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Authors: Alan Edward Nourse
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prove. But no, there wasn't anybody you'd call exactly odd." The man was silent a moment, ruminating. "Except for one real strange one that we saw. There was this kid coming up the trail while we were resting by the creek and soaking our feet. Just a young kid, was all, but mean-looking, and he was barefoot—I mean, no boots at all—and that trail was nothing but sharp rocks."
"This was a boy?" Frank asked.
"Right. Maybe eight or nine years old. Scruffy little bastard, too, looked like he hadn't had a bath in a month. He had a long stick with a bandana bag tied to the top. Soon as he saw the creek he flopped down and started drinking like a pig. When he finally got up he gave us all a filthy look and started on up the trail. Didn't say one word, and we never saw him again."
"Well, I guess it takes all kinds," Frank said. "So what did you do then?"
"When we finally got to the top? We found a couple of good campsites in a meadow up above the second lake, that place where the creek comes wandering through before it drops off down the rocks, you know? So we set up our camps, and some of the kids went down to the second lake for a swim—we were plenty heated up, by then."
"You didn't see her up there on top?"
"Not a sign of her. So the kids went swimming and a couple of us started rigging our fly rods—and then all of a sudden everything all fell apart. Bob Comstock and his niece Janie Austin got sick."
"Sick," Frank repeated. "Like how, exactly?"
"It was like they'd come down with a bad cold and a fever," Courtenay said, "only it started up all of a sudden like some-body'd thrown a switch. They both crawled into their tents for a nap, and then Bob started chilling, said he felt like he was burning up. Then next thing they were coughing up a storm, the two of them, and aching so bad they could hardly move. By dinnertime two others were coming down with the same damned thing, and a fifth one wasn't feeling very good." The man shrugged helplessly. "Hell, we didn't know what to do, never got sick on a camping trip before. We gave them some aspirin and they just threw it right up. Couldn't hold any dinner down, either. We figured we'd just let 'em sweat it out for the night and start back down next day if they didn't feel any better but then about midnight Bob started coughing up blood, said he couldn't hardly breathe, and we could hear Janie bubbling in her chest, and the rest of us began to get scared, decided we'd better get them down to some help then and there without waiting for daylight . . ."
Jerry Courtenay got himself another beer. "I guess you'd say we sort of panicked then," he went on. "It seemed like I was kind of in charge, with Bob knocked out of it, and all I could think was we needed a doctor. So I told everybody to forget their gear, just get on their boots and jackets and grab their flashlights—and we started down." He sighed. "Believe me, picking our way down through those rocks in the dark was something else, and the trail down the wall was damn near impossible. Terry Gilman hauled Bob along by draping an arm over his shoulder until Bob's legs gave out, and then another of the boys took his other arm and they fairly dragged him. Had to do the same thing with Janie before long, and then two other sick ones started to give out. I was the strongest hiker, so when we finally got down to Snow Lakes I took off ahead at a dead run in order to get to the bottom and get an ambulance up to meet the others at the trailhead. I swear I nearly broke my leg three times, falling over windfalls and roots; there wasn't much moonlight through the trees, and the one or two camps with somebody still up gave me lots of great advice but no help, so I just kept on going. When I finally did get down and found a phone, 1 tried the Ranger Station first, and finally got somebody, but they were no damned help—"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, no offense meant, but it was kind of strange. I mean, those guys are usually pretty gung
"This was a boy?" Frank asked.
"Right. Maybe eight or nine years old. Scruffy little bastard, too, looked like he hadn't had a bath in a month. He had a long stick with a bandana bag tied to the top. Soon as he saw the creek he flopped down and started drinking like a pig. When he finally got up he gave us all a filthy look and started on up the trail. Didn't say one word, and we never saw him again."
"Well, I guess it takes all kinds," Frank said. "So what did you do then?"
"When we finally got to the top? We found a couple of good campsites in a meadow up above the second lake, that place where the creek comes wandering through before it drops off down the rocks, you know? So we set up our camps, and some of the kids went down to the second lake for a swim—we were plenty heated up, by then."
"You didn't see her up there on top?"
"Not a sign of her. So the kids went swimming and a couple of us started rigging our fly rods—and then all of a sudden everything all fell apart. Bob Comstock and his niece Janie Austin got sick."
"Sick," Frank repeated. "Like how, exactly?"
"It was like they'd come down with a bad cold and a fever," Courtenay said, "only it started up all of a sudden like some-body'd thrown a switch. They both crawled into their tents for a nap, and then Bob started chilling, said he felt like he was burning up. Then next thing they were coughing up a storm, the two of them, and aching so bad they could hardly move. By dinnertime two others were coming down with the same damned thing, and a fifth one wasn't feeling very good." The man shrugged helplessly. "Hell, we didn't know what to do, never got sick on a camping trip before. We gave them some aspirin and they just threw it right up. Couldn't hold any dinner down, either. We figured we'd just let 'em sweat it out for the night and start back down next day if they didn't feel any better but then about midnight Bob started coughing up blood, said he couldn't hardly breathe, and we could hear Janie bubbling in her chest, and the rest of us began to get scared, decided we'd better get them down to some help then and there without waiting for daylight . . ."
Jerry Courtenay got himself another beer. "I guess you'd say we sort of panicked then," he went on. "It seemed like I was kind of in charge, with Bob knocked out of it, and all I could think was we needed a doctor. So I told everybody to forget their gear, just get on their boots and jackets and grab their flashlights—and we started down." He sighed. "Believe me, picking our way down through those rocks in the dark was something else, and the trail down the wall was damn near impossible. Terry Gilman hauled Bob along by draping an arm over his shoulder until Bob's legs gave out, and then another of the boys took his other arm and they fairly dragged him. Had to do the same thing with Janie before long, and then two other sick ones started to give out. I was the strongest hiker, so when we finally got down to Snow Lakes I took off ahead at a dead run in order to get to the bottom and get an ambulance up to meet the others at the trailhead. I swear I nearly broke my leg three times, falling over windfalls and roots; there wasn't much moonlight through the trees, and the one or two camps with somebody still up gave me lots of great advice but no help, so I just kept on going. When I finally did get down and found a phone, 1 tried the Ranger Station first, and finally got somebody, but they were no damned help—"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, no offense meant, but it was kind of strange. I mean, those guys are usually pretty gung
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