beehive of the cairn. “Very funny, Simon! You can come out now. Simon?”
No answer.
I shouted louder. “I know you can hear me, Simon. Come out from wherever you are and let’s go, okay? Come on, now. A joke’s a joke, all right? Let’s go.”
I heard nothing but the hollow ring of my own voice pinging off the stone walls.
My first impulse was to leave. But on the off chance that he’d stumbled and hit his head on a rock, I crawled around the interior of the cairn to make sure he wasn’t lying unconscious in the dirt. Starting at the entrance hole, through which a paltry light shone, I made a quick circuit, keeping my right hand on the wall. Then, just to make doubly certain I hadn’t missed anything, I went back around the way I had come and finished by crossing back and forth through the center of the cairn a few times on hands and knees.
On my last shuffle across the center, I did find something. I struck it with my knee and felt it spin against my hand. I picked it up: Simon’s torch. I switched it on and swept the interior of the cairn with the small spot of light. Every inch.
There was no unconscious Simon, no crack in the ground he could have fallen through, no hidden passage through which he could have escaped to the outside. He was simply not there.
I collapsed against the rough stone side of the cairn. “Simon, you bastard, don’t do this to me!” I cursed him and pounded my right hand impotently against the dry earth. “Don’t you do this to me. Don’t you dare do this to me!”
Anger, quick and sharp, seared me. “I’m leaving, Simon!” I yelled. “You hear me? I’m leaving! You can rot here, for all I care!”
With that I struggled back through the narrow passageway and into the outside world. Simon’s jacket lay where I had left it. And his hat. I picked them up and stomped up to the car.
I unlocked the car door, threw the jacket and cap in the back, and slid in behind the wheel. I jammed the key in the ignition, fully intending to drive off. But I hesitated.
Blast! I couldn’t just leave him there. I gazed out over the field toward the hidden glen, expecting to see Simon skipping back to me, shaking with laughter at his brilliant prank. I could almost hear him:
“Really had you going there, Lewis! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
I pulled the key out and swiveled sideways in the driver’s seat with the door open. I settled back to wait.
I woke at half past two to find the late October sun diving toward the hills. The wind had picked up, tossing the bare branches of the nearby trees. Simon had not showed up while I slept, and my patience had long since run out. “This is nuts,” I muttered to myself. “Tough luck, Simon. I’m outta here.”
But, like a good Boy Scout, I decided to check one last time to see if I could find any sign of Simon. Pulling on his jacket, I started down to the glen. Halfway across the field, I saw him: the man with the dogs.
Where he’d come from, I don’t know; he seemed to rise up out of the ground. All at once, there he was, with his three gaunt white hounds straining on their leashes. The dogs saw me the same instant I saw them, and started barking wildly. My first impulse was to run back to the car and drive away. But I stood my ground.
The man stopped a few yards ahead of me. He wore a dark coat and carried a long stick in one hand. In his other he held the leashes of the dogs. And what dogs! Easily the strangest-looking hounds I have ever seen: white, head to tail, but with bright-red ears. They were huge, rawboned beasts, thick through the chest, but long-legged and lean in the hindquarters. The animals appeared to be pulling the man along, and he restraining them, the leads taut in his hand.
“Hello there,” I called to him, bluffing friendliness.
He did not reply. I took a few steps closer. “I’m waiting for my friend,” I explained. The dogs went berserk. In the fading daylight, they seemed to glow, their pale white coats and
No answer.
I shouted louder. “I know you can hear me, Simon. Come out from wherever you are and let’s go, okay? Come on, now. A joke’s a joke, all right? Let’s go.”
I heard nothing but the hollow ring of my own voice pinging off the stone walls.
My first impulse was to leave. But on the off chance that he’d stumbled and hit his head on a rock, I crawled around the interior of the cairn to make sure he wasn’t lying unconscious in the dirt. Starting at the entrance hole, through which a paltry light shone, I made a quick circuit, keeping my right hand on the wall. Then, just to make doubly certain I hadn’t missed anything, I went back around the way I had come and finished by crossing back and forth through the center of the cairn a few times on hands and knees.
On my last shuffle across the center, I did find something. I struck it with my knee and felt it spin against my hand. I picked it up: Simon’s torch. I switched it on and swept the interior of the cairn with the small spot of light. Every inch.
There was no unconscious Simon, no crack in the ground he could have fallen through, no hidden passage through which he could have escaped to the outside. He was simply not there.
I collapsed against the rough stone side of the cairn. “Simon, you bastard, don’t do this to me!” I cursed him and pounded my right hand impotently against the dry earth. “Don’t you do this to me. Don’t you dare do this to me!”
Anger, quick and sharp, seared me. “I’m leaving, Simon!” I yelled. “You hear me? I’m leaving! You can rot here, for all I care!”
With that I struggled back through the narrow passageway and into the outside world. Simon’s jacket lay where I had left it. And his hat. I picked them up and stomped up to the car.
I unlocked the car door, threw the jacket and cap in the back, and slid in behind the wheel. I jammed the key in the ignition, fully intending to drive off. But I hesitated.
Blast! I couldn’t just leave him there. I gazed out over the field toward the hidden glen, expecting to see Simon skipping back to me, shaking with laughter at his brilliant prank. I could almost hear him:
“Really had you going there, Lewis! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
I pulled the key out and swiveled sideways in the driver’s seat with the door open. I settled back to wait.
I woke at half past two to find the late October sun diving toward the hills. The wind had picked up, tossing the bare branches of the nearby trees. Simon had not showed up while I slept, and my patience had long since run out. “This is nuts,” I muttered to myself. “Tough luck, Simon. I’m outta here.”
But, like a good Boy Scout, I decided to check one last time to see if I could find any sign of Simon. Pulling on his jacket, I started down to the glen. Halfway across the field, I saw him: the man with the dogs.
Where he’d come from, I don’t know; he seemed to rise up out of the ground. All at once, there he was, with his three gaunt white hounds straining on their leashes. The dogs saw me the same instant I saw them, and started barking wildly. My first impulse was to run back to the car and drive away. But I stood my ground.
The man stopped a few yards ahead of me. He wore a dark coat and carried a long stick in one hand. In his other he held the leashes of the dogs. And what dogs! Easily the strangest-looking hounds I have ever seen: white, head to tail, but with bright-red ears. They were huge, rawboned beasts, thick through the chest, but long-legged and lean in the hindquarters. The animals appeared to be pulling the man along, and he restraining them, the leads taut in his hand.
“Hello there,” I called to him, bluffing friendliness.
He did not reply. I took a few steps closer. “I’m waiting for my friend,” I explained. The dogs went berserk. In the fading daylight, they seemed to glow, their pale white coats and
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