Read Online Hunted Past Reason by Richard Matheson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Matheson
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averting his gaze, "her hands and feet are always cold."
"She's endothermic then," Doug told him.
"Ah-ha."
Doug said no more but took the pot off the grate, using his washrag for a pot holder. Setting it on the ground, he soaked the washcloth in the water. "Whoa. Hot," he said. Taking the washrag out of the pot, he wrung it out gingerly, then started rubbing soap on it.
"You gonna do this?" he asked.
Bob sighed. "I dunno. If we were going out for a couple of weeks, I suppose so. But three or four days . . ."
"More likely four or five the way we're going," Doug told him.
Again, the little jab, Bob thought. "Isn't this where you were planning to camp the first night?" he asked.
"Yeah," Doug said, soaping under his arms and over his chest. "But only because I figured we'd never get any farther." He chuckled. "You almost didn't make it here."
"Mmm." Bob had sat down by the fire now.
When Doug didn't respond he glanced up. Doug was soaping his stomach and groin, leaning forward slightly. Bob had seen him in a Speedo bathing suit when Doug and Nicole came over to the house to swim. Seeing him entirely naked though made him aware of how muscular Doug was, his stomach flat, his abdomen muscles clearly defined.
For a moment, he thought of telling Doug how well built he was, then decided against it. He wasn't sure how Doug would react to such a comment. He was aware of how uncomfortable he felt.
Doug seemed to read his mind. "Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable," he said.
"No, no. It just . . . caught me by surprise, that's all."
"How do you plan to wash up?" Doug inquired. "It's not a good idea to keep wearing the same underwear. You do have some extra long johns packed, don't you?"
"Sure." Bob nodded. "And some packages of moist towelettes to wash myself off with."
"Well, that'll have to do if it's all you want," Doug said. He was bending over now, soaping up his legs and ankles, then his feet.
The silence bothered Bob again.
"I, uh, see that that boulder over there is kind of black. Why didn't you use that same spot for the fire?" he asked.
"Stupid thing to do," Doug said. He was rinsing the soap off his body now. "That black will be there for centuries. That's why I make a fire ring with stones. Which I'll dismantle in the morning. You'll be helping with the fires so remember never to use wet stones, they can explode in a fire."
"Oh, my God." Bob winced a little.
Silence again. He glanced up involuntarily and saw Doug drying himself with a towel, arms raised. He swallowed, wondering if Doug had done this deliberately to embarrass him.
Oh, don't be stupid, he told himself.
"I notice that you didn't dig a fire pit," he said to break the silence and divert his mind from more uncharitable thoughts.
Doug chuckled. "You've been reading," he said.
"Yeah, well . . . yeah, it did say that in the backpacking book I read."
"It's a good idea in windy weather," Doug said. He was getting into a clean pair of long underwear now. "It's also less visible and won't bother other campers. But since it isn't windy and there are no other campers, there's no need for a fire pit."
"Got ya," Bob said.
Doug put on his slippers again and crouched by the fire, palms extended to the heat.
"You use only squaw wood to burn," he said.
"Squaw wood?"
"I guess they call it that because Indian squaws made the fires," Doug answered. "It's wood that's lying on the ground. You never use living growth for burning. Start the fire with fallen leaves or twigs or pine needles. And if there's not enough dead wood on the ground, break off dead limbs or branches on fallen trees. Or living ones; just make sure the limbs or branches are dead. Got that?"
"Got it," Bob said. I hope, he thought.
"You notice that I built a small wall of stones on that side of the fire," Doug said, pointing. "That's to keep the smoke rising in that direction. Don't ask me why that works, I have no idea. It does though."
Bob smiled. "I didn't notice that before," he
"She's endothermic then," Doug told him.
"Ah-ha."
Doug said no more but took the pot off the grate, using his washrag for a pot holder. Setting it on the ground, he soaked the washcloth in the water. "Whoa. Hot," he said. Taking the washrag out of the pot, he wrung it out gingerly, then started rubbing soap on it.
"You gonna do this?" he asked.
Bob sighed. "I dunno. If we were going out for a couple of weeks, I suppose so. But three or four days . . ."
"More likely four or five the way we're going," Doug told him.
Again, the little jab, Bob thought. "Isn't this where you were planning to camp the first night?" he asked.
"Yeah," Doug said, soaping under his arms and over his chest. "But only because I figured we'd never get any farther." He chuckled. "You almost didn't make it here."
"Mmm." Bob had sat down by the fire now.
When Doug didn't respond he glanced up. Doug was soaping his stomach and groin, leaning forward slightly. Bob had seen him in a Speedo bathing suit when Doug and Nicole came over to the house to swim. Seeing him entirely naked though made him aware of how muscular Doug was, his stomach flat, his abdomen muscles clearly defined.
For a moment, he thought of telling Doug how well built he was, then decided against it. He wasn't sure how Doug would react to such a comment. He was aware of how uncomfortable he felt.
Doug seemed to read his mind. "Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable," he said.
"No, no. It just . . . caught me by surprise, that's all."
"How do you plan to wash up?" Doug inquired. "It's not a good idea to keep wearing the same underwear. You do have some extra long johns packed, don't you?"
"Sure." Bob nodded. "And some packages of moist towelettes to wash myself off with."
"Well, that'll have to do if it's all you want," Doug said. He was bending over now, soaping up his legs and ankles, then his feet.
The silence bothered Bob again.
"I, uh, see that that boulder over there is kind of black. Why didn't you use that same spot for the fire?" he asked.
"Stupid thing to do," Doug said. He was rinsing the soap off his body now. "That black will be there for centuries. That's why I make a fire ring with stones. Which I'll dismantle in the morning. You'll be helping with the fires so remember never to use wet stones, they can explode in a fire."
"Oh, my God." Bob winced a little.
Silence again. He glanced up involuntarily and saw Doug drying himself with a towel, arms raised. He swallowed, wondering if Doug had done this deliberately to embarrass him.
Oh, don't be stupid, he told himself.
"I notice that you didn't dig a fire pit," he said to break the silence and divert his mind from more uncharitable thoughts.
Doug chuckled. "You've been reading," he said.
"Yeah, well . . . yeah, it did say that in the backpacking book I read."
"It's a good idea in windy weather," Doug said. He was getting into a clean pair of long underwear now. "It's also less visible and won't bother other campers. But since it isn't windy and there are no other campers, there's no need for a fire pit."
"Got ya," Bob said.
Doug put on his slippers again and crouched by the fire, palms extended to the heat.
"You use only squaw wood to burn," he said.
"Squaw wood?"
"I guess they call it that because Indian squaws made the fires," Doug answered. "It's wood that's lying on the ground. You never use living growth for burning. Start the fire with fallen leaves or twigs or pine needles. And if there's not enough dead wood on the ground, break off dead limbs or branches on fallen trees. Or living ones; just make sure the limbs or branches are dead. Got that?"
"Got it," Bob said. I hope, he thought.
"You notice that I built a small wall of stones on that side of the fire," Doug said, pointing. "That's to keep the smoke rising in that direction. Don't ask me why that works, I have no idea. It does though."
Bob smiled. "I didn't notice that before," he
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