between my relief at not having someone’s remains disgorged on my boots and my inability to guess if this was something he had been praised for doing in the past, I only managed a feeble, “
He wagged his tail.
“I suppose you want one of these on your dog food.”
He kept wagging his tail. On the fur on his chin, I saw something that looked suspiciously like egg yolk.
“Then again, I guess you’ve already had breakfast.”
There was no way to put them back at this point, and as my stomach growled, I decided I wasn’t going to waste the food. I carefully stowed them inside the tent. I had a wild vision of J.C. finding them there and refusing to allow me to leave on the helicopter as punishment for disturbing local fauna. Telling him the dog brought them to me probably wouldn’t get me out of trouble.
Although the rain had let up, a heavy mist seemed to be settling in. Near the tent it was not terribly thick, but I doubted that visibility near the low, flat meadow would be good enough to allow a helicopter to land. I tried not to let this distress me, but the thought of not seeing the helicopter arrive that morning was upsetting. If Parrish didn’t find me, I could manage, but what would become of Ben? The fever, the loss of blood, the possibility of infection — if Parrish never showed his face, Ben’s life would still be in danger.
The rainwater bucket was full again. It felt good to have something going right. That feeling of confidence was not destined to last long.
Bingle joined me as I left for a walk to the stream. The rain in the container would help, but wouldn’t be enough. I decided I would refill our water bottles, which shouldn’t take long; my Sweet Water unit could filter a quart of stream water in a little over a minute.
I walked quickly. I didn’t want to leave Ben alone for any extended period of time. The ground was soft and muddy, but not impossibly so. On the way, I found a long, broken branch that ended in a curving fork. I picked it up and tried leaning on it, placing the forked end under my arm. It easily withstood my weight, but was a little tall for me — which would make it about right for Ben. I took it with me, thinking I might be able to fashion it into a crutch. If we had to move again, a crutch would be useful.
I stepped through the trees toward a sound that grew louder and louder. To my shock, the stream was now a much higher, debris-filled torrent, wildly coursing through the forest, and moving far too rapidly to be entered at this point. It cut us off completely from the meadow.
The meadow where the helicopter, if it arrived, would be landing.
23
FRIDAY MORNING, MAY 19
Southern Sierra Nevada Mountains
When I got back to the tent, Ben was still sleeping. I used a piece of string to make three measurements — from his armpit to his elbow, from his elbow to his palm, and from his armpit to the bottom of his foot. I went back outside and checked the full length against the branch. A little short, perhaps, but I thought it might do. I used rope to fasten a short, thick stick at the place where I thought his hand might rest. I was taping cloth padding there and in the fork when I heard Ben call my name.
I went into the tent. “Ben? How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
“Good. Let me get some more Keflex for you.”
“I’ll take some a little later. I — I need to relieve myself. Would you please help me dress?” he asked.
“Oh. If you’re in a hurry—”
“Not that much of a hurry.”
The humiliation was obviously about to do him in, but we managed to find a shirt and a pair of shorts that would fit him from among those I had gathered from the camp.
“Did David train Bingle to steal eggs from birds’ nests?” I asked, trying to distract him.
“What!?”
“Uh — that was a change of subject. This morning, Bingle brought me those quail eggs — the ones on my sleeping bag.”
He looked over at them. “No, in fact, he’s trained not to disturb wildlife. Very strange. He likes eggs, though.” He smiled a little and added, “Maybe he’s courting you.”
“I don’t think dogs carry out what most women would think of as courtships,” I said, “although the average guy probably admires their direct approach.”
I helped him to sit up.
His skin was a little too warm; the flush on his face was obviously not just from embarrassment.
“You seem to be a little feverish.”
“Help me with the shirt, please,” he said, ignoring my comment.
I got him started with it, but he batted my hands away when I tried to do the buttons.
“God damn,” he said, lying back down, his hands shaking after the third button.
“You’re not doing so bad, all things considered,” I said, finishing up without further objection from him. “Need to rest, or you want to try a trip outside?”
“Rest — just a few minutes,” he said, breathing as hard as if he had been running.
“Want an egg for breakfast? They’re little but—”
“You should eat them. Or give them to Bingle.”
