Chapter 7
THERE WAS A TREMBLE IN my fingers I couldn't at the moment control. I sat in the shade of a boulder and got a tiny greaswood fire going. I needed food and coffee. There was nausea in my stomach. All I could see was Geri's nude body, her magnificent breasts, and the little pin-pricks in their softness where she had been tortured with the point of a knife. There were burns, as well, and the bruises of clutching hands.
Thinking about it, the sadistic inhumanity of it, anger turned into a compulsive thing that shook me in its intensity.
The only ointment to the wound was the fact that one of them would no longer terrorize any women. He was beaten back into the dust from which he had sprung.
If only I could have found her clothes. Piling those rocks, against her bare flesh I was draining my coffee cup when I saw the dog. Or was it a wolf? Wolf or dog, it was the same animal that had bared its fangs to me that night in the desert.
It came down the canyon at a slow trot, sniffing the trail. Near the spot where the shale slide had buried Zeke it seemed momentarily confused. It ran back and forth, sniffing the ground, back-tracked, finally climbed partially up the shale pile.
"That damned wolf knows!" I said to myself.
I picked up the rifle. I am not a dog killer. In fact I love dogs. But this wasn't an ordinary dog. The more I looked at the animal the more I was convinced that it was a wolf. Why not? They were desert rats. Wouldn't it be plausible that they had killed a mother wolf, or trapped one, and taken one of her cubs to raise?
It had to be a wolf. It's long, rangy body, the thick neck, attested to that. It was a killer. I carefully raised the rifle, drew a bead on it so the bullet would strike just behind its front leg.
Even with my finger tightening on the trigger, something seemed to bid me wait.
I had to find Zack Collins.
Geri's last words were an entreaty to find Zack before he found the old Maricopa. Just what did she mean?
The dog-or the wolf-might lead me to Zack Collins. It would be easier to trail the animal than the man.
But if the beast smelled me-Keep your distance, some little voice cautioned.
The animal still paced up and down the shale pile. Once it dug its nose into a loose crevice, scratched in the shale with its front paws, finally withdrew.
I waited, repacking my gear.
Now the animal led off toward the head of the canyon. I took one last look at the cairn of rocks that enclosed Geri Lopez' body, and started after the animal.
Somehow I almost hoped the beast would turn down canyon and sniff out Geri's grave. It would have given me a good excuse to kill it.
Some day, I said solemnly, I would come back. I would mount a cross atop this cairn of rocks, and a marker: Geri Lopez Geri Lopez, Baby Snatcher? No, merely her name. Or Geri Lopez, Woman. She had been all of that-and more.
A strange neurosis seemed to grip me as I traded the animal. Perhaps it was fear, or a natural aftermath of the hectic action of the day.
Zack Collins was hot on a trail. And me on his trail.
"Why get so concerned about an old Indian?" I tried to rationalize. "Perhaps this old Maricopa is quite able to fend for himself."
But the fear persisted. It was augmented by the things I had seen.
The dog kept up a steady jog-trot up the canyon. It would stop to sniff at something occasionally, but always it resumed its pace, head low to the ground.
The fact that the dog was here in the canyon in itself was unusual. Why hadn't Zack kept it on leash?
"He has no further use of the animal," I rationalized. "He definitely knows where he is going, and what he is facing."
To save herself, Geri Lopez had revealed to them that she was looking for an old Maricopa with a mutilated hand. Had she also told them about the kidnapping? Evidently she had-at least to a degree. Once the idea was implanted in their minds, they had tortured the truth from her.
"Zack Collins knows who the old Indian is!" I said to myself. "He knows where he lives, and he has no further need of the dog tonight. So he sent it back into the canyon to contact Zeke."
The trail led on.
And the fear grew.
When at last the animal left the canyon floor, and started to climb toward the rim, I knew where Zack Collins would be.
The Maricopa farmers were out there on the tableland, atop the Salt Creek gorge.
They had their small ranches there, their sheep herds.
Nan Goodwin was there too.
Suddenly I was seeing Geri Lopez' nude form, the burns, the knife wounds-only the body was that of Nan.
I started the climb to the rim, fear eating at me.
I lost sight of the dog now, but knew that he was headed for the top.
When I crawled up to the rimrock at last, I evidently had gained on him. He had smelled me. He was facing me, not ten feet distant, fangs bared, growling deeply and challenging my progress. I knew one thing at that moment: I had to kill this vicious animal. But if possible with my gun as a club, so as not to risk the danger of a shot being heard.
On the open desert, a shot can be heard for miles. The Maricopa community was possibly a half mile distant, to the South. If Zack Collins had reached there, awaiting his time to contact the old Indian, I surely didn't wish to alert him to the fact that he was being followed.
"Too bad," I said to the snarling animal, "But you're trained to kill, that's all you know."
I stooped, picked up a rock and threw it at him. He didn't run. Instead, he sprang, leaping forward and upward in a burst of power that took him off the ground right at my throat. It caught me completely by surprise.
I didn't have time to swing. I merely threw up the rifle barrel to shield my body and face, and we went down. He was a big fellow, weighing well over a hundred pounds. The smell of him was a stench in my nostrils. Those fangs worked for my throat.
I kicked free, clubbed with the gun. He circled, just out of reach, then leaped again. I sidestepped this time and swung the gun hard. The barrel caught him across the back, he went down. Only to turn and charge again.
I got too close this time, felt his fangs nip my right forearm.
Hurriedly I backed away from him, realizing last a brutal truth: I'd never be able to club him to death without getting seriously hurt myself. It was like walking into a buzz saw.
He sprang again and I pulled up the rifle, almost touching his midriff with the end of the barrel. I squeezed the trigger and he seemed to stop in mid-air. The growl in his throat was broken off, and he crumpled. I waited, ready for a second shot. But it wasn't needed.
I was breathing hard, realizing that had I been un armed the brute would have killed me.
I looked at my arm. There was a trickle of blood from a tear in the flesh. Nothing to worry about, unless the brute had had rabies. I didn't think he did. He was merely a trained killer, and he was doing his job.
I poked at the carcass with the rifle barrel. The bullet had gone in behind his front leg and torn through his heart. He wasn't a dog, I was certain of that now. He was a prairie wolf.
That made me feel much better.
I headed toward the Maricopa community. Suddenly I had rubber legs, wondering what I would find there.
I could see Ben's face, incredulous. "Don't give me that, Steve. You sound like a cops and robbers movie!"
Perhaps I would sound even worse. But I had proof, when I took Ben down into the canyon. He might need a bulldozer to uncover Zeke Collins. But Geri Lopez' grave was right there, for all to see. And Jane Trovillion was back there on the sheep ranch near the rim. The Collins' shack was there, too.
And Nan Goodwin, living with her aged grandfather. Fear was constricting my breathing now. The desert again, the empty land, soft and mellow in the afterglow of dusk, but vicious and hard under the burning sun.
Suddenly there was a rustle of movement to my right. Sheep, restless at the approach of a stranger. I saw the chaparral-stick corral. Further to the left was a low 'dobe building, evidently a human dwelling.
I heard the scream even as I rounded the corral, walking slowly to keep the sheep from being frightened.
It was a woman's scream-or that of a girl. It had a tremor in it that was high terror.
I didn't knock. I pushed through the door, rifle at the ready, and pulled up perfectly still.
There was a kerosene wick lamp burning on a small kitchen table draped with a gay cloth. There was a wood-burning cook-stove, a wash basin, several chairs, all in my line of vision. And a door leading to a second room.
Nan Goodwin stood facing me near this door, held by a man's arm hard about her slim waist. The man was taller than she, I could see his bearded face and his lank black hair, above hers. He held her with one hand and the other had a knife, the blade at her throat.
"Drop the rifle-and don't move!" Zack Collins said.
He looked like Zeke, a few years older. He had the same sharp face, tall lean frame and sharp eyes.
I stood there, a graven image. I saw the terror in Nan's eyes as she stared at me. There was a pleading in them-perhaps a pleading not to do anything rash. The knife blade was at her jugular vein.
I saw something else in this mad tableau in a dimly-lighted room, the neat kitchen in this Maricopa home. A rude, tearing hand had ripped downward on her blouse, tearing it off her body. The garment hung by its sleeves. On the floor was a wisp of cloth that was her bra.
Nan's golden breasts were bare. I saw the blood-reddened scratch, starting at the hollow of her throat, where his nails had raked. And suddenly I was thinking of Jane Trovillion. His fingers had raked down with her, as well, and she would carry the scar to her grave. And only a sheep dog had saved her.
Maybe at the moment I was a sheep dog. But I couldn't move a muscle, with that wicked looking knife so near Nan's throat.
"Reckon you're that feller, Steve Hille," Collins said.
I didn't answer.
"Ye got a pretty hard head!" he said, and laughed raucously.
"I've got something else," I said, and grinned evily. His smirk deepened. "You got nothing'-"
I had to rationalize with something, to stop him. I said the first thing that came into my mind-anything to arrest him.
"I've got your brother Zeke, deep in the canyon," I said.
It wasn't entirely an untruth. Zeke was deep in the canyon, all right, would stay there forever. "You're lyin', Hille!"
I kept my voice calm. "You think so? You staked him out near the Lopez woman, Zack. Your wolf dog came down into the canyon, and it was easy to see the trap set for me-"
His eyes widened. He was thinking it over. "You're still lyin', Hille. If you tricked Zeke, you'd have the Lopez woman with you-"
I tried to shake loose from the terror that was causing a tremble in my hands. This was a battle of wits, and it meant death for the loser.
"The Lopez woman was too weak to make it," I said. "You know why, too. You and Zeke tortured her, starting back in the cabin. You stole her clothes and her boots."
He was thinking hard. He wasn't stupid, by any means. But one thing never changed: the knife at Nan's throat.
The terror in her eyes didn't lessen, either. I could see the hysteria that gripped her, the battle she was making. She was powerless to move. I couldn't take the chance at a move, either. He might be bluffing, and then again he might not. His chuckle grated at me.
"That was a lucky night for me an' Zeke, when that Lopez dame stumbled up to the shack. She was a cute one, she was. Lyin' all the time. Reckoned she had somethin' big in diet pretty head of hers, an' at last we got her talkin'."
"She might have talked because you tortured her, but she told you nothing, Zack!"
"Didn't she?"
I didn't answer. Suddenly I was wondering just how much he knew. Possibly I could bluff some more, at least get Nan a stay of execution, get that sharp knife lowered from her jugular.
"If I were you I wouldn't hurt Nan," I said slowly. "Because if you do, you're destroying your ace in the hole."
His grin widened.
"You ain't tellin' me nothin', Hille. She's that McNaughton baby, all growed up real pretty, nothin' will change that-"
"Better take the knife off her throat, then. For I'm coming after you, and she might get hurt. You can't put the knife in her throat, for if you do, she won't be worth a thin dime to you."
He was thinking that over, whether he liked it or not.
"Nan's real father has about forty oil wells, plus more money than you can count," I went on, building the picture. "If you play the cards right now, if we play the cards right-"
The knife never moved. But there was renewed greed in his eyes.
"You can't do this thing yourself, Zack," I said. "You're not big enough, for one thing.
"Zeke and me'll do it!"
I played my big card.
"Zeke isn't here any more. He's dead."
His eyes twitched, hardened.
"You're bluffin', Hille!"
"Zeke is dead. So's the wolf."
I moved my arm, pulled back the torn sleeve. He saw the wound, and the coagulated blood. He was really thinking now.
"Geri Lopez tried to work this deal, and didn't quite make it," I went on pressing my point. "She was a clever, big city gal, Collins. But she didn't make it. Do you think you can make it all alone from here to the time you pick up the ransom money?"
He never answered. But the knife was still there.
"Zeke tried to kill me," I said. "He was a poor shot, and his slug killed the woman. I buried her back in the canyon, near that big boulder where you staked her out. You can walk down with me and see for yourself."
"Zeke'll come in that door, any minute now!"
"Zeke will never come through that door, Zack. When he shot the Lopez woman, lying under that rotten wall, the shale let loose up above and come down on him, tons of it. It buried him, gun and all. I can prove that, too."
The lie didn't hurt too much, considering the circumstances.
His brow was furrowed in thought now. There were beads of sweat forming on his dirty skin. But still he held the girl-and the knife.
"The girl is worth a cool million," I taunted. "Think you can collect it alone, Zack?"
He had no answer.
I saw something else now, a dim movement in the shadows of the adjoining room. It was dark in this room, and I could see only a few feet beyond the doorway. But evidently someone-or something was on the floor there.
"Come on, Zack, make up your mind!"
"I'm the boss, Hille!" he said in anger. "Don't forget it!"
But even the anger in his voice had a new timbre to it-indecision, perhaps.
"McNaughton lives in lower California," I went on, baiting him. "He won't believe this tale unless he is approached by the right people, in the proper way. Do you have a smart criminal lawyer you can go to? I don't believe you have."
I'm waitin' for Zeke to come through that door!"
"Let's go down into the canyon," I insisted. "Then you can see for yourself."
I was still trying to peer into the inner room. Something had moved there, but it could have been a cat or a lamb. I've seen baby lambs inside an Indian home, pampered like human babies while too young to fend for themselves. A lamb is that valuable to an Indian.
I stretched forth my hands. "Give the girl your belt. She can tie my hands. You have the knife, and my gun is there on the floor. Then I'll prove it to you."
He liked that, I could see it in his eyes. But he still wasn't buying it. He pushed the girl a step nearer but the knife never moved from her bared throat.
Then one long leg cautiously snaked out and pushed the rifle nearer, so he could stoop and pick it up.
"You pick up the gun!" he told Nan. The knife, if anything, pressed harder. "Easy now, or you'll be spittin' blood."
He knelt with her. I was watching Nan's eyes. The terror was still in them. Perhaps she realized I was playing some sort of a game. She was trying valiantly to play along. But the knife was the boss.
"That's it," Collins said, as he clutched the rifle with the hand that still encircled Nan's waist. He pulled it up now, inch by inch, so the muzzle pointed at me.
He never lowered the knife. He was cautious, and he was playing it close to home base.
"All right, Hille," he said at last. "If you're lyin'-"
I stood there, shrugged. He still had me tied down.
Jane had been so right. These men were foxes, all right, in more ways than one.
I glanced again at the darkened room back of him. Perhaps I had been mistaken about movement there.
He nudged the girl with his knee, his eyes hard on me.
"Move your hands back," he bid, "and unbuckle my belt. An' don't try anything funny." I merely stared at him.
He still hadn't given me a chance to get the knife away from Nan's throat.
I saw her work her hands backward, toward his abdomen. It forced the torn blouse further off her breasts. She was just as gorgeous today as she had been that first day of our meeting, in that pool. But now I was looking at her loveliness with nothing but fear in my gaze.
The belt was off now, in her hands.
The rifle raised until the muzzle covered my forehead. He loosened his hand from her waist so he could cock the gun.
"You don't know that it's loaded," I said.
His grin was tight. "It's loaded. You come bargin' in with it, cocky as "a Spring colt. That tells me it's loaded, all right!"
I never answered, watching his gimlet eyes.
There was something in the darkness of the other room. I was positive of it as last. But so far it was nothing discernible, nothing to get excited over.
Slowly he lowered the knife from Nan's throat. There was a red line there, showing that it had been against her flesh. The rifle was rock steady.
"Now stick out your hands, Hille, wrists together. If you move, or try to grab the girl, you get it right between the eyes."
He had a point. You can't move under a gun held less than ten feet away, at least not under a rifle held by a man who knows how to use it.
And this gun was cocked. I had fired it several times since Jane gave it to me. It was hair-triggered, a falacy with some of these older Winchesters that cattlemen had worked over to their own likes. One move from me, one false move, and that was it.
No, I couldn't afford the move. For my own sake, and for Nan's. My time would come later. At least I hoped so.
"Easy now!" he warned. "If you want to die real sudden, now's the time!"
He pushed Nan slowly toward me, an inch at a time. He was at her back, with the cocked gun.
She stood there, eyes hard on mine, trying to read what she saw there I suppose. Perhaps she was talking to me with her eyes, if that was possible.
She held out her hands, extending the belt.
My arms were in front of me, wrists together, rock-steady.
The movement again. I was sweating. I was as weak as uninflated rubber. But I tried to hold my wrists still so he wouldn't see the tremble.
I smiled at Nan.
"Do as he says, honey. Tie my wrists good and tight. He's got the gun on me, and it's got a hair-trigger."
The belt was inches away now. Her hands were trembling. Her face was pale under the tan, her lips were tight. She was on the verge of cracking up, and if she cracked up now all would be lost. One false move from either of us, and that gun would spit lead.
.The belt came down on my wrists.
The movement evolved into a leaping figure-from the back room.
I dived into Nan, and we went down.
The rifle roared, and I felt the breath of a bullet past my right temple. But the breath of one, not the slug itself.
We heard the cry then. It was the beginning of a scream that died in the hideous, gasping gurgle of a human being choked on his own blood.
I rolled to one side, pulling Nan with me.
Zack Collins' body crashed to the floor face-down, the rifle flying free of his grasp. I saw the spear between his shoulder blades, buried deep. I couldn't believe it, but there it was. It looked like some old heirloom, perhaps a ceremonial weapon of bygone days when the Maricopas were warriors instead of ranchers.
And old Indian came into the room. His head was bloody and he lifted his right hand to brush away the blood from his eyes.
I saw the mutilated hand-the hand without a thumb.
There it was, all in a flash, the crazy zigsaw puzzle falling into place right before my eyes.
I pulled Nan to her feet. Her hands pressed hard, I felt the brush of her lips.
Then she was at the old Indian's side.