Richard Mountbatten - Spell of the Beast

"Mr. Sloan… I realize you're a big wheel… in your office, sitting behind your desk, but we're in one hell of a serious situation! It can't be solved by making a phone call… or calling in an assistant. Decisions have to be made here… in terms of life or death. Now, I've seen you make some pretty foolish judgments since yesterday… and I feel if we're going to get off this mountain alive… it'll be up to me to get us off, so from now on I'm the Head Honcho!"

Andy reacted; there was nothing left him now but action. He had to do it… to save what vestige of dignity was left him. His fist came sizzling from right field, a roundhouse blow that telegraphed itself to Buzz who stood alertly ready. The pilot side-stepped the furious attack and countered with a quick left jab. Sloan slumped to the ground, his eyes glazing, but he was not unconscious. He shook his head to clear his vision.

"You bastard!" he spat, a small rivulet of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. The architect rubbed his jaw.

The pilot stood over the fallen man. "Mr. Sloan… I'm sorry I had to do that… but you gave me no other choice. Now, get this straight… We'll have only one person in charge! Me!"

Gayle Sloan had helped her husband to his feet and led him away, unresisting, to the stream, where she had attended to the superficial wound. They were gone a long time; Gayle talked, and Andy listened, morosely. When they had returned, Andy, manfully, told Buzz that he would now do whatever was required of him.

Buzz had organized the camp, taking charge of all food, medicine and arms, directing the erection of shelters, the laying of signal fires, setting up sky-watch schedules and detailing the work that must be done to accomplish these things. Order had emerged from the general chaos that had existed, and the morale of the group was noticeably improved.

The noon meal was soon prepared. Buzz ate, sparingly, silently, remarked politely on the tastiness of the food, took a small bore pistol and moved off up the stream to relieve the Sloans who were on sky-watch at the top of the ridge. She watched him stride away, his lithe, animalistic grace carrying him rapidly out of sight. Grudgingly, she had to admit to herself that he was an attractive, virile man, visceral in the extreme, confident of his ability and seemingly unafraid of anything. She decided one word would describe him. Cocky!

In a few moments Andy and Gayle Sloan came down from the ridge to eat. Joan greeted them and served them the simple fare. Gayle was bubbly and talkative; Andy was glum.

"It was something really exciting, this morning," Gayle spouted, hardly able to contain herself. "We heard some kind of large animal snorting and moving around in the woods… and then… when we were coming back down here we saw this big paw print…! I told Andy it must be a Grizzly Bear… and…"

Andy cut in: "You're just assuming it was a Grizzly… I told you before… there aren't any in this part of the country!"

"Well… I don't know for sure that it was a Grizzly Bear… but that was an awfully big paw print we saw!"

Joan shuddered. "Heavens! I hope you're wrong… Gayle!"

"Of course she's wrong…! All the Grizzlies are way south of here… down in the Yellowstone National Park area!"

Gayle withdrew from the verbal affray. She changed the subject to speculation of how much longer it would be before they would be rescued. Andy confronted her, again, on this subject.

"Our hero isn't going to get us out of here! If we get out… we'll walk out… just like I said at the beginning!"

"O.K… so let's walk!" Gayle flung back. "… But what direction… and how far? I agree with Buzz… We're better off sticking right here with the plane!"

The older woman broke off the conversation by leaving the cooking fire and going to their leanto shelter. Andy soon wandered off to gather firewood, a small ax in his hand.

Joan cleaned the dishes and cooking utensils at the stream and returned to Jim, carrying a bowl of soup and a cup of coffee. She found him awake and lucid. Helping him to a sitting position, she oversaw his meal and made him comfortable. He still seemed to experience a great deal of pain, complaining of terrific pounding pains in his head. He questioned her concerning the seriousness of their situation.

"What does Buzz think?" he asked.

"That we should stay here and wait for search planes."

"Andy…?"

"He thinks we should try to walk out."

"Gayle?"

"She agrees with Buzz."

"… And, what do you think, darling?"

"That we should stay here!" she asserted.

"Andy's off base… I think we should stay, too!"

"I'm glad, Jimmy… that you agree… because you shouldn't be moved… yet, you know."

"Yeah, I think you're right… I'd slow the rest of you down!" he reasoned.

Suddenly, Jim clutched at his head and emitted a deep groan. He laid back on the sleeping bag, his eyes closed, as continuous moans came from his lips. She was frantic.

"Oh, Jim! Jim, darling!" she sobbed in her helplessness.

Oh, God! Please! Please? Help me take care of him!

He was soon asleep, or unconscious. She watched him, closely, for several minutes. Knowing that she could do nothing more for him, she crept from the shelter, making sure that her husband was comfortable and walked to the stream to follow it up towards the ridge where Buzz Henson waited for her.

Joan found the pilot stretched out on a blanket, lazily watching her approach. She had not been on the ridge before; there was a truly breathless view of the surrounding country. She looked around, enthralled.

"It's simply beautiful…" she said, gasping for breath from the steep climb.

"Yes," he agreed. "It's nice… but wild and rugged!"

"… And dangerous…?" she queried. "Gayle said she saw a huge paw print… she seemed to think there might be Grizzly Bears around…"

"I saw them, too! There's a possibility of it… I heard they sometimes remove dangerous bears from Yellowstone… and release them in remote areas… like this," he explained.

"Oh! Heavens! I-I didn't really think…" she stumbled, frightened, now, suddenly.

"There's no need to worry… most wild animals try to avoid humans! They won't bother you… if you leave them alone!" he assured her.

She sat down on a nearby fallen log. She didn't look at him; her gaze was focused on the jumble of ridges, marching off into the north in varying shades of blue, forested and rock-strewn… a virgin wilderness. The sound of a chopping ax came to them in the distance, down below, beyond the small natural meadow where the ruined airplane rested. She decided it had to be Andy making that sound. The ax-blows stopped and the great silence beat in upon her. She had to explain herself.

"Mr. Henson… I-I didn't come up here… t-to make a bargain…! I came to ask you… in God's name… to feel some compassion… sympathy… for another human being… and allow my husband to have those codeine tablets. He needs them…! And… for God's sake… don't ask me… t-to do something… monstrous… and immoral! I just couldn't do it!"

"Why…?" he asked, quietly.

"I'm a married woman… a-and I take my vows seriously."

"If we'd not crashed, and you were safe in the camp you were headed for… would you have gone to bed with your husband's boss… Mr. Andrew Sloan?"

"No!" she snapped. "That's preposterous… unthinkable!"

"A couple of people must have thought of it! I gathered from a conversation… I – ah – overheard that Bigshot Andy had ideas along that line…"

"You must have heard wrong… misconstrued something…"

The pilot smiled. "My hearing's good… and I put two and two together real well!"

"Who was he talking to…?"

"Your husband!" he gloated.