Girl on a Slay Ride

by Louis Trimble

  Mallory dropped the knapsack from his shoulders and followed. Denise’s panic caught him by surprise. She was already within twenty feet of the gap. Blalock was less than a dozen feet behind her. Mallory shouted again. Neither of them seemed to hear him.

  He could feel the heavy slap of the frost-laden grass against his ankles. He kept thinking that he should be able to run faster than a fat man or a woman, yet he seemed to gain nothing on them. He grunted with an effort to increase his speed. He saw the white of the grass come up. It lashed against his face stingingly. He instinctively pulled his head into his shoulders and rolled as the ground rose to smash him.

  He lay gasping under the impact. That damn leg, he thought. He’d almost forgotten about it. He could feel the warmth of flowing blood again. He rolled and came painfully to his knees.

  Denise was out of sight. The tail of Blalock’s overcoat was disappearing around the outside of the gap. Then Denise screamed again, the sound fainter and more breathless. Mallory swore at his own weakness. He forced himself to rise. He began to hobble across the grass.

  He reached the opening and started through. The sound of a heavy body thrashing in brittle brush stopped him abruptly. He heard Graef’s voice, glutted with satisfaction.

  “I told you, Blalock, that a good general is never outflanked. And you, Mrs. Lawton, don’t be foolish. I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.”

  Then Graef said, “Where is Mallory, Mrs. Lawton?”

  Mallory drew himself back around a cornice of rock. He steadied his back against its rough surface. Graef wasn’t ten yards away, he thought. In a moment he would come back into the meadow. The night, the pain would all have been wasted.

  Mallory could barely hear Denise’s answer to Graef’s question. Her words came slowly, as if she still hadn’t caught her breath after her panicky run.

  “I haven’t seen him for hours,” she said. “He couldn’t walk on his bad leg. He made me leave him.”

  “Nonsense,” Graef said. “I only shot to crease him.”

  Denise’s voice was stronger now. “He said the bullet shattered the bone.”

  Mallory held his breath. He admired Denise for trying to keep Graef away from him, but he doubted if she was actress enough to convince the man. Mallory felt behind him for a loose piece of rock, for anything that he could use as a weapon. There was nothing, nothing at all.

  Graef said coldly, “I don’t make that kind of mistake when I shoot.”

  Thoms spoke for the first time. “It was pretty dark and he was running, Miles. He could’ve stepped into the bullet.”

  “True,” Graef said thoughtfully. “It’s possible.” He paused, then Mallory heard him say, “If Mallory can’t walk, we can’t use him, Nick. And he’s in no shape to get help. So let’s get to work on Blalock again.”

  The tension ran out of Mallory, leaving him sagging and empty. He started to move slowly back toward the meadow. He stopped short as Thoms cursed in a surprised voice. There was the sound of someone tearing through the heavy underbrush. Graef’s gun went off, making a hard, flat sound in the still cold air.

  “Get him, Nick!” Graef screamed.

  Loud sounds of Thoms floundering wildly in the brush reached Mallory. It took him a minute to realize that they were not coming in his direction. No one had seen him. Blalock must have got away again, Mallory thought in surprise.

  Graef said in a more normal tone, “All right, Nick, come back. I told you he would run if we gave him the chance. Now let’s go. And don’t get too close. We don’t want Blalock to know we’re following him. And, Mrs. Lawton, you walk right in front of me.”

  Mallory heard the brush rustle. Then there were the sounds of footsteps fading away on hard-packed dirt. Denise had won a respite for him with the story, he thought. He turned and limped back to where he had left his knapsack.

  He sat down and began to examine his wounded leg. He thought that Graef must have decided to take the chance that Blalock could find his way from here to the money. Graef couldn’t be absolutely sure, Mallory realized. And that meant he was gambling.

  Mallory grinned stiffly at nothing. Graef was gambling because he’d about run out his string. His only means to get what he wanted was force, and that had failed.

  Mallory got to his feet. He picked up the knapsack, the bag of food, and the bundle Denise had dropped in her panic. He started toward the campsite.

  When he reached it, Mallory worked quickly, anxious not to let Graef and the others get too far ahead of him. He had to find them before Blalock located the money. Once that happened, Mallory knew that Graef would no longer need Blalock—or Denise.

  He put water on to boil. He made a large breakfast and wolfed it down. He washed and rebandaged his leg. He went to the tent and changed into hiking boots. When the knapsack was repacked, he was ready to go.

  He hesitated at the gap. Maybe he’d be smarter to go back to the highway and alert the police. His mind searched the possibilities. The answer was easy enough to find—Graef could get the money and be on his way out of the mountains before Mallory could make the long twenty-five miles back to the highway.

  He turned and started through the gap in the brush that Blalock had made in his flight.

  Chapter XVI

  MALLORY almost stumbled over Nick Thoms. It was growing dusky and Mallory was tired from the grinding effort of walking all day over the rough trail. He saw Thoms’ inert body just in time to avoid stepping on Thoms’ outflung hand.

  Malory threw himself behind a bush at the edge of the trail. He lay for some moments watching Thoms. There was no movement except for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.

  Mallory shifted his position so that he could see Thoms’ face. The dusk was thickening but he saw blood that had run from Thoms’ hairline and down over his ear and cheek. Mallory got to his feet cautiously. But there was no sign of Graef; no sound but the faint forest noises.

  He walked up to Thoms and examined the wound. It had been made by a club, Mallory thought. He could see bits of bark stuck in Thoms’ hair. A tiny bit of lichen was mashed into the bloody cut.

  Mallory knelt and ran his hand over Thoms’ body. He wore no gun. Mallory was not surprised. Graef was not the kind of man who would want anyone but himself to go armed.

  He could leave Thoms here; Graef had. Mallory could imagine Blalock sneaking close enough to big Nick Thoms to club him down. He could not imagine Graef letting himself get caught so easily.

  Mallory hesitated. It would be dark in a few moments. Thoms could freeze lying here unconscious. And he was fair game for some predatory mountain animal.

  Mallory glanced at the darkening sky. Gray clouds were forming mackerel patterns. At this altitude that could mean snow, he knew. The air running down from the mountain peaks touched his skin with chill, moist fingers.

  He realized bitterly that he was incapable of leaving Thoms to lie here and possibly die.

  He found a spring and filled his canteen with water. He knelt beside Thoms. He took the hand ax from Thoms’ belt, crossed Thoms’ thick wrists over his stomach and then lashed them together with Thoms’ own belt. He poured cold water on the wound, washing the dirt from it. The rest of the water he dumped on Thoms’ face. Then he stood back, holding the ax and waiting.

  Thoms stirred. He lifted his head and focused his eyes slowly on Mallory. He blinked a few times. He said in a thick voice, “Where’s Miles?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Mallory said. “Now get up.”

  Thoms tried to move his hands. He looked down at himself in surprise. “What’s the idea?” he demanded.

  “The idea,” Mallory said, “is that your hands are tied so you can use your fingers to hold your pants up. Move your hands and you lose your pants.”

  Thoms cursed him. Mallory said savagely, “Stop wasting your breath. I’m through being pushed around by you and Graef. Now it’s my turn to do a little pushing. You’re coming with me. And if you try anything, I’ll bury this ax in your skull.
Now get up and move!”

  Thoms rose awkwardly. He stood swaying on his thick legs. He said, “My head hurts.”

  “So does my leg,” Mallory said. “Move!”

  Thoms started slowly up the dark trail. Mallory got the flashlight from his knapsack and turned it on. Thoms stopped and glanced back.

  ‘The woman said you had a busted leg,” he told Mallory accusingly.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Mallory said. “Graef’s bullet went right where he told it to go.”

  Thoms looked pleased. “Miles don’t miss often,” he said. He turned and started walking again.

  They’d gone close to a mile, Mallory judged, when the moon rose. It filtered thin, pale silver through the clouds. Mallory turned off the flashlight. Without the light, they would have to go slower, but they would also take fewer chances of forewarning Graef.

  He felt the trail begin to pitch steeply underfoot. The trees thinned away. The ground leveled off and then sloped downward. They’d crossed the height of land, Mallory knew. They weren’t over a day’s march from the Strait now.

  Ahead he could see the thin moonlight touching snow-nippled peaks. They were dropping rapidly now, but the air stayed cold as it rolled down from the near mountains.

  Mallory began to feel memory coming back. He walked only half conscious of Thoms stumbling wearily ahead of him. He was recalling the geography of this country. Not far now and off to the right was a big, mountain-rimmed meadow. If Blalock had brought the plane here, Mallory thought, he must have landed there. No other piece of land was flat enough in these mountains, or big enough.

  Mallory felt excitement stirring in him. And if Blalock had landed on the meadow, then he must have hidden the money somewhere close by.

  They rounded a bend in the trail. Thoms stopped abruptly. Mallory stepped to his side. He saw the tiny flicker of light ahead and to the right. A campfire. But how many people would he find around it and who would they be?

  Mallory said, “Just keep your mouth shut.” He started on and then stopped. He couldn’t trust Thoms, he thought. Thoms would risk a clouting from the ax if he thought he could warn Graef.

  Mallory took a dirty handkerchief from Thoms’ pocket. He pushed it into Thoms’ mouth. He used a strip of bandage from his first-aid kit and bound the handkerchief in place.

  He said, “Now start walking again.”

  Thoms moved silently, ponderously down the trail. Mallory kept close to him, one hand holding the ax, the other ready to grab Thoms’ jacket if necessary.

  The flickering light became brighter. It disappeared as someone stepped in front of it. Mallory was watching it too intently. He was an instant late in shifting his eyes away from it, an instant late in seeing Graef move into the line of vision.

  Thoms started forward at an awkward, shuffling run. Mallory made a grab. He felt his fingers tick Thoms’ jacket. He made a leap for Thoms, feeling the pain shoot through his wounded leg. He swore helplessly as he tripped and sprawled on the hard ground.

  He was up and running, swinging the bad leg stiffly, like a crutch. Thoms was plunging ahead, his weight carrying him downgrade like a runaway truck. Mallory could hear the gagging sounds of words Thoms tried to force around the handkerchief in his mouth.

  Graef had disappeared. But he must be able to hear Thoms, Mallory thought. The big man’s hammering run shook the ground. Thoms reached the edge of the firelight. Mallory was less than ten feet behind him. He saw Thoms twist his body and sprawl out of sight behind a screen of trees.

  Mallory pulled up sharply. He moved to the side of the trail and carefully slipped between a patch of salmonberry bushes and a clump of vine maple. He began to work his way toward the fire, making a large half-circle.

  He could hear Thoms shouting words now and he knew that Graef must have removed the gag. He heard Graef too, on the trail he had just left.

  Graef called, “Come on, Mallory. I have a gun and you haven’t. Make it easy on yourself.”

  Mallory started moving again. He stepped from the sheltering trees. He saw that he was on the edge of a vast slice of darkness running between twisted mountains. He’d been right. This was the high meadow.

  He caught a glimpse of the firelight again. It was on his left now. He worked his way through scrub fir and stopped on the edge of a small clearing. Someone had built a tiny fire in its center. Thoms stood with his hands out to the flames. Deep lines of weariness etched his craggy features. Mallory could almost feel him absorb the warmth of the blaze.

  Mallory couldn’t locate Graef for a moment. Then he saw him. Graef was slipping carefully around the edge of the clearing, barely within range of the light from the fire. Mallory could see the glint of the gun in his hand.

  He’s looking for me, Mallory thought. He grinned savagely and pulled back a step, shielding himself behind the bole of a heavy cedar.

  He held the ax with the cutting edge in. He knelt and found a small stick. He stood up again. Now he could only wait.

  He could tell by Graef’s fumbling attempts at caution that the man was uneasy. This was Mallory’s element, not his. And he was obviously aware of that. The fire burst in a shower of sparks and Graef jumped like a cat.

  Mallory started to count. Graef was less than twenty feet away. Now fifteen. Now ten. In a minute he would be less than five feet away. Mallory would have liked him closer, but Graef’s careful path wasn’t going to bring him any farther into the darkness.

  Five feet would have to do.

  Mallory realized that he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly and softly. He lifted the hand holding the stick. His mind shouted, Now!, and he threw the stick behind Graef.

  Graef jumped again. He spun in the air and landed with his gun ready, his body leaning toward the source of the noise.

  Mallory took two quick steps and brought the hammer edge of the ax down on Graef’s wrist. The gun dropped into the dirt.

  Graef screamed. He turned toward Mallory, clawing with his hands. Mallory dropped the ax. He hit Graef with his left fist. He felt a vicious satisfaction as his knuckles flattened Graef’s lips. He caught Graef by the back of the neck and pulled his head down. He brought his knee up, driving the hard bone into Graef’s face. He felt Graef go limp; he let him fall.

  Then he heard Thoms running noisily toward them. Mallory turned on the flashlight and aimed it at the ground. He caught the glint of light on metal. He put his hand on the gun. He tested the safety with his thumb. It was off. The gun was a thirty-eight, heavy and solid in his hand.

  He lifted the light and flashed it into Thoms’ eyes. He said, “I’ve got Graef’s gun, Thoms. One more step and I’ll blow you apart.”

  Thoms stopped and blinked at the light. “Where’s Miles? What did you do to Miles, Mallory?” He began to curse in a thick voice.

  Mallory lowered the light, splashing it onto Graef’s inert body. “He’ll live,” he said. “Come and get him.”

  Thoms made a sudden lunge for Mallory. Mallory fired the thirty-eight, aiming for a spot a few feet in front of Thoms. The big man pulled up.

  Mallory said, “You won’t do Graef any good dead, Thoms. Now pick him up and take him back to the fire. And move easy.”

  Mallory stepped back. He held the light so that Thoms could find his way through the tangled undergrowth to where Graef lay. He watched as Thoms picked Graef up. He could hear Thoms making crooning noises deep in his throat as he carried Graef back to the campfire.

  Graef came around quickly under the gentle solicitation of Thoms. He sat up and looked around. He worked his jaw for a moment. His muddy, icy eyes focused on Mallory standing a few feet away.

  Mallory said, “Where’s Denise, Graef?”

  “With Blalock, I suppose,” Graef said. “She got away from me about dusk. I found this fire already burning when I got here. And I found that.”

  Mallory looked as Graef pointed. He saw a tall, rotting stump at the edge of the clearing. One edge of it had been pushed a good foot up from t
he dirt. A stick was wedged endwise between the bottom of the stump and the ground.

  Mallory could see a small cavern in the bowels of the stump. He looked at it and laughed.

  “So that’s where Blalock hid his money box,” he said. “And he beat you to it, Graef. He’s taken his money and gone.”

  Graef said viciously, “It looks like he took your woman along with it, Mallory.”

  Chapter XVII

  THE first flakes of snow began to fall with the first light over the eastern rim of the mountains. Mallory was walking behind Graef and Thoms. He held the dimming flashlight in one hand, Graef’s gun in the other. Graef carried nothing. Thoms had insisted on shouldering his supplies. He also carried the briefcase strapped to his back.

  Mallory could feel the grinding weariness numbing him. He had long ago given up thinking of his leg. The pain had become part of each step—a thrust of needles radiating out from the wound. He didn’t think Graef and Thoms were in much better shape. He had tied them both as he had tied Thoms before, so that they had to keep their hands clutching their trousers. After each rest, they had got up more slowly.

  Graef said wearily, “Are you sure you know where we’re going?”

  “I know,” Mallory said. “This is the only trail from the summit down the north slope of these mountains.”

  “Miles has got to take another break,” Thoms said.

  Mallory said, “There’s a forest lookout ahead. We’ll break there, out of this snow.”

  It was coming down with the quick spurting of an early-season storm. The flakes were heavy and wet. The first few melted on contact with the ground, then they began to pile thickly until there was a good inch of snow on the unprotected parts of the trail.

  Mallory turned off the flashlight as the gray dawn spread over the sky. He began to look to his right, thinking that around each shoulder of rock he would see the lookout. But his memory was tricking him, he realized. His eagerness was making him anticipate the place.