On the second day Monte Jackson walked up to the diggings. He wore his sunglasses until he was inside the tunnel, and that seemed to help his head a bit.
At the end of his drift he picked up a drill steel and, inserting it into the hole, started to work, yet after only a few blows with the single jack his head began aching with a heavy, dull throb, and he knew that the scalp wound had taken more out of him than he had believed.
Leaving his tools in the drift, he picked up his canteen and shirt and started back to the cabin, yet he had taken no more than a dozen steps before he heard a car. It was, he knew, still some distance off, rumbling and growling along the rough road that came in from the west. Having listened to other cars on that road he knew approximately where it would be, and he knew that before it could reach his cabin it must go south at least two miles, then back north. It was the merest trail, and the last of it uphill.
HE WAS NO more than a minute climbing the sixty feet to the crest. Lying on his stomach, he inched the last few feet and scanned the trail. It was a utility wagon, the kind that was available for rent in Bishop for day trips into the Sierras, and in it were two people.
Jackson squirmed swiftly back, then arose and started at a trot for the drift. Once inside the tunnel he caught up a few handfuls of dust and dropped them from above so that they would filter down over his tools and the spot where he had worked to give an appearance that would lead them to believe he had not recently used them. Hurrying to his cabin he gathered his things, padlocked the door, and then paused to listen. There was no sound.
That meant they had left the vehicle at the spring and were coming on foot. Keeping to rocks and gravel, he went down into the arroyo and crossed it, cutting over to enter a deep gash in the hill. Then coming out of the small canyon he climbed to the crest overlooking his cabin.
After about twenty minutes he saw them coming. It was Paula and the big blond man. The man walked slightly in advance, and had an automatic pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants. Monte settled down to watch and, despite the pain in his head, was amused to find himself enjoying it. That they had come to kill him he had no reason to doubt, yet as he watched their cautious approach he found himself with a new idea.
He was the one man who actually knew Paula Burgess guilty of murder, yet by coming here they had delivered themselves into his hands. This was his native habitat. He knew the desert and they did not. Their jeep was the tenuous link to the world they knew, and if anything happened to that vehicle they were trapped.
Their incompetence was obvious from their movements. Once the man stepped on a stone that rolled under his foot, causing him to fall heavily. He caught himself on his hands, but had Monte been in the cabin he would have heard it. They looked at the lock, then peered in the windows. Certainly, no one was in the shack with a padlock on the door. After a few minutes of conversation the man started toward the drift. Paula Burgess remained alone before the cabin.
Monte Jackson stared at her with rising anger. She had chosen him for killing exactly as she might have chosen a certain fly for swatting. Now they were here, hunting him down like an animal.
He had his rifle and he could kill them both easily. For a man who had made Expert with a half-dozen weapons, two hundred yards was nothing, yet shooting was unnecessary. Of their own volition they had come into the desert but, he vowed, they would leave only when he willed it.
Sliding back from the ridge he got up and walked fast, then trotted a short distance. The sun was high and it was hot now, but he must get there first, and must have a little time.
THE JEEP STOOD near the spring. Squirming under it, he opened his clasp knife and, using a carefully chosen rock as a hammer, he punched a hole in the side of the gas tank. The fuel spurted out and, working the knife blade back and forth, he enlarged the hole. Given the angle of the vehicle and positioning of his hole he figured that no more than two gallons would soon remain in the tank and if this was like the trucks that he had used in the Army, the last half gallon might well be useless. He worried that they might see or smell the drained fuel but it was over one hundred degrees and there was no humidity, so the gas would evaporate quickly. He scattered several handfuls of sand over the widening stain to help out. Then he flattened out behind some creosote brush about twenty yards from the jeep, and waited.
THEY CAME DOWN the path, the woman complaining. "He's got to be around somewhere, Ash! He has to hide, and where is there a better place?"
"Well he's not here now! It was a fool idea. Let's just sit tight and wait for that insurance!" Ash shook his head. "Let him stay here and rot...they'd never believe him, anyway! If anybody knew we were up here it would look suspicious."
"Oh, shut up! I started this and I want to finish it!" Paula got into the jeep. Her blouse was damp on the shoulder blades and armpits and the two-mile walk had done neither of them any good. She was in heels, and he wore tight city shoes. They were good and hot now, and dry.
"I'm going to get a drink," Ash said, "it's a long ride back."
"Come on! We can stop by that last place for a Coke! I thought you wanted to get out of here?"
Ash got in and the jeep started willingly enough. When they had gone Monte Jackson got up. He took his time for there was lots of it, he knew about how far they would be able to get. He made up a few sandwiches, put them in the haversack with a blanket and his leather jacket, then stuffed cookies into his pockets and with his rifle and canteen, walked east, away from the road.
From time to time he stopped and mopped sweat from his brow, and then walked on toward Marble Canyon. They would make anywhere from five to ten miles with the gas they had, traveling in low as they would. It was only six miles to Dodd's Spring but he doubted if they would get so far.
SLIM GARNER WAS washing dishes when Jackson showed up. "Too late for coffee," he said.
"Not hungry, Slim." He grounded his rifle. Garner glanced curiously at the pack and rifle but said nothing. "Tell you what you might do, though. About the day after tomorrow you might drive over to Stovepipe Wells and call the sheriff. Ask him to meet me at Dodd's Spring and to bring Ragan from the Riverside Police Department. Robbery-Homicide. You tell him it's the Burgess case."
Garner stared. "Homicide? That's murder!"
"You're darn' tootin', it is! Call him, will you?"
"You ain't fixin' to kill nobody?" Slim protested.
"No, the fact is I'm takin' a gamble to prove I haven't killed somebody already." Knowing he must not walk again until the cool of the evening, he sat down and quietly spun his yarn out while Slim listened. Garner nodded from time to time.
"So they come up here after you?" Slim asked. He chuckled, his old eyes twinkling. "Sure, I'd like to see their faces when they find they are out of gas clean over there on the edge of the Valley!"
"Do you suppose they could find Dodd's Spring?"
"Doubt it. Ain't so easy lest you know it's there." He grinned. "Let 'em sweat for a while. Do 'em good: Make 'em feel talkative."
DUSK WAS SETTLING over the desert when Monte Jackson again saw the utility wagon. Evidently gas had not been their only trouble, for a punctured tire was now lying in the backseat. The jeep was stopped on open ground and the man and woman stood beside it, arguing. Their gestures were plain enough, but when he crawled nearer, he could hear them.
"Why not start tonight? We've got to have gas and you could be there by morning."
"Are you crazy? It's twenty miles, and maybe thirty!"
"Well, what if it is?" she asked irritably.
"In this country, wearing these shoes, I'd be lucky to make it in two days! And without water? What do you think I am?"
"What a guy!" she exclaimed contemptuously. "You let me plan it all, do everything, and then you come off without enough gas to get us back!"
"Look, honey," he protested patiently, "we had enough gas. There should be seven or eight gallons left!" He dropped to his knees and peered under the rear of the vehicle. "There's a hole," he said.
"A hole?"
"He put a hole in our tank...or someone did."
"What do you think he intends to do?"
"Do?" Ash shrugged. "I don't know, maybe call the cops. I'm more worried about us!"
"What do you mean?"
"We're in the middle of the desert. Nobody comes out here. We could die, okay." He sucked in a deep breath. "You're worried about the guy being a witness. You're worried about the cops. I'm worried about the fact that we're in the desert and, unless it was a rock that put a hole in our tank, this guy Jackson is the only person who knows we're here."
"So what do we do?"
"We'd better wait. Cars have been over this trail, and one might come along. If none does, then I can start walking by daylight. At night I couldn't keep to the trail."
There is no calm like the calm of a desert at dusk, there is no emptiness so vast, no silence so utterly still. Far, serrated ridges changed from purple to black, and the buttes and pinnacles pointed fingers of shadow into the wasteland. Stars were coming out, and the air grew faintly chill. Monte Jackson pulled on his coat and crawled closer...it was time to have a little fun.
"I'll build a fire," Ash said.
"Don't pick up a snake," Monte said.
The woman gave a little shriek, but though their eyes lifted, they were looking some distance off to his left where a rock cliff had caught the sound and turned it back to them. Ash put a hand on his gun but kept it under his shirt. When there was no other sound they moved together and stood there, looking up toward the ridge where he lay, a long low ridge of sand and rock.
"Who's there?" the man called out.
Jackson settled back against a warm rock, and waited. A tall saguaro, one of those weird exclamation points of the desert, stood off to his left, and beyond it the desert stretched away, a place of strange, far beauty, and haunting distance. A coyote broke the silence suddenly, yapping at the moon, the sound chattering plaintively against echoing cliffs until the long valley resounded with it, and then it ceased suddenly, leaving a crystalline silence.
He heard a stick cracking then and saw a flashlight moving along the ground, then more breaking sticks.
Monte turned his face toward the cliff and asked, "What about water?"
Ash peered around him in the gathering dark. "Hey you! We're in trouble, we need help!"
"Trouble?" Monte said. "No. You're not in as much trouble as you're gonna be!"
There was a brief, whispered conversation. Then...
"Now see here," the man blustered, "you come down! Come down and we'll talk about this."
Monte Jackson did not reply. The fire would help with the cold but it would not help their thirst. By noon tomorrow they would be suffering. They asked for it, and a little fear is a wholesome thing.
LEAVING HIS POSITION, Monte hiked up the wash to the spring. He ate a sandwich, had a long drink, chewed a salt tablet and settled down for the night. Awakening with the first dawning light he made coffee, ate another sandwich, and then returned before full sunup to his vantage point. The two were huddled in the jeep. But now the day was warming up, from a nighttime low in the mid-fifties, today it would be over one hundred degrees.
"It'll be over a hundred today," he called loudly. "Without water, you might last from one to three days. If you are very lucky you could make twenty miles."
Ash got out of the jeep. "Wait a minute!" he called. "I want to talk to you!" His voice tried to be pleasant, but starting toward the rocks he slipped his hand behind his back, reaching for the gun. Knowing how difficult it is to see a man who does not move, Monte lay still on the dusty ground.
Ash got close to the rocks, then looked around. "Where are you?" he asked. "Do you have gas?" Ash scrambled over rocks and peered around. "Let's talk this over. We need gas to get out of here."
Monte said nothing, Ash was closer than he liked.
After a moment Ash gave up and walked back to the jeep. It was still cool, but clambering over rocks had him sweating profusely. He got out of his coat and mopped his face.
"Better save that energy," Monte called out.
"Go to the devil!" Ash yelled. He scanned the rocks but had not yet figured out where Jackson was.
"We can go back to the spring where we left the jeep," Paula suggested in a low voice.
"You won't like the water. What do you think I did with the gasoline?" Monte lied. They both spun around.
"Damn you! Who are you, and what's this all about?" Ash squinted at the area where Monte lay, he was looking right at him but couldn't make him out in the clutter of rocks and brush. Theymust know he knew who they were; what he was doing was fun but it was also serious business and rapidly growing tiresome.
Monte Jackson decided to stop fooling around and get down to business--he stood up.
"Write out a confession and we'll talk about water. I've got a canteen, and I know where you can get gas and fix your tank."
"So it is you? Well, you don't understand. You don't understand what you saw. We can explain. Just come down...come down here."
"I think I understand pretty well, Ash." The man jerked a bit when Monte used his name. "I think Mrs. Burgess there killed her husband for his life insurance and then the two of you went out looking for someone to take the blame...preferably a dead someone."
"You're crazy!" Ash shouted.
"Am I? I think murder is a crazy thing, myself. I also think a man's crazy to let a woman suck him into a mess like this."
He let that soak in for a moment. "You're an accessory, Ash, but, of course, they might believe you were in on it."
"I've an alibi!" Ash shouted, but his voice lacked confidence. "Come down and talk. There's money in this. We've got money right here. We can do business."
"Toss your pistol up here and I'll come."
Ash swore. Neither of them had believed he knew of the pistol. "Like hell!" Ash yelled.
"All right by me, but don't get any ideas. I've got a rifle."
Waiting would just make it hotter, and after a while this seemed to dawn on them, yet the sun was blazing hot before they finally started. It was what he had hoped: to delay them until the sun was high.
"It's twenty miles to Keeler. Or you can strike south for the Death Valley highway, but you might get lost, too."
"Shut up!" Ash roared. "If I could get my hands on you, I'd...!"
"Get the beating of your life," Jackson said cheerfully. "Why, you're soft as butter, while I've drilled thousands of holes in hard rock by hand! You two think it over. A confession for water; you don't think it's a good deal now...but you will." He backed into cover then turned and walked off, climbing the ridge until he was a safe distance away and out of sight.
They seemed to be talking it over then; after about half an hour, they again started walking south, down the road. The man glanced around occasionally, worried, no doubt, that they both might get a bullet in the back. Well, let him worry.
Monte followed and did not try to hide his progress. Ash caught sight of him, paralleling their track about one hundred yards west and pointed him out to Paula. They didn't like it, but there was little they could do.
THE SUN WAS hot and Monte had long since folded his jacket into the haversack. Neither of them had a hat and he did, and unlike Ash, Monte kept his shirt sleeves rolled down. He picked up a piece of float and examined it. They were walking steadily, but Paula lagged a little, and he had an idea that Paula wanted to bargain on her own. Obviously, she wanted to talk.
Ash slowed. "Come on, honey! If we're going to get anywhere we've got to keep moving!"
"You go ahead. I'll be right behind. I can't walk fast in these shoes."
Ash walked on, Paula glanced around and Monte let his head show over the ridge. She stopped at once. "I want to talk to you," she invited. "Come on down!"
Selecting his spot, he sat down, making her come to him. When she was twenty yards away, he stopped her. "Close enough!" he said. "What do you want?"
Paula obviou
sly wanted to come closer. She was accustomed to getting what she wanted from men, although after a night in a jeep she was considerably less attractive than he remembered her. "Why don't you forget this and come in with me?" she invited. "You've got a rifle, and we don't need him. There's a lot of money."
"What about that rap in L. A.?"
"We could say it was Ash. Come on, my husband was insured for seventy thousand dollars, and the house besides! Think what we could do with that!"
"Just think!" he said sarcastically. "Seventy thousand dollars, and us on the run for the rest of our lives. Funny, it doesn't sound like enough to me."
She stared at him, trying to figure him out. At that moment Ash showed over the last rise. When he saw them together he shouted and started to run toward them.
Jackson leaned his elbows on his knees and calculated the distance. The fool! Didn't he know he shouldn't run that hard in this heat? He watched him come. The effective range of a pistol is not great, but the actual range is greater than supposed. He would take no chances. He lifted the rifle. Ash slowed, then stopped, panting hoarsely. "No you don't!" he shouted. "You don't cross me up!"
Paula stared at him. "Quick!" she said eagerly. "Shoot him!"
"I'm sorry. I'm just not much interested in money. And, it's really not that much money."
"It's enough!" she protested. "...and you could have me." She stepped forward, as if offering herself to him.
He grinned at her. "You should see yourself!" Her makeup was streaked and her hair mussed and dulled by dust. She'd been attractive back in the bar in Riverside, but here...
"I'd rather just take the money," he said.
She screamed, her face contorted, hurling epithets at him. Ash had come closer and now he brought up the pistol, so Monte stood, and with four sprinting steps was in the brush and rocks beyond the arroyo.
from the Listening Hills (Ss) (2004) Page 2
