Star Ship on Saddle Mountain Read Free

they were, one or more, they
were watching him.
Putting two fingers in his mouth, Charlie made a
low whistle in Navajo's direction. With an uncertain, partial
whinny, the horse promptly trotted over to him. Charlie patted
Navajo reassuringly.
"It's okay, Nav. There's nobody around but us.
That's the boy."
But Navajo didn't saunter off to graze as before.
He stood very close to Charlie, head high and alert, and Charlie
knew
the old horse reflected his own uneasiness. Turning
abruptly to the water again, Charlie was a little annoyed at
himself as he wound up for the toss, swinging the coiled line above
his head like a lariat. Then he let go. The heavy lead sinker shot
through the air, carrying the dough-blobbed hooks far offshore,
splashing down and sinking rapidly where the water was deep and
cold. That's where the big catfish would be, deep down on the
bottom.
Turning back, Charlie spread out the old army
blanket on the grassy patch near his flat rock. Then he pulled off
the high-heeled riding boot with the twinkling jingle of the
star-wheeled spur as he got it off. Slapping it hard with his palm,
Charlie got the last grains of sand out, which had been scooped up
into the boot as he knelt by the dough- mixing flat rock. But even
as he pounded the upturned boot his hand stopped in mid air.
With the sun long gone down, the deepening twilight
was swiftly changing into black night. But there—off in the
distance. Between the twin peaks—the peaks of Saddle Mountain, as
Charlie had always known them. They were supposed to be— sure, they
had to be right there, opposite the flat rock. Besides, that
couldn't have been any light over there. Those two mountains were
just jagged rock, copper- colored from the heavy iron ore deposits
in them, just plain brown rock that stuck right up out of the flat
surrounding desert. You could walk right up to where the
chocolate-colored rock of the mountain came up out of the desert,
and touch them. He had done it many times.
    But this was the usual spot, he
was sure, the regular spot by the lake. Here—right here was the
same old flat rock he'd always used, where he mixed the catfish
dough and cut up other bait a hundred times. Charlie frowned,
puzzled more than ever as he looked about the surrounding
countryside and lake shore for other identifying marks. It was all
the same. But Saddle Mountain—the twin peaks? They couldn't have
changed overnight? And yet, as he stared at them now, they were
just one massive flat-topped mountain, level straight across. The
"saddle" space, the scooped out curve between them, was gone ! It was filled in.
And even as he stared again at the straight, smooth line, the solid
fill-in from peak to peak, Charlie thought he saw again that
peculiar dull glint of light. It came from right on the fill-in of
the mountain, still silhouetted against the fading western sky. But
then ... he sure must be mistaken, Charlie thought. Just his eyes
playing tricks. Something like a daytime mirage when the sun got
you.
Pulling the boot back on, Charlie stood up, working
his foot back down into it. Darkness was dimming even the craggy
skyline now, on Saddle Mountain. Darkness was everywhere about him,
great clouds of night that covered everything, chilling him with
something more than just the river coolness. Night had fallen. The
sharp, nervous chirping of the lakeshore insects, getting louder
and louder, gave Charlie the jitters for the first time. Navajo
stood very still, and close beside him.
As he looked back across the still lake waters,
once again to the silent blackness that was Saddle Mountain,
Charlie shivered inwardly. At every whispery crackle of the tall
reeds spearing
up out of the water his blood pounded faster. He
jumped suddenly—then breathed deeply in relief. The big splash near
inshore had just been a big carp jumping clear of the water. But
despite his momentary relaxing, Charlie couldn't escape the eery
feeling of the mysterious eyes he felt sure were upon him