Girl on a Slay Ride (9 page)

M
ALLORY
almost stumbled over Nick Thoms. It was growing dusky and Mallory was tired from the grinding effort of walking all day over the rough trail. He saw Thoms’ inert body just in time to avoid stepping on Thoms’ outflung hand.

Malory threw himself behind a bush at the edge of the trail. He lay for some moments watching Thoms. There was no movement except for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.

Mallory shifted his position so that he could see Thoms’ face. The dusk was thickening but he saw blood that had run from Thoms’ hairline and down over his ear and cheek. Mallory got to his feet cautiously. But there was no sign of Graef; no sound but the faint forest noises.

He walked up to Thoms and examined the wound. It had been made by a club, Mallory thought. He could see bits of bark stuck in Thoms’ hair. A tiny bit of lichen was mashed into the bloody cut.

Mallory knelt and ran his hand over Thoms’ body. He wore no gun. Mallory was not surprised. Graef was not the kind of man who would want anyone but himself to go armed.

He could leave Thoms here; Graef had. Mallory could imagine Blalock sneaking close enough to big Nick Thoms to club him down. He could not imagine Graef letting himself get caught so easily.

Mallory hesitated. It would be dark in a few moments. Thoms could freeze lying here unconscious. And he was fair game for some predatory mountain animal.

Mallory glanced at the darkening sky. Gray clouds were forming mackerel patterns. At this altitude that could mean snow, he knew. The air running down from the mountain peaks touched his skin with chill, moist fingers.

He realized bitterly that he was incapable of leaving Thoms to lie here and possibly die.

He found a spring and filled his canteen with water. He knelt beside Thoms. He took the hand ax from Thoms’ belt, crossed Thoms’ thick wrists over his stomach and then lashed them together with Thoms’ own belt. He poured cold water on the wound, washing the dirt from it. The rest of the water he dumped on Thoms’ face. Then he stood back, holding the ax and waiting.

Thoms stirred. He lifted his head and focused his eyes slowly on Mallory. He blinked a few times. He said in a thick voice, “Where’s Miles?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mallory said. “Now get up.”

Thoms tried to move his hands. He looked down at himself in surprise. “What’s the idea?” he demanded.

“The idea,” Mallory said, “is that your hands are tied so you can use your fingers to hold your pants up. Move your hands and you lose your pants.”

Thoms cursed him. Mallory said savagely, “Stop wasting your breath. I’m through being pushed around by you and Graef. Now it’s my turn to do a little pushing. You’re coming with me. And if you try anything, I’ll bury this ax in your skull. Now get up and move!”

Thoms rose awkwardly. He stood swaying on his thick legs. He said, “My head hurts.”

“So does my leg,” Mallory said. “Move!”

Thoms started slowly up the dark trail. Mallory got the flashlight from his knapsack and turned it on. Thoms stopped and glanced back.

‘The woman said you had a busted leg,” he told Mallory accusingly.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Mallory said. “Graef’s bullet went right where he told it to go.”

Thoms looked pleased. “Miles don’t miss often,” he said. He turned and started walking again.

They’d gone close to a mile, Mallory judged, when the moon rose. It filtered thin, pale silver through the clouds. Mallory turned off the flashlight. Without the light, they would have to go slower, but they would also take fewer chances of forewarning Graef.

He felt the trail begin to pitch steeply underfoot. The trees thinned away. The ground leveled off and then sloped downward. They’d crossed the height of land, Mallory knew. They weren’t over a day’s march from the Strait now.

Ahead he could see the thin moonlight touching snow-nippled peaks. They were dropping rapidly now, but the air stayed cold as it rolled down from the near mountains.

Mallory began to feel memory coming back. He walked only half conscious of Thoms stumbling wearily ahead of him. He was recalling the geography of this country. Not far now and off to the right was a big, mountain-rimmed meadow. If Blalock had brought the plane here, Mallory thought, he must have landed there. No other piece of land was flat enough in these mountains, or big enough.

Mallory felt excitement stirring in him. And if Blalock had landed on the meadow, then he must have hidden the money somewhere close by.

They rounded a bend in the trail. Thoms stopped abruptly. Mallory stepped to his side. He saw the tiny flicker of light ahead and to the right. A campfire. But how many people would he find around it and who would they be?

Mallory said, “Just keep your mouth shut.” He started on and then stopped. He couldn’t trust Thoms, he thought. Thoms would risk a clouting from the ax if he thought he could warn Graef.

Mallory took a dirty handkerchief from Thoms’ pocket. He pushed it into Thoms’ mouth. He used a strip of bandage from his first-aid kit and bound the handkerchief in place.

He said, “Now start walking again.”

Thoms moved silently, ponderously down the trail. Mallory kept close to him, one hand holding the ax, the other ready to grab Thoms’ jacket if necessary.

The flickering light became brighter. It disappeared as someone stepped in front of it. Mallory was watching it too intently. He was an instant late in shifting his eyes away from it, an instant late in seeing Graef move into the line of vision.

Thoms started forward at an awkward, shuffling run. Mallory made a grab. He felt his fingers tick Thoms’ jacket. He made a leap for Thoms, feeling the pain shoot through his wounded leg. He swore helplessly as he tripped and sprawled on the hard ground.

He was up and running, swinging the bad leg stiffly, like a crutch. Thoms was plunging ahead, his weight carrying him downgrade like a runaway truck. Mallory could hear the gagging sounds of words Thoms tried to force around the handkerchief in his mouth.

Graef had disappeared. But he must be able to hear Thoms, Mallory thought. The big man’s hammering run shook the ground. Thoms reached the edge of the firelight. Mallory was less than ten feet behind him. He saw Thoms twist his body and sprawl out of sight behind a screen of trees.

Mallory pulled up sharply. He moved to the side of the trail and carefully slipped between a patch of salmonberry bushes and a clump of vine maple. He began to work his way toward the fire, making a large half-circle.

He could hear Thoms shouting words now and he knew that Graef must have removed the gag. He heard Graef too, on the trail he had just left.

Graef called, “Come on, Mallory. I have a gun and you haven’t. Make it easy on yourself.”

Mallory started moving again. He stepped from the sheltering trees. He saw that he was on the edge of a vast slice of darkness running between twisted mountains. He’d been right. This was the high meadow.

He caught a glimpse of the firelight again. It was on his left now. He worked his way through scrub fir and stopped on the edge of a small clearing. Someone had built a tiny fire in its center. Thoms stood with his hands out to the flames. Deep lines of weariness etched his craggy features. Mallory could almost feel him absorb the warmth of the blaze.

Mallory couldn’t locate Graef for a moment. Then he saw him. Graef was slipping carefully around the edge of the clearing, barely within range of the light from the fire. Mallory could see the glint of the gun in his hand.

He’s looking for me, Mallory thought. He grinned savagely and pulled back a step, shielding himself behind the bole of a heavy cedar.

He held the ax with the cutting edge in. He knelt and found a small stick. He stood up again. Now he could only wait.

He could tell by Graef’s fumbling attempts at caution that the man was uneasy. This was Mallory’s element, not his. And he was obviously aware of that. The fire burst in a shower of sparks and Graef jumped like a cat.

Mallory started to count. Graef was less than twenty feet away. Now fifteen. Now ten. In a minute he would be less than five feet away. Mallory would have liked him closer, but Graef’s careful path wasn’t going to bring him any farther into the darkness.

Five feet would have to do.

Mallory realized that he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly and softly. He lifted the hand holding the stick. His mind shouted, Now!, and he threw the stick behind Graef.

Graef jumped again. He spun in the air and landed with his gun ready, his body leaning toward the source of the noise.

Mallory took two quick steps and brought the hammer edge of the ax down on Graef’s wrist. The gun dropped into the dirt.

Graef screamed. He turned toward Mallory, clawing with his hands. Mallory dropped the ax. He hit Graef with his left fist. He felt a vicious satisfaction as his knuckles flattened Graef’s lips. He caught Graef by the back of the neck and pulled his head down. He brought his knee up, driving the hard bone into Graef’s face. He felt Graef go limp; he let him fall.

Then he heard Thoms running noisily toward them. Mallory turned on the flashlight and aimed it at the ground. He caught the glint of light on metal. He put his hand on the gun. He tested the safety with his thumb. It was off. The gun was a thirty-eight, heavy and solid in his hand.

He lifted the light and flashed it into Thoms’ eyes. He said, “I’ve got Graef’s gun, Thoms. One more step and I’ll blow you apart.”

Thoms stopped and blinked at the light. “Where’s Miles? What did you do to Miles, Mallory?” He began to curse in a thick voice.

Mallory lowered the light, splashing it onto Graef’s inert body. “He’ll live,” he said. “Come and get him.”

Thoms made a sudden lunge for Mallory. Mallory fired the thirty-eight, aiming for a spot a few feet in front of Thoms. The big man pulled up.

Mallory said, “You won’t do Graef any good dead, Thoms. Now pick him up and take him back to the fire. And move easy.”

Mallory stepped back. He held the light so that Thoms could find his way through the tangled undergrowth to where Graef lay. He watched as Thoms picked Graef up. He could hear Thoms making crooning noises deep in his throat as he carried Graef back to the campfire.

Graef came around quickly under the gentle solicitation of Thoms. He sat up and looked around. He worked his jaw for a moment. His muddy, icy eyes focused on Mallory standing a few feet away.

Mallory said, “Where’s Denise, Graef?”

“With Blalock, I suppose,” Graef said. “She got away from me about dusk. I found this fire already burning when I got here. And I found
that.
”

Mallory looked as Graef pointed. He saw a tall, rotting stump at the edge of the clearing. One edge of it had been pushed a good foot up from the dirt. A stick was wedged endwise between the bottom of the stump and the ground.

Mallory could see a small cavern in the bowels of the stump. He looked at it and laughed.

“So that’s where Blalock hid his money box,” he said. “And he beat you to it, Graef. He’s taken his money and gone.”

Graef said viciously, “It looks like he took your woman along with it, Mallory.”

T
HE
first flakes of snow began to fall with the first light over the eastern rim of the mountains. Mallory was walking behind Graef and Thoms. He held the dimming flashlight in one hand, Graef’s gun in the other. Graef carried nothing. Thoms had insisted on shouldering his supplies. He also carried the briefcase strapped to his back.

Mallory could feel the grinding weariness numbing him. He had long ago given up thinking of his leg. The pain had become part of each step—a thrust of needles radiating out from the wound. He didn’t think Graef and Thoms were in much better shape. He had tied them both as he had tied Thoms before, so that they had to keep their hands clutching their trousers. After each rest, they had got up more slowly.

Graef said wearily, “Are you sure you know where we’re going?”

“I know,” Mallory said. “This is the only trail from the summit down the north slope of these mountains.”

“Miles has got to take another break,” Thoms said.

Mallory said, “There’s a forest lookout ahead. We’ll break there, out of this snow.”

It was coming down with the quick spurting of an early-season storm. The flakes were heavy and wet. The first few melted on contact with the ground, then they began to pile thickly until there was a good inch of snow on the unprotected parts of the trail.

Mallory turned off the flashlight as the gray dawn spread over the sky. He began to look to his right, thinking that around each shoulder of rock he would see the lookout. But his memory was tricking him, he realized. His eagerness was making him anticipate the place.

Graef and Thoms stopped abruptly just ahead. Mallory tensed and lifted the gun. Then he saw that they were staring at the trail. Filling tracks showed in the fresh snow. One set were of wide, splayed shoes; the others smaller and neater. Blalock and Denise, Mallory thought.

Graef said, “They can’t be far ahead, Mallory.”

Mallory judged how much snow had fallen to half-fill the tracks. “Ten minutes,” he said. “All right, move on. The lookout can’t be far now. No more than a half-mile.”

Graef said musingly, “I wonder what she offered him in exchange for part of his money?”

Mallory said only, “Walk faster before you freeze your feet in those city shoes.”

The lookout was not far from the next bend. Mallory could see it dimly through the ragged white curtain of the falling snow. It stood on a knoll of rock, a square building, old and out of date now.

“See, Graef,” he said. “I’ve got a remarkable memory too.”

Graef was peering forward. “Aren’t those footprints on the steps leading up to that place?”

Mallory could see the tracks now. Blalock and Denise had gone to the lookout, to seek refuge from the storm. He hadn’t expected quite so much luck. Their being here meant that he could take all the time needed for a good rest instead of stopping only briefly and then pushing on again.

“It saves us a lot of trouble,” Graef said.

“It saves you no trouble at all,” Mallory told him. “You just get a few more hours respite before I turn you over to the police.”

Graef started slowly after Thoms, up steps chopped out of stone. He paused and looked back at Mallory. “Turning us over to the police won’t get your lady friend out of trouble. It won’t even get you out of trouble.”

Mallory said, “Save your breath for climbing. It’s a long, slick way up.”

The surface of the steps was rough and uneven under the coating of snow. Mallory walked some distance behind Graef and Thoms, ready to move aside if one of them should slip, or pretend to. But Thoms seemed tireless, and he ground his way steadily upward, making a trail with his big feet. Graef followed him wearily.

The last steps were the way the entrance to hell would be, Mallory thought. They were made of wood and were slicker than the stone ones. Thoms was on his hands and knees now. Mallory and Graef crawled slowly after him.

Thoms was a dozen feet in the lead. Mallory heard him shout and he looked up to see Blalock standing on a platform at the top of the steps. Blalock had a piece of stove wood and he was waving it, threatening Thoms.

Mallory grasped the wooden handrail of the steps and pulled himself laboriously to his feet. He shouted, “Let him by, Blalock! His hands are bound.”

Blalock’s scarred features were twisted with weariness and fear. Mallory could see his pinkish little lips flutter with his breathing. He cried, “Get back, all of you! This is our place!”

Mallory said, “Thoms and Graef are tied. And I have the gun.”

Graef said softly, “Shoot him, Mallory, before we all freeze to death.”

Mallory could feel his arm muscles shake with the strain of holding to the slippery railing. Graef was nearly right about their freezing, he thought. They were all close to exhaustion and soaked by the wet snow. The conditions were ripe for pneumonia.

Mallory said, “Move aside, Graef. Let me go up there.”

Blalock stood just under the eave of the roof of the building. Mallory could see bits of fir needle and bark and droppings from numerous small animals littering the protected part of the platform. He could see where cedar shake shingles had been wind-torn away from the roof. The place was not just closed for the winter, he realized; it had been abandoned. That could mean there was no stove inside. But Blalock held a stick of firewood, and it looked fairly clean, as if it had been cut within recent years.

Mallory said, “Is there a fire inside, Blalock?”

“Mrs. Lawton is building one,” Blalock said.

Graef said, “Shoot him, Mallory. Why waste time talking to a madman?”

Mallory said, “My way isn’t your way, Graef.” He pulled himself up slowly, keeping one hand free to hold the gun.

Blalock stepped from the shelter and waved the stovewood at Mallory. “You keep back too!” he shrieked.

Thoms was on his knees, just out of Blalock’s range. He looked over at Mallory, almost level with him now. “You let Miles get cold, I’ll kill you,” he said.

Mallory said, “We’ll all be warm in a minute.” He moved up another step. Blalock stepped along the platform to intercept him. Mallory spoke to Thoms. “Go on up now.”

Blalock turned and took a step back toward Thoms. Mallory moved up another riser. Blalock hesitated and went toward him. Thoms immediately went forward. Blalock turned. His face twisted up.

“You’re outmaneuvered,” Mallory said.

Blalock half ran toward him. His foot slipped on the snow-covered part of the porch. He screamed wildly and clutched at the air. He lost his balance and fell heavily on his back; he lay gasping.

Mallory stepped to the porch and took the stovewood away from Blalock. He said, “All right, Thoms. Go on inside.”

He watched as Thoms moved clumsily, still having to hold his trousers with his bound hands. Graef crawled after Thoms. Mallory stepped around Blalock and pushed the heavy wooden door open. A gush of musty air tainted with the sharp odor of a rodent den rushed out at them.

“Gawd!” Thoms gasped.

“It’s better than freezing,” Graef said. “And there’s a fire, thanks to Mrs. Lawton.”

Mallory couldn’t see Denise from where he stood. He waited until Thoms and Graef had gone inside. Then he helped Blalock to his feet. Blalock’s skin had the pasty color of congealed fat.

Mallory said, “Get inside.”

Blalock stumbled through the door. Mallory followed. He pushed the door shut. As a lock, it had a heavy wooden bar that dropped into metal U-brackets. Mallory lowered the bar into place.

The building had only one room. In two places the shingles were gone and snow sifted down to the littered floor. All of the windows but two were shattered and boarded over with plywood sheeting. There was little light except from the potbellied tin stove near where Denise stood.

Graef and Thoms had moved toward the stove. Denise was on the far side of it, stuffing wood onto a leaping fire. Mallory surveyed the rust-streaked stovepipe that made an elbow just below the ceiling. It looked solid enough, he decided. He turned his attention to Denise.

She looked weary but fresher than any of them. Her hair was a tangle of bronze and more drab than he remembered it, but her cheeks still had color and there was life in her eyes. She looked carefully away from Mallory.

Mallory said, “Don’t put any more wood on. You’ll just waste it with that kind of stove.”

Denise dropped her last piece of wood back onto a small scattered pile on the floor. She put the lid on the stove with a quick motion, then held out her hands to the heating metal.

Just the sound of the fire was enough to give the illusion of warmth, Mallory thought. He stood just inside the door, watching the three men. They were close together, near the heat.

Graef said, “Untie our hands, Mallory, so we can warm them better.”

“No!” Blalock said vehemently. “No, please!”

Mallory said, “All right.” He beckoned to Graef. The man walked slowly toward him. His mud-and-ice eyes revealed nothing as they met Mallory’s gaze. He wore his smile; it was still without meaning.

Mallory loosened the binding around his wrists. “You can untie Thoms,” he said. “Then both of you get your shoes and socks off.”

Blalock said, “They’ll hurt us!”

Mallory said, “I have the gun.”

“What’s a gun against a man like Graef?” Blalock answered.

Mallory looked into the blue eyes and saw that they were bright and clear. Mallory said, “Ask Graef what a gun means.”

Graef smiled. He finished untying Thoms and then went to a bench built against the side wall. He hoisted himself onto it and began to remove his shoes and socks. Thoms joined him.

Mallory waited until both men had their feet bare. Then he said, “Blalock, get their shoes and socks and put them closer to the stove. And take that briefcase away from Thoms.”

Blalock looked at him a long moment. Mallory saw understanding spring into the lumpish face. Blalock picked up the shoes and socks and carried them to the far side of the stove. He appropriated the briefcase and set it to one side.

Mallory said, “After they’re dry, Graef, I’ll take charge of them. Neither of you will be going far barefoot.”

“You bastard!” Thoms said.

“Not at all,” Graef said. “Mallory is being exceedingly clever.” He paused and smiled at Mallory. “Of course, he has forgotten one important factor.”

Mallory moved closer to the stove and sat down. He took out a cigarette and lit it. He saw Denise watching him. She looked quickly away as his eyes moved toward her.

He said, “What factor have I forgotten, Graef?”

“That you’re in no better spot than we are, Mallory. Do you think the police will really believe you’re an innocent victim of circumstances?”

“Why shouldn’t they?” Mallory said. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You disappeared with forty thousand dollars worth of securities,” Graef said in his soft voice. “And you helped us take Blalock into these mountains.”

“At the point of a gun,” Mallory said.

Graef ignored him. “And you had a chance to tip off a state patrolman, yet you made no attempt to do so. He’ll remember that.”

Mallory said, “Mrs. Lawton is my witness. You’re wasting your time, Graef.”

Graef shook his head. He swung his dangling bare feet. “Not at all,” he said. “Mrs. Lawton really isn’t a very good witness. First, there’s the question of whether she’ll testify at all. If she does, it means exposing her whereabouts to her husband and risking her life. Secondly, she has criminal connections—by marriage, at least. Thirdly, she didn’t hesitate to run away with Blalock and a hundred thousand dollars. It’s just possible, Mallory, that the police won’t care to accept a story from a woman like her—even if she agrees to tell it.”

Mallory said, “You’re having fun with words, Graef.” He glanced at Denise. She was looking at the floor. Her cheeks were flushed pinker than the heat from the stove could account for.

Graef said, “Furthermore, Mallory, Nick and I are willing to swear that you helped us without being coerced. That you agreed to help us if we’d give you a hand in getting away with the securities. Isn’t that right, Nick?”

“Anything you say, Miles,” Thoms answered.

Mallory wanted to laugh. But somehow he couldn’t get the sound out of his throat.