little band that murdered any strangers who came within reach didn't square with Pringle's scrawny, frightened group sneaking back to his cabin with gifts of thanks for his great benevolence in not shooting them.
He was, although he tried to convince himself otherwise, not as keen as he'd been on finding them. The Hornick affair had left him still feeling sick, and he found little kindness in his heart for the people who had murdered that harmless, pretty girl. He wondered if they had stabbed her with one of their crude bone spears, or clubbed her.
He shook his head to clear away the images. Let John find them; it was his job. And probably a good thing, he thought moodily. The rainy season was about to arrive, and Gideon was, as Julie had pointed out, no woodsman. A jungly wilderness in the rain was no place for him.
He had finished his drink but was too gloomily comfortable to go inside and get another. A heron floated down to the shoreline below, sending the gulls squawking away, and wading a few elegant steps into the quiet, dark water, there to stand staring absently at the distant lights of Victoria on the Canadian shoreline.
He must have dozed, because when the telephone rang in his cottage, he jerked upright, startling the heron, which croaked roughly and rose on slow, lolloping wingbeats into a sky of burnt crimson.
'You're back?” Abe said. “And you didn't call to say even hello?'
'I got in late, Abe. I didn't want to bother you.'
'Eight o'clock is too late to bother me? What am I, an invalid? You ate dinner?'
'Yes, I stopped in Port Angeles.'
'So come on over for a glass tea and a Danish, maybe. Bertha went to a movie in Port Angeles. I'm all alone.'
Gideon looked out the window at the darkening straits, now a misty mauve. He was in a somber, solitary mood. He wanted to fix another drink, take it back outside, and watch the evening turn to night. Maybe the heron would return. “Actually, it's been a long day, Abe,” he said. “I'd like to get to bed early. How about tomorrow?'
'Tuesdays the warden doesn't let us have any visitors. Only Mondays. Come on, a glass tea, a piece cake, tell me how come it's been such a long day. And then...'
'The last time you gave me one of those ‘and then's’ I wound up on center stage at the great American Bigfoot debate.'
'No, no, nothing like that. I just got something interesting to show you. You'll see.'
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 13
* * * *
'KBYO, Seattle. what is it, a TV channel?” Gideon asked, looking at the return address on the thick envelope Abe had wordlessly handed to him after listening absorbedly to his account of the past three days in the Quinault Valley.
'Radio,” Abe said. “You sure you don't want some honey cake? It goes good with the tea.'
'No, thanks.” He pulled the stapled sheaf from the envelope and looked at the title on the first page:
'A transcript. I just sent for it. I remembered a few months ago I was listening to this talk show—'
'You listen to talk shows?” Gideon was unable to keep the disapproval from his voice.
'Why not?” Abe looked honestly surprised. “I'm not interested in my own culture? I'm only supposed to listen to Ph.D.s and professors? Truck drivers and old ladies ain't worth my time? Gideon, you got elitist leanings, you know that? For an anthropologist you got some funny ideas. Did I ever tell you?'
'Many times.'
'It's not a joke,” Abe muttered. “Go ahead and read. Start on page seven, where the check is.'
Gideon found Abe's spidery red mark and settled back in his chair.
Mr. Ambeau: Joe Ambeau. You're on the air.
Caller: Hello, Joe? Am I on?
Mr. Ambeau: You're on the air, ma'am. Go ahead.
Caller: I just wanted to tell you that there are creatures that we don't know about that hide in the rain forest. But they're not like gorillas, they're just funny little brown men.
Mr. Ambeau: Ma'am, we've been on this subject all morning, and I'm getting just a little tired of it. So here's a notice to you and any other kooks out there. Unless you can prove what you're talking about, don't bother me or our listeners with any more fairy tales about monsters in the woods.
Caller: But I do have proof, Joe.
Mr. Ambeau: And what kind of proof would that be?
Caller: I wrote down what they said in my diary, which I just happened to have with me.
Mr. Ambeau: Happened to have with me. Uh-huh. This wouldn't by any chance be my old friend who saw the giant flying saucer land at Copalis Beach last summer, would it?
Caller: Well, yes.
Mr. Ambeau: I thought so. It's Looney Tunes time again, folks.
