John D MacDonald Travis McGee 13 A Tan and Sandy Silence
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Laurie King Mary Russel 07 The Game
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came to a high pasture, with what inOregonwould be called a cow camp, though
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here the cows were milk cows, not beef. They bypassed it, keeping out of sight
in the forest. Afterward they worked their way up a rocky draw above it,
riding at first, then leading their horses. The draw top ed out at a notch,
which on the other side overlooked a deep and narrow valley that Macurdy
thought of as a canyon. He hadn't been sure, from the map, if they could take
the horses down into it or not, but one way or another, they had to reach the
bottom.
The horses had enough trouble just getting to the notch. The other side was
worse-a steep declivity. Partly the trail crossed treacherous scree that by
itself prohibited horses, and partly it crossed open sideslopes, mostly of
bare rock, almost too steep for burros. The way was marked by summercairns,
scattered and minimal, mostly just two or three rocks tall.
They had no choice but to leave the horses behind, and travel afoot. Macurdy
would have set the animals free, but if he did, they'd soon find the chalet,
and the herd girls there would stable or hobble them. Then, if soldiers came
searching, they'd know, and capture would be probable.
So he had the others wait, resting, and led the horses back to the last patch
of forest, shading a remnant of old snow, dirty with fallen needles. There he
took them behind a thickly limbed spruce blowdown, some hundred feet from the
trail, tied their reins to branches, and pumped a plasma charge into each
beautiful head. It was not the easiest thing he'd ever done. Then he cast his
spell of concealment over them, uncertain how long it would last.
Hopefully the herd girls would tell any soldiers that no one could ride
horses over the mountain, and after a search of the woods around the pasture,
they'd go back. Unless, of course, they found the prints of shod horses, and
he'd skirted the trail itself to minimize the risk.
So presumably, if soldiers followed it to the notch, they'd miss the
carcasses. Then, seeing what the trail was like on the south side, and
assuming their quarry was mounted, they'd conclude that this route had been a
false lead.
Unless carrion birds found the horses, and drew the soldiers' attention. He'd
seen ravens earlier that day, and an eagle soaring. He rejoined the others and
they started down, all of them walking except on the scree slopes, where
Macurdy carried Lotta on his shoulders. Instead of ankle-high SS boots, she
wore sandals buckled on with straps; the sharp, frost-broken scree would have
crippled her. Carrying her on his shoulders gave him a higher center of
gravity than was safe, and made a crick in his neck, but there was no place
for her on his back. He was carrying the packframe, with the two large,
quilted and belted horse blankets stuffed into the drop bag. And neither
Edouard nor Berta was physically up to carrying Lotta or the pack, at least
not more than briefly. Each carried one of the smaller woolen blankets,
rolled, and tied over a shoulder.
At least, Macurdy told himself, it was downhill today. Tough on the feet, of
course, but easier on the thighs and buttocks than the uphill grind they'd
face later.
Finally they crossed the forested lower slope, and turned west up the canyon
bottom, guiding on Macurdy's map, keeping to the trees when possible. He
didn't want some herd girl to see them, even though the route was unlikely.
Later they crossed the canyon, wading a swift icy stream, to reach the
descending side canyon Macurdy had decided on. It too had a trail, that led
steeply up and up to two large high meadows occupying basins, the lower of
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them with a cow camp. More and more, Lotta rode on Macurdy's shoulders, her
trust in him seeming absolute now, though still she didn't speak. Each of the
fugitives, even Lotta, had blistered feet from hiking on steep slopes, but
they pushed steadily on, no one complaining. Macurdy had promised to heal them
when they stopped at day's end. Edouard, although he tried, couldn't entirely
believe him, but knew that Berta believed, so he hoped. Otherwise-there'd be
time to heal inSwitzerland.
As they got higher, the forested and north-facing stretches had old snow,
newly trampled by cattle being driven to the high pastures. Eventually, well
up on the mountain, they reached the first grassy bowl, with deep old drifts [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
