first, she could lock all the doors and call the sheriff. If only she had run to the house when she first saw the headlights, instead of going out to meet them.
She had not yet reached the front door when a hand clamped down on her shoulder.
“What’s your hurry?” the man said.
Ten
“What do you want?” she said. “Why did you come back?”
“I had to come,” he said. “I realized one of you kids might survive and I came back to be sure. Looks like it’s a good thing I did.”
Molly decided to try to bluff her way out. “You’d better get out of here fast,” she said. “My Uncle Phil already knows about you. I made it down the mountain last night and called him. The sheriff’s looking for you and so is the State Patrol.”
“Shut up!” The man shook her and the pain flashed through Molly’s shoulder. “You didn’t call him last night. You didn’t call anyone. Look at you! You’re covered with snow and you’re so tired you can hardly put one foot in front of the other. You just now found your way home.”
His voice sounded different. Higher. Was he drunk? Or was he so upset that he was losing control?
“I talked to the hospital less than an hour ago,” he continued. “I called there last night, and again this morning, and left messages for Phil. I told them to tell him Glendon had called and everything was fine here at the ranch. I said he shouldn’t worry about a thing.”
It took all her will power to keep from slapping him. He was the meanest, scummiest person she’d ever known. No wonder Uncle Phil didn’t come to look for them. He thought everything here was OK.
“If Uncle Phil owes you money,” Molly said, “I’m sure he’ll pay it. You don’t have to take the llamas.”
He seemed not to hear her.
“We have to get out of here,” he said.
Molly swallowed. “What do you mean—we?”
“I can’t leave you here, can I? And I sure can’t stick around. So we’ll have to leave together.”
“We can’t go until we get Glendon. He’s still on the mountain. He was unconscious all night and I think he has a broken arm. We can’t leave him up there alone. Nobody else knows he’s there. He’ll die!”
“Get in the truck. We have to hurry.”
“Do you want him to die? How can you?”
“I don’t want anyone to die,” he said. “But I can’t help him now. There isn’t time.”
He gave her a shove and Molly stumbled toward the truck. She climbed in and the man put the key in the ignition. Molly’s mind raced, trying to think what to do. She had to stall him. She had to keep him here. If she could detain him long enough, someone might come to the ranch. She and Glendon might still be rescued. What could she talk about that would make him linger?
“Money!” she cried.
He looked at her, his eyebrows raised.
“I—I was wondering how much money you got for the llamas,” Molly said.
“Big money,” he said. “Too bad we lost two in the avalanche.”
“We didn’t lose them. They ran down the path before the snow could hit them.”
She decided to appeal to his sense of greed. More llamas to sell would increase his profit enormously.
“Why did you go all the way up the mountain to steal the llamas yesterday?” she asked. “It would have been a lot easier to take some from the lower pasture, right there by the barn.”
“Do you think I’m stupid? I couldn’t be loading those animals on the truck in plain sight of the house and the road. Up the mountain, nobody could see me.”
“Well, nobody can see you now, even in the lower pasture,” she said.
The man hesitated. His hand was on the key but he didn’t start the engine.
“True,” he said. “There’s nobody around now.” He looked thoughtfully at the house.
He seemed calmer now, less anxious. Keep him talking, Molly thought. Keep him here. Stall . . .
“Did you really get a good price for Merrylegs and Soapsy and Pretty Girl?” she asked.
“Top dollar.”
“Didn’t the buyer wonder where you got them?”
“No questions asked. I just showed him my business card for Baldwin Llama Ranch and he wrote out the check.”
What a creep, using someone else’s business card to make himself seem legitimate. Uncle Phil was going to go through the ceiling when he heard about this.
Keep stalling, Molly reminded herself. Keep him here as long as possible. “You make it sound easy to sell the llamas,” she said.
“It was a snap.” He looked toward the pasture. Then he started the engine, and put his foot on the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward. Molly clutched at the seat to keep her balance while he made a fast U-turn and headed back past the barn. A group of curious llamas watched as he slammed on the brakes.
“Those brown ones are nice,” Molly said. “They’d probably bring a good price.”
She didn’t have any idea whether the two brown ones she pointed out were especially nice llamas or not, but she knew that’s what the man wanted.
She could tell the man was still nervous. He sat with the engine idling for a moment, looking back toward the road. If he left now, she knew he could make his escape before anyone else came.
Keep him talking, she told herself. Keep him sitting here.
“What kind of business are you in?” she asked.
The question backfired. Instead of prolonging the conversation, as Molly intended, it seemed to bring the urgency of the situation back to the man’s mind. He turned off the engine and jumped out of the truck.
Molly looked morosely out the window. Ten minutes ago, she’d felt elated, certain that she’d saved Glendon’s life, and that help would soon be coming. Now Glendon was still lying up there in the snow with a broken arm and probably a concussion and who knows what else, and she was being kidnapped by a man with no conscience.
He acted like a crazy man. One minute he insisted they had to leave immediately and the next minute he was willing to take time to catch more llamas.
She wondered why he needed money so desperately. Maybe he was on drugs and was frantic for money in order to buy more. If that was so, her chance of survival with him seemed slim.
“Get out here and help,” the man said.
He took a length of rope from the back of the truck and started toward the dark brown llama. Slowly, Molly climbed out of the truck, trying to think of a
way to escape.
There was no point trying to run away. She was simply too tired. She’d never make it and the attempt would make the man angry. She looked around. She saw only the path, some bushes, and, beyond the lower pasture, the lift.
She looked at the lift. She could get to it before he could catch her. She could turn it on and ride up the mountain. But then what? There was no one up there who could help her. If the man followed her, she’d only be trapped again, and Glendon and Buckie with her. It would be better to have to go away with him than to die in the snow.
Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. Every muscle in her body ached. There was no escape.
She wondered what he would do with her. Maybe, if she was lucky, he would only make her stay with him until he got the money for these llamas. She was glad now that she didn’t know who he was. She couldn’t give his name to the police, even if she escaped. Maybe he would leave her tied up somewhere while he went to Canada or Mexico and then he’d call the authorities and tell them where to find her.
And if she wasn’t lucky? It didn’t bother him to let Glendon freeze to death; why would he do anything to save her life?
He wouldn’t. The knowledge seeped into Molly’s bones as surely as the cold had and it was just as chilling. He would never let her live. Why should he? If Glendon died, which seemed sure to happen now, she was the only one who could identify the thief. Why would he let her go?
No! Every inch of her body cried out in protest. She had struggled too hard to survive the avalanche; she was too proud of the fact that she’d kept herself and Glendon alive through the long, cold night. She wouldn’t give up now. She wouldn’t! She’d save herself somehow. And she’d save Glendon, too.
But how? How could she hope to escape when she was so tired and sore and hungry? If only there was someone to help her. She leaned against the side of the truck and closed her eyes. There was no one nearby except Glendon and he was in worse shape than she was. She wondered how he and Buckie were doing up there. Good old Buckie.