Curse of Skull Canyon by Peter Brandvold

Author:Peter Brandvold
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gale, Cengage Learning
Published: 2016-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 28

Lonnie found a place well back from the clearing at the point of the lake in which to camp. He found a dense stand of trees with a well-concealed open area inside them roughly as large around as an Indian tepee.

The first job was to pull McLory down off the General’s back, which proved to be far easier than had getting him up there. Lonnie didn’t relish the idea of wrestling him back up there again in the morning.

When he and Casey had picketed their horses to a line strung between two trees, they gathered wood and built a small fire. Knowing that when riding into the mountains you had to be prepared for anything, Casey had packed a bedroll, warm clothes, and a couple of ham sandwiches she hadn’t yet gotten around to eating.

She and Lonnie arranged their bedrolls and other gear around the snapping flames of their fire. Lonnie hung a pot of coffee on his iron tripod.

He found his food pouch and was happy to discover a bit of deer jerky and two stale biscuits inside. He knew there were likely fish in the lake, but it was getting too dark to make his way back out into the clearing. It no doubt got so dark up here before the moon rose that he wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face.

The upside of that was no one else was likely to see him, either.

Still, the canyon gave him the willies. He decided to stay close to the fire as well as to Casey though he was still miffed at the girl, and his heart still ached, knowing she’d set her hat for another. He understood why she’d done it, but he didn’t know how he was ever going to stop thinking about it.

He was glad she was with him now, though. At least they had what would probably be their last night together. He hoped it wouldn’t be their last night, period, on this side of the sod.

As he gathered and deposited one more load of firewood, the low, windy moaning sounded again from out in the darkness. It sounded louder and more menacing now after night had come down and the last light had bled out of the sky.

“Lonnie, good lord—is that the skull speaking to us again?” Casey asked, kneeling by the fire, a leather swatch for the coffeepot in her hand. She stared off beyond where the glimmering firelight reached.

“If you look at it that way—or hear it that way,” Lonnie said, “you’re gonna get the fantods. Just hear it like it is—the wind blowing around that big rock up there. That’s all.”

“Are we going to have contend with that all night long?”

“I don’t know. You want to go on up there and have a chat with the rock, see if you can get it to pipe down a little?” Lonnie chuckled as he sat back against his bedroll and tipped his hat back off his forehead.

“All right, Mister Smarty,” Casey said as she handed over a smoking cup to him, “have a cup of coffee.

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