“Oh. I thought you’d given it up.”
“I didn’t learn enough to fill a peanut shell, my friend. My mind is just naturally made up.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “More beer?”
“I’ve had it. Let’s get moving.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Going home, at last—but not at all as I’d planned it. Home to me meant peace, security—an escape from the deadening monotony of city living, getting away from the sidewalks and neons, troubles and tensions. But now the malignancy that had festered in the city was riding along with me.
I found myself wishing it was daylight, so I could look my country over, rest my eyes on the familiar hills and bends in the river I knew so well.
We passed quickly through the sleepy village of Austin, where I’d grown up—beyond it the hills pushed the road nearer the river. His headlights picked out well-remembered turns, clumps of willow, blue elder and hackberry. At Nine Mile Creek the road dipped sharply, taking us over a bridge, then on deeper into the lower Snake River Canyon.
“How’re you gonna get back to town?” Henry asked, lighting a cigarette.
I joined him. “I can hitch a ride on the mail boat or float down in my rowboat, if necessary.”
“What about supplies?”
“Plenty of grub for the time being. Small game around, fish.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You can just about live off the land.”
“I’ve done it. I’ve had a bellyful of the city.”
“I still think you’re kind of shook up after that blast—”
“It shook some sense into my head, believe me.”
He shook his own head. “I still don’t see how you live out here alone—and like it.”
“I’m used to it. Naturally, I get the city urge after so long a time. A few days is usually enough. Believe me, a lot of guys would be out in the wilderness like I am, if they weren’t tied down, one way or another. It’s as basic as evolution.”
He snorted. We’d argued this before. “You’re a savage,” he said.
“No doubt—to a degree. We all are. Where do most men want to go on vacation? Hunting, fishing, prospecting—anything to get out in the wilds, away from the idiotic routine of assembly-line living, from the blatting crowd and the merchandise of conformity. When some of them get too much of it, they crack up—like our telephone psycho.”
He drove along expertly, as usual. “You don’t mind taking advantage of a hell of a lot of modern inventions, though.”
“Goody for you. I probably couldn’t make it living a stone-age existence, because I’m naturally more ‘civilized’ than savage. But it must have been a wonderful experience anyway, before the white man brought along his smallpox and firewater.”
“Okay—skip it. You’re in a real sweet mood.”
“Maybe it was the beer.”
“What about Marie?”
“She’ll go on and finish school and marry a good, respectable fellow and settle down with her automatic kitchen and laundry.”
He changed position. We had an unspoken disagreement on our attitudes toward women, so he changed the subject. “Did anybody ever kind of wonder about Goofy Joe?”
I snorted. “The character we want isn’t that simple, believe me.”
He let it go and pretty soon we were at my landing—a turn-out hemmed in by hackberry trees where I parked my car, when I had one. No one had driven in here for a long time. I opened the car door and caught a wonderful whiff of cold, clean air, blowing sweet off the river. A hint of sage and willow and moist earth…
I hauled my two suitcases out of the back seat.
“Your boat was here the last time I checked,” Henry said. “But maybe you’d better make sure.”
“Commendable, civilized idea.”
“I’ll go down with you, Chief Four-Winds.”
He relieved me of one suitcase, as I used my flashlight. We dropped down the rocky trail, sagebrush catching at my trousers legs. The subtle purl of the river filled the night, awakening a fierce nostalgia. It seemed to murmur a fond welcome.
Now we slipped through a screen of bare willow scrub, rattled over the round, water-worn rocks. Before leaving the bungalow I had put on heavy walking boots, and had no trouble. Henry, coming along behind, cursed at the uncertain footing.
We reached the shore at a small cove where the water lay calm except in very high weather. My wooden rowboat was where it belonged, pulled up on a small sand bar, oars in the bottom, where I’d left them. Even from such a short walk my legs trembled.
“I’ll check you out in a few days,” Henry said, his voice oddly hushed by the wind and the river.
I nodded, adjusting my gear, putting the oarlocks in place.
“So long,” he said.
“Thanks, Henry.”
Minutes later I was out in the eddy, getting the feel of the oars. I heard Henry moving through the rocks, back toward his car. Then the current grabbed the boat and I had to get busy. I swung the nose diagonally into the thrust of the water and used my good shoulders.
I saw Henry’s headlights slice the darkness, waver about as he turned, then point down-river.
The honest toil of rowing, the clean air and the river worked better inside me than a bottle of vitamin tablets. I’d been away too long…
However, by the time I eased into the sand on the Idaho shore, I was pooped. Sickness and easy living, pain-killer and liquor, had taken their toll. I was breathing too fast and my head was feathery.
I tied the boat to the familiar tree, eased my suitcases out on the sand bar. An overcast had cleared somewhat, a few stars came out to reveal the homey shapes of trees and cliffs, the black gulf of the canyon behind my cabin.
Would the tormenter follow me here? No roads, no cars, no telephones…
I staggered up the brush-lined trail, finding it thickly overgrown with creepers and dry, tall grass.
Then, in the starlight, I spotted my cabin—a black oblong beneath the old mulberry tree. Now I saw the white boles of cottonwood that grew along the creek, heard the chuckle of the creek itself. Now a strong odor of red fir and pine drifting down the canyon—higher in the hills they grew thickly on the moist northern slopes…
Home again!
Along the path now to the back door, hearing the wind in the bare tree branches, the mulberry limb that rubbed a gable, creaking.
I lifted the front door latch and pushed. It gave—and I smelled warmth, wood smoke!
I hustled backward, the suitcases forgotten. I eased around the nearest corner of the cabin. I crouched there, breathing too fast, my thoughts skittering like dry leaves on a windy street.
Somebody had beat me up here!
Not Henry—he was across the river, probably in Austin, by now. I hadn’t caught the odor of wood burning because the wind was blowing eastward, away from me. Some character had built a fire in my stove, and was in there laying for me—waiting…
Then I paused and tried to use my head. Would I be alive now if someone had really set a trap?
Would a sly killer make his presence known? Or had I been expected at a later date?
My fear began to be replaced by a throat-tightening rage. Some dirty sneak had moved into my castle, and ordinarily I would have wasted no time working him over. But right now I’d be no match for an overgrown boy, let alone—
Faintly I heard footfalls—from inside. I put my right ear against the cabin wall. Someone moving toward the back door, cautiously. I peered around the corner. I was much too nervous and jumpy, and my ‘night eyes’ weren’t operating the way they should have been. Too long in the city…
The door creaked as it opened. I saw a white blob of a face moving out. I was getting ready to try the invader, bad legs or no, when a voice stopped me cold.
“Ohhhh—Lord!” it said.
A young, womanish voice! I nearly fell over backward with astonishment. I gulped air.
“Who is it?” I barked.
“A—fri
end—please…”
Her voice was shaky with fright. And then I recognized it. I ran-a trembling paw across my forehead. Of all the kicky, idiotic dames on my list, it had to be this one—Rita Snell.
I found my flashlight and used it. “I’m a friend,” I said. “And this is my cabin.”
“Ohhh—Lord! Thanks! I was scared to death…”
I slid up to the door, still cautious. It could be a trap—baited with a good looking dame.
“You alone?”
“Yes!—please—”
I moved the light nearer, seeing a pair of denim pants, nicely filled, a plaid shirt likewise, and an oval scared face so white her mouth looked like a daub of purple. Right now she wasn’t acting very cold, aloof or even disinterested. I’d nearly scared her pants off.
“I’m sorry—Mark…”
She backed away as I moved inside. I closed the door. I lit one of my kerosene lamps—later I’d get a gas one going.
“I’m—terribly sorry,” she repeated, still retreating. “I came up the river in my boat, it was getting dark—and the motor quit. I thought some other boaters would come along, so I waited. There’s—no car traffic up here…So I came up to your place to keep warm!”
“Good enough, Rita. Relax. And I see you cleaned the place out.”
“It—was the least I could do. I’ll get out—of course…”
I was pumping up the gas lamp. “Nope. You’ll stay here and rest and we’ll get you going when it gets light.”
“But—”
“Look, sharp tongue, regardless of what you might have heard or think, in the upriver country when you get lost or run out of grub, you go to the nearest house and take shelter, whether anybody is home or not. You eat and rest. I hope you did that.”
Her arms were folded protectively across her plaid shirt. Like perchance I was going to attack her. I nursed the lamp into life and the interior of my cabin began to take shape. Wash basin and dish pan all in place, a good wood fire burning in the air-tight heater. I sat down in one of my home-made chairs and heaved a sigh of relief.
“You gave me a scare, too,” I said.
“I’m—still shaking…”
“Take it easy, Rita. Make the best of it. I won’t bite or snarl or act primitive, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“But—we’re here—alone! What will people say?”
I pulled out a smoke. It was my last pack, too. When I ran out I’d quit, as I’d always done before. Out here I didn’t need them.
“What people are going to know about it?”
“I—”
“Look—my nearest neighbor downriver is below Couse Creek, the nearest one upstream is eight miles away. You come up the river a lot, you ought to know.”
She nodded, sitting down gingerly on the edge of the bunk where she’d obviously been asleep. Her brownish hair, cut short and modern, was tousled. She licked her all-right lips and fussed with her hair, as dames do.
“I’m a—mess,” she murmured.
“Don’t worry about hair styles up here. I’ve got two bunks, as you can see, and I’m tired, believe me. I’ve had a long, long day.”
“That’s—very kind of you—”
I finished my smoke, stood up and poked more wood in the stove. She smiled a small, shaky one.
“I’ve been keeping up on what’s been in the papers—I mean about Louise Schmidt and Fay Simmons…”
I had no comment.
“I’m sorry I—acted so stuffy—at the meeting.”
“Think nothing of it. I was acting like an ass.”
She giggled suddenly, as some of the tension seemed to leave her. She didn’t strike me exactly as a giggler. And what was under that ‘party’ or ‘meeting’ aloofness? Not ignorance, surely. Her alert, wide-set eyes and good forehead indicated otherwise.
“You’re quite a student,” she said, those eyes indicating a makeshift book-case. Over the years I’d accumulated quite a pile of books, and sometimes had to commit a few boxes to the attic.
“Is that a boost or a knock?”
Her smile was better. “I read a lot, too. But I didn’t expect to find Thomas Wolfe and Aldous Huxley out here.”
“Maybe we have something in common even if I am disgusting.”
She flushed. “I guess I deserved that.”
“Sorry, Rita. We’ll consider the hatchet buried.”
She folded her hands in her lap—a real curvy lap, too. “But—don’t you find it uncomfortable—living away out here?”
“Naturally, sometimes. No running water, no inside plumbing. But it suits me, and my scant income. Now and then I go to town and debauch myself—then come back nursing my wounds and swearing I’ll never do it again.”
I was talking like a boob. She flushed again.
“I forgot,” I said. “I was warned that you have a very sharp tongue and impeccable morals—and hate men. So we’ll go to sleep in our separate bunks and rest, and I promise I won’t act the way I do in town.”
She looked at the floor. I brought in the luggage, shed my coat, dipped some cold creek water out of the bucket—evidently she had brought that in—into the wash basin and rinsed my face. I washed my hands and toweled dry. My hands shook as they put the towel on the rack. I sat down, weak in the knees.
“You—look awfully pale,” she said.
“I feel it. Which bunk do you want, Rita?”
She bit her lower lip. Her mouth was promising, like her full figure. She had everything some guy ought to go for—including a rich daddy. Maybe a mite tall, but that shouldn’t bother most career bachelors. She was trying hard to be buddy-buddy, but it didn’t come off. What had Ben Cook said? Excelled on water skis, high bowling scores, drove her speed boat like the wind.
“Oh, maybe I’d better just—leave.”
I sighed. I didn’t want to go over it again. “Suit yourself. I’m for beddy-bye. And I’m going to lock the door. So decide soon, will you?”
“Oh, all right! I’ll take the upper—”
She flounced off the bunk and climbed the homemade ladder. Those jeans were so snug every line of her long legs came through.
I turned the gas off, left the kerosene on, bolted the door, and fell into the bunk, clothes and all. I heard her shifting around up there. I pulled a blanket over me and the lights went out.
* * * *
I came awake quickly. The drugged tiredness had melted away, somewhat. The fire had died and the big room was cooling. What had awakened me? Probably having a stranger in the room—and a dame at that.
Stretching out, I winced. My legs still were under par. Maybe I’d been a fool to come out here. Another gal to gum up the works—and a cool one. Now if she was only Marie…
And why had Rita stopped here, really? That boat breakdown sounded flimsy. Had we been overlooking her as a candidate for evoking murder? Wouldn’t a man-starved, egocentric girl-woman like the one overhead fit the bleary picture? Waiting here so handily…
But if she had planned any dirty stuff, it should have been done earlier, when I was dog-tired and asleep.
I hadn’t slept in my clothes for over a year. Was I, too, becoming civilized, worrying about a minor detail like that? I raised up cautiously, seeing the imprint of her weight above me, and began shedding clothes. I’d sleep much better…
“What—are you doing?” her voice came shakily.
I sighed. “Go to sleep, doll. I’m taking off duds and getting ready for more shut-eye. You better do the same.”
“Oh!” she gasped.
I shook my head. Dames.
“You still think I’m going to crawl up there and rape you?”
Silence.
“Well, you can tell your society friends you slept all night in the same room with a savage. It’ll make good cocktail hour conversation.”
“Please…”
I ran a tentative finger along the outline so gently moulded above me.
“Oh! I should have known! I’m leaving!”<
br />
“Good enough. But you’ll have a jim-dandy time working on your boat in the dark, cold as it is.”
“Lord—I believe you’d say anything!”
I laughed. “You’ve got me awake now. Want a smoke?”
“No!”
I found my shirt which I’d so recently cast off, and dug out the crumpled pack of Luckies. I’d evidently slept on them. But they were smokable. I blew some up at her.
She coughed. “You’re trying to see just how mean and miserable you can make me. Lord, if I had a brother, I’d have him come up here and beat the tar out of you. And I’d watch with pleasure!”
“Goody. But since you don’t have a brother, and you’re so good in all kinds of sports, I’d rassle you Indian style.”
Cold silence. She flipped over, making the bunk creak.
“You know what’s the matter, Rita? You scare all the men off. You beat them bowling and swimming, you drive a bigger car, and you have a faster boat.”
“Who said I was even remotely interested in men?”
I chuckled. “Every girl is—unless she’s a lesbo, and you don’t have the earmarks.”
“Oh—you heathen!”
“You’re old enough, you’re built right, you look good, you know how to dress and fancy up. If you ever let yourself go you could nail any guy you wanted.”
Silence. I stretched out on the bunk, finished my smoke and ground it out on the floor. A bad habit, and I hadn’t made any New Year resolutions about it, either. Then I saw her nicely tousled head appear over the edge of the bunk. In the yellow, dancing light she looked real tempting.
“Mark—I’m sorry. I asked for all that, and more. Are you—naked?”
“Almost.” The blanket was pulled up to my belly.
“You look—strong.”
“Now that’s better.”
“Do you—have another cigarette?”
“Sure—a little mashed up.”
Her head disappeared and pretty soon here she came. Bare-footed. She slipped over to the stove and put in more wood, like an old hand. She came back. I moved over a little, cocking my head on one elbow. She eased down on the edge of the bunk. Ordinarily, this would have been the time to make a pass—but something held me back.
I handed her the mashed pack of smokes. She took one out, lit it. She held it like she wasn’t used to smoking.
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