Nightmare Mountain (9 page)

As she got off the lift, a quick movement caught her attention. She turned to look. At first she couldn’t tell what it was in the gray, predawn light but then it moved again and she saw that it was the two young llamas, gazing curiously at her from beside the barn. Apparently when they bolted past her, they were able to outrun the avalanche. They appeared to be uninjured.

It’s a good omen, Molly decided. It means everything’s going to be all right, after all.

The only light in the house was the one she’d left burning in the kitchen. Was it possible that Uncle Phil hadn’t come home all night? If so, it must mean that
Aunt Karen was still clinging to life and he didn’t want to leave her. That, too, seemed a good omen.

He was probably worried though, and wondering why she and Glendon didn’t answer the telephone.

She decided she would call the hospital first. She’d ask them to send an ambulance for Glendon and then she’d ask to speak to Uncle Phil. She would tell him that Glendon knew the man who stole Merrylegs. She wondered if Merrylegs’ baby was born yet.

As she passed the barn and started toward the house, headlights came down the road, paused while the gate was opened, and continued down the lane. Relief brought tears to Molly’s eyes. Thank goodness! Uncle Phil was home at last. Help was here.

She waved happily at the approaching headlights and walked toward them. They were so bright, shining directly at her, that she could see nothing beyond them. She didn’t mind. She was just glad to have Uncle Phil here; she was glad to let someone else be responsible for getting Glendon off the mountain. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was take a hot bath, have a hot drink, and go to bed.

She was only a few feet from the headlights when the headlights went out and the engine stopped. Molly blinked, still seeing bright globes of light before her eyes. Then her eyes focused properly and a chill went through her as she realized her mistake.

It wasn’t Uncle Phil’s car. It was the black pickup truck with slatted wooden sides.

Molly turned and ran toward the house. If she could get to the house first, she could lock all the doors and call the sheriff. If only she had run to the house when she first saw the headlights, instead of going out to meet them.

She had not yet reached the front door when a hand clamped down on her shoulder.

“What’s your hurry?” the man said.

“What do you want?” she said. “Why did you come back?”

“I had to come,” he said. “I realized one of you kids might survive and I came back to be sure. Looks like it’s a good thing I did.”

Molly decided to try to bluff her way out. “You’d better get out of here fast,” she said. “My Uncle Phil already knows about you. I made it down the mountain last night and called him. The sheriff’s looking for you and so is the State Patrol.”

“Shut up!” The man shook her and the pain flashed through Molly’s shoulder. “You didn’t call him last night. You didn’t call anyone. Look at you! You’re covered with snow and you’re so tired you can hardly put
one foot in front of the other. You just now found your way home.”

His voice sounded different. Higher. Was he drunk? Or was he so upset that he was losing control?

“I talked to the hospital less than an hour ago,” he continued. “I called there last night, and again this morning, and left messages for Phil. I told them to tell him Glendon had called and everything was fine here at the ranch. I said he shouldn’t worry about a thing.”

It took all her will power to keep from slapping him. He was the meanest, scummiest person she’d ever known. No wonder Uncle Phil didn’t come to look for them. He thought everything here was OK.

“If Uncle Phil owes you money,” Molly said, “I’m sure he’ll pay it. You don’t have to take the llamas.”

He seemed not to hear her.

“We have to get out of here,” he said.

Molly swallowed. “What do you mean—we?”

“I can’t leave you here, can I? And I sure can’t stick around. So we’ll have to leave together.”

“We can’t go until we get Glendon. He’s still on the mountain. He was unconscious all night and I think he has a broken arm. We can’t leave him up there alone. Nobody else knows he’s there. He’ll die!”

“Get in the truck. We have to hurry.”

“Do you
want
him to die? How can you?”

“I don’t want anyone to die,” he said. “But I can’t help him now. There isn’t time.”

He gave her a shove and Molly stumbled toward the truck. She climbed in and the man put the key in the ignition. Molly’s mind raced, trying to think what to do. She had to stall him. She had to keep him here. If she could detain him long enough, someone might come to the ranch. She and Glendon might still be rescued. What could she talk about that would make him linger?

“Money!” she cried.

He looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

“I—I was wondering how much money you got for the llamas,” Molly said.

“Big money,” he said. “Too bad we lost two in the avalanche.”

“We didn’t lose them. They ran down the path before the snow could hit them.”

She decided to appeal to his sense of greed. More llamas to sell would increase his profit enormously.

“Why did you go all the way up the mountain to steal the llamas yesterday?” she asked. “It would have been a lot easier to take some from the lower pasture, right there by the barn.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? I couldn’t be loading those animals on the truck in plain sight of the house and the road. Up the mountain, nobody could see me.”

“Well, nobody can see you now, even in the lower pasture,” she said.

The man hesitated. His hand was on the key but he didn’t start the engine.

“True,” he said. “There’s nobody around now.” He looked thoughtfully at the house.

He seemed calmer now, less anxious. Keep him talking, Molly thought. Keep him here. Stall . . .

“Did you really get a good price for Merrylegs and Soapsy and Pretty Girl?” she asked.

“Top dollar.”

“Didn’t the buyer wonder where you got them?”

“No questions asked. I just showed him my business card for Baldwin Llama Ranch and he wrote out the check.”

What a creep, using someone else’s business card to make himself seem legitimate. Uncle Phil was going to go through the ceiling when he heard about this.

Keep stalling, Molly reminded herself. Keep him here as long as possible. “You make it sound easy to sell the llamas,” she said.

“It was a snap.” He looked toward the pasture. Then he started the engine, and put his foot on the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward. Molly clutched at the seat to keep her balance while he made a fast U-turn and headed back past the barn. A group of curious llamas watched as he slammed on the brakes.

“Those brown ones are nice,” Molly said. “They’d probably bring a good price.”

She didn’t have any idea whether the two brown ones she pointed out were especially nice llamas or not, but she knew that’s what the man wanted.

She could tell the man was still nervous. He sat with the engine idling for a moment, looking back toward the road. If he left now, she knew he could make his escape before anyone else came.

Keep him talking, she told herself. Keep him sitting here.

“What kind of business are you in?” she asked.

The question backfired. Instead of prolonging the conversation, as Molly intended, it seemed to bring the urgency of the situation back to the man’s mind. He turned off the engine and jumped out of the truck.

Molly looked morosely out the window. Ten minutes ago, she’d felt elated, certain that she’d saved Glendon’s life, and that help would soon be coming. Now Glendon was still lying up there in the snow with a broken arm and probably a concussion and who knows what else, and she was being kidnapped by a man with no conscience.

He acted like a crazy man. One minute he insisted they had to leave immediately and the next minute he was willing to take time to catch more llamas.

She wondered why he needed money so desperately. Maybe he was on drugs and was frantic for money in
order to buy more. If that was so, her chance of survival with him seemed slim.

“Get out here and help,” the man said.

He took a length of rope from the back of the truck and started toward the dark brown llama. Slowly, Molly climbed out of the truck, trying to think of a way to escape.

There was no point trying to run away. She was simply too tired. She’d never make it and the attempt would make the man angry. She looked around. She saw only the path, some bushes, and, beyond the lower pasture, the lift.

She looked at the lift. She could get to it before he could catch her. She could turn it on and ride up the mountain. But then what? There was no one up there who could help her. If the man followed her, she’d only be trapped again, and Glendon and Buckie with her. It would be better to have to go away with him than to die in the snow.

Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. Every muscle in her body ached. There was no escape.

She wondered what he would do with her. Maybe, if she was lucky, he would only make her stay with him until he got the money for these llamas. She was glad now that she didn’t know who he was. She couldn’t give his name to the police, even if she escaped. Maybe he would leave her tied up somewhere while he went to Canada or Mexico
and then he’d call the authorities and tell them where to find her.

And if she wasn’t lucky? It didn’t bother him to let Glendon freeze to death; why would he do anything to save her life?

He wouldn’t. The knowledge seeped into Molly’s bones as surely as the cold had and it was just as chilling. He would never let her live. Why should he? If Glendon died, which seemed sure to happen now, she was the only one who could identify the thief. Why would he let her go?

No! Every inch of her body cried out in protest. She had struggled too hard to survive the avalanche; she was too proud of the fact that she’d kept herself and Glendon alive through the long, cold night. She wouldn’t give up now. She wouldn’t! She’d save herself somehow. And she’d save Glendon, too.

But how? How could she hope to escape when she was so tired and sore and hungry? If only there was someone to help her. She leaned against the side of the truck and closed her eyes. There was no one nearby except Glendon and he was in worse shape than she was. She wondered how he and Buckie were doing up there. Good old Buckie.

Her eyes opened and she stood up straight. Buckie was a big, strong dog and he was fond of her. Would he be loyal enough to defend her, if necessary?

Buckie minded well, because of his obedience training. Would he attack someone, on command?

Molly remembered the gun. He didn’t have it in his hand today but he wore a heavy jacket. Maybe the gun was in his pocket. Even Buckie’s strength was no match for a gun and she was sure this man would shoot, if necessary.

She hesitated. She didn’t want to endanger Buckie’s life. But what were her choices? If she didn’t take the risk, she and Glendon were goners, for sure.

Molly walked toward the man. He had not yet caught one of the llamas. Each time he got a few feet from one of them, he rushed forward with the rope, and the animal would prance away.

“It would be lots faster if you used Buckie to herd those llamas,” she said.

“Who?”

“Buckie. The dog. He’s trained as a sheep dog.”

“Where is he?” There was an edge to his voice and she could tell he was frustrated by his inability to catch the llama.

“He’s up on the mountain, with Glendon. Do you want me to go get him?”

He stopped stalking the llama and looked at her. “How did the dog get up there?” he asked. “He wasn’t up there yesterday.”

“I did make it down off the mountain yesterday, like
I said, only the sheriff’s line was busy and I couldn’t wait because Glendon was still buried in the snow. Buckie went back up with me. He’s the one who found where Glendon was buried. He could smell Glendon under the snow.”

“No kidding.”

“He’s a smart dog,” Molly said. “And he knows how to work the llamas.”

“All right. All right, go get him. But I warn you. You try anything funny and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

Molly trudged up the path, not at all sure she could make it to the lift. She had never felt so tired in her life. Tired and discouraged. She hated this mountain. She loathed the ranch and the snow and, most of all, the man with the gun. She even resented Uncle Phil for leaving her to cope with all of this alone.

Keep going, she told herself. Right now, Buckie’s your only hope. Wearily, she climbed on the lift and started the motor.

As the lift rose, she looked down and was struck by the beauty of the scene. The fenceposts, wearing caps of snow, marched across the white fields. On the other side of the house, the icy limbs of the Christmas trees sparkled in the early morning sun. With a little shock of surprise, Molly realized she wasn’t scared. She had ridden the lift so many times that it no longer bothered her to look down.

Something good comes of everything, her mother always said. Maybe, out of all this terror and pain, she would at least be cured of her fear of heights.

Buckie was waiting at the top, tail wagging. He must have heard the lift coming.

“Good Buckie,” she said, and she rubbed his ears.

She made her way to where Glendon lay in the snow. His face was pale and his lips had a bluish color that frightened her. When she left him, it was still quite dark. Now, in the bright daylight, he looked sicker than she remembered.

Quickly, she told him what had happened and what her plan was. “I don’t know if it will work,” she said. “If nobody has come for you in an hour, you’d better drag yourself to the lift, get down, and somehow get to the house and call for help.”

Glendon’s eyes filled with tears and Molly realized he didn’t think he could make it.

“Your mother’s still alive,” she said. “She made it and you will, too.”

Glendon blinked away the tears. “Mother didn’t die?”

“She didn’t die and you won’t, either.” Molly knew she was convincing herself as well as Glendon. “We aren’t going to let that rotten thief get the best of us.”

“That rotten thief,” Glendon said, “is my uncle.”

Molly was too shocked to answer.

“If you make it and I don’t,” Glendon said, “tell Dad that his brother stole the llamas.”

“Your own uncle tried to kill you?” Molly said.

Glendon nodded. “Uncle Craine.”

“Well, your Uncle Craine isn’t going to get away with it,” Molly said. “But you may have to help yourself, no matter how much it hurts or how hard it is. Even when your dad gets home, he won’t know to look for you up here. If I don’t make it, you
must
get yourself to the lift and go down.”

Glendon nodded, a look of determination in his eyes.

Molly took a deep breath and turned away from him. “Come on, Buckie,” she said. “You’re going with me this time.”

“Molly?”

She looked back.

“Good luck,” he said. “And I—I’m sorry for how I acted. You’re not like Gladys, after all. You aren’t a bit like Gladys.”

“Thanks.” She still didn’t know who Gladys was but there was no time to find out now. If she didn’t get back down with Buckie soon, Craine would come looking for them and when he found them, he wouldn’t waste time talking.

She and Buckie rode down together. When they reached the lower pasture, she sent the lift back up to the
top. That way it would be there, if Glendon needed it.

She headed down the path and saw that Craine had succeeded in getting one of the llamas on the truck. He’d roped another one, too, but he couldn’t make the animal move toward the truck. It was tugging and pulling on the rope like a bucking bronco.