Chapter Thirty-Three
It was not especially difficult to find spare lumber to construct a crude litter on which to carry Hank Hudson. Finding lumber that had not caught fire was slightly more difficult, but not impossible, and after some careful salvaging, we managed the task. Between the two of us, we hauled the burly, unconscious figure to his carriage at the bottom of the hill. The thick pine trees we had parked beside for shade had served the far nobler purpose of shielding the stalwart horses from the brunt of the firestorm. The heavy burlap of the cart’s cover had been scorched in thick swatches where the flames had shot between the trees, but the animals were miraculously unhurt. The mighty steeds stamped their hooves as we came toward them in the semidarkness, but they did not bolt. We had just set Hudson down at the rear of the cart, when Charlie came racing up the road. He was not the Charlie I would have expected.
Having abandoned discretion, he was bounding hard and fast on all fours in full canine form. He held nothing back, raw strength pulsing just beneath his fur with the rhythm of each stride. He slowed as he caught sight of us, padding to a stop and panting heavily beside the cart. His deep brown eyes looked hastily from me to Jackaby. His eyes were the one part of Charlie that seemed constant, however the rest of him transformed.
“If you intend to make yourself useful,” Jackaby said, “you would fare better with a pair of hands.”
Charlie’s furry head dipped down to glance at his own shaggy body. He looked up at me and then back to my employer sheepishly.
“Oh, of course,” said Jackaby. He pulled off his bulky coat and laid it over the hound’s back. Charlie trotted behind the carriage and emerged a moment later, buttoning the coat over his human body. The garment was long on him, but it did not hang as loosely over Charlie’s broad shoulders as it did on Jackaby.
“Thank you, Detective. I apologize. I’m generally more careful to prepare. I just saw the fire, and I did not dare delay . . .” He caught my eye and stammered a little. “I—I am very relieved to find you in one piece.”
“Not all of us, I’m afraid.” Jackaby indicated Hudson.
“Oh no. He looks half-dead.” Charlie’s face paled as he eyed the trapper’s wrist and the blood-soaked bandages.
“Indeed.” Jackaby nodded. “And if we don’t get him some proper attention soon, he’ll be all dead.”
The two of them maneuvered the litter into the back of the trapper’s cart, while I moved aside the most violent instruments cluttering up the carriage. We draped the warm hide over the trapper, and Jackaby climbed back into the driver’s box to take the reins. I agreed to remain in the rear to attend to the trapper, though I felt about as qualified playing nurse as I had felt playing knight.
Charlie opted to run ahead to fetch a change of attire from his cabin while we started the cart down the packed dirt road. He met us at the crossing a few minutes later, clad in a spare set of his policeman’s blues. He climbed into the cart with me, taking a seat on the other side of Hudson. I filled him in on the details of the story he had missed, including Nellie Fuller’s final moments, and he nodded somberly.
“I should have been there to help,” he said when I had finished.
“I’m thankful you were not. The last monster we faced was nearly the end of you, if you recall. You may not remember it as well as I do, but it was you we had to carry through the night last time. I like it better when you’re around at the end of my catastrophes.”