A Mating of Hawks (32 page)

“It looks like hell barely cooled,” Tracy said. “I can see why they call it bad land,
mal pais
, but bad rock would be more fitting.”

They picked their way across, aiming for where green had encroached to shorten the lava border. Once across this, the climb along the slope was easier, much of it over terraces of volcanic rock. Shea paused several times before he nodded and led the way to a big hole gaping in the stone. The bottom was perhaps fourteen feet below, but—as in the bat cave—boulders and rocks were piled up at one end for climbing in and out.

“This is one of Iitoi's dwellings,” Shea said.

Tracy looked at him in surprise. “I thought Elder Brother lived at Baboquivari over in Arizona.”

“Sometimes he did, but like the Papagos, Elder Brother moved around a lot. I think you'd have to call Pinacate the number-one hangout. It was here that he fetched up after a great flood.”

“Like Noah on Ararat?”

“Just like.”

Tracy gazed around, at the forbidding peaks with their sparse growth, then out at the sweep of desert broken only by barren mountains and a great hollow in the earth to the northeast. “It's hard to believe it ever rained here, much less flooded.”

They drank from their canteens and Shea stashed one of the quart bottles he was carrying in a rock recess. “That leaves us a gallon,” he said. “We'll drink this on the way back.”

“That gallon weighs over eight pounds,” Tracy said. “Do we need that much?”

“In the summer, a good rule is six quarts if you're not moving much, eight quarts if you're active.” He waved a hand at the peaks, which seemed impossibly high, discouragingly barren of any restful shade. “We'll be active.”

“I guess it's our expensive evaporative cooling system.” Tracy sighed.

“Yep. When outside temps go higher than body, say about ninety-two, our couple of million sweat glands go to work cooling body heat that's transferred from the center. You can lose a quart of water an hour by walking at a hundred degrees—and it's going to be that very shortly.” He patted her arm. “You
look
solid, honey, but you're really two-thirds water. Dehydrate five percent and you'd stop functioning normally. Twelve percent usually brings death.”

“The first Shea must have been way past that.”

“Yes. Pablo Valencia certainly was. Both of them claimed they had actually died and watched their naked bodies crawling from some point above them. But I'd rather not try my luck.”

They started on, winding around the first mountain. “If it were cooler, we might go up Carnegie,” Shea said. “But for now we'll be content with Pinacate.”

A little gorge twisted between the mountains and smaller hills, one of them thickly studded with cholla. They followed it, found a little shade among some boulders at the base of the peak, drank deeply and snacked on trail mix.

Tracy's ankle was paining her a bit. She wished she had an elastic bandage to support it. If she mentioned her problem, Shea probably would insist they turn back. After coming all this way, she didn't want to do that.

The climb, fortunately, was never very steep, and the footing was reasonably good. Even so, she was gasping when they reached the top. Her ankle shot messages of protest up her leg. Sinking down on a rock, she slowly looked around in all directions.

She could pick out the craters, the mountains, the comparatively lush green around the tanks, the luminous dunes, and beyond them and the creosote salt flats, the shining, distant Sea of Cortez that divided the mainland from Baja.

Awed, she looked northwest to the painted mountains of the Cabeza Prieta, then east to a distinctive rounded cone. She gave a cry. “Shea! That must be Baboquivari!”

“Iitoi's other place,” he nodded, offering a canteen. “This is where Kino saw that California could be reached by land. Before that, it had been considered an island.”

“He climbed up here?” Tracy asked incredulously.

Shea laughed. “Honey, he made four
entradas
through this area, and seems to have climbed this peak at least twice. As well as founding a string of missions throughout what he called Pimería Alta, that tireless Jesuit did a lot of exploring.”

From a half-mile up, the region below looked ethereal and otherworldly, the landscape of some undiscovered planet. Tracy shaded her eyes and sighed in wonder. “From here, you can see forever.”

Shea sat down by her and opened his pack. They savored the juicy sweetness of apples, chewed almonds and finished with halvah. The level top of the peak was small so it didn't take long to cover it, stopping frequently to gaze down and away.

Stiffened by even the brief rest, Tracy's ankle throbbed so insistently that she asked Shea if he had some bandage. “I never do this kind of walking without some,” he said. “Your ankle? Lord, Tracy, why didn't you say so earlier?”

“I wanted to climb the peak.”

“Well, you have,” he said grimly, making her perch on a rock. “Next time, you holler the minute you start to hurt!” He eased off her hiking boot and wrapped the broad elastic bandage securely around her ankle and instep. “Stand up and see if it's too tight.”

She obeyed, flexing her foot. “Feels fine.”

His gray eyes were worried. “We can take as long as we need to get back,” he said. “Tell me when you want to rest.”

“I'm not that bad off,” she protested.

He scowled at her. “Don't you pull a trick like this again! In this country, next to water, your feet are the most important things you've got.”

“I believe it,” she said humbly.

“You go in front and set the speed,” he suggested, voice softening as he touched her cheek.

She did her best not to limp, but he called halts every twenty minutes or so. The bandage helped. Even so, as they rested at Iitoi's cave and drank their cached water, she dreaded the broad band of lava. She made her way across it with great care. Shea
could
carry her out from here if he had to, but her foolishness had already caused him enough trouble.

“We're almost home,” he said cheeringly. “We'll soak that ankle and prop it up.”

“But—”

“No buts. I'll get supper. All you have to do is sit back and look pretty.” He glanced at the mid-afternoon sun and chuckled. “But first we'll have some nice frosty beer.”

“You know how to urge a person on,” Tracy laughed. She quickened her pace. He helped her down the rock ledge and they started along the wash.

Shea stopped abruptly. “The pickup's gone!”

Tracy stared in disbelief. Sure enough, there was the place they'd spent the night, just opposite that reddish butte. The pickup had been parked just under this overhanging tree. It was nowhere to be seen. Fear washed over her shock. She caught Shea's arm.

“What do you think?”

He shook his head. Examining tire tracks, his frown deepened. “If someone stranded on foot had walked up here and figured how to unlock the truck and start it with the wiring, I'd have some hope that they'd drive to where they could send someone back for us, even if they stole the truck and kept going. But another vehicle's been in here. Whoever swiped ours didn't need it.”

“They might send help even if they're thieves,” Tracy suggested. Once he'd made her sit down on a half-burned log, Shea's dazed expression hardened to one of anger.

“I doubt that, my dear, if they'd take the pickup when they didn't need it, and even keep our water. Amelia Tanks happen to be close to us, but chances are they didn't know that—and it's damned lucky I do!”

“You—you mean they left us to die?” Tracy asked in horror.

“If they'd left water, I might have marked it down to boyish high spirits. But anyone who'd do that—” He shook his head. “They won't send help.”

“Maybe they'll be caught,” Tracy suggested hopefully.

“Why? The car permit's in the glove compartment in case they want to cross the border.”

They were both silent a moment. “My darned ankle!” Tracy groaned.

Shea sat down and put his arm around her. “It could be a lot worse. We're close to water.”

“But—”

“Honey, the best thing is for me to leave you at Emilia. I'll fill the canteens and get to the highway. Someone'll stop to give me a lift and I'll get them to drive back here.”

Tracy clamped her teeth down on a wail that she was afraid to stay alone, but Shea guessed her feelings. “We could both stay at the tanks,” he said. “Geronimo'll come looking for us if we're not back in two weeks, or someone else might possibly happen along. But our food supply is exactly a couple of handfuls of trail mix and a chunk of halvah.” He managed a chuckle. “The
tunas
and mesquite beans Socorro lived on won't be ripe for a couple of months and I'd hate to see us live on what I could catch in snares or stun with rocks. I'd better walk out while I've got the energy.”

He was right, of course. By the time her ankle was strong enough for her to go with him, they'd be weak from hunger. Or if they just waited, it could take Geronimo and a search party weeks to cover their whole intended pilgrimage.

It still lacked a couple of hours till sunset. “You'll wait till morning, won't you?” Tracy asked.

Shea held her close. “Honey, I'd better start as soon as we get you to Emilia. If I can get to the abandoned ranch tonight, then I should make it to the highway tomorrow. With luck, I'll be back for you by tomorrow night.”

Walking at night would certainly be less exhausting than making that long trek completely in the day. The only way she could help her love was to go along with what he said and not add to his worries.

“We'll get our desert survival merit badges for this,” she said, rising, controlling a wince as weight came down on the abused ankle. “Where's the tank?”

Staying below the
mal pais
, crossing several small washes, they at last came to an arroyo that deepened as they followed it. In places, the earth had eroded to polished rock, and the course was littered with boulders. Though the going was fairly flat, it was rock and uneven. Tracy was grateful for the walking stick Shea had made for her from a dried yucca stalk.

The first stone basin was empty. The next harbored drying scum. Tracy's heart sank. Without water, their case would be much worse, though Shea should still be able to walk out. Clumps of brush and stunted trees concealed the next tank till they were almost above it. At the sight of the water, Tracy gave a soft cry of gratitude.

Since the last rain, it had sustained birds and animals from miles around. Dove feathers floated on it and dead insects were mired in scum at the edges, but it was still life. It looked wonderful.

There was a little water left in one of the canteens. They shared this as if it were wine, then Shea filled up the bottles. Through the semitransparent plastic, the water showed pale green.

“We don't have any iodine or purification tablets,” Shea said. “But there aren't any cattle running in here and it looks pretty clean, considering.” He opened his daypack. “You get to try out this handy-dandy moon blanket. Here are matches if you want a fire tonight to cheer you up. There's a flashlight and a first-aid kit. I'll leave you the food.”

“You won't!” Tracy thrust the bag of trail mix at him and opened the halvah. “You eat up right now, before you start! You'll need energy for that walk.”

“This water's full of nutrients,” he laughed, slipping canteens into his pack.

“Shea Scott!” she threatened. “You eat this or I'll feed it to the beasts of the air and the birds of the field!”

“Aren't you a little mixed-up?” he teased.

“Eat, you stubborn redhead!”

“Who's stubborn?”

She made as if to scatter the nuts and dried fruit in her hand. He caught it. “All right! Let's gobble up our supplies. But you save the halvah for tomorrow. I'll be getting something to eat before you will.”

“I should hope so, after a hike like that!” She broke the sesame-honey confection in half and made him take his. “Since I'm not as big as you, I'm still getting more than my share.”

She made him keep the first-aid kit and flashlight, too. “I'm not going anywhere,” she argued. “And there's not much way for me to get hurt.”

Her heart shrank when he rose to go. She wanted to catch hold of him and beg him to stay. Instead, she got up and kissed him good-bye. “Be careful, darling.”

“You, too, honey. I'll be back as quick as I can.”

It was hard to withdraw from the comforting strength of his arms. Forcing herself away, Tracy produced the best smile she could. “Don't stop off at some bar and figure you can stroll in any time you're ready,” she warned.

He kissed her again and left her.

It was a sort of self-torture, but Tracy couldn't keep herself from climbing out of the arroyo to watch him out of sight. After his light-blue shirt had apparently vanished for good in the direction of the red butte where they'd camped, she sat down on a boulder and let herself cry.

Of course, Shea was going to come back. Everything would be fine. This would make an exciting adventure to tell their children. But for now it was twilight, Shea was gone, and never mind facts, she felt abandoned in this ferocious country and she was scared.

It didn't help a lot to call herself names and remember that seventeen-year-old Socorro had been alone in this region with no hope of rescue, but it did brace her enough to make a prayer for Shea and to turn a practical eye to her own arrangements.

There was fine silt around the tank. Wrapped in the emergency blanket, she could burrow into that and be reasonably warm. She had no food to cook, but a fire would keep the night at bay.

There were no predators bigger than a coyote and she told herself that rattlers could detect body heat with pits located between their nostrils and eyes. It was handy for locating prey but it also warned when the snake was close to something too big for easy swallowing. As for scorpions—