Page 7 of Rocky Ride

The paper with directions on it, also showed the shape of the property and the boundary lines. Twenty-five acres of virgin forest on the side of the mountain.

No idea of the elevation, but the air seemed thinner and icy-crisp.

He trudged a hundred feet through knee-high snow to reach the cabin, then had to take his gloves off to get the key into the lock. At first the lock wouldn’t give. It took fiddling and a bit of trickery to make the key work.

Once I warm up, I’ll make a new list.

The dogs charged inside the cabin and sniffed around. Not dark yet, but dim and shadowy in the shelter of the towering evergreens. Travis figured he had about two hours of daylight to sort everything out before he was plunged into total darkness.

Get wood chopped for the stove. Gas up the generator and get it humming for the lights. Haul in the food before it all froze solid in the truck.

No time to waste.

“Come on, doggies. We have to work as fast as we can. Let’s go find the woodpile. Heat is first.”

Under a lean-to at the back of the cabin he found the wood supply, neatly split and stacked. His uncle had been dead for close to two years, so the wood should be good and dry. It would burn like a charm.

Travis picked up an armload and carried it through the back door into the icy cold cabin. He called over his shoulder to the dogs, “Don’t y’all scare up any bears. Hear me? My rifle is still in the truck.”

Not taking any chances, he whistled for them, and they followed him inside.

Travis chopped kindling using the hatchet in the coal scuttle next to the stove. He laid a fire in the belly of the old cookstove and lit it. Smelled good and caught onto one of the logs right away, but it would be a while before the entire cabin warmed up.

Glancing around at the furniture, the tiny cabin looked comfortable enough. Double bed in the corner covered with quilts. A nightstand and a pine dresser. Sofa and a rocking chair. Bookshelves on one wall. Table and two chairs. Large cooler on the floor.

Tiny bathroom at the back with a chemical toilet. Not too primitive. Uncle Carson liked his creature comforts.

“Generator is next, doggies. Back to the truck to get the gas can. Y’all up for it?”

Max and Sarge ran to the front door in a frenzy. They were a little crazed for their mountain adventure.

Travis was dreading all the trips it would take to the truck to get him settled in. He had to lug all of it inside before he could lay his head down and sleep.

He rubbed his side—healed but still not an old scar—fresh enough to cause him a lot of pain if he over-exerted himself.

“Don’t do anything crazy,” he cautioned himself.

Chapter Three

Tuesday, October 15th.

Black Wolf Mountain. Rocky Mountains.

Buried under a thick layer of quilts, Travis woke up cozy warm. The only part of his body that was cold, was his nose. That told him the air in the cabin was frosty and the stove had gone out while he slept.

He’d slept like a dead log in this old cabin, just him and the dogs. Something he hadn’t been able to do since the day Olivia died.

Sleeping next to the bed on their own doggy beds, Max and Sarge both raised their heads the instant Travis moved.

“Yeah, I’m awake. Want to go outside? We have to get more wood. Should’ve brought in wood for the morning fire last night. Who doesn’t know that? Guess this old man forgot one of the rules of survival.”

One bare foot touched the frigid floor and Travis reached for his thick socks and pulled them on. He tugged on his jeans and shoved his feet into his boots.

Grabbing his parka off the chair where he’d tossed it, he headed for the back door.

“It’s barely light, doggies.” He opened the back door a little, then heard the deep, low growl. Impossible to miss, and not too far from the house.

“Bear at the back. Y’all will have to wait until I grab the wood, then I’ll take you out the front door—on your leashes. Don’t give me whining either.”

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