The Serpent's Bite (29 page)

He followed Tomas, stopping at the edge of the latrine pit.

“I hate what we're doing,” Scott said, gagging, his stomach lurching.

Without answering, Tomas flung his burden into the latrine pit.

“It's the latrine for chrissakes.”

“Why dig new hole?”

“It's so …” Scott searched for words. “Disrespectful.” He looked at what he was carrying and dry heaved.

“Throw in,” Tomas ordered.

“I can't.”

Tomas grabbed the remains and flung it into the pit. Tomas had left a spade stuck in an adjacent pile of dirt and scooped
out the hole. Scott watched as he dug into the pile and threw dirt back in the hole, filling it then patting it down.

Dawn had begun to break, lighting the area in dull daylight. As he stood beside the pit, watching in horror, Scott saw a reddish rectangle detach itself from a fabric surface. It was imprinted with a word, but in his distress it did not register as the rectangle floated downward into the pit.

“Now we clean camp,” Tomas said.

Trancelike Scott followed. Courtney and her father had sat on a log awaiting their return. He noted that Tomas inspected the area with deep concentration, picking up scraps of what he assumed might have been part of Harry's remains. He gathered what remained in the canvas of the tent and rolled it up. Then he ordered Scott to help him take down the three other tents, which he assembled near the cooking fire and proceeded to throw into the still-glowing embers. In a short time they began to burn.

“I don't get it?” Scott asked.

“We travel light. I put food in cantle bags for trip.”

“Aren't we destroying evidence?” their father said.

Tomas paid no attention but continued to add fuel to the fire. The fire blazed. Then he started to throw in their possessions. The heat became oppressive, but Tomas made certain that the edge of the fire was contained.

“This is crazy,” their father muttered. “He's burning everything but the clothes on our backs.”

“For crying out loud, Dad. Leave it alone. Let him just get us the fuck out of here.”

It was becoming clear that Tomas had worked out a plan. He had no intention of facing the authorities and would leave it to them to deal with the authorities.

Something continued to linger on the edge of Scott's mind, a missing something. Finally the fire banked as they watched. As Tomas inspected the site, Scott noted that the meat pole had already been dismantled. What remained was put in the flames.

When the fire burnt low enough, Tomas dug another hole and pushed in the ashes and remains, then covered it up.

“I don't believe this,” Temple muttered.

“Let it go,” Scott warned.

“I am still confused,” their father said. Despite attempts to placate him, he remained fixated on his suspicions. “What would prompt a grizzly attack on only Harry, an expert on evasion of such a predator?”

“You'd have to ask the grizzly,” Scott said, hoping humor might deflect his questions.

“Now we go to horses,” Tomas ordered. He started to walk to the meadow where the horses were hobbled.

“I don't understand any of this,” their father said.

“Neither do I,” Scott admitted.

“Just follow the fuck,” Courtney muttered.

It seemed too appalling to understand. Scott's mind felt numb, but he could not find the courage to protest. Besides, it would be pointless. It was obvious that Tomas had his own agenda, and they had no choice but to obey him. There was no point in second-guessing him.

Scott urged himself to deal only with his own priorities, like survival, his future, protecting his secret. They were outlanders here, aliens. Other rules applied. The wilderness was an arena of brutality, where animals killed each other to survive. Man is just another animal, he assured himself, flesh and bones.

“It's getting hairy,” Scott said, as Tomas moved quickly to the meadow, not looking back.

“Don't question it. Go with the flow,” Courtney said. He could see the fear in her eyes.

“Have we a choice?” Scott asked.

“It seems somehow as if he's destroying evidence,” Temple muttered.

“Evidence of what?” Scott asked, offering a cynical smile. “Are you implying there is a crime here?”

“Crime? There is no crime here, Dad,” Courtney said. “Clearly Harry was killed by a bear.”

“Surely there has to be an investigation to determine the facts. Yes, Harry was quite obviously killed by a grizzly. Wouldn't they need evidence to determine the facts? Is that an irrelevant question?”

“Not our worry, Dad,” Scott said, determined to change the direction of the discussion. “If asked, we tell them only what we know. The man was killed by a bear, period.” Still, something nagged at him. He remembered the red label that had stuck to the fabric. He had seen it before.

“Poor man. Deprived of a decent burial.”

“Dad, let's just go with the flow,” Courtney reiterated. “We'll be home in another day.”

“Sorry, kids,” Temple said. “It's not what I expected.”

“Not your fault, Dad.”

When they reached the area where the horses were hobbled, they noted that Tomas had already saddled four horses. There was no sign of Harry's horse or the mules.

Scott asked about their whereabouts.

“They gone,” Tomas said impassively.

It was not a satisfactory explanation. Temple shook his head and exchanged troubled glances with his children.

“Don't ask, Dad,” Courtney said. “It will only complicate matters.”

Tomas and Scott helped their father mount his horse. It proved far more difficult than previously. His energy level seemed diminished, and he could not get a firm grip on the pommel. Nevertheless, Scott encouraged him, and he finally was mounted, although he looked somewhat exhausted from the strain of it.

“Why Eagle Pass?” their father asked, as Tomas and Scott lifted him into his saddle.

“Because I say,” Tomas said, impatiently.

“Because you say?” their father questioned, obviously offended by his tone. He glanced at Scott and Courtney. “Am I missing something here?”

“Apparently we get back faster over Eagle Pass,” Scott said.

“Dad, please,” Courtney said. “The quicker we get out of here, the quicker we can report it. Isn't that right, Tomas?”

“Si,”
Tomas muttered, with a shrug.

“There is a mystery here, children—”

“Damn it, Dad,” Scott said, loud enough for Tomas to hear. “Why can't you just accept Tomas's actions? He knows the turf, we don't. Frankly, I have one thing on my mind: Let's just get the hell out of here!”

After their father was seated, although somewhat precariously, Courtney and Scott prepared to mount the other horses that each had rode before.

“You'd think Tomas was responsible for the bear attack,” Courtney whispered, a remark that struck a discordant note. Scott did not challenge the idea, but it did trigger an uncomfortable notion. Was it possible?

“You okay, Dad?” Scott called out to his father.

“Fine,” he replied, flashing a wan smile. “But very confused.”

“He looks like hell,” Scott whispered, after walking out of his father's hearing range.

“Yes, he does,” Courtney agreed. “Considering our situation, we probably all look like hell.”

“We go now,” Tomas called.

A chill swept through Scott. But he could not deny that the stakes suddenly had become higher. His fear soared. The Mexican had shown himself to be a lethal combination of cunning and desperation. He was also a blackmailer, and he held the evidence of their incestuous relationship. Denial was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.

Observing his father closely in the quickening daylight, Scott noted that his complexion was ashen. He looked older, the expression in his eyes troubled, his general demeanor sickly. His body seemed less jaunty and bent, which had little to do with the light. His persistent questioning, too, made him seem more irritable and petulant. Probably the shock of events, Scott reasoned.

“Who could have predicted this?” their father said.

“All that matters is that we get home safely,” Courtney said.

“Focus only on that,” Scott said. He was also concerned with the aftermath: the required payoff. They had given Tomas all their cash as agreed. Scott did not dwell on the other demand. One obstacle at a time, he told himself.

“We go now,” Tomas said, kicking his horse forward. He had arranged the string so that Temple followed him. Courtney and Scott brought up the rear.

Without a word, Tomas led the train through the meadow and away from the camp.

But something continued to nag at Scott. He remembered what Tomas had told him last night.

“I take care,” he had said. The words echoed in Scott's mind. Take care of
what?

For the next hour they moved through the empty trails as the sun rose in the sky. In the background beyond the steady thumping of the horses' hoofs, the symphony of the wilderness rose and ebbed in a steady rhythm. Scott could hear the trill of birdsong, the quiet swish of leafed branches, and the occasional bleat of a running animal.

An odd serenity encompassed him as if all the pain and angst of what they had experienced in the last few hours had disappeared. Then, as swiftly as it had come, it vanished as memory kicked in. He could identify the red label that he had seen affixed to the fabric of Harry's lifeless corpse. It was the wrapper from the bacon packages that had been hoisted up and down the meat pole.

It explained in sharp clarity the presumption of what had occurred. Tomas had used it as bait to draw the grizzly, and he embellished its meal with the flesh of the outfitter. Scott felt the sudden rise of bile in his throat, and it took a massive effort of will not to vomit.

G
eorge Temple was never one to believe in omens. But what had happened so far in this abortive trek sorely tested his denial. And yet, he could not say that it was a total disaster. He had bonded with his children, reinforced certain conclusions about his own future and theirs, and generally reduced some of the psychological burdens that were inhibiting his future life with Muriel.

Heading home now, he felt enervated and physically and mentally diminished by the improbable events that had suddenly occurred. What he feared most at this moment was that he would not be able to make it over Eagle Pass. It was increasingly obvious that at seventy-odd years he did not have the strength and fortitude of a younger man, and he had greatly exceeded his own physical capacity.

Another by-product of this strange trek is that it forced him to face the reality of his mortality. All the cosmetic surgery, hair dye, and Viagra, all the dieting and exercise, all the vitamins and prescription elixirs to cope with or postpone disease, all the careful routine recommended to theoretically prolong life could not undue the stark fact that the curtain of his life's drama was descending faster than he had realized.

It was true that his relationship with Muriel raised hopes for an expanded, albeit limited, future. She had forced him to look ahead with courage and discard the baggage of past years, and he had dutifully followed her sage advice. At this moment
he felt too debilitated and beset by signs of physical and mental weakness to project his thoughts beyond the moment.

His short-term memory, for one thing, seemed failing. Misplacing his camera had been a profound loss, and he had wracked his brain to retrace areas where it might have accidentally landed. Years earlier it might have seemed a small thing, the result of simple carelessness, but in the context of the aging process, it suggested the beginning of mental decline. Sharing those camera images would trigger memory, validate a milestone, offer evidence of a bonding experience with his children, and as it was on their first trek, offer proof and pleasure of a transcendent experience.

Why couldn't he remember what he had done with it? On the earlier trek he had not lost his camera. He rarely misplaced anything. In his business, he was always razor sharp, often boastful about his ability to remember the weight and quality of every gemstone in his inventory.

What he hadn't told his children this morning was that, in the hubbub of his quick exit, he had forgotten to retrieve, of all things, his blood pressure pills from his possessions Tomas had ordered to leave behind. The shocking event of last night had simply crowded out all the little details of daily living.

He was secretly embarrassed by his forgetfulness concerning the pills, and he did not wish to tell his children. He was ashamed of these episodes and all that they implied about his mind. His children might think Alzheimer's had begun its nasty work.

Perhaps that fear was why he had been so persistent in his questioning of Tomas. It took on the aspect of an exercise in mental gymnastics, one question leading to another, a kind of hysterical mind game.