“Shut up. I didn’t try to kill him.”
“We have to get my father. Now. What’s happened to him? Why are you over here?”
“Your father’s in no danger. They’ll take good care of him now. You and I are the ones in a spot. We’re not going back over there.” He told her what had happened to her father. He told her about Drake. He made it considerably less brutal than it had been, but it was still bad enough. She shivered and rolled over so that her head was buried in her arms. Then he told her that he had come under false promises by Drake and that he had quarreled with Drake.
When at last he was through, she sat up and brushed her drying hair back with her fingers. She looked solemn and capable.
“What do we do now, Walker?” she asked. He felt pleased that she had remembered his name, his first name. Then he remembered the way Ruth had said it and the black lethargy crept into him. Suddenly he realized that he didn’t know what to do—where to go. The world was again a pointless place and he wondered why he had gotten so interested that he had bothered to slug Frick when they stood on the trail. For a time she had been a friend. He looked down at her. She wore the face of a stranger.
“You’re odd,” she said gently. “Don’t be angry. For a while you looked … alive. Now you’re the way you were when I met you. Why?”
He didn’t answer her. He looked off across the lake. There was no point in trying to come alive again. How can a man live in a prison? He waited for long minutes and then he began to think of a plan.
At last he said, “Here’s what we do, Miss Benderson. Somehow we get through the brush back to the road. We can get a ride. I’ll see that you get dropped off in the nearest town. You can get the police to go back with you and get these men and your father. Without the film that’s in this camera, they have nothing to threaten him with. I’ll go on. I’ve done you a favor. As soon as you can manage it, put two thousand dollars in an envelope and mail it to John Robinson, General Delivery, Albuquerque, New Mexico. Remember that. I’ll be there to pick it up. Don’t tell anyone about it.”
Just at that moment he saw Frick and Drake walk down to the edge of the lake. Frick was pointing in their direction. Drake was holding something white to his face. Post leveled the gun and fired, aiming short. He saw the splash of the shot and saw the two men run back toward the bunkhouse. He fired another shot in the air and stood up. She seemed eager to start. He knew that she must be worrying about her father. He felt anxious to get out, to drop her in a village and be on his way. He longed to return to his unthinking quiet, though he knew that he would carry with him a small spot of horror—carry it until he was caught. He didn’t doubt that he would be caught—eventually.
The sun was directly overhead when, after a half hour of sweating effort, they gained the top of the first hill. The brush was too deep for them to see ahead. He worried about the direction, knowing that with the sun in the center of the sky, they stood their best chance of wandering away from the line they should follow. He hoped to parallel the regular trail.
When they reached the valley beyond the first hill, they were both scratched and shaken. She twisted an ankle stepping over a rotting log, but she refused his help. She limped along, her lips white and compressed. In a matter of minutes the ankle had swollen so that it puffed against the strap of the sandals she had worn in her swim across the lake.
After the first hour, he judged that they were halfway to the road. He knew they couldn’t be more. He made her rest, even though she was anxious to continue.
“Take it easy, Nan. That ankle must be killing you.”
“It isn’t so bad. It keeps my mind off of other things that hurt. It’s a clear sharp pain that I can understand.”
“How so?”
“I don’t want to think about Dad. And I don’t want to think about you.”
He knew that she wanted him to ask why. He sat in silence. Deerflies found them and buzzed around their heads. He cut her a leafy branch to swish them away. When her breathing was normal, he ripped a long strip from the bottom of his shirt and bound her ankle tightly. She gasped once, but that was all.
They started again. There was only the sound of insects in the darkness under the trees.
After the second hour he called another halt. He felt that they should have reached the road. She was too exhausted to talk. He tried to look confident. After ten minutes he helped her to her feet and then plunged off into the brush. She had trouble keeping up. He made her take hold of the back of his belt. Her weight was a drag on him and he went more slowly.
Finally he stumbled and fell forward. He didn’t want her to know how tired he was. He climbed to his feet and saw, ahead of him, the warm gray-blue of asphalt shining between the leaves. They stood at the edge of the road and, on impulse, shook hands solemnly.
After two sleek cars had roared by them, she stared ruefully at her thumb and said, “Wrong technique, Walker. Modern advertising says that you have to awaken the curiosity of the potential consumer. See that hunk of cardboard over there in the ditch? Get it, please.”
He brought it back to her. She picked an open place where she could be easily seen from any passing car. Then she spread herself out on her back on the ground, limp and helpless.
“Now, chum, you kneel here beside me and hold on to that cardboard. When you hear a car coming, you fan me as hard as you can. Pretend you don’t see the car until the last minute. Then jump up and wave your arms. When he stops, carry me to the car and tell the nice man that your wife has a touch of sun.”
He heard the far-off noise of a car and started fanning. She lay with her eyes shut, enjoying it. He fanned until he was certain the car was very near. Then he jumped up and turned, waving his arms.
Tires squealed on the pavement and an old black sedan lurched to a stop practically beside him. A man with a round red anxious face stuck his gray hair out of the window and said, “Trouble, son?”
“I think my wife’s got a touch of sun. How about a lift to the nearest town?”
“Sure. Need help getting her in?”
“I can manage.” He hurried over and scooped her up. He turned with her to find the rear door already open. He placed her gently on the rear seat. Then he ran back and got the rifle and the camera. He put them on the floor and then wedged himself in on the edge of the seat. As the man started, he picked up her hand and began to stroke it. He saw the man’s anxious eyes framed in the rear vision mirror as the old car rattled briskly along.
They turned onto a straight stretch and the man turned his head around and shouted out of the corner of his mouth. “Let ’er sit up now, son. That’s a right cute trick you two got there.”
“What do you mean, mister? My wife’s sick.” Nan opened one alarmed eye.
“Don’t think so, son. Her color’s too good for a sun case. Doesn’t breathe right. And wives usually like wearing some kind of wedding ring. Also I just come down the road here about twenty minutes back. Didn’t see nobody. You don’t get a touch of sun hikin’ around in the woods.”
Post was about to object again when Nan sat up with a sigh. “Okay, so you’re a bright-eyes. We just got tired of cars going right by us. Are you mad?”
“No hard feelings, lady. I get a kick out of it. Any special place you want to go?”
“Just the next town. My wife wants to stop off … I mean, Miss Benderson wants to stop off there. If you’re going further, I’d like to go along with you.”
“Sure, glad to do it. Where’d you come from? Been off in the woods there?”
“We’ve been down at Mr. Drake’s camp on Meridin Lake. He’s the man who bought the lake,” Nan answered.
“That so? Didn’t know anybody was down there. Hmmm.”
They joggled along in silence for a while. Nan sat on the edge of the seat. Then the man hitched up to where he could look back at Nan in the rear vision mirror. “Seem kind of upset there, Miss Benderson. Got something on your mind?”
“I’m just anxious to ge
t to the next town. How far is it?”
“Maybe another twenty minutes. Maybe a little less.”
“Please hurry, won’t you?”
“Doin’ the best I can right now.”
The narrow road wound through banks of thick green. Post sat back and realized that he had a feeling of regret at leaving the girl so soon. There’s nothing I can do about it, though, he thought. No point in fretting. Just get along to a new state and a new city. Find a room and sit through the empty days until they find me. Then the state can support me.
After another few minutes, the man turned around again. He had to talk loud to be heard over the motor roar. “Thought you ought to know I’ve decided not to take you two into the village. Figure we ought to stop at a trooper station just this side of the village and get a couple of things straightened out. Thought you ought to know.”
Post reached down and picked the rifle off the floor. He held it in his lap and Nan looked at him with wide eyes. He stared at the back of the driver’s red neck.
“I figure you’re going to tell me you’re holdin’ a gun on me, son. I can’t say as I like that. Gives a man kind of a cold feeling up his back. But I’m going to drive you right into the station and you can explain a couple of things to the trooper on duty.”
“What sort of things?”
“Well, for instance, how come you’re carrying a rifle around in the woods this time of year? Nothing open that’s worth shooting. Who’s been beating you up? What kind of talk is this about Meridin Lake being sold? That ain’t changed hands in forty years.”
“How could you know that?”
“I’m the county clerk, boy. I record all the deeds for land around here. I can remember the deeds for longer than you’d think. No sale on Meridin Lake land for a long, long time. Something funny here and I don’t want to drive you on out and then have to tell the law I thought you acted funny but I didn’t do anything about it. No sir.”
Post lifted the gun and reached the muzzle over until the barrel rested lightly against the back of the man’s neck. He shivered and sank a little lower in the seat, but he didn’t slow the car.
“Look,” Post said. “I can give you one through the head and grab that wheel. What makes you think I won’t?”
“I’m a little scared you might, son. But after fifty years or so you get so you size up people. You look kind of mean-tempered, son, but you don’t look like no killer to me.”
“Then slow down and stop. You get out and I’ll drive on from here.”
“Not in my car, son. And you try to climb over here in the front seat with me and I run it off into a ditch and nobody goes nowhere.”
Post didn’t know what to do. He knew he couldn’t pull the trigger. Nan was looking at him with an expression that was half pity and half satisfaction. The woods began to clear and ahead he saw the small white sign which read “State Police.” The man didn’t slow down. He turned into the front yard in a wide curve which ignored the driveway and tore the sod in the yard. As he slid to a stop, he leaned on the horn button and the old car yapped like a tortured thing.
For a second the yard was silent, the small white bungalow dreaming in the sun. Then the screen door slapped open and a burly man in gray ran out and down the steps. He started to demand explanations of the driver, and then he noticed the rifle in Post’s hands, noticed the battered face and the wide-eyed girl. He fumbled at the flap over his revolver and said, “Drop that gun, you!”
“Now you just take it easy, Bobby. This here fellow’s a friend of mine. He and his girl’ve just got a little explainin’ to do to the law. No call for you to get so official. You might get him excited and he might shoot somebody.”
Post climbed out of the car and handed the rifle to the trooper. Nan stepped out with great hauteur, which disappeared at her first limp. Post looked back and saw the camera on the floor of the car. He knew that somebody would get official and have the film developed. His own testimony might be discredited because of the killing he was wanted for. He reached in and pulled the camera out. Before the trooper could snatch it, he slammed it hard against the fender of the car. The bent metal sprung open and he tore the roll of film out.
“What did you do? What was that?” the trooper demanded.
“Half a million bucks’ worth of film. Why? Let’s get this over with.”
They walked into a narrow hall. On one side was a standard living room, with overstuffed furniture. On the other side was a small bare room in one end of which was a desk with a high railing in front of it. The trooper waved them into the bare room, shut the door and hurried around to sit behind the desk. He opened a notebook, licked a pencil stub and looked up expectantly.
First the driver, who turned out to be a Mr. Benz, told about the rifle and the story about Meridin Lake.
Nan interrupted him. “Please, we’re wasting time. My father’s back at the lake and he’s been beaten up and he’s being held by blackmailers. He’s Thomas Finley Benderson, owner of Benderson Shipbuilding. Unless you do something quickly, you’ll spend the rest of your life explaining why you didn’t. This man rescued me and brought me out. That’s why he has the rifle. Now get on the ball and quick.”
The trooper spent three stupefied seconds staring into the cold gray eyes, and then he grabbed the phone. It took him five minutes to get his call through to a trooper station in a town forty miles away.
They listened to his conversation. “Carl? This is Bobby. Is Gloria in shape?… Good. Hop over to Meridin Lake.” He held his hand over the mouthpiece and said, “How many of them are there?”
“Two of the gang and my father and another two people they’re holding.”
He talked into the phone again. “You and the new guy ought to be enough. Blackmailers or something holding three people there. Round ’em up. Leave the new guy and you fly back out with a man named Benderson, an old boy. Fly him down to Main Lake and shove him in the hospital if he needs it. If the radio’s working again, you might keep in contact with station eleven and let them send me the dope on the tape. Got Benderson’s daughter here and she’s anxious.”
He hung up and leaned back in his chair, smiling in appreciation of his own efficiency. “Gloria’s a float plane we use up here for search jobs. Carl’ll be in there in a half hour or so. Quicker than we could make it. Now you two just go on in the other room and sit tight until I get a report.”
Mr. Benz smiled at them as he left. At the door he turned around and said, “You’re too anxious to use that gun, Bobby. Get you into trouble sometime.” The trooper growled at him.
Nan and Post sat across from each other in the quiet sitting room and listened to the loud tick of the clock on the mantel. He looked at the open window and wondered how far he could get before being picked up. It was tempting. Her obvious honesty had relaxed the vigilance of the trooper.
She glanced up and saw him staring at the window. She caught her underlip between her teeth and shook her head. “No, Walker. I’ll get you off before he finds out. Wait.”
At last the trooper stuck his head in the door and waved a paper. “Got it.”
Nan jumped up and met him at the door. Post walked over to where he could see her face as she read. She turned white and swayed. They each took her arm and led her over to the couch. Post snatched the paper out of her hand and read it.
“Everything as reported. Leaving Carmody guarding two prisoners. Benderson okay. No hospitalization needed. Taking him back to eleven. He wants to see daughter. Will go back in and leave two more men to take prisoners through woods. Wheeler.”
He looked down at her and she was smiling up at him.
Then she turned her head and looked at the trooper. “Mr. Post has been very nice to me and he’s in a hurry. Couldn’t you people take a statement or something from him and let him go? He didn’t have anything to do with all this.”
The trooper rubbed his chin. “Why, I guess so, if Mr. Post lives close enough so that he can get back here if we need him.
Sure, miss. I’ll do it.”
She smiled up at Post again and there was pity and farewell in her eyes. He stood looking down at her and suddenly it was as though a curtain had rolled back in his mind. Suddenly he had pride that was stronger than his fear. He knew that he couldn’t start running. It was too late to run, even though she had given him his chance.
“I don’t think that’s so good, Trooper. You see, you didn’t take my name. It’s probably in your wanted files. I’m Walker Post. They want me for killing a man in a fight in a bar about a week ago. I killed a man named Victor Hessler. Also, there were three of the gang up there. I shot one through the head as he was swimming across the lake. Maybe you better keep me around.”
The trooper opened his mouth and left it open. He shut it slowly and said, “Well, I’ll be damned. Wait till I see Benz.”
Ten minutes later Post sat on the edge of a bed in a small bedroom in the back of the bungalow. The windows were barred. The door was locked. It looked solid. The trooper had told him that it was temporary until he could be transferred to one of the customary places. He slipped out of his clothes and stretched out on the bed. He felt peaceful and relaxed.
He awakened several times during the late afternoon and early evening, but no one came in to tell him what was happening. He heard many people moving around and heard voices he couldn’t identify.
A strange trooper brought in a plate of food and a pitcher of water at seven o’clock. He didn’t volunteer any information and Post didn’t ask for any. There was nothing else he had to know. He didn’t let himself wonder how long his sentence would be. He ate and then stretched out on the bed.
He awoke with a start and saw that it was morning. The door was open a crack and somebody was pounding on it.
He recognized Nan’s voice saying, “Hey! Are you decent?”
“Just a minute,” he answered, and pulled on his shirt and trousers. He walked to the door and pulled it open. She stood there smiling at him. He stepped back and she walked in and sat on the bed. He stood beside the window.
More Good Old Stuff Page 24