“Only very recently. Herriot figured out that part a long time before you did,” Wally said. “The time to follow the wolf is when it seems like you don’t need to anymore.”
Beth was quite ready for this dream or visitation or whatever it was to end. She had simple questions and was tired of the complicated answers.
“He’ll lead you to your grandfather,” Wally said. “He’ll protect you from the predators. There are more predators. More cougars.”
The promise of mountain lions and the sound of a spade penetrating the ground jarred Beth’s sleepy mind. She heard dirt like a waterfall pouring into a container. It was a hollow, wistful sound.
He said, “And I’ll give you one last tip.”
Beth felt this dream-like meeting slipping away beneath her heavy head. “What?”
“Take a bath before you go. Use this dirt I’m digging up for you. Mix it with the creek water. Put the mud on that burn. It’ll wash right off.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
“Nothing’s arbitrary,” Wally said. “No matter what you think you see.”
The second time Beth woke, the sun was higher and the towering shadow of Ash Martin was shading her tired eyes.
“Sleepin’ hard for a gal who’s drunk all the joe,” he said, lifting the empty pot off the charred remains of the fire and shaking it. Beth pushed herself up. Herriot had wandered off, and Beth’s neck was strained. The inside of her thigh felt scorched and raw.
“Wally drank it all,” she said, not expecting him to understand. “I got one sip and a bad burn.”
Ash examined the pot with renewed interest.
“You met Wally?” he asked, and Beth felt her stomach drop.
She looked around for the man she didn’t believe was real. Her hand bumped something on the ground at her side. She picked it up. It was an old coffee can topped with a red plastic lid. She peeled it back. The can held about two cups of dirt.
“You know him? Where is he?”
“Dunno. I didn’t know he was here.”
Beth’s throat was thick and dry. “I guess he just got in last night, then. Uh, how do you know him?”
“He’s an old mountain man. Lived here in the San Juans his whole life.”
“Does he travel with you?”
“Now and then, on his terms.”
Beth’s mind was whirling. “He likes his terms.”
Ash chuckled. “That he does.”
Beth stood and reached for her backpack with her free hand. She was trying to remember the details of their conversation, but the content was already elusive. In the top of her bag, poking out from the unzippered compartment, a hand-drawn line of red ink traversed her neatly folded map, and several protein bars wrapped in silver foil were tucked behind her change of clothes. She fingered the food, and it was no imagination. She thought of the dirt and the mud, and wondered if it would also be real.
“Back in a few,” she said absentmindedly, and she carried her belongings and the coffee can toward the creek, walking stiffly to prevent the denim of her jeans from chafing her inflamed skin. Riding Hastings was top on her list of things she didn’t want to do right now. But she had to get to Burnt Rock.
Ash must have noticed her limp.
“Going after some mud?” he asked.
Beth stopped and turned around. “How is it that two guys so far from civilization seem to know every little thing about me?”
“Just do whatever he told you to do,” Ash said. “Don’t ask me to explain it. Cuts, bug bites, sprains, bruises, heck—broken bones. All I know is it works every time.”
“Magic mud? Maybe you ought to bottle it. Make some extra bucks.”
“It’s not the mud that works. It’s Wally’s digging that does the job. Can’t bottle that.”
26
The men were right about the mud. Hidden by a dense stand of alders, Beth carefully stripped off her jeans. The hot coffee had left a bright red imprint on her thigh that looked a little bit like a hand with long fingers. The shape brought to mind Wally’s unusually lengthy digits, like a pianist’s.
She tossed her jeans onto a rock, then waded into the water that gently lapped its sides. The chill to her toes was knife-like, nerve-severing. She tipped the edge of the coffee can into the clear water and took in enough to turn the dry brown dirt into pasty goo. Water bugs skittered out of her way, and she returned to the bank as she stirred the contents with her fingers.