By the time they reached the river again, the night was far along, and both were tired. Neither wanted to be around when the two men awoke and began looking for them. Christy had no gear, so neither were inclined to make camp and try to rest.
"Do you really think that Frank and Company are gold hunters?" Christy asked through chattering teeth. Their river crossing had felt icy despite the summertime days. She was still wet and tried to gain some warmth by walking, but the night air was cold.
"I'm not sure. What equipment did they have with them?" Mac asked, but suddenly gripped her shoulder. He had heard what sounded like something running softly along the trail. A mountain lion?
"What is it?" Asked Christy in alarm.
"Shh," said Mac shortly, listening with all of his consciousness.
Christy stood still, shivering with cold and fear. Darkness surrounded them, for the moonlight no longer shone down through the thickness of the trees. It was setting in the west and though Christy could see a sprinkling of stars, they didn't shed light to navigate. They had taken turns leading one another as Mac's cane was as useful in the dark as Christy's eyes.
Mac slipped in front of Christy, who was wearing his jacket. Mac put on several layers of flannel, but still didn't feel like getting attacked by a wild animal through only flannel shirts.
He heard the snapping of a stick again. Whatever it was had come closer. Much closer.
He held his cane in front of his body, the only weapon he possessed at short notice.
Heavy footfalls rounded the last bend, and Mac braced himself.
Two paws hit him on the shoulders and a long tongue swiped his face from chin to forehead.
"Puck!" Mac cried with joy. So great was his relief that his knees felt weak for a moment.
"It's Puck!" Echoed Christy.
Puck hugged Mac's leg with his head in a German Shepherd hug, and then went to greet Christy. Soon he was back with Mac, pressing his wriggling body against Mac's left leg and whimpering with happiness.
"You found us! Good boy!" Mac praised him.
He didn't have Puck's leash or harness with him; he'd left them back at the Bear Creek camp. He retrieved his clothesline from his pack and tied it loosely around the dog's neck to use as a makeshift leash.
Puck joyfully headed up the trail, pulling the line taut. Mac followed him, and Christy followed Mac. With the dog in the lead, they stumbled less and made better time.
At one point along the Selway trail, Puck hesitated and seemed to want to turn aside.
"What is is, Boy?" Asked Mac.
"He seems to want to take this other trail," Mac told Christy.
"Do you think that's where the Shearer guard station is?" Christy asked.
"You, know, I bet that's exactly what it is," replied Mac. "Let's go up there and see if we can stay the rest of the night with Randall and Jeanne."
They followed Puck up the left-hand trail. Before long, he was nosing the porch of the cabin. They found the stairs and knocked at the door.
"Who is it?" Called a sleepy Randall from inside.
"MacGyver," he replied.
"And Christy," she added.
He pulled Puck back beside him as Randall opened the door.
"Is something wrong?" Randall asked, now alert.
"Can we come in?" Mac asked.
"Of course, of course!" Randall replied, opening the door wider.
They entered the cabin and felt its warmth embrace them, although the fire in the stove had burned low. They each found benches and sat down. Mac heard Jeanne in the back corner pulling wood out of the box to rekindle the fire.
Randall lit the kerosene lamp and sat across from them.
"What's going on?" asked Randall with concern.
Christy told her part of the strange story, and Mac described how he had found her and how they had both escaped.
"Wow, that was smart, using the salmon tracker," commented Jeanne, coming to the table with a plate of something. "Would you like a cookie?" she offered.
"I'm concerned about having those guys up in that cave," said Randall, munching on his own cookie.
"Do you think they might be gold hunters?" asked MacGyver, feeling foolish, but wanting to know nonetheless.
"That old legend?" snorted Randall. "Nah, I been up there a buncha times. There isn't any gold in that old cave."
"They didn't have digging tools with them, now that I think about it," commented Christy thoughtfully.
"You said they had guns? What kind?" asked Randall.
"A Colt pistol and a Winchester rifle," answered MacGyver.
"Everyone up here has a gun," put in Jeanne. "Rand has his up in the loft. You don't want to run into a bear or a cougar without one."
"True, Mother," said Randall.
"They had some sacks and piles of stuff back in the cave, but I couldn't tell what it was," added Christy.
"Piles?" asked MacGyver. "Could they have been stashing drugs?"
"I don't know. I didn't get a good look," said Christy miserably.
"Well, I'll alert the Ranger at Moose Creek on the radio tomorrow," said Randall, rising stiffly from the table. "You two finish the night out here, and then you can collect the rest of your stuff and decide what to do. Can't anything more be done tonight."
Mac agreed and asked to be shown where the ladder to the loft was. He unrolled his sleeping bag and lay down gratefully, listening to Jeanne find an extra blanket or two for Christy to use downstairs.
In the morning, Mac was awakened by the smell of bacon and eggs frying and of coffee brewing. Although not food to his taste, and he planned to have his stash of hummus paste and vegetables for breakfast, he did have to admit, it smelled good.
"Where's my other sock?" growled Randall, and Mac felt his heart sink. Had he forgotten to tether Puck?
"Here it is, Rand," soothed Jeanne, and she returned to the stove where she and Christy were cooking.
Mac sighed with relief.
As he blearily made his way down the ladder, Jeanne offered a cup of coffee.
"Thanks, but I'll just have this smoothie mix that I brought," he replied, searching with his right foot to find the boots he had left near the door. He located them, slipped into them without tying the laces and went out onto the porch, breathing deeply of the fresh, mountain air.
Once he had visited the outhouse and washed his face and hands, he felt more awake. He retrieved his preferred breakfast items from his pack, and joined Christy at the sink.
"What's that?" she asked with distaste.
"Protein smoothie mix," he answered with a grin. "Want some?"
"I'll pass, thanks," she said.
As Mac sat at the table, crunching celery sticks dipped in hummus, he thought about the two men up in the cave. Something about the situation bothered him.
"I want to go back up there," he announced.
"To the cave?" asked Christy.
"I want to find out what those men are doing," continued MacGyver.
"Better wait for the Ranger," said Jeanne.
"You said it would take all day for him to ride here from Moose Creek if he is even there, right?" asked Mac. "I don't want to wait that long."
"I'll go with you," offered Randall.
"Sure," Mac accepted.
"I want to get my stuff," said Christy sadly.
"Why don't you and I hike over to Bear Creek together?" asked Jeanne. "You'll feel safer if you aren't alone."
"Oh, that would be great," said Christy eagerly.
"It's settled then," said Jeanne. "You two be careful up there."
An hour and a half later, MacGyver walked behind Randall, one hand on his shoulder. He'd decided to leave Puck back at the cabin. For one thing he didn't want Puck getting hurt, and for another, he didn't have Puck's harness, and though leash-guiding with only a clothesline would do in a pinch, it wasn't what Mac preferred. So he's left Puck shut in the cabin, after warning Randall and Jeanne to put their shoes and shocks out of harm's way.
Randall stopped suddenly.
"This is the best place to cross the river," he remarked.
"Do you see a stick that I can use as a walking staff?" asked MacGyver.
Randall stepped off the path and Mac heard the sound of dry branches cracking. He came back with a long, sturdy branch, which he handed to MacGyver. Mac pulled out his pocketknife and began slicing off the smaller side twigs and peeling rough bark. While he did this, Randall changed his shoes.
"Do you need help or…?" Randall began awkwardly.
"This part is probably easier on my own, actually," replied Mac, extending his cane and feeling for the edge of the trail.
With Randall to find a path through the brush, getting to the river itself turned out to be quite a bit easier than last night. Once again, Mac gritted his teeth against the cold, the slick footing and the tugging water. He was learning to take his time and just keep going. Keeping his balance was by far the most difficult part of the water crossings, because the flowing tugging mass of water that swirled around his shins and knees made his perception of the horizon skew and he leaned heavily on the wooden staff.
He didn't hear Randall pushing through the bushes on the other side of the river, but once he arrived, he discovered that Randall had moved a little of the way up the hill, scouting their path ahead.
Now, he came back, pulling on Mac's elbow as he climbed the bank out of the water. The motion nearly threw Mac off-balance again, and he requested that he be allowed to take Randall's arm instead so he could follow the other man's movement instead of being unexpectedly pulled.
"There is a path up here, somewhere," muttered Randall under his breath. "I haven't been this way for a while," he added apologetically.
It hadn't even occurred to Mac to look for a trail last night in the dark. He had just plunged up the hill. Today, though, the light filtering through the trees seemed mellow and he could make out the shape of the tree trunks through the filmy white scars that covered his eyes. When Randall located the path that snaked up the mountain using switchbacks, he could see the form of the man in front of him and follow him visually, a rare occurrence, and one that he enjoyed.
They chatted as they walked: Randall told more of the backcountry legends that he loved and Mac told about a few of his adventures working for the Phoenix Foundation.
After several switchbacks, when they had climbed quite high, Randall put his hand on Mac's arm to signal for silence. Mac stood still, listening. He guessed that they were quite near the cave, and he could tell they were in one of the open meadows that dotted the side of the hill. Mac turned to look back the way they had come, hoping he could see a bit of the view, but in this he was thwarted. He closed his eyes instead, listening to the sound of empty space and the echoing cry of a hawk gliding down the valley below him.
Randall's footsteps stealthily moved in the direction of the cave, and Mac followed, holding his cane gingerly between his fingertips so as to lightly feel the smallest hint of sticks or brush that could give him away.
Unexpectedly, Randall gave a smothered exclamation and stepped to the right a few paces, kneeling down to look at something he'd found. Mac had already guessed what it was: the mountain lion. In the summer sun, the carcass had already begun to smell and he could hear flies clustering in the area.
"Better write this down for the Ranger," murmured Randall, and his clothes rustled as he pulled out a small notebook.
Mac had a pretty good idea where he stood in relation to the cave, so he slowly started walking that way while Randall was writing in his logbook. About where he expected them to, the trees gave way to a small clearing, and he put out his left hand to touch the rocky side of the cave. He had purposefully approached it from the side, so he was less noticeable, although he discovered that without the darkness in which to hide, he felt exposed and vulnerable. He couldn't see their sightlines, and so had only a guess as to whether he himself was out of sight.
Apart from Randall a few yards behind and to his right, he heard nothing. No rustling, no breathing, no fire crackling. He wondered if the two men could still be unconscious. He listened hard for a full two minutes but heard nothing in the cave.
Slowly, carefully, he stepped up onto the lip of the cave and into its opening. He expected at any moment to hear voices or movement, but even after stepping directly into the opening, he heard only silence in front of him.
Reversing his grip on the cane handle, he used it to trace a wide arc in front of his feet. It hit on something not too hard, and found mostly open space. He stepped forward. The thing his cane tip had encountered was a half-burned log, cooled and covered on one side with powdery charcoal and on the other with bark. He had found the fire.
On either side of the fire, the floor of the cave was empty. He explored further to each side until he found the place where he and Christy had been tied. Then he continued systematically toward the back of the cave.
His forehead connected with a rock on the sloping ceiling, and he winced. Left hand raised as a guard, he continued searching the back of the cave. His cane hit something covered in canvas, and he knelt to examine it. It was not burlap sacks nor was it crates as he had anticipated. It was something lumpy and covered with a grimy canvas tarp. His hands found the lower edge then followed it to the corner where he pulled it back and cautiously touched whatever lay underneath.
"What is it?" asked Randall, coming into the cave himself. He looked over Mac's shoulder and whistled softly.