|
|
|
|
|
|
your group travels with radios or cellular phones so we can find them and get you back to them." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He seemed to want a reply, but his speech had bewildered Abby. "I don't think so," she said hesitantly, trying to keep the quaver from her voice. What was he talking about? He did not seem to be speaking a foreign language, yet she could not understand him at all. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He watched her for a moment. Then he asked coolly, "What aren't you telling me? And how did you know of my connection with Arlen's Kitchens?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Arlen's . . . kitchens?" Arlen was a wonderful cook, but there were no kitchens on the trail. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"The restaurants," he snapped. "My business. You called me Arlen when you woke up, so I know you somehow recognized me." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She said nothing, upset with the gibberish he spoke and by his angry change of mood. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Well, look." His voice sounded aloof. "You can tell me more later. Meantime you can't stay here alone, so you'll have to come with me to my cabin. It's through there." He pointed at the gap between the mountains. "We'll have to walk; I didn't drive. Tomorrow we'll find a way to locate your group. Okay?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Something was dreadfully strange here. She did not understand his comments about the wagon train or Arlen. She did not understand a lot of what he said. And then she remembered her last thoughts before she had fallen unconscious. She had promised the magical essence surrounding the fossilized shells that she would |
|
|
|
|
|