Stanley Ross drew himself over the edge of the cliff, where Virginia
Carver and Wong were waiting, and scrambled to his feet. He was exuberant.
“Well, Miss Carver, I guess we’re safe all right, thanks to Wong here,”
he exulted. “All that remains now is to make tracks away from this
accursed place.”
“So you think you’re safe, eh?” snarled a cold voice.
Ross whirled to find himself facing Larson Beebe. Beebe was covering him
steadily with a big automatic, and his deep set, piggish eyes had an
insane light in them.
Ross’s heart sank within him. He had expected an attack from Beebe from
below, but that he might be waiting for them on the cliff top never
entered his head. He was utterly helpless now. Beebe had the drop on him
and could kill him twice over before he could draw his own gun. Moreover,
it was certain Beebe intended doing that very thing.
Ross was filled with a sense of futility, impotency. That he was about
to die he did not consider. He was merely disgusted with himself for
allowing himself to be checkmated when the game was practically won.
“So you thought you could get away?” Beebe was going on. It was obvious
that he, too, was nearly insane. “Thought I was asleep, eh? I knew what
was up as soon as I saw the kites. I could have got you then, but I
figured the easiest and safest way would be to slip up here and wait
behind a rock till you were all up. You wouldn’t be looking for me and I
could pot you easily. Well, I’m here and you’re due for a long journey.
“Thought you could outwit Larson Beebe, eh? I’m just going to shoot you
and your precious Chink friend here now and kick you over the cliff. Then
I’m going to take Virginia and——.”
Ross was conscious that Wong’s right hand whipped to the base of his
skull just above the collar of his blouse. In the same instant it came
away again and now it held a long, thin, slender glittering blade!
There was another movement of Wong’s hand so swift that he could not
follow it. Ross only knew that a look of utterably blank amazement had
overspread Larson Beebe’s face. It was as though Beebe had seen a miracle
performed before his eyes and could not fathom it.
Then, suddenly, Ross saw what had happened. The hilt of the knife that
Wong had held was protruding from Larson Beebe’s ribs!
For an instant Beebe wavered on his feet. His fingers relaxed and his gun
clattered to the rocks. He pitched forward onto his face.
“Can do,” muttered Wong. “One day kick Wong. Not kick again.”
* * * * *
That night the three camped beside a little water-hole several miles
down the main canon. Around the tiny campfire they made their plans for
getting out of the desert.
Ross knew the general direction to take, and he felt confident that
by taking it easy the girl would be able to make the journey on foot.
Virginia Carver was confident.
The following morning Ross was awakened by footsteps on the rocks. He
raised up to see two long-eared animals making their way down the trail
to the water-hole. It was Archibald and Percy!
Ross let out a shout that instantly roused his companions.
“There’s your ship of the desert that’s going to carry you back to
civilization,” he called, as Virginia raised up from her blankets.
The girl did not comprehend. She gazed at the two animals in astonishment
for a moment.
“But they’re wild, aren’t they?” she asked.
“Just as wild as two snails,” said Ross. “Those two estimable gentlemen
brought me into this desert, and they’re going to take us out.”
When breakfast had been finished Ross noticed that Wong was busily
engaged in rearranging the weight of the packs.
“Never mind the packs, Wong. Friend Archibald here can carry Miss Carver
and Percy can handle the supplies. You and I will go light, Wong,” Ross
explained.
“No can do,” replied Wong. “Me no go you.”
“What do you mean, Wong?”
“Wong go that way,” answered the Chinese, pointing to the south.
“You go that way,” asked Ross, perplexed. “Why? You’re going with Miss
Carver and me.”
Wong shook his head. “Wong kill man. Think not stay in ’Nited States. Go
Mexiclo.”
“Nonsense, Wong,” said Ross. “Miss Carver and I can easily fix that.”
“Think not. Wong go Mexiclo. Got blother there. Buy li’le res’rant.”
Ross saw that there was no use in trying to dissuade Wong. There was no
combating such a nature. After a few moments Ross asked:
“Wong, where you going in Mexico?”
“Go Wa’lz.”
“Going to Juarez, eh? What’s your full name?”
“Name? Wong Chen Chek.”
“All right, Wong. In about two months you go to the postoffice and
inquire for a registered package. You’ll find enough money in it to buy
the best little restaurant in Juarez.”
Wong grinned. “Thlank you.”
Swinging his pack to his shoulder, he swung down the trail without more
ado.
“Goo’ bye. Goo’ bye, Missee,” came back to Ross and Virginia Carver.
A half hour later the Chinese disappeared from view far down the canon.
Ross turned to the girl.
Virginia Carver was gazing far out over the jumble of rocks and sand that
is the Red Desert to where the mists of the morning were dissolving into
the shifting haze of the rising sun.
For a moment Ross watched her without speaking. Fresh and vibrant with
youth, she was lovely beyond words.
“I guess we had best be going now,” he said. Then his voice stumbled,
“Miss Carver—Virginia—when we get out of here—I’ve—I’ve something to say
to you.”
For a long moment the girl continued to look far into the colorful haze
of the desert. Then she turned toward Ross. A peculiarly tender little
smile wreathed her mouth. Her eyes were swimming pools of unshed tears.
Her voice faltered, “Would—would you mind—saying it now—Stanley?”