Chapter Six—Concussion Number Two

The same day, August 16…
          So, there was nothing for it. I had told McConnell that I’d go hunting for Allie Summer and I wouldn’t go back on my word. This is ridiculous…this wilderness is hundreds of square miles…Tolliver could be on his way to River Bend right now…if he kills Kelly, I swear I’ll never stop until if find him and feed his liver to a rat…I rode west from Wickerville steaming a bit, and after about two miles, I stopped. Well, if you’re going to do this, Conners, let’s at least do a little logical thinking…Wickerville was a good 30 miles from River Bend. Would she come this far? If she was just going to do some fishing, then, no, she wouldn’t have to go all the way past Wickerville. There were plenty of trout streams that branched off from the Clearwater River in the mountains, and, for that matter, plenty of independent streams as well. I shook my head. I think I’ll start east of Wickerville, see what I can find… I looked up at those mountains and felt an almost total sense of hopelessness. She’s dead, that’s all there is to it
          But I didn’t know that for sure, of course, and while the task was gargantuan, I had to try. For Allie’s sake. Because I knew she’d do the same for me…
          All of this bouncing back and forth between Kelly Kramer, Allie Summer, and me might have the reader a bit confused. So let me put a little perspective here. I had no way of knowing, of course, that as of this day, August 16, Allie Summer was in perfect health and on her way home. It wasn’t until the next day that she and Ranger had their encounter with the bear, and it wouldn’t be until the 22nd that she did her alley-oop off the cliff. But, folks, this terrain was huge, rugged, massive, and very hard to navigate. I take very good care of my horse because he had taken very good care of me. So I made sure that I didn’t lead him anywhere that he might get hurt. Or, worse yet, that I might get hurt. The point is, I travelled very slowly.
          Having decided to search east of Wickerville instead of west, I headed in that direction and about 10 miles east of Wickerville, Ol’ Paint and I started ascending the hills. I had heard of a place called Muskie Creek, which was supposed to have the best trout fishing in these mountains. I didn’t know exactly where it was, but I’d been told that it wasn’t far below Artist Peak, and I did know where that was. I had no idea if that was where Allie was or if she had even heard of Muskie Creek. But it was a place to start, so that’s where I headed. I could see Artist Peak not far in the distance.
          I camped the first night, and I figured I was probably 15-20 miles from the creek. The country was lovely, but rugged. There were areas where the pines and furs grew thick, and other areas of moderately deep ravines, boulders strewn among brown grass along each side. The recent rains apparently hadn’t been enough to turn the grass green.
          The next morning was a bright, sunny day, and I rode along the side of one such ravine, fearing I was going to have to cross it. I maneuvered Ol’ Paint around a hill, and in the distance, maybe five miles away, and perfectly framed between a “V” in two steep hills closer to me, I saw a lovely waterfall with a stream flowing away from it. This, I knew, was Muskie Creek. That was the direction I went.
          I arrived at the creek about an hour later. It was indeed lovely and bordered by numerous junipers, pines, and even some cottonwoods. There were also a sizable number of boulders tossed here and there. Hmmm…I wonder if Allie is hiding under one of them…I wasn’t going to turn them over to find out, so I did the next best thing. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “Allie! Allie! It’s Rob Conners!”
          To which I heard the response: “Allie…Allie…Allie…Allie… It’s…It’s… It’s…Rob…Rob…Rob… Conners…Conners…Conners…”
          Well, if she were anywhere within 10 miles of my voice, she should have at least heard that echo.
          Where is she?
          The answer to that question is a cliffhanger…

August 22, on a mountain cliff, somewhere near the backside of nowhere
          Allie Summer had been contemplating her options while standing on the cliff shelf talking to Trent Tolliver and his five gang members. She knew she couldn’t go straight ahead; there were six rifles pointed at her. She wouldn’t get five feet before she was blasted into eternity. Going sideways wasn’t an alternative for the same reason. She certainly realized that she might be staring in the face the last few seconds of her life on this earth, and the thought of taking a few of Tolliver’s men with her was also a consideration.
          But there was one more alternative. It wasn’t a good one by any means, but it would extend her life by a few precious seconds. And that might be all she needed.
         So, with six astonished men looking on, Allie Summer did her backflip off the cliff, heading 600 feet straight down to certain death.
          She did a backflip because she thought it would leave her in the position she wanted to be in—leaning forward towards the side of the mountain. Before she was finished with her flip, she had both of her knives in her hands, gripped tightly. As quickly as she could, while rapidly falling, Allie reared back, and rammed both knives into the soft clay of the mountain facing. She was relieved that she wasn’t dealing with sold rock.
          And both knives sank easily into the dirt—too easily. Because the clay was so broken and crusty, Allie’s weight and the inertia of her descent initially kept her plunging at the same rate of speed. She desperately held on, hoping that eventually the knives would find firmer soil and begin to put some brakes to her fall. A couple of times Allie bounced against the wall and almost lost the knives. She tried pushing the toes of her boots against the facing as well, but in that position, the knives almost slipped out of the earth. So she simply grasped the knives and hoped that—very soon—they’d slow down her plunge. She’d never survive hitting the ground at the speed she was now falling.
          Allie closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. The strain on her shoulders was incredible and the wall facing continued to scrape the front of her clothing. One second passed…then an eternity waiting for the knives…the solid, rocky ground beneath got closer and closer…Come on, knives, a little help, please…
          A little over halfway down, the knives began to take hold and slow her down. The clay continued to be very soft and uneven, but the knives were in deep enough to start having some affect. Allie had to keep the blades pressed firmly into the wall lest they slide out at some small undulation. She clutched the handles as tightly as she could so as not to lose her grip, and she was indeed losing speed. Her hopes rose. Maybe….maybe…maybe…
          Then the smaller, throwing knife hit a solid rock and snapped at the hilt. It almost caused Allie to lose her grip on the other knife, but she managed to hold on.
          Now she had only the one knife, a Bowie, in her left hand. She embraced it with both hands.
          Down…down…down she went…slower…slower…slower…the rate of Allie’s descent continued to decelerate. She looked down and saw the ground, less than 100 feet below her. She knew now that she was still going to be sliding down too rapidly and would hit hard. But she might be slowing down enough…
          The knife continued to slice through the soft earth. It bumped a rock and Allie again almost lost hold, but she maintained her grip, and that rock actually reduced the pace of her fall. Allie looked down…50 feet…40…30…too fast…20…10…… The Lady Ranger gritted her teeth again and bent her knees in preparation. She hit solidly, grunted, and fell backwards. Her head struck a boulder…
          Allie saw stars. And then Allie saw nothing…

          Rob Conners had been looking for her for almost a week now, calling her name. Allie had been hearing things, all right, but it wasn’t Conners’ voice; it was an echo. Inside her head. A constant drumbeat, pounding both sides. She wanted to cut her temples open and hope the pounding escaped.
          But that pounding woke her up. Slowly…slowly…she ascended from a dark grey mist, to a lighter grey…it’s raining…Indian drums…war drums…but what are Indians doing inside my head?...
         Allie opened her eyes. She didn’t move, she didn’t want to move. Even shifting her eyes around hurt. But she could see the sky. It was blue, not cloudy, but beginning to turn that soft purple color that harbors the onset of dusk.
          She resumed her examination of her surroundings…she could see a high cliff, and that caused her to shiver. Trent Tolliver pushed me off that cliff… Not exactly, but it amounted to the same thing. But I’m alive! Alive! She took a deep breath, and tears formed in her eyes; one rolled down her temple. Allie Summer had never loved life as much as she loved it at that moment.
          But, the way she was beginning to feel, she almost wished she were dead. She hadn’t moved anything but her eyes yet; she was taking stock of how the rest of her body felt. Her head was pounding with intense pain, and now her eyes wouldn’t focus. Every fiber of her being ached, but she felt an especial throb in her left ankle. Is it broken? She would have to check, of course. Amazingly, she realized that she was still holding the Bowie knife, tightly, in her right fist. She slowly relaxed her hand and tried to relax the rest of her body as well. The back of my head…hurts…very bad… Everything was coming back to her now. She had landed awkwardly, hitting the ground hard with too much weight on her left side. Then she had fallen back. I hit my head…that’s the last thing she remembered. Allie closed her eyes again. Oh, it hurts…it hurts…it hurts…
          Allie lay there with her eyes closed for a good 10 minutes before she tried to move any part of her body. Her father had taught her to try to compartmentalize pain. “Do not ignore the obvious, Summer Rain, and do not deny it,” he told her. “But the pain is only one part of your existence. Concentrate on the other parts as well.” And that’s what Allie was trying to do. First, she lifted her right arm. It hurt, too, but she could move it. Her right leg. Sore, but bearable. Her left leg. She grimaced as severe pain shot through her ankle. Her left arm. It was ok. My head…can I lift my head?... She tried, and gasped in agony. She gently rested her head back down onto the rock.
          She waited another 15 minutes before she tried again.
          Her arms hurt, but nothing unbearable. She positioned her hands flat on the rock, elbows bent, and slowly tried to push herself up to a sitting position. Allie had to keep her eyes closed; the world was spinning around otherwise. She managed to get into a sitting position, but her forehead was lined with sweat and she was breathing hard. Her back was aching tremendously, as was the back of her head. And the pounding inside…She reached gingerly to the back of her head and winced when she touched what she knew was broken skin and dried blood. And the way the world kept going round and round, she knew she had a concussion and probably a pretty acute one.
          But…compartmentalize…Allie then reached down to her left ankle. It was severely swollen, and she doubted very seriously that she could remove the boot. She wasn’t going to try at the moment. At least she didn’t see any protruding bones, so there was no compound fracture. That could have been deadly. The next order of business was to see if she could get to her feet and walk.
          But she did that piecemeal, too. Slowly and cautiously, keeping her left leg as straight as possible, she rolled onto her right side, and with her arms and right leg doing the work, she tried to push herself up onto her feet. It didn’t work the first time. Or the second. Or the third. But the fourth time, Allie managed to get upright, but she was wobbling and knew she’d fall soon without some support. So as quickly as she could manage, she limped over to the facing of the hill she had jumped off of the day before, and let it support her…until the world stopped spinning again. The drums weren’t going away anytime soon; she’d just have to live with that.
          The fact that she’d been able to stumble to the side of the mountain told her that her left leg wasn’t broken; it was probably just sprained. But it still hurt mightily and she wasn’t sure how far, or even if, she’d be able to walk on it. Allie realized she wasn’t out of danger yet. Breathing hard, leaning frontwards against the mountain, she tried to turn her head and look around, hoping to spot some water. What she saw was that she was resting against the face of an escarpment which probably stretched at least five miles to her left--east. Behind her, the terrain was open, and gently sloped downwards into a valley of brown grass and soft, undulating hills. No water that Allie could see. The valley was probably five miles wide and then the land began to rise again to majestic peaks. Allie could see that the valley was open to the east, but ended in a horseshoe configuration to her right--west. Actually, the opposite branch of the horseshoe consisted of lower hills stretching to the distant mountains to the north. However, nearer to her, the base of the horseshoe, while sloping, would be very difficult to climb. It was probably two miles away. But it was the direction Allie decided to go.
          I’ve got to get back to the top of this escarpment…find that cave…find Ranger…find water
          Allie tried to take a step in that direction, but cried out in agony and fell to her hands and knees. Maybe tomorrow
          And then she fell the rest of the way to the ground…and fell asleep…

August 23
          It was cool and dark when Allie awoke again, but upon glancing to the east, she saw the sky getting lighter, thus realized dawn was approaching. Her head was still pounding, but perhaps not quite as badly as the previous day. The rest of her, including her left ankle, were still very sore; if anything, Allie felt sorer than she did the last time she was awake.
          With an effort, she sat up. It was dark to the west—the direction she wanted to go—so it was difficult to see the terrain she’d have to navigate. Again, Allie’s first concern was water. She was already getting very dry and thirsty. She knew she could go several days without food, and she thought she knew her body well enough to know that she would recover from her injuries. But she couldn’t survive very long without water. Thus, it became imperative that she get on the move as quickly as possible.
          Getting to her feet proved to be as difficult and painful as it had been the day before, and once again, she found herself leaning against the facing of the escarpment, breathing hard. Her left ankle was throbbing mercilessly. She looked around for the Bowie knife; it was lying on the rock where she had first woken up. Rather than trying to walk over there, Allie simply got down on her hands and knees and crawled to the knife. She picked it up, and with an effort sliced a four-inch slit down the inside of the boot. She sighed as that relieved some of the pain, but it was still going to be very difficult to walk on. And, again, she wasn’t even sure she could do it.
          It was light enough now that she could make out some shadows to the west. The shelf she had jumped off of was just that—a shelf. The cave she had lived in for a few days entered into a hill that sloped downwards, but then circled around the base of the horseshoe and on towards the mountains to the north. From what Allie could tell at the moment, the hill she was going to have to navigate was, at no point, less than 500 feet high.
          And steep. 45 degrees at its best, almost vertical at its worst. And she’d have to walk about a mile and half to even start the climb because of the escarpment she was facing. Then, once she climbed the hill, it would be another mile and a half—at least—back to the cave. But she could do it. It might take a few days, but Allie knew she could do it. Provided she could find some water.
          At the moment, she saw none.
          So, supporting herself with one hand against the cliff wall, Allie began limping, slowly, towards the hill she would have to ascend. It didn’t help, in the least, that she was walking on broken, rocky terrain, with loose shale and rocks virtually every step. She could put almost no weight on her left leg, and thus it took her over an hour to go 50 yards. And that was with incredible pain. And she was sweating. Losing what little water she had left in her body wouldn’t help her condition, either.
          But then, she got a break. She saw, about 20 yards ahead of her, a long stick of wood, resembling a shepherd’s staff. That would serve as a functional crutch and take the pressure off of her left leg. At least, she hoped so.
          Thus, with a little more determination, Allie made it to the staff within 15 minutes. She stopped to rest. It was getting near mid-morning now, and she was still well over a mile to where she could even remotely hope to start climbing the hill she needed to climb. And she was dry, very dry. And weak.
          Allie picked up a small pebble and stuck it in her mouth. That was another thing her father had taught her—a small pebble, and breathing through the nose, helps reduce moisture loss. That may allay the worst of the dehydration, at least for a little while.
          The Lady Ranger, as sore as she was, wasn’t of a mind to sit and pine the day away. Grabbing her new-found crutch, she let it pull her to her feet. Holding it against her left side, Allie limped off…step by cruel, wretched step, but with a determination to survive that few people could match.
          I’m not dead yet, Trent Tolliver, and you better hope I DO die…

Same day, August 23…
          I didn’t know how much longer I was going to do this—that is, search for Allie Summer. I had already been at it for a week, screaming at barren mountains, almost getting lost myself a few times. It was mid-afternoon, and I decided I would keep searching for the rest of the day. And then tomorrow. And if I didn’t find Allie by tomorrow night, I was going to River Bend. I hated to leave these mountains, not knowing what had happened to her. But I also realized I might never—probably never—know. If Tolliver did kill her, he no doubt left her body to the animals. There wouldn’t be anything left of her, though I might know her simply by her clothes. But I’d have to find the body first.
          Have you ever searched for a pile of clothes in a wilderness of hundreds of square miles? And you’ve probably never been asked a question as dumb as that, either.
          I realized that searching—in these mountains--for a week wasn’t all that long, but…Kelly…I simply didn’t believe that Allie was alive. Or, maybe she had returned, by a roundabout route, to Ranger HQ in Port Station. That was my hope. But my guts told me to get to River Bend to protect the woman I now knew I loved and wanted to marry. Add all that up, and I couldn’t justify roaming around these mountains on what had to be a hopeless quest.
          But I rode on, and when my voice felt like it, I’d shout “Allie! Allie! It’s Rob Conners! Can you hear me?” And I’d feel like a fool for doing it.
          If Trent Tolliver was still in these mountains, I might be screeching my own death cry. But that was a chance I had to take. And I figured McConnell was right about one thing. Trent Tolliver had done his damage and was miles from here. So I really wasn’t worried about him.
          Besides, I was too busy looking for—and hollering to—a pile of clothes.

August 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29……….
          About a week later, Allie Summer was about one-third of the way up the hill she was trying to climb. And almost convinced she’d never make it. Allie was weak, very weak. Weak from lack of water, and getting weaker because of a lack of food and the punishment her body had taken. She’d probably be dead by now, but she’d been able to find a little bit of nourishment, and that kept her going. But time was running out for her.
         After she had found the supporting staff, Allie made a little better time, but she had to stop frequently to rest and to clear her head. The concussion was bad and not only did her vision blur occasionally, but her head swam round and round and round…when that happened, she had to stop and close her eyes and wait for it to pass. She only progressed about half a mile the first two days and still needed to go at least mile to find a place where she could start to ascend. The escarpment simple allowed no possibility for climbing, especially not in Allie’s condition.
          As she got closer to her destination, there was more foliage, and here Allie got lucky. She found an elderberry bush that had maybe a dozen blackberries and they tasted wonderful. They also had some moisture and that helped. And then close by, under a ledge, right next to the escarpment wall, she spotted a very small pool of water. Maybe three mouthfuls. Allie decided to conserve both food and water, so she spent three days at that spot. She’d eat three blackberries a day and drink a mouthful of water. But mainly sleeping and resting. Her ankle throbbed mercilessly and the concussion was still causing her blurred vision and severe headaches. The food, water, and rest kept her alive, and the pounding in her head lessened. But didn’t completely go away.
          When she ran out of food and water, she had to move. It took her two more days—with no food and water--to finally reach a place where she thought she could start ascending the hill. She looked up, and saw a very daunting task. The hill was at a very severe angle. There were trees and plenty of roughage and foliage—but no water. And Allie was…beyond exhausted. Her head still hurt, though the pounding wasn’t as severe and her blurred vision was less frequent. Her left ankle was still a problem; if it wasn’t broken, then it was gravely sprained; she couldn’t put any weight on it at all. Allie had no idea, in her weakened condition, how she was going to make it up that hill. But she knew she was going to try until all her strength gave out.
          So dry…water…I need water…But for all the greenery she saw, there was no water visible. The land was parched now, having fully absorbed the recent rains.
          So, Allie began to drag herself up the hill. And drag is a pretty good word. With both hands, she’d stab the ground in front of her with the staff, and then pull herself up. She could do that about five times before she had to stop and rest. But, foot by foot—literally, foot by foot—Allie struggled up the hill. It was at least 500 feet high, but by the end of Wednesday, she had navigated perhaps 200 of those feet. When nightfall came, she simply collapsed where she was, and wondered if she’d have the strength the next morning to even get up. A little dew would be nice
          But, that wasn’t to be. Indeed, when Allie awoke the next morning—Thursday—the sun was hotter than ever. She had some protection from the trees around her, but the heat was…draining. Allie was beyond sweating; she had no moisture to sweat. Her eyes were dry, her tongue was swollen, her lips were cracked--she wasn’t sure she was going to live out the day. I’ll never make it up this hill…But Allie Summer would never give up until she simply couldn’t move any more.
          And that happened in the late afternoon, helped by a near disaster. Allie struggled another 150 feet, and had just stabbed the earth again with the staff. She started to pull herself up—when the stick broke, snapping in half. Allie fell flat on her face, and even slid down the mountain about ten feet. She lay there on the ground, breathing hard, her hands weakly squeezing the earth, unable to move.
          What little moisture Allie had left in her body made its way to her tear ducts and down her cheeks…
          She never moved again that night.
          She was becoming convinced she’d never move again.

August 29…
          I lied to you, reader. I didn’t head back to River Bend on the 24th. I couldn’t, I just….couldn’t. I really did hate to give up; it’s not in my nature. I had to know, for sure, that Allie was dead. But common sense kept telling me that I probably never would know. Well, we’d know when she never showed up again. But still…I wanted to find her body. Alive, hopefully, but…to leave it open-ended… That didn’t sit right with me. My best hope was that she had returned to the Ranger’s HQ by now.
          But I also couldn’t stay in those mountains forever. It had been almost two weeks now that I had been searching for her, and at some point, I was going to have to cease this near-hopeless quest. So I made up my mind—firmly and decisively this time—that if I didn’t find her today, I would head on to River Bend. I had to be there to protect Kelly. I’d never forgive myself if Tolliver killed her while I was on this wild goose chase in the mountains, trying to find a certain speck of sand on a beach. But, I was going to try for Allie’s sake. One more day.
          I had just about shouted myself hoarse. At noon, I stopped at a creek and made some coffee and ate some jerky. I saw one last hill I’d try; there was a cave backed up against that hill. I’d ride around that area for awhile—mostly aimless as I had done so far—and shout a few more times.
          And listen to the echoes laughing back at me….

          On that morning, August 29, Allie couldn’t get up. She tried, but she simply didn’t have the strength to get to her feet. For awhile, she could crawl on hands and knees; she made about 30 feet that way, then collapsed. She might have gone another 10 feet by sheer will power, but the top of that hill was still nearly 150 feet away. And then how far from there to water? Allie closed her eyes and her mind drifted to a lovely, clear, cold mountain stream…I might as well die thinking of something beautiful
          But then, her eyes flew open. She heard…an angel? …

          “Allie! Allie! This is Rob Conners! Can you hear me? Allie!...”

         Yes, Allie heard him, and she whimpered. “Ro…” She tried to swallow, to get enough strength and moisture in her throat to call out. “Rob,” she gasped. But there’s no way he could have heard her. There’s no way she could have been heard 50 feet away. She struggled to try to get up and move forward. “Rob…Rob…” She crawled a few feet…

          “Allie!...” I sighed, and shook my head. You’re not going to find her, Conners…you’re just not going to find her… I was about a mile west of the cave I had spotted, having wound my way through some trees—not knowing where I was going. But then I stopped. It was useless. And I wasn’t going to waste any more time. I hadn’t the foggiest where I had been searching, but I know where I’m going now. Back to River Bend…

          “Rob…” Allie cried, but again, there was no power in her voice. And he ceased calling her name. “Please, Rob…” She struggled a few more feet…then…no more…”Rob…please…please, don’t go….please….please, don’t go….oh, Rob…Rob….Rob….”
          And there remained yet enough moisture in that dehydrated body for a few more tears.
          Allie could go no further. She lay on her back, softly crying, and softly crying out, “Rob…please…please…don’t…leave me…please…Rob…come…back…back… back………”
          But she knew he wouldn’t. And she knew she had crawled her last inch.
          The Lady Ranger, the best McConnell had, the terror of every outlaw in the territory, opened her eyes. Those eyes of ice. She saw that the tree above her had yellow and green leaves. To Allie, they were beautiful beyond words as they softly swayed in a warm, gentle breeze. She could see the clear blue sky between the waving leaves, and she moved her eyes and watched as a bird flew in, landed on a branch, flittered and fluttered, and then flew away. She closed her eyes, resigned to her fate, content with that final vision. The last thing I saw was a beautiful part of nature….She thought again about that clear, refreshing mountain stream…and the last thing I’ll think about is something else lovely and peaceful….Her father had taught her also that there were times to clear her thoughts, to think no evil, to be pure in heart and mind…and that is what Allie was going to do before she died. No Trent Tolliver, no Two of Clubs Grigsby, no Nicholas Backstrom. Just…beauty and purity….
          A soft smile came upon Allie’s lips. No more pain. Nothing but radiance and splendor….she began to drift into a sleep from which she knew she’d never awaken…