Timberline Trail (10 page)

Tia half-ran, half-
stumbled, through the slushy snow until finally halting breathlessly against a large spruce tree. Tia cocked her head to one side, listening intently, but no pursuing footsteps followed. She stood for a moment trying to catch her breath and searched the blur of the trees and the bright white snow around her for movement.

This
must all be some big mistake. Perhaps a hunter had mistakenly thought she was a Sitka black-tailed deer, but it would be a mighty blind hunter to mistake her bright blue parka and striped Scandinavian ski cap as a deer. Suddenly the image of Paul Dale’s tanned brown face and his fashion model good looks popped into her mind. Once, while roaring drunk and in the company of his friends, he’d boasted that if he couldn’t have her, no one else would. Had Paul finally after a year decided to make good on his promise?

Tia faced an overw
helming problem. The shooter now separated her from the security of her log cabin and its short-wave. Tia peered upward at the sun and realized she’d been racing northeast, directly opposite her cabin, and now headed toward Bear Valley. An image of Jon’s strong lean face came into her mind and Tia bitterly thrust it away. As far as she knew, he could very well be the one shooting. Satisfied no one was approaching, she sank down upon a rough stump and pondered the strange circumstances surrounding the men who’d entered her life recently.

First
to mind came Steve Newcastle. Was he really a man out looking for property and working in an advertising business in Seattle or did he harbor ulterior motives? And Jon Simons? Her heart quickened as she visualized his serious green eyes. Strangely she found his abrupt manner and no-nonsense attitude appealing, and Tia fought down her attraction to the photographer by instead examining the motives of her ex-fiancé, Paul Dale, who had used her in every conceivable way. His bent pickup truck with no sign of the driver caused her to shiver. She clearly had to find her way back to her cabin to ring up Nancy or Roy on the short-wave.

A sharp bite of fear caused her to cry out.
What about Tory, Nancy’s teenaged son? She’d completely forgotten about him! Hadn’t Tory set out on his snowmobile to follow Paul Dale because of fears the Californian might get lost? A sense of hopeless dread washed over her until a thought suddenly struck her; what if she herself was the intended target? Was this accident somehow connected to the scandal arising from the murder of her father’s partner, Andrew Carson? The appalling thought forced her to jump up, her cold feet throbbing.

Tia fervently wished
she’d brought some sort of supplies with her, but couldn’t have known she’d become target practice. One thing was for certain; she couldn’t stay here. Tia moved again, this time in the direction of Bear Valley, her feet picking a path toward Jon’s camp. She could only pray he was friend not foe. Tia trudged for nearly twenty minutes, her feet turning soggy and numb. Glancing overhead at the darkening sky she realized it was beginning to cloud over. The storm Nancy had predicted had arrived and Tia was about to be caught in the middle without shelter or adequate clothing.

The tempe
rature dropped rapidly and Tia hunched her shoulders against the cold, wishing she’d donned her heavy winter parka. Only an hour earlier it had been a balmy fifty degrees but now it was nearly freezing. With only her thin thermal mittens and summer outdoor boots her toes and fingers felt lifeless as she trudged through the soggy snow. The insistent chatter of squirrels to her left warned all who would listen to find shelter.

The clouds formed a thick cover, casting a dark shad
ow over the trees. As Tia rested at the edge of a small hill some thirty minutes later, she estimated Jon’s camp should be directly north. The steep terrain below was rough and rocky and if she fell and injured herself who would find her? It might be better to stick to the road but common sense warned against that route. As she stood debating what to do, a warning snowflake brushed her cheek and Tia was forced to make her decision.

Heedless of danger,
her arms flapping as she tried to keep her balance, Tia plunged down the steep slope. Snowflakes swirled around her, enveloping everything in a mystical white fairyland of drifting snow. Tia heard the crunch of snow to her left and halted abruptly, using a poplar tree to shield her. The snap of underbrush caused Tia to frantically break off the pointed end of a protruding branch for a weapon. Holding her feeble weapon outward like a spear, Tia flinched as the bush crackled again. A gleam of yellow eyes and wagging tail caused her shoulders to sag in relief.

“Sug
ar?” she called out tentatively. “Is that you?” The loafer took a cautious step forward, limping badly as droplets of blood stained the freshly fallen snow.

“Come here Sugar!
Come here boy!” she cried, easing forward and thrusting her hand outward towards the beast. The wolf took a deliberate step backward. Instinctively Tia recognized that the wolf viewed the stick as a weapon. Tia dropped the rotting branch and stepped forward, her hand outstretched. The wolf slowly sidled toward her before finally sinking upon his haunches to wag a silvery tail. Tia stroked his rough head like a tame dog.

“Good boy!
That’s a good Sugar,” Tia crooned, while inspecting the wound. His bandage had partially dropped away, revealing a small stream of blood oozing from where the stitches had worked apart.

“Oh poor Sugar, have you been following me?” the wolf cocked an eye at her, its yellow gleam som
ehow reassuring. “Good boy,” she cooed, and kept stroking the wolf, tugging gently at his pointed ears. “You wouldn’t by any chance know the way to Jon’s camp?” A sudden thought crossed her mind. “I bet whoever shot at me shot you as well Sugar, because you’re my wolf. Come on now.”

The snow flew fast and furious but Sugar seemed to have no problems keeping up with her
, his sure-footed loping gait filling her with confidence. At the bottom of the steep embankment, a small stream ran through the narrow valley, gurgling and frothing over the exposed river rock.

Everywhere she gazed
trees glistened and shimmered, new puffy snow coating every limb. If she wasn’t in such a predicament Tia would have thoroughly enjoyed the lovely scene. The stream was a small one, no more than two feet across at its widest point, and Tia suspected the practical Jon would have probably camped near it to obtain fresh water. So she followed the creek, the wolf trailing three paces behind her and stopping every so often to glance over his shoulder.

“Do you see something boy?” asked Tia, searc
hing the narrow valley. The temperature had dropped by another ten degrees and she started to shiver, the cold permeating her thin parka. Tia walked briskly while rubbing her thinly-gloved hands against the front of her worn blue jeans. The stream seemed to go on and on, meandering through the rocky, forested curves of the valley. A startled ptarmigan, already beginning to turn white, flapped hysterically under her feet before taking low flight over the swiftly flowing stream.

The wolf whimpered behind her and Tia turned. Sugar had paused, straining his head to lick at the wound clearly seeping blood onto the new snow.
Tia hurried even faster over the rough landscape, realizing her timeframe for survival was rapidly running out. She’d continued a full twenty paces before realizing the canine had stopped, his nose sampling the air.

“What is it boy?”

Suddenly her nostrils sensed what the wolf already smelled; the odor of burning wood from a campfire or chimney. The simple acrid smell raised her spirits as she waited for the loafer to determine from which direction the smoke drifted. The wolf turned slightly left, gazing across the stream to the other side where the ground evened out into some kind of meadow. The camp had to be that way and Tia took a huge leap over the stream, trying to avoid getting any more water in her boots than necessary. The wolf followed suit, playfully bounding after her as if he wasn’t hurt at all. Tia trudged on for another five minutes, the smell of the smoke permeating the crisp air through the falling snow; and as they rounded a gentle curve, a rough, tented camp suddenly appeared.

The camp was modest by all standards.
Two medium-sized heavy duty tents with large front canopies fronted a fire pit surrounded by large round stones. A simple metal rod, positioned upon cut stakes, dangled a coffee pot which hissed and steamed. A small outhouse, actually made of wood, was discreetly positioned downwind from the camp and a large pile of split logs covered in protective blue plastic indicated Jon had been busy. Under the canopy of the right-hand tent, a small metal table and two chairs filled the small wooden platform designed to protect the tent and furniture from the damp. The falling snow caused the fire to smoke and sizzle, but the pyre remained large enough to stay lit. Tia cautioned the wolf to stay put with a quick pat and edged toward
the warm fire.

Neither Jon nor his partner was anywhere to be seen.
The steam spiraling from the coffee pot made her throw caution to the wind and Tia crept closer, throwing a cursory glance about the simple encampment. The site seemed deserted and quiet except for the cheerfully snapping fire. If she could obtain access to a short-wave or a walkie-talkie her troubles would be over. Near the outhouse deep tire tracks rutted the snow, indicating Jon’s black Jeep had left.

That realization propelled her into action as she nearly dov
e for the fire. Finding a snow-encrusted metal cup perched on a rock near the fireplace she used her glove as a hot pad and tipped the pot with shaking fingers. Tia blew at the hot liquid until unable to restrain herself. She swallowed the burning fluid, choking as it scalded her throat.

After the
reviving drink Tia immediately made for the tents, picking the canvas shelter immediately to her right. Mounting the single wooden step, she unzipped the canvas door and peered into the dim interior. A blue down sleeping bag spread invitingly upon a low cot was accompanied by a plain white pillow and guarded by a large metal army trunk resting at the foot. A red-checked flannel shirt and pair of blue snow pants hung above the cot, and without a moment’s compunction, Tia unzipped her thin parka and removed her blue stripped wool sweater before slipping the cotton shirt on underneath. She opened the green trunk and plucked out a blue fleece vest, a pair of men’s long underwear, and several pairs of thermal socks.

Tia
sank down upon the cot and unlaced her soggy boots, rubbing her numb toes vigorously with a small terrycloth towel until she could feel them tingling again. Discarding her soggy socks, she enclosed her feet first with two pairs of thermal socks before adding a thick wool set over the top. Removing her pants she scooted into the too big underwear, blessing their rough warmth under her now snug pants. Layering was everything in this climate. Tia wiped her boots thoroughly with a towel, trying to remove any excess moisture before reluctantly sliding her chilly feet back inside. The boots were tight but bearable and would have to do.

Donning the fleece vest over the flannel shirt and wool sweater, the thin parka already felt much wa
rmer. Tia would have pulled on snow pants, but they appeared way too long and baggy and she hoped the long underwear would suffice. She scrounged through the trunk again and finally found a big pair of waterproof thermal mittens. Though way too big, by placing them over her wool gloves they might prove adequate for the hike back to her cabin. A strong flashlight lay nestled near a green wool blanket and Tia fingered the torch before settling it into her coat pocket. In her hurry she nearly missed the large Bowie knife housed in a shiny brown leather sheath on an adjustable belt. She grabbed it, thanking the Lord for small favors. Now if she could just find some food.

Returning outside the tent Tia tried to open the metal trunk located on the makeshift deck, but it
was securely locked with a large silver padlock. Jon was no fool. One didn’t leave any foodstuff outside to entice the bears or lesser creatures.

Maybe the other
tent might offer something to eat. A twin to the other, it housed a similar low cot and down sleeping bag. An oval mirror hung from a strap and a small table loaded with photographic equipment leaned against the canvas wall across from the bed. This was obviously Jon’s tent. Tia leaned under the metal table and pulled out the small metal trunk she found there. Inside were more photographic supplies such as extra lenses and film, set next to a couple of heavy wool blankets and extra snow gear, which included goggles. Tia grabbed the goggles, knowing they could be crucial in the storm.

As she thrust aside the blankets, a couple packets of beef jerky appeared and Tia grabbed the
m up in joy. A large thermos rested on the table, as well as an empty denim backpack, and Tia rapidly packed, stowing all the gear she’d collected. She’d fill the thermos with more hot water for the long hike back to her cabin. A first aid kit hung near the mirror and Tia, finding some pressure bandages, took several in the hopes Sugar would allow her to tend to his wounds. Unfortunately, Jon didn’t appear to have a short-wave.

Certain
he’d return any moment, Tia left the snug tent and returned to the fire. The snow now fell thickly and had nearly doused the fire. Tia filled the thermos with the steamy water and placed it in the backpack, slinging the now heavy bag over her shoulder. As she peered into the distance she could see Sugar waiting, as obedient as any domestic dog. Grateful that feeling had returned to her toes, she beckoned the wolf and some two hundred paces away from the edge of the camp huddled under the shelter of some pines to examine the loafer’s wound. Sugar flinched and backed away, barring his teeth.