The journey across the plateau was hard going. The beat cut into us and I found Myra’s weight exhausting, but we made it at last.
Myra was still unconscious when we reached the inn.
Bogle said uneasily: “I don’t like seeing her like that even though she’s a sour puss. It don’t seem natural.”
While he was helping me dismount, Ansell went on in and called the innkeeper. He came out in a few minutes. “They’re getting a room ready for her,” he said. “Bring her up. I’ll show you where it is.”
The innkeeper’s wife was waiting in a small, quiet room which was cool and shady and flowers stood on a table by the window.
I put Myra gently on the bed. “Look after her,” I said to the woman. “Get her to bed.”
Leaving Ansell to help the woman, I went downstairs and joined Bogle on the verandah. I ordered two large beers and then sat down a little wearily on the iron bench by Bogle’s side.
“Think she’ll be all right?” Bogle asked.
I was surprised at the concern in his voice.
“I guess so,” I said, not feeling much like talking. “I don’t know.”
There was a pause, then Bogle said: “What do you think was in that hut?”
I mopped my face and neck with my handkerchief. “I haven’t thought about it,” I returned shortly, because I didn’t want to think about it.
He fidgeted for a moment. “You don’t believe that witchcraft stuff Doc was talking about, do you?”
“Hell, no!”
He seemed relieved. “Do you think she’s got the snake-bite dope?”
I’d forgotten all about that. I sat up with a jerk. I remembered that I’d have Bastino on my hands to-morrow. He would be coming down from the hills to discuss the final move for the kidnapping. Thinking of Myra up there in that little room and seeing in my mind her white, strained face made the kidnapping impossible. I couldn’t submit her to another shock. Then, on the other hand, there was the 25,000 dollars I’d have to pass up and maybe get fired for queering Maddox’s stunt.
It seemed to me that I was in a sweet jam, all of a sudden.
Before I could begin to think about it, Ansell came down.
“How is she?” I asked, hurriedly getting to my feet.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Ansell said, sitting down. He snapped his fingers at the little Mexican girl who acted as waiter and pointed to my half-finished beer. “She’ll be okay in a couple of hours. She’s beginning to recover now.” He shook his head, “I can’t make this out. How did Quintl die? Was he wounded or anything?”
I grimaced. “I don’t even want to think about him,” I said. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”
“I don’t know. In that heat, without ventilation, he need not have been dead very long.”
“Do you realize that this might affect her mind?” I said suddenly. “We’ve done a hell of a thing to that girl. There was something filthy in that hut. I swear there was someone in there when I looked into the room where she was lying.”
“It’s easy to imagine a thing like that in the light of a match,” Ansell said, quietly. “There was no one there except Myra. I looked. There was no place for anyone to hide.”
“I’m not explaining it, I’m telling you,” I said angrily. “I don’t like any of it. Do you know what? I feel we’re butting into something we don’t understand.”
The Mexican girl brought Ansell his beer and he took a long pull at it. “You’re on edge,” he said. “We’re not butting into anything. That’s no way to talk.”
I looked at him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You’re lying, Doc,” I said evenly. “You’re as scared as I am. Only you haven’t got the guts to admit it. Something happened in that hut that killed the old Indian. Some power of evil’s loose. I felt it behind me all across the plateau. Just like someone was trying to get her away from me. Just like someone’s hands were pulling her out of the saddle.”
Bogle dropped his glass. “Wadjer mean?” he gasped, his eyes bolting out of his head.
“I wish I knew,” I said, kicking back my chair. “I’m going up to see her.”
I found Myra lying in bed. A small electric fan whirred busily just above her head and the blind was drawn against the hot afternoon sun.
I drew up a chair. As I sat down, she opened her eyes and blinked lazily.
I said: “Hello.”
A puzzled frown knitted her brow and she raised her head, looking at me. “Hello,” she said.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Oh, I just looked in,” I said, smiling at her. “You feeling all right?”
She pushed down the sheet and raised herself on her elbows. She was wearing a pair of Ansell’s pyjamas. They were a lot too big for her.
“Am I supposed to be ill?” she asked, then the caught sight of the pyjamas. “What in the world…?”
The puzzled expression changed to alarm. “How did I get into these? What’s been happening?”
“Don’t get excited,” I said. “You’re back in the inn again. We came and took you away from Quintl. You remember him?”
“Why, of course. Why did you take me away? Why didn’t I wake up?” She ran her slim fingers through her hair. What’s been happening? Don’t sit there looking like a tired sardine. Tell me.”
“We found you asleep and we couldn’t wake you. So we just carried you off.”
“You couldn’t wake me?”
“Suppose you tell me what happened to you. Then I’ll know where we are.”
She frowned, “Why, nothing happened to me,” she said. “At least, I don’t think so.” She pressed her eyelids with her fingers and frowned. “You know I really can’t remember. Isn’t that stupid? The old Indian rather frightened me. He liked my tricks. Oh, I gave him the show of my life. I was never better. I wish you could have seen his face. I was a tremendous success. Then he took me to a little rock building. I thought Doc and Samuel were following, but I didn’t see them again. He left me in this place and I was lonely. I really hated it, especially when it got dark. I lay on a kind of bed and went to sleep. I don’t remember anything else.”
I found a little trickle of sweat running down into my collar and I patted my neck with my handkerchief. “What happened the next day?” I asked.
“To-day, you mean? I’m telling you. I went to sleep and here I am.”
“I see. You don’t remember anything?”
She shook her head. “Nothing happened,” she repeated with a frown. “I just went to sleep.”
“You’ve been asleep for two days,” I said, watching her.
“Two days? Why, you’re crazy!”
Then seeing the way I looked at her she went on, “You wouldn’t kid me, would you?”
“No. I wouldn’t kid you,” I said.
She suddenly laughed. “Well, maybe I was tired. I feel kind of weak now. Will you leave me for a little while? I want to think and then I’d like something to eat.”
I got up. “Sure,” I said. “You take it easy.”
Ansell and Bogle looked at me anxiously when I got downstairs. “It’s no good,” I said.
“She doesn’t remember anything.”
“You don’t mean to say she just slept all the time?” Ansell demanded. “But what about the snake-bite remedy? What happened to that?”
“Aw, quit asking questions,” I said, suddenly sore, and I went into the kitchen to order her a meal.
When it was ready, Bogle met me in the passage as I came from the kitchen with a tray in my hands.
“Can I take that up to her?” he said, scowling at me fiercely.
“You?” I nearly dropped the tray.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Bogle demanded fiercely. “You and Dce’s been up, ain’t you? Why can’t I have a look?”
I grinned at him. “She’s not a bad kid, is she?” I said.
“Bad?” Bogle snatched the tray out of my hands. “That ain’t the word for it.” But he tiptoed
up the stairs as if they were made of paper.
As I turned into the lounge, there was a sudden wild yell from upstairs and a crash of broken china.
Doc and I looked at each other in alarm and then we dashed for the stairs.
Bogle came blundering down the passage, his face white and his eyes bolting out of his head. He tried to pass us, but I grabbed him and spun him round.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” I demanded, shaking him.
“Don’t go in there,” he quavered, sweat running down his fat face. “She’s floating round the room. Floating up to the ceiling,” and shoving me aside, he continued his mad flight.
“He’s gone crazy,” I said, staring after him. “What’s he mean, floating round the room?” Ansell didn’t say anything, but I could see by his eyes, he was scared.
Chapter SEVEN
“FLOATING in the air,” Myra said scornfully. “What kind of an imagination is that?” She was lying full length in a basket chair with her feet up. She still looked pale, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that l was glad to see.
The evening sun had sunk below the mountains and in the fading light, the verandah was quiet and restful. A cool wind rustled the scorched leaves of the overhead cypresses and the square was deserted. Ansell and I lolled in our chairs near Myra, while Bogle sat at the table, fondling a bottle half-filled with whisky.
“Drink’s going to be Samuel’s downfall,” Myra went on. “He can’t have his D.T.’s like an ordinary decent citizen. He has to be different. So he sees floating women instead of pink snakes.”
I looked across at Bogle. He worried me. Sitting in a heap, drinking whisky steadily, he looked like a man embarking on a long and serious illness. He kept shaking his head and muttering to himself and every now and then a muscle would flutter in his cheek and his eyes would twitch.
“Now, wait a minute,” I said. “He must have seen something to get him in that condition. A man doesn’t go to pieces like that for fun.”
“Phooey!” Myra snapped. “He’s trying to be temperamental. You came in two minutes after he’d rushed out. You didn’t see me floating in the air, did you?”
“I wouldn’t be sitting here, if I had,” I said with a grin. “I’d be running somewhere in the desert.”
“Well, there you are,” Myra said. “He’s suffering from delusions.”
“Suppose you go over your story again, Sam?” Ansell said kindly.
Bogle gave a little shiver and poured himself out another drink “I’ll go screwy if I even think about it,” he said in husky voice.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Myra told him. “You’re as far gone as you ever will be. After all, there is a limit even to lunacy.”
Bogle screwed up his fists and faced us. “I don’t care what you punks say,” he snarled. “I believe my own peepers. I went into that room and there she was lying on the bed. I didn’t even have time to ask her how she was when she suddenly rose off the bed with the blanket over her and floated up to the ceiling, stiff, like she was held up by wires.”
We all exchanged glances.
“She just floated off the bed, eh?” I said. “You’ve never seen anyone else just float off a bed before, have you?”
Bogle shook his head. “No,” he said simply, “I ain’t and what’s more, I don’t ever want to see it again.”
Ansell said in a low voice to me: “Sun stroke.”
I nodded. “Now, look pal,” I said. “We’ve had a pretty hard day. Suppose you go to bed? You’ll be fine to-morrow.”
Bogle groaned. “Do you think I’ll ever be able to sleep again?” he said, pouring himself out another whisky.
Myra swung her feet to the ground and stood up. She was wearing a dark blue shirt and a pair of grey flannel trousers. The outfit certainly suited her neat little figure. She walked over to Bogle and took the whisky away from him.
“Go on,” she said. “Get off to bed or I’ll do more than float over you.”
Bogle shrank away from her. “Don’t come near me,” he said in horror.
“Leave him alone,” Ansell said. “It looks to me as if he were suffering from delayed shock.”
Myra hesitated, then keeping the whisky bottle she moved back to her chair.
I snapped the bottle out of her hand as she passed. “I’ll have what’s left,” I said and took a long pull from the bottle.
Myra sat down again. “Well, we’re right where we started, aren’t we?” she said. “We’ve spent the best part of an hour listening to Samuel’s drivel about floating women.”
“Yeah,” I said. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“What I want to know,” Ansell said, sitting up, “is what happened in that hut? Did you or did you not get anything out of Quintl?”
“Of course, I didn’t,” Myra said. “I’ve told you over and over again. He put me in a hut and I went to sleep. I don’t remember a thing.”
“Well, that’s that,” I said dismally. “You can kiss your snake-bite remedy good-bye. Now Quintl’s dead no one will have it.”
“It looks like it,” Ansell said. “And yet… why was he in the hut with her? She was alone when she went to sleep, yet we find Quintl with her when we break in. There’s something behind all this.” He scratched his chin, staring at Myra with questioning eyes. “You don’t feel any different, do you?” he asked cautiously.
“You mean do I want to start floating or something like that?” Myra asked tartly. “Are you going nuts, too?”
“Maybe there’s something in what Bogle said,” Ansell went on. “Maybe he wasn’t mistaken.”
“A pair of them,” Myra said to me. “Good Lord! Put them in strait jackets.”
I stared at Ansell in alarm. “What are you getting at?”
Before he could reply a party of horsemen rode into the Square, scattering dust and breaking the stillness of the evening.
“What’s this?” Myra asked, looking over her shoulder at the dark group of horsemen. “A rodeo?”
I sat up in alarm. One of the horsemen was immensely tall and fat. That was enough for me.
“Quick, Doc,” I said. “Get inside and phone for the Federal troops. These guys are bandits.”
Ansell stiffened in alarm. “What do you mean?” he asked, sitting like a paralysed rabbit.
“Okay, okay, stay where you are. They’ve seen us.”
Myra looked at me blankly. “What are you talking about?”
“Hornets, my pet,” I said grimly, and she caught her breath in a little gasp.
From the group of sixteen men, three detached themselves and walked towards the verandah steps. The others remained with the horses, watching. One of the three men was immensely fat and tall. He walked just ahead of the other two. He came up the verandah steps that creaked under his weight.
It was the fat party we had met on the mountain road and he had a mean look on his dark greasy face as he stood under the lamp, looking at us. Particularly he looked at Myra. Then he took out a pale silk handkerchief and blew his nose. While he was doing this, his eyes remained on Myra’s face.
Myra eyed him up and down. She was in no way disturbed to meet him again.
“Haven’t we seen that fat boy before?” Myra said to me.
The fat party moved a little nearer. His companions remained in the shadows.
Bogle, suddenly feeling the hostile atmosphere, decided that he ought to assert himself.
“Lookin’ for anyone, pal?”
The fat party felt in his pocket. “Somewhere I had a very interesting notice,” he said.
“Now, where did I put it?” He fumbled again, frowning slightly.
“Try your paunch,” Myra said, lighting a cigarette and flipping the match into the darkness. I tapped her arm. “Would you mind keeping quiet?” I said pleadingly. “It’s not much to ask in these days of acute crisis.”
The fat man pulled out a crumpled newspaper and began smoothing it between his great hands. He peered at i
t and then at Myra. Then his face lit up and he actually smiled. It didn’t reassure me. You know how it would be if you met a snake and it smiled at you, it wouldn’t reassure you.
“Yes,” he said, “here it is. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”
“He seems happy enough talking to himself,” Myra said, yawning. “Don’t you think we can go to bed?”
“I have a sneaking idea that before very long we’ll get involved in his monologue,” I said helplessly. “I think we ought to be as cautious as possible.”
Bogle blinked at the fat party, muttered to himself and then eased his great muscles. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Who’s this guy, anyway?”
“I am Pablo,” the fat party returned with a furtive look at Myra. “You are strangers to this country, you would not know me.”
Ansell started as if he’d been stung.
“Pablo,” Myra repeated. “Sounds like something to rub on your chest.”
The fat party smiled again. “The little man has heard of me. Is it not so, seńor?”
I’d heard of him, too, and when Ansell said “Yes” very feebly, I sympathized with him.
“Then tell your friends who I am,” Pablo went on. “Tell them that Pancho Villa and Zapata finished where I began. Tell them about my fortress in the mountains and of the men that have been bricked up in its walls. Tell them of the excellent fellows that work under me, and of the trains we have dynamited. Come, seńor, where is your tongue?”
Ansell looked round at us and nodded his head. “That’s the boy,” he said nervously.
“If Samuel will play the harmonica, we’ll give him a civic reception,” Myra said lightly.
“After which he’ll be presented with a little flag and a string beg to keep his silly looking hat in and then, with luck, we’ll all go to bed.”
I felt she wasn’t being exactly helpful.
Pablo played with his handkerchief. “It is Myra Shumway… that is the name, yes?”
“Fame at last,” Myra said, a little surprised. “How are you, Doctor Livingstone?”
Miss Shumway Waves a Wand Page 8