He tried to walk uphill, but his balance really had gotten bad. He slid the tape roll over a finger and crawled on all fours for a few lengths. There he made a second tape wrapping. So it went, crawl a little, wrap tape, with his blood more narcotic than plasma. Five wraps, enough to determine where he had gone. Hunters would come across this slope, and they might wonder at the tapings. Anyone not knowing would assume some peculiar survey or boundary marking and forget it. Old Dog hung his tape roll on a twig and struggled on.
The helicopter had dropped him near midday he supposed. The sun had moved a long way before he broke from the trees. His estimate of an hour had been wide of the mark, but he had rested a lot.
Ahead, not too far either, he saw just what he wanted. An upheaval had raised a stone into a natural backrest, and disturbed earth in front of the stone offered a comfortable seat. Old Dog worked his painful way toward it.
Out of the timber, a crisp breeze dried the dank sweat physical effort or perhaps pain had induced. Old Dog felt a little better and twisted into his high country overlook with a sense of relieved accomplishment.
He had made it. By all the holies, he had. Bright sun had warmed the stone, and its heat on his back was comforting. Old Dog let his breathing slow and looked across what he intended to be his last view of native earth.
The sight was truly magnificent. Craggy peaks rose and fell in splendid disorder. Far below, the creek shown in the sun, shifting from liquid silver to a river of gold as cotton clouds drifted across. Aspen and willow quaked in fresh spring foliage, punctuated by the thrust of taller spruce and trees Old Dog could not name.
He saw a cow moose in a distant creek meadow, the huge creature as natural to the scene as the banked snowfields filling every shadowed hollow. Small wildflowers grew among the green of lichened mountain meadows, and Old Dog felt his pants wetting through from the damp of the not really dry earth he sat on. The ground was still frozen only inches below the surface. This early in the season, snow had barely left the exposed slopes, but Alaskan spring could come in a rush, and it had this year.
A huge crow (was it a raven?) landed nearby and stared at him with fierce eyes. Interesting, he thought In Pennsylvania, a crow's eyes were wary. These birds could be brave. They had not faced man's guns and poisons.
A vicious spasm wracked his chest. Sweat popped on his lips, and his vision blurred. The worst finally passed, but enough pain remained to destroy the pleasure of nature observation.
Old Dog heard himself sigh. He was here, and it was time to get on with what he had come to do.
Freedom from all the gut-rotting, brain-deadening pain. How grand it would be. He smiled grimly inside. Anyone who believed he had chosen the easy way should think again. No hospital would allow the physical agonies he had sweat through, but in the end, he would have the better of it because it would all stop for him. No hoses, no pitying faces, no more pain . . . no more anything.
It would be ludicrous to botch the job at this stage. Old Dog chose to be methodical and deliberate.
He arranged his bottles carefully. First, a healthy slug of Mylanta to settle his stomach (what there was left of it). Then, a few moments relaxation to let the antacid work.
His thoughts wandered. Did God wait for him just beyond awareness? He wished mightily that it could be so. Most of the people he had cared about were already there. Would there really be a heaven with old friends waiting? He had never been able to believe it, but maybe, maybe . . . how marvelous that would be.
Old Dog swallowed seltzer water. Nothing had tasted right for a month, and the bubbly effervescence was no exception. The drink was not for pleasure. Seltzer speeded the action of the important stuff he would take and alcohol would almost double the effectiveness of his drugs. To an abstainer, the impact of booze would undoubtedly be dramatic. He hoped so.
It was important to consume his lethal drugs rapidly. Pill takers sometimes fell asleep before they managed to gulp sufficient numbers and woke up damaged and unsuccessful. Doc Klein's awesomely potent elixir made that error improbable.
Old Dog seized a bottle in each hand. Whiskey in one, Klein's drug mix in the other. He sipped at the alcohol. Vile! He would use the drugs to soften the whiskey's burn. That surely was a switch.
He began the sequence. Whiskey burned his gut like liquid fire—took his breath away. Drugs, a large swallow, all his sensitive throat could manage. Then a gentle pull at the bubbly water.
It was going well. It would work. Old Dog sought anything overlooked. Loosen and open his clothing, that was one. He interrupted his rhythm to unbutton coat, vest, and shirt. If he somehow lingered, the cold night air would finish him. Dog worked at his drinking. He studied the drug bottle. It was way down, but he continued until there was no more. "Thank you, Doc." Old Dog placed the empty aside.
The half pint was also well down, but he feared to attempt finishing the whiskey. It would not do to puke everything up. He had read about that happening. Sitting propped up helped prevent that disaster.
Now he could think the good thoughts he had planned on, and he surely had them. Life had been rich in pleasure and friendships. Bat Stailey touched the fringe of awareness, but Old Dog passed on. Surprisingly, a recent incident began filling his mind. It was a nice one to consider.
He had shared his collected photographs with Stool, photos he had not examined in years. Glancing through he saw himself change from the boy to the warrior to the youthful easyrider with long hair and reckless eyes. Stool might use a few of the photos in his book. The rest would be Timmy's to keep.
One picture, a glossy 8 x 10, stood out. Stool howled in delight, and Old Dog's sick lungs tolerated hoarse laughter at a memory so clearly recorded.
Larry asked, "What in heck is it, Adam?"
"I don't know if I should show it to you, brother. You might feel like your life had been wasted."
"I doubt it."
Old Dog handed the photo to Timmy. "You decide if your Dad should see this, Tim."
The boy looked, and his face flamed. He said, "Wow, Uncle Dog."
"Those were the 1960s, Tim. They could be wonderful times."
Larry demanded, "Let me see that, Tim."
The father studied the photo. His smile broadening, "Well, that is some picture, Adam. It's plain you were enjoying yourself."
Stool said, "It'll be in the book, Old Dog. That's easyriding at its best."
Old Dog again took the photo. "Send Tim a copy, Stool. This would be a good way to remember his uncle Dog instead of the half-alive skeleton he's looking at."
The photograph really was something. Old Dog wished he could remember who had snapped it.
There he was, less than thirty years old. He was astride an old panhead 74-cubic-inch Harley. He remembered the bike well. The photo was a side view. His hair blew back in the wind, and there were giant redwoods beyond the road he traveled.
He rode buck naked, wearing only his jump boots. But, he was not alone. Seated on the gas tank facing him, her head thrown back in laughter, was an equally naked girl of striking proportions. Her golden hair blowing straight in the wind obscured her bright features, and behind him, tight to his back on the old style buddy seat, perched another naked lady. She, too, laughed at the camera with all the tanned, taut-skinned, shining happiness of carefree youth.
It was an exciting photograph. A record of young freedom, long gone, perhaps barely remembered. How sweet it had all been.
Old Dog felt the pain easing throughout his system. His hands and feet enjoyed a curious numbness, as if they were going to sleep.
He looked across the magnificence of the arctic wilderness, but his mind swung again to the glorious day when he had ridden free with the beautiful girls aboard.
He could feel the wind whipping his hair, and the warm California air caressing his tanned nakedness. The road was dry, smooth, and winding enough to enjoy. The smell of redwood forest grew in his nostrils, and the girls' laughter mingled with the Harley-Davidson's powerfu
l rumble. Ahead, the tree-shadowed blacktop opened to the sandy beach where they camped, and he saw brothers waiting near their machines, their smiles wide, fingers raised in greeting peace signs.
He came in fast, listening to the squeals of delight. His right foot came down, and he swung the big motorcycle to a sand-spraying sliding stop.
And . . . Old Dog Carlisle's mind slipped gently into its eternal sleep.
Epilogue
Old Dog's Alaskan letters arrived in Perry County together.
Larry's contained only a hand-drawn map. X marked the spot. Old Dog had delayed sending it until he was sure he could really be there.
Larry tried to imagine his brother lying at peace in the wilderness he so admired. He guessed he could not really share Old Dog's satisfaction. Larry Carlisle's resting place would be with other Carlisle's at home in Perry County, but Old Dog's had been a wild, free roaming spirit that for most had been difficult to understand.
Larry sighed and placed Old Dog's sketch in his lockbox among the living wills and powers of attorney—all of the trappings it took nowadays just to die with a trace of human dignity.
Timmy's Letter was only a note. Except for his signature, Old Dog always printed. The note said:
The End
Tim Carlisle's story continues in Roy Chandler's The Making of Blackwater Jack, now available from Amazon.
About Roy Chandler
Roy F. Chandler retired following a twenty year U.S. Army career. Mr. Chandler then taught secondary school for seven years before becoming a full-time author of more than sixty books and countless magazine articles. Since 1969, he has written thirty-four published novels (all available in Kindle editions) and as many nonfiction books on topics such as sniping, hunting, architecture, and antiques.
Now 89 years of age, Rocky Chandler remains active and still rides his Harley-Davidson.
He divides his time among Nokomis, FL, St Mary's City, MD, and Perry County, PA.
Rocky Chandler: Author, Educator, Soldier, Patriot.
Books by Roy Chandler
Reading order of fiction books in the Perry County Series
Friend Seeker
The Warrior
Arrowmaker
The Black Rifle
Fort Robinson
Ironhawk
Song of Blue Moccasin
Tim Murphy, Rifleman
Hawk's Feather
Shatto
Chip Shatto
Shatto's Law (Ted's Story)
The Boss's Boy
Tiff's Game
Cronies
The Didactor
The Perry Countian
The Sweet Taste
Old Dog
Gray's Talent
Ramsey
Shooter Galloway
Shatto's Way
All Books By Publication Date
All About a Foot Soldier, 1965 (A colorful book for children)
History of Early Perry County Guns and Gunsmiths (With Donald L. Mitchell), 1969
A History of Perry County Railroads, 1970
Alaskan Hunter: a book about big game hunting, 1972
Kentucky Rifle Patchboxes and Barrel Marks, 1972
Tales of Perry County, 1973
Arrowmaker, 1974
Hunting in Perry County, 1974
Antiques of Perry County, 1976
The Black Rifle, 1976
Homes, Barns and Outbuildings of Perry County, 1978
Shatto, 1979
The Perry County Flavor, 1980
Arms Makers of Eastern Pennsylvania, 1981
The Didactor, 1981
Fort Robinson: A novel of Perry County Pennsylvania, the years 1750-63, 1981
Friend Seeker: A novel of Perry County PA, 1982
Gunsmiths of Eastern Pennsylvania, 1982
Perry County in Pen & Ink, 1983
Shatto's Way: A novel of Perry County, Pa, 1984
Chip Shatto: A novel of Perry County Pennsylvania, the years 1863-6, 1984
Pennsylvania Gunmakers (a collection), 1984
Firefighters of Perry County, 1985
The Warrior, A novel of the frontier, 1721-1764, 1985
Perry County Sketchbook (And Katherine R. Chandler), 1986
A 30-foot, $6,000 Cruising Catamaran, 1987
The Gun of Joseph Smith (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1987
The Perry Countian, 1987
Hawk's Feather - An Adventure Story, 1988
Ted's Story, 1988
Alcatraz: The Hardest Years 1934-1938 (With Erville F. Chandler), 1989
Cronies, 1989
Song of Blue Moccasin, 1989
Chugger's Hunt, 1990
The Sweet Taste, 1990
Tiff's Game: A work of fiction, 1991
Tuck Morgan, Plainsman (Vol. 2) (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1991
Death From Afar I (And Norman A. Chandler), 1992
Kentucky Rifle Patchboxes, All New Volume 2, 1992
Behold the Long Rifle, 1993
Death From Afar II: Marine Corps Sniping (And Norman A. Chandler), 1993
Old Dog, 1993
Tim Murphy, Rifleman: A novel of Perry County, Pa. 1754-1840, 1993
Choose the Right Gun, 1994
Death From Afar Vol. III: The Black Book (And Norman A. Chandler), 1994
The Kentucky Pistol, 1994
Ramsey: A novel of Perry County Pennsylvania, 1994
Gray's Talent, 1995
Hunting Alaska, 1995
Last Black Book, 1995
Dark Shadow (The Red book series), 1996
Death From Afar IV (And Norman A. Chandler, 1996
Morgan's Park (Vol. 3) (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1997
White Feather: Carlos Hathcock USMC scout sniper (And Norman A. Chandler), 1997
Death From Afar V (And Norman A. Chandler), 1998
Ironhawk: A frontier novel of Perry County Pennsylvania 1759-1765, 1999
Sniper One, 2000
One Shot Brotherhood (And Norman A. Chandler), 2001
Shooter Galloway, 2004
The Hunter's Alaska, 2005
The Boss's Boy, 2007
Pardners, 2009
Hawk's Revenge, 2010
Blackwater Jack, 2014
Antique Guns (included above)
History of Early Perry County Guns and Gunsmiths (With Donald L. Mitchell), 1969
Kentucky Rifle Patchboxes and Barrel Marks, 1972
Arms Makers of Eastern Pennsylvania, 1981
Gunsmiths of Eastern Pennsylvania, 1982
Pennsylvania Gunmakers (a collection), 1984
Kentucky Rifle Patchboxes All New Volume 2, 1992
Behold the Long Rifle, 1993
The Kentucky Pistol, 1994
Hunting
Alaskan Hunter: a book about big game hunting, 1972
Choose the Right Gun, 1994
Hunting Alaska, 1995
The Hunter's Alaska, 2005
Sniper Series
Death From Afar I (And Norman A. Chandler), 1992
Death From Afar II: Marine Corps Sniping (And Norman A. Chandler), 1993
Death From Afar III: The Black Book (And Norman A. Chandler), 1994
Death From Afar IV (And Norman A. Chandler), 1996
White Feather: Carlos Hathcock USMC Scout Sniper (And Norman A. Chandler), 1997
Death From Afar V (And Norman A. Chandler), 1998
Sniper One, 2000
One Shot Brotherhood (And Norman A. Chandler), 2001
Gun of Joseph Smith Trilogy (Young Adult)
Gun of Joseph Smith, The (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1987
Tuck Morgan, Plainsman (Vol. 2) (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1991
Morgan's Park (Vol. 3) (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1997
Children's Books
All About a Foot Soldier, 1965
ding books on Archive.