Murdo Girl…Grandpa John

Two days later, Mark along with Arf and Annie headed for the mountains where they would search for Clark’s grandpa. It would take them at least two days to get there depending on how far up the mountain the cabin was and the condition of the road.

Mark had been Brad’s only hired hand for the past ten years and he was happy to do this favor for Brad and his family. He also knew that Arf and Annie would be a big help if the crude map Harvey had drawn turned out to be hard to follow.

Mark had no idea what the topography would be like, so he had a saddle horse riding in the trailer that had sleeping quarters where they could bed down for the night. They could park below the mountain and he would ride the horse to the cabin. Arf and Annie shouldn’t have a problem walking the distance if it was like Harvey had drawn it on the map.

They got to the little town at the foot of the mountain on the afternoon of the second day. Mark bought a few supplies before finding a place to park the truck and trailer.

It was a beautiful fall day. The air was crisp and full of the scent of pine. By the time they got all set up in their makeshift camping site it was starting to get dark. Mark cleared out an area and built a small campfire. After eating, he treated Arf and Annie to some tunes he played on his harmonica.

The plan was to get up at dawn the next day and head up the mountain.

“Well, Arf and Annie, let’s say a prayer that we find Clark’s Grandpa John and he’s happy to see us. I’ve got to remember to call Clark, Butch. I agree with Miss Bessie. He looks more like a Clark than a Butch.”

The next morning Mark, Arf, and Annie got an early start. Mark was feeling fairly certain they were on the right road. They would have to keep a close eye out for the little cabin Harvey had described.

John rose at the usual time and ate his breakfast of fruit and oatmeal. It was a beautiful morning so he decided that after finishing his coffee, he would go fishing in the little stream about a mile away from the cabin.

He had been fishing about an hour when the clouds began to gather. He packed up his gear and headed for the cabin, but the rain came pouring down before he made it very far. In his rush to get back, he stepped on some slippery rocks. His feet flew out from under him and he came down hard on a boulder with a jagged edge. Poor John was lying on the side of the little walking path, bleeding and unconscious. Unfortunately, his old dog, Biff, had stayed at the cabin preferring to nap on the rug inside the door.