by Laura Crum
I took the things from her and tried to keep any of what I felt from registering on my face. Her consternation seemed to be vanishing fast. She was composed and unruffled again, the eyes still flat and blank. I noticed that she was made-up, with carefully arranged hair, and that her light blue pants and top were unwrinkled. She didn't look as though she'd spent the night at the hospital. I wondered where she'd been.
"Thanks, Joyce," I said, as pleasantly as I could manage. "We'll see you later."
I heaved a deep sigh of relief once I was out of the house and walking away down the hill. Thanked God she hadn't asked me why I had walked and not driven. I didn't know what I could have said to that. The true answer-that I didn't want anyone to know I was there-would certainly not have done.
Glen's truck was still parked in front of the barn where I had left it. To my surprise, Lisa's truck was parked next to it. Lisa and Al and Janey were all standing in a little group in the barnyard, talking. I walked over and joined them.
Lisa smiled when she saw me, by which I judged that everything was all right. "How is he?" I asked.
"OK," she said. "He's awake and he seems normal. They say there's no brain damage. He's being a little strange, though. He doesn't remember what happened to him at all. Even though we told him he was electrocuted, he's acting like it was no big deal. He wants to go right home and get the rest of the cattle in so they can be shipped tomorrow the way he arranged." Lisa waved a hand at the holding pasture, which was heavily dotted with bovines. "They're all here except half a dozen that are still out in the back pasture. Dad seems obsessed with the idea he has to get home and get those gathered so everything can be shipped. The cattle trucks will be here tomorrow morning," she added.
I thought I understood. Glen wanted to feel that life was still normal, that nothing had changed. He needed the routines of the ranch to be important, needed to deny that there was a fundamental disaster at the heart of his world. I sighed inwardly. He wouldn't like what I would have to tell him.
"Those six steers are out on the far side of the back pasture," Lisa said. "They got away when we were gathering on Friday, and we didn't have time to go back for them." She looked at Al, Janey, and me doubtfully. "Could one of you guys go get them?"
Al and Janey were markedly silent. What the hell. "I'll go," I said. "Can I use Chester?"
"Of course," Lisa said gratefully. "I'm going back to the hospital. Tim's still there, trying to hold Dad down. If I can tell him the cattle are taken care of, maybe he'll sit still for the tests they want to do. If those go well, it's possible he can go home. He sure wants to." She glanced at the watch on her wrist. "I need to get going."
"Here's some clothes for Glen." I handed Lisa the bundle I was carrying and didn't explain anything more. There'll be time enough, I thought. That was a mistake.
Lisa took the clothes, talked to Al a little about shipping the cattle, and hurried away. I got back in Glen's truck and drove to Lisa's house, collected Joey, and then went back to the barn and caught and saddled Chester. It was time to gather.
TWENTY-TWO
I rode along the dusty road to the back pasture. I had been there before, many times, helping Glen gather when I was a girl. This pasture was the largest field on the ranch-somewhere between five and six hundred acres-and was located, as the name suggests, at the back of the property. There was a dirt road that led from the barn to the back pasture; it wound down one side of a long gully full of redwood trees, then climbed a bare, empty hill to the pasture gate.
Chester marched readily along the road in a swinging walk, his ears flicking forward and back. Joey trotted behind. The rich scent of the redwoods filled the shadows; late-morning sunlight slanted through the branches in long shafts. It was a moment right off a postcard, and it barely registered on my mind.
I had too much else to think about. The main thing that emerged was that I needed to talk to Glen. Right away. Before something else happened.
I reached in my pocket and dug out the object I had found in Joyce's purse. It was a smooth copper bar about as big as a woman's little finger. About as big as a fuse, in fact. It was what I had been looking for when I started to search, though I'd thought it unlikely I'd find it. A dummy fuse.
I stuffed it back into my pocket and stared blankly ahead of me. I saw and didn't see Chester's ears, red with black tips, his heavy, almost wavy black mane lying on the left side of his red neck. The redwoods slipped along beside me; a gray squirrel ran overhead, jumping from branch to branch. He was in another world-the safe, normal world I'd occupied before this last week. To be riding along trying to decide what to do about an attempted murder was unbelievable, unreal. Especially one involving Glen and Joyce, people I'd known since I was a kid. These things just didn't happen. I thought that I, like Glen, wouldn't mind returning to life as I'd known it.
The road descended down the side of the gully, getting steeper and steeper. Soon we would be at a little creek crossing, I remembered. Wrong. The road made a hard bend I didn't remember and showed me a brand-new bridge.
I stared at it in surprise. Chester stopped and stared, too. The bridge was a slender wooden ramp, with low rails, spanning the gully about twenty feet above the creek. I couldn't see the track of the old roadbed. As I recalled, it had descended in a sudden chute to the creek, a section that had been impassable for horse or vehicle in bad weather. No doubt this was why Glen had built the bridge. Apparently the bulldozing necessary to dig the footings had eliminated the previous roadbed.
Well, here goes, I thought. I clucked to Chester and bumped him gently with my heels. He took a step and stopped dead, his ears pointed sharply at the bridge. Un-uh, they said.
"Come on," I told him. "I know you've been over this before." I hoped it was true.
Chester wasn't buying it. He tried rooting all four feet to the ground; when I thumped steadily on his sides he took a hesitant step forward, then three fast steps backward. I thumped again and he jumped sideways. Not good.
A mere foot from his right front leg the bank dropped off sharply to the creek twenty feet below. Rolling down this bank was a potentially lethal wreck. I presumed Chester had no more wish to do this than I did, but there was no accounting for taste. I also had no idea how much distaste Chester had for the bridge.
I considered my options while Chester stood rooted, staring at the horse-eating monster. If this had been Gunner, I would have kicked him sharply and told him to get on with it. But I knew Gunner, and Gunner knew and trusted me. Chester and I were strangers. I wasn't sure what he'd do if I insisted.
The hell with the cowboy ethic. I talked soothingly to Chester, patted his neck, and was able to climb off him without spooking him. Pulling the reins over his head, I led him to the bridge and walked out onto it.
Chester followed me docilely. As I'd more than half suspected, he'd obviously been over the bridge before, but probably always in a group of horses. No doubt an older horse had usually been in the lead. Chester was perfectly willing to follow me over the bridge, despite giving it several suspicious looks when he put his feet down on the echoing wooden ramp. Joey followed the two of us, unperturbed.
Once over, I remounted, and we wound our way up the far side of the gully and out into the open. The road followed a grassy slope toward the gate. Hills rolled away around us, empty and quiet. The wind blew the thin yellow strands of grass, and a buzzard circled in the distant blue. Silence washed over me like a physical wave. It was so damn quiet it was shocking.
I looked around, almost disoriented. The forest had been full of small noises-the whisper of the creek, rustles and creaks from the trees, the sounds of animals in the underbrush. Out here, in the open hills, there was only the thin sound of the wind. When it died-nothing. No distant traffic, no omnipresent background bustle. Nothing.
I realized I'd never been out here alone before. The force of the quiet emptiness had always been broken and diminished by the presence of other human beings. Alone, it was oddly overpowerin
g. Almost disturbing.
I shook the feeling off and opened the gate to the back pasture. Rode Chester through it and shut it behind me. Wondered where the cattle were.
Lisa had said they were in the back, by the water hole, which made sense. If I was lucky, they were still there. Unfortunately, the water hole was at the far side of the field. I pushed Chester into a long trot and headed up the dusty road, Joey trotting behind me.
I rode for half an hour before I found the steers. They were where I expected them to be, grouped around a little puddle of a spring that made a tiny green island in the most desolate part of the ranch-an area called Jackass Pass. The hills here were so barren that in places they looked like a moonscape. The ground was chalky white, crumbling and dry. It was alien, unfriendly country to my eyes, though I supposed it had a certain stark beauty.
Counting heads, I ascertained I had six steers-the requisite number. All that remained was to get them back to the corrals near the gate. The nice thing about the back pasture was that, though big, it was roughly pie-shaped, narrowing steadily downhill to the gate and the holding corrals. As cattle will almost always go downhill when chased (horses go uphill), this made the pasture easy to gather, which was important if you were alone, as I was. The tricky part would be to keep the steers from holing up in the brush, which was why I'd brought the dog.
I started the steers back toward the corrals. Joey made to charge after them, but I was prepared. I had a pocket full of pebbles. "Get back!" I hollered and hit him squarely in the ribs with a rock. He yipped in surprised and looked at me reproachfully, but he did, indeed, fall in obediently behind my horse. A few more well-timed shots convinced him he should stay there unless I sent him.
I trailed the steers at a sedate pace, our assorted hooves raising puffs of dust in a small cloud. I coughed repeatedly and wondered why I'd ever wanted anything to do with horses and cattle.
Occasionally one of the steers, usually a high-headed brindle, would try and peel off into a patch of brush, in an attempt at escape. Fortunately, the brush was sparse on this part of the ranch, affording the cattle little cover. I sicced Joey on the brindle a couple of times, and the dog dove in enthusiastically, nipping and yapping, until the steer trotted back to the others, head and tail high. Two or three such lessons and the brindle gave up. After that, we all got along fine.
A black steer took over the lead, clopping steadily toward the corrals, seeming to know where he was going. Joey trailed behind the group, panting and happy. I relaxed and rode along in the rear, coughing intermittently.
There was plenty of time between coughs to think. I thought. None of the thoughts were pleasant. I kept adding up the events of the past week and wondering. There were a few things that just didn't fit, and I was at a loss to explain them. I had the unpleasant conviction that the things I didn't understand were vital.
We were almost back to the corrals. The cattle picked their way along a shallow dry creek bed, nosing at the occasional willows and cottonwoods. I turned my head to look for the dog, and a tree branch exploded next to me.
There was a split second of pure unreality; nothing in the world made any sense. Chips of wood stung my face, and a sharp crack echoed in my ears as Chester dove sideways with incredible frightened violence. Comprehension and adrenaline flooded into me in the same instant. I let go of the saddle horn in time to let the force of Chester's leap fling me off his back.
I landed rolling and flopped breathlessly and, I hoped, limply behind a boulder. Chester and the steers galloped off in a thundering herd. I didn't dare look for Joey. I lay perfectly still and listened to my heart thud.
That was a shot. My mind repeated it obsessively and uselessly. Somebody was trying to kill me. A spine of rock dug into my leg where it was folded under me. I barely felt it. All I felt was intense, heart-stopping fear.
The boulder I lay behind was little better than no cover at all. Not to mention I wasn't exactly sure which direction the shot had come from. Near the corrals, I guessed.
I replayed the sharp crack that was still ringing in my ears. A rifle. The sniper could be a long way away, then, if he/she had a scope.
Joyce? I had never seen Joyce shoot a rifle before, only a pistol. That didn't mean she couldn't. Had Joyce discovered the dummy fuse was missing from her purse, learned from Lisa where I had gone, and marched out here to shoot me? There was a rack of deer rifles in the den at Glen's, I remembered.
Oh, shit. I was dead. The next shot would be coming any moment. If I hadn't turned my head, I'd be dead now. Holding my breath, I lay frozen.
I had no weapon, no way to protect myself. I could only hope that I would be taken for dead. If I were doing the shooting, I thought, I would be very wary. With a scope, I could hide in the trees back in the ravine and sight the rifle on my target up here. I wouldn't want to show myself, or shoot twice. One shot is often ignored; two might draw interest.
Lisa and Al and Janey knew I was out here. Anyone of them, at any time, could come riding or driving up to check on me or help move the cattle. The road was passable for a pickup to the corrals, thanks to Glen's bridge. It wouldn't even take four-wheel drive. Joyce would not want to be seen. If I were found dead up here, she could not afford to have been in the area.
Joyce. Why hadn't I thought about it? Joyce had been suspicious of me. Of course the first thing she would do would be to look in her purse for the dummy fuse. When she found it gone, she would have known I'd taken it. Would have jumped to the conclusion that I knew. Joyce had to eliminate me.
I held my breath. The seconds passed with infinite slowness, but eventually they lengthened into minutes. Or I thought so, anyway. My heart pounded steadily, panic unrelieved. I could feel the rock digging into my leg, which was uncomfortably bent. I held still.
She would get away with it, I thought. No one would know Joyce had anything to do with Glen's accident; no one would know I suspected her. I hadn't told a soul. If I were dead, no one would imagine Joyce had a reason to kill me. Even if they found the dummy fuse in my pocket, it was doubtful anyone would put it together. And no one could know I had found the bar in Joyce's purse.
I had been incredibly, idiotically stupid. I had told Lonny I was in no danger, which was true, until Joyce discovered what I was doing. After that, I thought, Glen had been out of danger and I was the primary target.
The silence around me was all-encompassing. Echoes of the shot had died out of my ears. I could hear the thin wind now and then, an occasional rustle in the cottonwoods and willows. Some small thing, a lizard maybe, moved in the stones near my head.
I didn't dare twitch. If I was being watched through a scope, the tiniest movement might result in another shot. I lay still, not twitching.
My leg ached fiercely. How long, I wondered, would I need to lie like this? My eyes were open, staring straight ahead. I didn't dare blink or shift the angle of my vision. A scope could reveal those details from 200 yards away. My only hope was to lie perfectly still. Eventually Joyce, if it was Joyce, would have to either leave or come up here and see if I was dead.
Was it Joyce? It seemed as if it must be. Yet I wondered. My ears strained for any noise-a car engine, voices, the soft sounds of footsteps. The first two would be welcome, the third infinitely less so. Lisa might drive up here, looking for me. If I heard her coming I would know I was safe.
On the other hand, Joyce, if it was her, might decide to investigate. If she did, I told myself, I'd lie still till the last moment, then rush her. She would approach close enough to see if I was dead; she had to. She wouldn't risk firing a second shot for no good reason. I'd get a chance, I'd have to get a chance, to knock her down.
A sudden noisy rustle in the willows behind me sent my heart shooting up into my throat. The rustling continued, horribly loud in the silence. I lay frozen. Someone or something was moving through the willows.
More rustles. Getting closer. I lay still with every muscle tense. I could not make a mistake. I had to lie immob
ile until the person reached down to me, had to take that second to knock their legs out from under them. I had to.
More rustling, very close now. Silence. My heart pounded. She could be staring at me, getting ready to shoot. I wanted to jump up, break, and run, anything but lie still. That's how quail are killed, I told myself. Don't be a stupid quail. Hold still.
I ached with fear and held my breath. The brush rustled again, right next to me.
Something moved out where I could see it, something traveling into my line of vision. Gray speckles, furry, suddenly familiar-Joey. The relief was almost worse than the fear. I needed to do something. Yell at the dog. Cry. Instead I lay still, trying not to pee in my pants, feeling my heart beat in hysterical thuds. Jesus.
I kept on imitating a corpse. My leg was numb. I thought roughly an hour might have passed. It was probably about two o'clock in the afternoon. How long could I lie here? On the other hand, could I afford to move? The downside risk was pretty great.
Joey sniffed me a couple of times, puzzled and curious, and eventually lay down near me. I was glad of that. I thought he might bark if someone approached.
I longed for the sound of Lisa's voice, but the silence was unrelenting. Why, oh, why had I gotten myself into this? Too late to cry, too late to back out. I lay still and ached all over, except for my leg, which I couldn't feel at all.
Please, dear God, I prayed fervently, unsure to whom I was praying but absolutely sure I needed help, please help me get through this. Help me survive.
TWENTY-THREE
A long, long time later the light began to die out of the sky. I lay where I had fallen, alternately throbbing and numb, trying to decide when to get up. Wait for dark, I told myself. You've waited this long. The rifle will be useless when it's dark.
I tried not to think about the pain, tried to relax and let the pain wash in and out, no more trouble than little waves along the beach. I watched the rocks in front of me as their outlines grew softer with the advance of evening.