saying.
“What does he want us to do?” Penny asked, not waiting for Gary to speak.
“He agrees that the situation is suspicious. He’s coordinating with local law enforcement to get somebody out here. He said under no circumstances should we return to our campsite. We have to wait here. He’s going to get us a ride to Grant Village. We’ll stay in the hotel there.”
“What about our car?”
“He said not to move the car. If it is Alfred, we don’t want to do anything that might alert him to the fact that we know he’s here. We’re supposed to stay at the entrance to the campground until our ride comes.”
“And try to keep warm.”
“And try to keep warm. I’ll race you to that pine tree.”
“Forget it. Just sit on that bench and snuggle with me.”
Alfred backed out of the tent and stood up. What had been a trim-looking tent collapsed completely and became a disorganized pile of canvas. Was this a trap? Was that why someone had come by and shone a flashlight into the campsite at intervals? They must have found his car. He couldn’t return to it. What should he do?
He shouldn’t be walking through the campground alone at midnight. If whoever was looking for him was still prowling around, they might spot him. He had to hide somewhere until morning, when he could blend in with the other campers. But where?
Certainly not at this campsite. He had to walk somewhere, being careful to hide if a car came along. He had already hidden among the trees for a couple of hours. He was cold and angry. He didn’t want to get caught before he completed his mission. If that meant hiding for the rest of the night, he would do it.
He could take the VW and get out of here. No, that car was too conspicuous. He couldn’t steal a car from the campground, with all the campers around, even if he could get it started. He would figure out what to do in the morning.
He walked along the campground road until he had put some distance between himself and the campsite belonging to Penny and Gary. He wasn’t even worried about bears anymore. He finally decided he had gone far enough. He found a convenient grove of trees in an isolated area. He sat down in the middle of them, leaned his back against one, and tried to get comfortable and warm. It was a losing battle.
CHAPTER 21
Gary and Penny were having breakfast in the hotel in Grant Village when a National Park Service employee in uniform, complete with the arrowhead shoulder patch and Smokey the Bear felt hat, came up to their table and introduced himself.
“I’m Roger Barth,” he said, shaking hands with them in turn. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Can you fill us in on what’s happening?” Gary asked.
“I’ll tell you what I know. The Ford Falcon that you found was stolen. The plates have been switched with another car.”
“Did you get Alfred?” Penny asked.
“Not yet. But we have reason to believe he was active last night.”
“What did he do?”
“Well, sometime after midnight when we checked your campsite, we saw that the tent was down. So we got out and investigated.”
“And?” Gary prompted when he paused.
“Well, it appeared that somebody had gone inside the tent.”
“A bear?”
“It wasn’t a bear. Did you leave a hunting knife in your tent?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. And bears don’t use knives. Well, we found a knife inside the tent. We kept it for evidence, because there were slashes in the sleeping bag.”
Penny gasped and gripped Gary’s hand.
“So Alfred was there,” Gary said slowly. “And he tried to kill us. It’s a good thing-”
“The prints on the knife will be matched with the prints on the stolen car and a car found abandoned in Montana. That’s what I’ve been told. I believe you have a contact in Montana-a Detective Landon?”
“Yes,” Penny managed to say.
“Stay in touch with him. He’ll be able to tell you the results of the fingerprint tests. Meanwhile, I’ll drive you back to your campsite. You’re not planning to stay here another night, are you?”
“No,” Gary said. “We’re going on to the Tetons.”
“Good.”
“Where do you think Alfred is?” Penny asked. “Did he steal another car?”
“There haven’t been any car thefts reported in or around Yellowstone. Of course, we’re on the lookout for him.”
“Do you think he’s still in the campground?”
“If so, he must have had a cold night.”
That didn’t sound very comforting to Penny. They weren’t able to catch Alfred, even when they knew where he was, or at least where he had been. And Alfred was trying to kill them both. In spite of how much she was enjoying the beauty of Yellowstone, she was glad they were leaving.
The cold woke Alfred about the time the first rays of the morning sun penetrated the grove of pine trees in which he was sitting. He had never felt this miserable in his life. His joints were so stiff he didn’t know whether he could move at all. He also wasn’t sure whether the resulting pain would be worth the effort. It might have been better if he had frozen to death during the night. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that cold.
The good news, if it could be called such, was that he had almost no feeling in his hands and feet. At least they didn’t hurt. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and started exploratory movements of his fingers. He rubbed his hands together. Eventually his fingers started to tingle and then to ache. As other muscles grudgingly came into play, he found that he couldn’t stand. He had to spend a while on his knees before enough blood reached his feet to allow him to rise to the vertical position favored by humans.
He came out of the grove of trees and headed toward the nearest restroom, trying to look nonchalant, but his legs didn’t want to obey the instructions from his brain, and his gait was labored, as if he had a bad case of arthritis. He had read that walking on two legs was controlled falling. Not very comforting, but that’s certainly what he was doing now. The question was whether he could maintain control.
A few other campers were up and headed in the same direction. He attempted to unfreeze his frozen facial muscles enough to smile at them and say good morning. Of course, there was no hot water, so his hands remained ice cold when he washed them. He stumbled out of the restroom and realized that he had no place to go. Along with no food and no transportation. He could walk to the restaurant and eat breakfast. But then what?
He strolled at random along one of the primitive roads of the campground, trying to warm up and observing the early risers as they heated coffee on their Coleman stoves. He could use a cup of hot coffee right now. The hotter the better.
A white Volkswagen camper with a customized bubble-top was parked at one of the campsites. It had a California license plate. A middle-aged woman tended a stove, which was set on the wooden picnic table. She was cooking bacon in a frying pan. Alfred’s taste buds started to work overtime. He’d better get to the restaurant.
As he passed the camper, he saw a man crouched in front of the rear-mounted engine. The engine door was open, and he was fiddling with something on the engine itself. From his look of puzzlement, Alfred concluded that
