The Secret of Excalibur by Sahara Foley

Author:Sahara Foley [Foley, Sahara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-12-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Within the impression of Ruth's lower back and butt, is a mark. After a few seconds of staring at the imprint, I figure it out, a footprint. A boot of some type, waffled sole, and some design I can't quite make out.

But that's impossible, I think, rubbing my forehead. My boots don't leave marks like that, and besides, the footprint would've been packed down by our bodies. Unless the print was made, after we went into the tent. A cold shiver snakes down my spine. Somebody was out here last night.

Slowly rising, with narrowed eyes, I look around the area. There they are, in the sand, north of our tent by at least fifty feet, all the way to the tree line. Two sets of evenly spaced marks in the soft sand. I wouldn't have paid any attention to them, except for this one clear boot print. I mentally open up and probe the area, birds, rabbits, a deer, but nothing that wears boots.

I follow the tracks to where, right at the tree line, the sand tapers off to mud. From there, the marks are deliberately wiped out with a branch. I can see the brush marks as it was swept back and forth. I wander farther into the trees. Nothing, not one human being anywhere that I can feel. I pee on a tree, head back to the fire and sit, but turn my chair sideways, so I can observe the tent and beach for quite a distance.

I open and study the map of Lake George. This doesn't make any sense, I think uneasily. No one can walk to our area from back there as the ground is nothing but one big bog. Hell, even the map warns about the bog, a swamp. Closest place to here, except by boat, is fifteen miles away, along the beach. The only civilization for twenty miles is the Lodge, and the small village.

Colly. Could he have come out after the storm? Or Dobie's men? By boat, down the beach, then sneaked into the trees, coming out down here? Or even by chopper? If the chopper landed far enough way, we would've never heard the rotor blades.

I quickly stride to the boat and open the live-well. All the fish are accounted for, alive and well, even Ruth's dead Northern. Who the hell came out here last night, and why? None of our belongings were disturbed, nor taken, not even the camera. This makes no sense. I hide the 9mm in my pocket, and sit in my chair, thinking, not liking where my thoughts are heading.

ZZZIPP. “Uhgh. Morning, Arthur,” Ruth mumbles as she crawls out the tent, toilet paper in hand, and heads for the trees.

I become nervous. Even though no one's around, I stand and follow her, hanging back far enough so she can't see me. All I see are her knees and the top of her head as she squats behind a tree. I stare at the gun in my hand.

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