Her eyes opened and she stood up straight. Buckie was a big, strong dog and he was fond of her. Would he be loyal enough to defend her, if necessary?
Buckie minded well, because of his obedience training. Would he attack someone, on command?
Molly remembered the gun. He didn’t have it in his hand today but he wore a heavy jacket. Maybe the gun was in his pocket. Even Buckie’s strength was no match for a gun and she was sure this man would shoot, if necessary.
She hesitated. She didn’t want to endanger Buckie’s life. But what were her choices? If she didn’t take the risk, she and Glendon were goners, for sure.
Molly walked toward the man. He had not yet caught one of the llamas. Each time he got a few feet from one of them, he rushed forward with the rope, and the animal would prance away.
“It would be lots faster if you used Buckie to herd those llamas,” she said.
“Who?”
“Buckie. The dog. He’s trained as a sheep dog.”
“Where is he?” There was an edge to his voice and she could tell he was frustrated by his inability to catch the llama.
“He’s up on the mountain, with Glendon. Do you want me to go get him?”
He stopped stalking the llama and looked at her. “How did the dog get up there?” he asked. “He wasn’t up there yesterday.”
“I did make it down off the mountain yesterday, like I said, only the sheriff’s line was busy and I couldn’t wait because Glendon was still buried in the snow. Buckie went back up with me. He’s the one who found where Glendon was buried. He could smell Glendon under the snow.”
“No kidding.”
“He’s a smart dog,” Molly said. “And he knows how to work the llamas.”
“All right. All right, go get him. But I warn you. You try anything funny and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
Molly trudged up the path, not at all sure she could make it to the lift. She had never felt so tired in her life. Tired and discouraged. She hated this mountain. She loathed the ranch and the snow and, most of all, the man with the gun. She even resented Uncle Phil for leaving her to cope with all of this alone.
Keep going, she told herself. Right now, Buckie’s your only hope. Wearily, she climbed on the lift and started the motor.
As the lift rose, she looked down and was struck by the beauty of the scene. The fenceposts, wearing caps of snow, marched across the white fields. On the other side of the house, the icy limbs of the Christmas trees sparkled in the early morning sun. With a little shock of surprise, Molly realized she wasn’t scared. She had ridden the lift so many times that it no longer bothered her to look down.
Something good comes of everything, her mother always said. Maybe, out of all this terror and pain, she would at least be cured of her fear of heights.
Buckie was waiting at the top, tail wagging. He must have heard the lift coming.
“Good Buckie,” she said, and she rubbed his ears.
She made her way to where Glendon lay in the snow. His face was pale and his lips had a bluish color that frightened her. When she left him, it was still quite dark. Now, in the bright daylight, he looked sicker than she remembered.
Quickly, she told him what had happened and what her plan was. “I don’t know if it will work,” she said. “If nobody has come for you in an hour, you’d better drag yourself to the lift, get down, and somehow get to the house and call for help.”
Glendon’s eyes filled with tears and Molly realized he didn’t think he could make it.
“Your mother’s still alive,” she said. “She made it and you will, too.”
Glendon blinked away the tears. “Mother didn’t die?”
“She didn’t die and you won’t, either.” Molly knew she was convincing herself as well as Glendon. “We aren’t going to let that rotten thief get the best of us.”
“That rotten thief,” Glendon said, “is my uncle.”
Molly was too shocked to answer.
“If you make it and I don’t,” Glendon said, “tell Dad that his brother stole the llamas.”
“Your own uncle tried to kill you?” Molly said.
Glendon nodded. “Uncle Craine.”
“Well, your Uncle Craine isn’t going to get away with it,” Molly said. “But you may have to help yourself, no matter how much it hurts or how hard it is. Even when your dad gets home, he won’t know to look for you up here. If I don’t make it, you must get yourself to the lift and go down.”
Glendon nodded, a look of determination in his eyes.
Molly took a deep breath and turned away from him. “Come on, Buckie,” she said. “You’re going with me this time.”
“Molly?”
She looked back.
“Good luck,” he said. “And I—I’m sorry for how I acted. You’re not like Gladys, after all. You aren’t a bit like Gladys.”
“Thanks.” She still didn’t know who Gladys was but there was no time to find out now. If she didn’t get back down with Buckie soon, Craine would come looking for them and when he found them, he wouldn’t waste time talking.
She and Buckie rode down together. When they reached the lower pasture, she sent the lift back up to the top. That way it would be there, if Glendon needed it.
She headed down the path and saw that Craine had succeeded in getting one of the llamas on the truck. He’d roped another one, too, but he couldn’t make the animal move toward the truck. It was tugging and pulling on the rope like a bucking bronco.
Could a nice man like Uncle Phil have a creep like Craine for a brother? As she looked at him, she knew it was true. He had the same build as Uncle Phil and the same brown eyes. All he lacked was the beard. And the smile.
Buckie stopped. The fur stood up in a little ridge along his back and a low, growl came from deep in his throat.
Molly put one hand on Buckie’s head and stroked him. Buckie stopped growling. Molly realized that Craine was concentrating so hard on the llama he’d roped that he had not heard the lift return, nor did he realize that Molly and Buckie were now walking down the path.
“Heel,” she said softly. She started walking again and Buckie stayed beside her. She kept her eyes on Craine. He still didn’t notice her but the frightened llama did.
When the terrified llama saw another person approaching, it panicked and jerked harder on the rope. Craine yelled, lifted his arm, and tried to hit the llama. As his raised arm swung toward the llama’s head, the frightened animal spit at him. A large green cud flew from the llama’s mouth and hit Craine right in the face. It splattered onto his chest and into his hair.
Craine jumped back, dropped the rope, and the llama ran off.
If Molly had not been trying to remain unseen, she would have cheered.
Cursing, Craine wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. Then he bent over, scooped up some dirt, and tried to clean his face with it. He removed his jacket and flung it on the ground.
Molly walked faster and Buckie stayed right beside her. She crouched down as they passed the truck. For a few yards, it would block her from Craine’s view.
She counted on his anger to help her. She knew he was furious at the llama and he wasn’t thinking of anything except getting rid of the terrible-smelling cud that had landed on him. If she took advantage of the situation, perhaps she could get away before he thought about her.
In a few moments, he would probably wonder where she was and be angry at her for not returning with Buckie. Would he take the time to look for her? The lift was back up at the top, so he would assume she was still up there, too.
Would he ride up the mountain again? Would he go looking for her or would he give up and leave? There was no way to outguess him. If he went up the mountain, he’d realize she wasn’t there. He would find Glendon alone and there was no telling what he’d do then.
She glanced back over her shoulder. Craine was kneeling down, trying to clean the front of his jacket by rubbing it on the ground. Molly walked faster. The possibility of escape
gave her new strength.
When she reached the barn, she looked ahead at the long empty path that led to the house. All Craine had to do was look this way and, if she were on the path to the house, he’d know it. He could catch her easily.
She decided not to chance it. Instead of going all the way to the house, she ducked into the barn, taking Buckie with her. From the back window of the barn, she could see the lower pasture. She could see the truck. If he went up on the lift, she would see it moving and would have time to run to the house and call for help.
If he didn’t go after her—if he got in the truck instead and drove away—she could hide in the barn until he was on his way to town.
She saw him straighten and look around. The llama had disappeared into the grove of trees on the far side of the pasture. The other llamas had followed it. Craine ran to the bottom end of the lift and looked up. Molly held her breath. He turned, sprinted to the truck, started the engine, and drove away from the pasture.
Molly breathed faster. He was leaving. He was so angry that he was going to leave without her.
When she was positive the truck was headed her way, she moved back from the window. She kept her hand firmly on Buckie’s harness, to make sure he didn’t run out of the barn and give away their hiding place.
She heard the truck go past the barn but it didn’t seem to continue down the lane toward the gate. Instead, it headed toward the house. She stood perfectly still, straining her ears.
She couldn’t tell where Craine was by listening so she walked to the front of the barn and peeked out the window that faced the house.
Craine leaped out of the truck. He charged around the side of the house, toward the old shed. Why was he going back there? Surely he wouldn’t be looking for her. He thought she was still up on the mountain.
She waited, every muscle so tense that she thought if she were forced to bend, she’d snap in two. Moments later, Craine returned. He went straight to the truck, got in, and took off down the lane.
She watched until he went through the gate, made the turn toward town, and vanished from her view. Then, feeling faint with relief, she left the barn and hurried to the house. She stumbled as she went up the porch steps and she realized how weak she was.
Just a little longer, she told herself. Just keep going until you’ve made your phone call. Then you can collapse if you want to.
She pushed open the door and went inside. She felt unreal, as if she were floating on a cloud somewhere and watching herself act out a part in a play. With effort, she made it to the kitchen and saw the sheriff’s card right where she’d left it, on the counter next to the telephone.
She was almost giddy with exhaustion. The numbers on the card blurred slightly when she tried to read them. She blinked and looked again, willing the numbers to focus. When they did, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.
There was nothing. No dial tone. No sound at all. She clicked the receiver button up and down but even as she did it, she knew it wouldn’t help.
That’s why Craine had stopped the truck; that’s why he went around the side of the house before he left. He had cut the telephone line. Craine had made sure he’d have plenty of time to get away.
Slowly, Molly replaced the receiver. She thought of Glendon, lying alone in the snow, injured and scared. Her whole body ached with fatigue as she sank down on the kitchen chair and wept.
Eleven
She couldn’t do it.
Molly knew what she needed to do, but she simply couldn’t do it. Her strength was gone. There was no way she could climb back up to the lift and go after Glendon and help him get down off the mountain. The thought of moving as far as the front door was more than she could bear.
She had told him that if nobody came for him soon, to get himself to the lift and come down. But would he do it? Could he? She remembered how sick he looked when she left him. His face was too pale and his lips looked blue. She thought about how long he’d been unconscious and about his broken arm. Was he able to crawl to the lift? If he did, could he make it from the lift to the house?
He would die up there. She knew it. No matter what she had told him to do, he was too weak to follow her instructions. Glendon would freeze to death and when Uncle Phil came home, he would have to go up the mountain and bring down his son’s body.
No! Molly sat up straight and brushed the tears from her cheeks. No, she thought. I won’t let it happen. I won’t! I’ve made it this far and I’ll make it the rest of the way.
She stood up and a feeling of dizziness washed over her. She grabbed the back of the chair and steadied herself. Then she took a deep breath, went to the kitchen cupboard, and removed a container of hot chocolate mix.
She filled a mug with milk, heated it in the microwave, and stirred in several heaping spoons full of the chocolate mix. Leaning against the counter, she drank quickly, feeling the hot liquid on her throat as she swallowed.
She put a slice of bread in the toaster and then dunked the toast in the hot chocolate and ate it. Immediately, she felt stronger. While she ate, she gave Buckie some dog biscuits.
As she watched him crunch the biscuits, she considered trying to send him for help. She could tie a note to his harness and tell him to go to town. She’d read stories of dogs who saved their owners by running many miles for help. Buckie was smart. Maybe he would go all the way to town and find someone to save them.
But what if Buckie didn’t go to town? What if he ran the wrong way? What if he chased a rabbit or a squirrel? The nearest town was several miles away. What if nobody found the note on him? Or what if Buckie got lost and never came back? What then?
Molly sighed. She knew she couldn’t stay here and hope that Buckie would bring help. Not while Glendon was lying up there in the snow. She would have to save him herself.
She wished she had a Thermos bottle, so she could take some hot chocolate up to Glendon. He needed warmth and nourishment, too. But she didn’t know where a Thermos bottle was and she knew she couldn’t waste time and energy hunting for one.
As she finished her hot chocolate, she tried to think what she should take with her. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to make it back to Glendon at all, much less carry any supplies, but she knew she should try to figure out what she was going to do before she left.
A rope. If she had a rope, she might be able to use Buckie’s strength, like she’d wanted to do the night before.
Food. She put a banana in her jacket pocket, thinking it would be easy for Glendon to eat.
A splint. Glendon needed something stronger on his arm, to hold it straight while she moved him down the mountain. She looked around. A pottery jug on top of the stove contained an assortment of cooking utensils. Molly selected a long-handled wooden spoon and then grabbed a dish towel, too. Both fit in her second jacket pocket.
She found a piece of paper and quickly wrote a note.
Dear Uncle Phil: Glendon and I are up on the mountain. There was an avalanche and he was hurt. Your brother, Craine, stole the llamas.
She signed her name and put the note on the kitchen table. If she and Glendon didn’t make it back, Uncle Phil would know where they were and what had happened.
“Come, Buckie,” she said, and she and Buckie left the house together.
She went to the barn first, found a coil of rope hanging on a nail, and put it over her shoulder.
Once more, she started up the trail, her legs hurting with every step she took. Buckie stayed at her side even though she didn’t tell him to heel. She wondered if he sensed how tired she was. Maybe he was trying to encourage her to keep going. Or maybe he was tired, too.
As she passed the lower pasture, she saw the llamas watching her warily. Craine’s rope still dangled from the neck of the dark brown one. Remembering how that llama had spat its cud all over Craine, she smiled. If the llama hadn’t done that, Craine would never have driven off without her.
“Thanks, brown llama,” she called. She hoped the one C
raine caught today spit on him, too. It would serve him right.
As the path got steeper, it was harder for Molly to keep going. Her back ached. Her shoulder throbbed and her feet hurt, right down to the ends of her toes. She suspected that her feet had frostbite and maybe her hands, too.
Finally, she reached the lift cables and flipped the switch. She could hear the cables creaking as the lift came back down. When it reached the bottom, she sat down on it, grateful for the chance to rest.
Without being told to, Buckie sat beside her. Molly pushed the switch again and the lift swung once more into the air and up the side of the mountain. This time, she thought, it really will be the last trip up.
Buckie leaped off the lift as soon as it stopped and ran straight to Glendon. Molly moved more slowly. It was even harder to walk in the snow than it had been on the trail. She kept her head down, for the wind was blowing again and small icy particles of snow stung her cheeks.
“Ooauawwooh!”
Molly’s head jerked up and a shiver of apprehension made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She looked ahead.
Buckie sat in the snow beside Glendon, with his head thrown back and his muzzle pointed at the sky. He howled again.
Molly remembered Glendon’s words. “Dogs howl like that when their owner dies.”
Was Glendon dead? Had she struggled up here, only to find that she was too late?
Tears spilled from Molly’s eyes and froze to her cheeks. She plodded forward until she reached Glendon.
His eyes were closed.
Crying harder, she dropped to her knees beside him and rubbed her mittens on the sides of his face.
“Wake up, Glendon!” she cried. “I’m here and I’m going to take you home. Wake up!” She was sobbing now, nearly hysterical. Without knowing what she was doing, she lifted Glendon’s head and held him close, trying to warm him.
“Come, Buckie,” she cried, and when the dog stood beside her, she circled his neck with one arm and drew him close to Glendon, too. Buckie began to lick Glendon’s face, slurping his big tongue on Glendon’s eyes and cheeks and chin.