“All in good time, my darling. First, por favor, ask them how much for the horses.”
“Well . . .”
They both got out of the car, and Elly started speaking in halting Spanish to the horseman on the near side of the herd. There was confusion for a while, and then the horseman announced that the horses were not for sale.
Grofield said, “Tell them it’s American currency. One hundred dollars each for the horses, in excellent ten dollar bills.”
She said it. The horseman seemed dubious, so Grofield went back to the car, opened the suitcase, got the money, and returned to show it.
The horseman was probably no more than twenty, and his partner across the road was even younger. The sight of the greenbacks impressed him, made him waver, but it wasn’t enough. When Grofield saw it wasn’t enough, he went back and got a hundred dollars more, and through Elly told them the price had gone up to one hundred and fifty dollars each.
The goats had stopped moving now, were baaing and bleating, stepping daintily around in the roadway. The horsemen spoke together over the goats’ heads in rapid Spanish that was obviously over Elly’s head as well, and then made a counter-offer. They would sell one horse, for one hundred and fifty dollars.
But Grofield shook his head. “Two horses or nothing. Tell them.”
Elly told them. There was more rapid talking, some heavy thinking, and when Grofield saw that they were looking at him sidelong to see if he would go back to the car for more money, he knew the deal was set. Ostentatiously he stuffed the wad of tens back in his pocket and said loudly to Elly, “Well, it’s no good. Never mind.” And gestured in a way that clearly meant he was changing his mind, giving up.
Now the nearer horseman spoke to Elly again, and she reported what he had to say: “He says the saddles and blankets will have to be extra.”
“Fifty dollars extra for everything.”
She passed the word on, and suddenly the world was all smiles and nodding. Grofield got the rest of the money, the horsemen climbed down from their horses, and everyone shook hands all around. The horsemen, now pedestrians, got their goat herd moving again, and disappeared with the end of it over the side and down the trail and out of sight, leaving Grofield and Elly each holding a rope attached to a horse.
“Well,” said Elly. “Now we own two horses. Just what I’ve always wanted.”
Grofield swung up into the saddle while a cigarette commercial boomed about his ears. The horse was uneasy with the stranger on his back, but Grofield said, “Whoa, boy,” and other appropriate things from western movies, and the animal settled down.
Grofield said, “Give me the reins of yours. Then you follow us in the car.”
“And to think,” she said, “I left my camera in Philadelphia.”
2
THE POINT WAS, people lived here. They lived all their days and all their nights in these mountains, through which civilization had barely managed to push a single two-lane highway that squirmed and twisted and strained, threatening any moment to disappear entirely. A man in an automobile on that highway could get sloppy in his thinking, could assume that the mountains surrounding him were as inaccessible and inhospitable to everyone else as they were to him. But the truth was far different.
There were the shepherds, for instance, like the ones Grofield had bought the horses from. They lived from their small herds of goats or cattle, penning them at night in the valleys and grazing them by day in the upper slopes, now and again crossing the slender gray ribbon of tomorrow’s world. And there were farmers, too; slopes that seemed too steep to walk on were under cultivation, mostly beans, the hills plowed in smooth and curving rows, exposing the black earth, so that at times the surroundings looked like a landscape in a book of children’s stories, green and black, the round hills all farms.
Grofield, riding easy on one horse and leading the other while Elly followed in the Datsun, thought about how lucky he’d been to meet that goat herd and the two shepherds. Not so much because of the horses, though that was good, too, but mainly because seeing them had opened up his thinking, had made it possible for him to think of a way to avoid the people surely on their way north from Acapulco to intercept them.
But unless he found a good spot soon, they’d be intercepted after all. They were on their way uphill now, which was promising; Grofield thudded his mount with his heels and urged him into a faster trot. Neither horse liked the pavement underfoot, so he had to keep pushing them.
At the top of this incline, where the road curved left around a bulging mass of rock, a gravel parking area had been cleared on the right, overlooking a first-rate view. Grofield didn’t have time for the view right now, but the parking area pleased him. He rode past it, not wanting hoofprints on the gravel, then stopped and dismounted.
Elly had stopped behind him. She stuck her head out the window and called, “Now what?”
“Take it in on the gravel. Park it facing the rail there, and leave the motor running. No, come to think of it, turn the motor off.”
“Fine.” She backed up, swung around, and put the car where he’d said.
Meantime, he’d led both horses to the other side of the road and tied the reins to a bush growing out of a tiny triangle of earth between the edge of the road and the beginning of the wall of rock. Making sure they were secure, he walked back over to the car.
Elly had the door open, and said, “Should I get out?”
“You might as well, since it’s going over the edge.”
“It’s doing what? Listen, I only rented this car.”
“They’ll take a check, don’t worry. Come along.”
He went over and inspected the railing at the edge. It was made of crossed posts stuck into the ground and tied together in an X shape, with a single, long, rough log lying between each pair of X’s. Grofield managed to lift the end of one log out of its X, swing it outward, and drop it over the edge. The other end slid away from the X down there, and the log went bumping and rolling out of sight.
Looking over the edge, Grofield saw a long and nearly perpendicular drop, punctuated here and there by groups of trees, all leading to an indistinguishable green mass at the bottom. It was a long way down, but the cream color should show up well. Unless the car burned, of course, but with the engine off, there was less likelihood of that.
Going back to the car, he said, “In neutral, emergency brake off.”
“You’re really going to do it?”
“Really. We want the luggage out, too.”
“I should hope so.”
“We’re only taking one bag each, that’s all we can carry.”
They spent the next few minutes rearranging their luggage. Grofield’s money suitcase was barely half full of bills, so there was room for everything he wanted from the other bag. Elly, predictably, had more trouble deciding what to give up, but finally she too was ready. Grofield put the extra bags back in the car while Elly released the emergency brake and shifted into neutral, then climbed out and slammed the door, saying, “Now what?”
“Now we push.”
It was just slightly uphill to the edge. They both had to lean their total weight on the back of the car before it would start rolling, and then they had a tough time keeping it in motion. But finally the front wheels rolled off the edge, and now the car was sloped somewhat downward instead.
But there were still problems. The front half of the car was no longer resting on the wheels; the body itself rested on the ground at the edge of the drop. They pushed, and pushed, and the car slid reluctantly forward, until all at once its balance shifted, they stepped hurriedly back, and the car tilted leisurely forward, like a toy. It showed its underside, like a cancan dancer, and abruptly dropped out of sight.
Grofield stepped forward, leaned over, and watched the Datsun take its last trip. The cliff was nearly vertical, but not exactly so, and the Datsun seemed almost to be running down it, one or more of its wheels touching the earth at all times. It crashed through group
s of trees that Grofield had hoped might stop it and leave it more visible to eyes searching for it from above, and finally came to rest way down below, an indistinct bit of brightness in the midst of the green. Still, if Honner was looking for it, he’d surely be able to find it. Satisfied, Grofield stepped away from the edge again.
Elly, standing with arms folded, said, “Now what? We disguise ourselves as Mexicans?”
“Not a bit of it. Come here.”
“You throw me over the edge.”
“Exactly. Come here, you’ve got work to do.”
She came over, and they both leaned on one of the remaining rails while he pointed out and ahead and slightly to the left and somewhat down and said, “Do you see the road down there? Running along, do you see it?”
“Wait. Oh, I see that stretch of rock.”
“Where they blasted to let the road through. But do you see the road itself? See it? The gray, and that reddish dirt sort of stuff on each side?”
She nodded. “Yes. I see it.”
“Well, you watch it. Don’t take your eyes off it. That’s a bit of road we haven’t reached yet, and your friends from Acapulco will be coming along there very soon now, if I’m not mistaken. So if you see any sort of vehicle along there at all, you give a holler.”
“Why? Where are you going to be?”
“Just down the road a bit, I’ll be right back. Oh, if there is a car, it’ll go from right to left.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’m not stupid.”
“You’re a dear girl.”
He patted her rump, winked at her, and moved away. He crossed the road, mounted his new horse, and went riding on around the curve to see what the road did next.
What it did was head down for a fairly longish straight stretch, and then curve away and out of sight to the right. The right side of the road was a cliff all the way down, and the left side—after the mass of rock at the peak—was a steep slope upward, full of trees and underbrush.
It was this left side that Grofield watched, keeping his mount moving at a walk, and about a hundred feet down from the peak he found what he wanted; a narrow and nearly invisible trail that led in and up and out of sight. He turned the horse that way, and the animal left the highway with small, dainty steps, then stretched his legs for the first upward climb of the trail away from the road.
A few yards in, the trail angled away to the right and proceeded almost at the level, going across the prevailing slope. Already Grofield could barely see the road through the trees, and a minute later the highway had disappeared entirely. He was in a dark, silent, chilly rain forest, the trees crowded close together and the small spaces between them choked with dark green underbrush. There was practically no sunlight in here, and a moist and musky cool smell to the air. The trail Grofield rode was just wide enough for one man on horseback; if cattle were driven through here they must move one at a time.
Grofield had to keep going until he found a spot wide enough to turn around in, then headed back for the highway and up to where Elly was waiting. He dismounted and said, “Nothing showed?”
“No. Where were you?”
“In another part of the forest. Keep watching that road.”
He tied the horse back with the other one, then got the two suitcases, bringing them across the road. The saddles he’d paid fifty dollars for were basic and primitive things, but they did boast extra thongs at the back. Grofield tied the suitcases on, and then went back over to where Elly was leaning on the rail and joined her there. “The way I figure it,” he said, “they wouldn’t have started out before sunrise, there wouldn’t be any point in it. So we shouldn’t expect them to show up for about half an hour yet. Still, you never know.”
“What do we do when they show up? You watch the road for a while, my eyes are tired.”
“Right. We hide.”
“Where?”
“In the forest. In a place where no car can go. You know, those guys aren’t coming to intercept two people, they’re coming to intercept a car. Maybe the Datsun, maybe some other car we’ve switched to, maybe a truck we hitched a ride on, but in any case, an automotive vehicle of some sort. And it may occur to them that we’ll try to hide and let them go by us, so they’ll look everywhere along the way that a car can be taken off the road, which is almost nowhere, but they won’t think to look in places where a car can’t go.”
“That’s why we threw a perfectly good automobile off a cliff?”
“That’s one reason. The other reason is, Honner and the people coming the other way are going to meet, somewhere along this road, and—”
Elly suddenly laughed aloud. “I’d love to see their faces!”
“No, you wouldn’t. Anyway, they’re going to want to know where we are. They’ll look, and they’ll look, and with any luck they’ll see the rail missing here, and they’ll look over the edge, and guess what.”
She said, “We didn’t make the curve?”
“That’s what I’d like them to believe. Maybe they will, maybe they won’t, but it’s worth a try. Particularly since we don’t dare leave the car up here in plain view because then they’d know something was up, and one of them might even all of a sudden figure it out.”
“Ah. Well, good luck to us.”
Grofield straightened up and stretched. After pushing the car off the edge, his back had started aching again, like a charley horse. “You watch,” he said. “I’ve got to rest a while.”
“Well, sure! I’m sorry, I should have realized—”
“Yeah yeah, but watch the road down there. I’ll just sit down . . .”
Watching the road, she said, “Take a nap, if you want. I’ll wake you in plenty of time.”
“I don’t need to nap,” he said, closing his eyes against the glare. “It’s just rest, a minute’s rest.” He leaned the good side of his back against a fencepost, and let himself relax.
All at once she was shaking his bad shoulder and saying, “Wake up! Wake up!”
The realization that he’d been asleep was the shock that woke him. He sat up, his back twinging, and said, “What? What?” He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, or his mind.
“I saw a car,” she said.
“Help me—help me on my feet, I’m stiff again.” She helped him up, and he said, “What kind of car?”
“American, I think, I don’t know what make. White.”
“Could be them. Come on.”
He was sore all over; it had been a mistake to stop moving, to fall asleep. Still, he made himself move, trotting across the highway to where the horses were still placidly waiting. Pulling himself with an effort into the saddle, he said, “How long was I asleep?”
“About an hour. It’s almost seven-thirty now.”
He led the way down the road and in along the trail he’d found before. Once they were well inside, he dismounted, none of his limbs wanting to move, and pushed past her, still mounted, heading back toward the road. “I’ll see if it’s them or not. Wait here, watch the horses.”
He went as close to the road as he dared, and lay on his stomach there. The cool ground felt good, the cool air soothed him. He knew it wouldn’t be good for long, that coolness and dampness would ultimately make his stiffness much worse, but as first aid it was fine.
He had to wait about two minutes, and then he heard the car coming up the hill. He raised up a bit, still hidden behind the screen of bushes, and got a good look at the three men in the car as it went by. The faces were all new to him, but they were in the style; they were Honner’s friends, without a doubt.
As soon as they went by, he got to his feet again and hurried back to Elly. He hardly minded the stiffness, and besides, it would go away as he moved around.
“Okay, Tonto,” he said, swinging back up into the saddle. “Let’s ride.”
3
THE SUN WAS high and bright, but here in the mountains the air was pleasant, even cool. Grofield and Elly rode along the highway at an easy lope, side by side, most
of the time in silence. After nine o’clock they began to meet some morning traffic coming out of Acapulco, headed for Mexico City; mostly buses and trucks giving off black, stinking exhaust, much worse than anything in the States, but now and then some tourists in their cars, some with American license plates. California. Texas. Louisiana. One gray Chevrolet had come all the way from Maine.
The truckers and the tourists ignored the couple southbound on horseback, but the bus passengers invariably stuck their heads and arms out the windows to wave and shout and grin, probably because they had nothing to do and bus rides are so boring. Grofield, wishing he had a moustache to curl, returned the bus travelers’ greeting with debonair half-salutes, feeling like a Confederate officer returning to the old plantation after the war. The background music was straight out of Stephen Foster.
Around ten-thirty, Elly said, “Slow down a minute. I want to talk to you. Before we get there.”
They slowed their mounts to a trot and Grofield said, “We’ve got a story to get straight, is that it?”
“That’s exactly it.”
“With whom?”
“With everybody. And with you, too. There’s one thing I haven’t mentioned up till now.”
He turned and looked at her, and her expression was both sheepish and defiant. He said, “There’s a boyfriend, you mean.”
“Well, yes.”
“Honey, you don’t have to worry about me hanging around. Like I told you at the beginning, I’m married.”
“That isn’t the point,” she said. She smiled a little, with a twist on it, and said, “I’m not so sure I wouldn’t like you to hang around. But I know you won’t, and what I want to say is something else.”
“We never slept together.”
“Yes.”
“Who’s going to believe that, honeybunch?”
“The important people will, if we say it right. You can say it right, I know you can. I hope you will.”
“Who gets the performance?”
“Well, my father for one.”
Grofield grinned. “I have the feeling that was just preamble. Number two is what counts.”
The Damsel Page 15