The eastern rim of the valley stood crimson where the westering sun
struck it full, bringing into bold relief each cañon and crag, the
smallest fold and the smoothest boulder; as if a contour map had
been painstakingly modeled on a gigantic scale in red sealing wax,
or as if a world aflame had been paralyzed into utter silence.
Toward that garish pile of shattered hills, Abington and Bill
Jonathan plodded with the low sun at their backs, which were
burdened heavily with as much of their camp supplies as they had
been able to retrieve and could carry.
The start that morning had been delayed until nearly noon while they
searched vainly for some clew to the mystery that had in a few hours
held an orgy of wanton destructiveness in two camps and had poisoned
their water supply and killed three burros. Human malevolence had
been displayed in that last attack, Abington was convinced.
Yet in spite of all his skill, all the careful attention to details
which his scientific training had made second nature, he had failed
to discover the slightest evidence of a human agency at work against
them. Not a sign, not a track, save those enormous sheep tracks
leaving the vicinity of the spring and going off up a narrow ravine
in great strides which made it hopeless to think of overtaking it;
for without water he did not dare attempt any prolonged search. Now,
with a half mile of red sand to plow through before they reached the
first bold hillside, their eyes clung perforce to the seamed, broken
rampart they were nearing.
A dazzling light that flashed and was gone, then came again and
stood motionless for a space while one might count fifteen, showed
high up on a ridge as evenly serrated as a rooster’s comb, and quite
as red. Abington came to a full stop which he made a rest period by
slipping the heavy pack from his shoulders. Nothing loath, Bill did
likewise. The two sat down on the sand beside their bundles, mopping
perspiration from faces and necks.
“Bill, when I get up and stand in front of you, look past me at the
sharp peak just south of the mountain--the first one on the ridge
straight before us. Tell me if you see anything that might be a
reflection of the sun--from a telescope, we’ll say, or more likely a
pair of field glasses. No, don’t look yet. Remember that with good
glasses a man could read the expression on your face, read your
lips, too, if he’s had any training.”
At the first sentence Bill’s face had hardened. “You don’t have to
preach caution to a man that’s been on the dodge long as I have,” he
muttered bitterly, under cover of lighting a cigarette. “Shoot. What
d’you think--that it’s an officer, maybe?”
“I’m not thinking past the field glasses that I believe are focused
on us,” Abington parried, rising and standing so that his back was
to the ridge while he held up his watch before Bill’s face. “He may
think I’m trying to hypnotize you, but it’s an excuse. Look right
past this watch, to a point between the second and third little
pinnacles on the ridge. See anything?”
“Something moved, in the notch just below that pinnacle. I got it
against the sky for a minute. There ain’t any shine, though. Might
have been a sheep.”
Abington put away his watch, stooped and shouldered his pack.
Bill slipped his arms through the rope loops and wriggled his own
burden into place on his back as he got up. “Wouldn’t think they’d
be lookin’ for me away down here,” he said uneasily, after a few
rods of silent plodding. “Not unless you--” He sent an involuntary
glance toward his companion.
“Unless I informed on you when I went after supplies, and arranged
for your capture after I had benefited by your information,”
Abington answered the look. “You don’t really think that, Bill.”
“I don’t know why I wouldn’t think it, if somebody’s planted up
there watching for us with glasses,” Bill retorted, not more than
half in earnest but yielding to the ugly mood born of nerve strain
and muscle weariness.
“Of course, you can think any idiotic thing you choose,” Abington
returned, in that tolerant tone which he could summon when he wished
to bite into a man’s self-esteem. “Any other brilliant ideas on the
subject, explaining why, if I were contemplating treachery, I should
call your attention to that light on the ridge up there?”
“Yeah, I might have one or two,” Bill growled. “I was a fool to
start across here in broad daylight. Now, if they come after me, I
ain’t even got a gun!”
* * * * *
Abington sent a quick, sidelong glance toward Bill’s face. That gun
question was becoming a touchy subject between them. “No, you
haven’t a gun. So you are not quite so liable to a few extra
years--or a chair in the gas house--if you are caught!”
“Well, I ain’t caught yet!” Bill’s upper lip lifted away from his
teeth. “Not by a damn sight!”
Abington gave him another sidelong glance. The snarl was not lost
upon him, though he made no reply. Like many another man who is
agreeable enough in ordinary circumstances, Bill Jonathan’s good
nature did not always stand up under hardship.
That blustery impatience at the physical discomforts of a long
grilling walk was beginning to crop out in Bill, mostly in the form
of a surly ill temper and a grumbling against conditions which
neither could help. Abington had reached the point of gauging the
exact degree of surliness and to set up mental defenses against his
moods.
Bill had taken the initiative in this quest and he was surely
receiving full value for his efforts. From a sporting admiration for
Bill’s daring, and a certain liking for his whimsical shrewdness,
Abington was consciously beginning to chafe at the man’s crabbed
temper; he felt a growing distrust, too, which was yet formless and
only vaguely realized.
He caught himself wishing now that he had asked Park what crime
stood against Bill Jonathan. No use asking Bill; he would say what
he pleased and the other could believe it or not.
“If you’ve got any wild idea of finding out from me where them stone
skeletons is, and then turning me over to the sheriff, you better
revise the notion, professor,” Bill said abruptly, having brooded
over it for five minutes. “I’m nobody’s fool.”
“Then why talk like one?” Exhaustion was beginning to draw a white
line beside Abington’s nostrils and his bruised ankle ached cruelly.
He began to feel that he’d had enough of Bill’s grousing. “You’ve
nothing to kick about, so shut up. I’m doing packer’s work rather
than have men along who might go out and betray you.”
“Yeah. You knew mighty well I wouldn’t stir a foot if you brought in
a bunch of mouthy roughnecks,” Bill growled back. “How do I know
what you framed in town?”
Abington slipped his pack off his shoulders and swung toward Bill
with a menacing glitter in his eyes. “That’s going a bit strong,
even for you,” he said sharply. “If you’ve any reason for saying
that, out with it! If not, I’ll thank you to keep such thoughts
behind your teeth. You’re getting quite as much as you are giving,
Bill Jonathan--and by that I mean to include loyalty and fair play.
“For all I know,” Abington went on, “you invented the story of
fossilized human remains as a temptation that would insure my
protection and the food you’d need in case you made your escape from
Park. Do you suppose I was so blind I did not see that possibility
from the start? A fossilized man, as you knew, was bait I’d be
pretty sure to swallow. Well, I did swallow it--but not with my eyes
shut, I assure you. Please give me credit for that much
intelligence.
“I took you at your word,” he continued, “and I have played the game
straight. I shall continue to play it square, until I find that you
have lied to me.”
* * * * *
He waited, balanced, ready for the blow he expected. Instead, he saw
the expression in Bill’s eyes change to a grudging mollification, as
if the very abusiveness of the attack reassured him.
“I never said anything to put you on your ear,” Bill hedged
morosely, after an uncomfortable pause. “What are you razzing me
for? I said I wouldn’t be caught and I won’t be. That goes,
professor.”
“Very well, let’s have no more talk about it.” Abington lifted his
pack to his galled shoulders and started on, leaving Bill to his own
devices; wherefore Bill presently overtook him and walked alongside.
The truce held while the clouds flamed with the sunset, a barbaric
pageant that could not rival the sanguine magnificence of that wild
ensemble of towering hills slashed with deep gorges whose openings
were frequently hidden away behind bold, jutting pinnacles.
“Looks like the devil was practicing on these hills, trying to make
a world of his own with nothing but fire for building material,”
Bill observed at last, wanting to appear friendly and awed in spite
of himself before the spectacle. “When God came along and told him
to knock off, looks like the devil just kicked it all to thunder and
dragged his feet through the mess a few times and walked off and
left it like that. Don’t you think so, professor?”
“I’ve heard theories advanced that were not half so plausible,”
Abington replied, his voice once more calm and slightly ironic, as
if he still doubted Bill’s sincerity. “A man could spend a lifetime
in this country without exhausting its archaeological
possibilities.”
“Yeah--or without getting caught,” Bill added, speaking as had the
other of the thing nearest his own heart.