Sarah was slumped in a chair at one of the tables, a dusty bottle and glass incongruously before her, her face puffy and pale, her eyes drooping, dull.
“The altitude made her sick.”
“It’ll do that all right. But not down here. In a while down here she’ll be as good as gold. How you feeling, sweetheart?” the old man asked, starting over, and the dog moved to follow, and the old man said “Hush,” making the dog sitt back where it was. “That’s just so you don’t get any more nervous,” the old man told him, continuing over. “I don’t want you to start shaking again like you got the palsy.” Then he laughed again, and Sarah drew back from him when he reached the chair. “That’s all right, sweetheart. You’ve got nothing to fear from me. It’s been so long that I just want to look close at a little girl. What’s your name?”
“Sarah.”
“Sarah, eh? That’s a nice name. I knew another little girl named that once, and her mother was named that too, but it’s been so long now that I can’t remember either face. Except they were pretty. I remember that much at least. Just like you. How old are you, Sarah?”
“Eight.”
“That’s the best age to be. Don’t ever be anything else. I remember once when I was eight. That was with my father on farm in California. I had a dog like that one over there but not so big. Did you ever have a dog?”
She shook her head no.
“Would you like to see this one?”
She thought a moment and shook her head yes.
“Would it be all right?” the old man turned and said to him.
He didn’t know.
The old man waited.
“All right, yes.”
“You’re sure now? You’re sure now even with that gun in your hand that you can trust me?”
“No, but you can show the dog anyhow.”
The old man grinned and whistled. The dog came immediately over. It was dark and square-faced and massive, its face taller than the table, and Sarah shrank back from it.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. Just hold out your hand and let him sniff you.”
Sarah hesitated. Then slowly, uncertainly, she held out her hand. The dog sniffed her fingers once and licked them, then stood at attention beside the old man.
“There now, you see,” the old man said, patting it. “There was nothing to worry about.”
Sarah was sitting up straighter now, looking curiously at it. “What’s his name?”
“He doesn’t have a name. I never got around to it. I just call him Dog.”
The animal’s ears perked up.
“I found his mother up here wandering in the woods. A German shepherd. Likely separated from a hunter or maybe just gone wild. Anyhow I mated her with a wolf and this was the only pup but dog enough for a whole litter. His mother froze to death two years ago. You been vomiting, Sarah?”
She nodded.
“Got pains in your stomach and lower?”
She nodded again, flinching as he raised his hand.
“Take it easy, Sarah. I just want to feel your forehead.” And then to him, “You’re sure now you won’t mind?” The old man was grinning those yellow teeth again. “You’re sure now you won’t shoot me or anything?”
He didn’t answer, and the old man cupped his hand over her forehead. “Her temperature’s too low. You been giving her salt?”
“As soon as I could.”
“Well, that’ll help some, but you need something more. You’ve got to get more liquid in her and make it stay.”
“She’ll only bring it up.”
“Not if she drinks what I give her. She’ll keep that down all right.”
“And what would that be?”
“Come on down to my place at the end of the street, and I’ll show you.”
“We like it here.”
“Oh, do you now? I never liked this place much myself. The guy who ran it. Couldn’t stand him. Always liked the hotel at the other end. Got a nice setup there. Room to myself and everything.”
“You just said you weren’t old enough to be here when the town was alive.”
“Did I? Well, there’s no two ways about it, is there? This way or that, I must be mistaken.” And then the old man grinned again and looked around at the place and said, “Maybe you’re right. A person shouldn’t be set in his ways. It’s a sign of age. Just this once I’ll make an exception.”
He started for the door.
“Wait a minute. Where are you going?”
“Where do you think? Down to my room to get my stuff. Don’t tell me you want to come along.”
“I think I’d better.”
“Well I wish you’d make up your mind. One second you don’t want to come, the next you do. You’d better watch it or you’ll get all mixed up.” The old man reached to pick up his shotgun.
“No.”
“How’s that, sonny?”
“The shotgun stays here.” Keeping a distance from the old man, he went over to the shotgun and picked it up.
The dog stiffened and growled.
“Hush now,” the old man told it, grinning. “Sonny here’s just being careful. No need to get excited.” And he kept on grinning all the while he took the shotgun over to Claire.
“Forget the pistol I gave you. If anybody comes in, use this. Don’t let the kick worry you. The other guy will feel it a lot harder than you do.”
“Somebody else?” the old man asked. “Is that what’s got you bothered? You think I’ve got somebody else here with me and while we’re gone, he’ll come in here and—”
“That’s right.”
“Well, your instincts are good. I’ll say that for you. But like I keep telling you, there’s nothing to worry about. The whole reason for living up here in the first place is to stay away from people. You don’t think if I wanted company I’d be living up here, do you? With you three here, the place is too crowded for me already. If I thought you were going to be here for any length of time, I’d need to make plans for moving on.”
“Just the same.”
“Oh sure,” the old man said. “No hard feelings. I’d do the same myself.” And with that he was walking out the door, the dog following, him stopping just once more to turn and tell him, “But your daughter isn’t getting any better while we stand around and talk about it. Let’s get moving. You’ve got horses to stable. It’ll be dark soon.” And with that the old man was gone.
He followed him out onto the sidewalk.
“The stable’s just down here a ways,” the old man told him, walking down the street, the dog beside him.
Unhitching the horses from the rail, he continued following.
“What are you doing up here anyhow?” the old man asked.
“Camping.”
“Sure. With no tent and no pack horses.”
“We only planned to stay up here a few days. We got lost.”
“Sure. With the outline of those maps and compass bulging in your jacket pocket.”
“I don’t know how to use them as well as I thought.”
“In which case you would have wept for joy at seeing me instead of pulling your gun. No, those pads tied to your horses’ hooves and everything, you’re on the run all right. Hell, the way you came in here, a person lost would never have gone in through those breaks in the cliff. You went in there deliberately. To throw somebody off.”
“I told you we’re lost. My little girl got sick, and I took a chance on a shortcut to get down out of here. The town’s not on the map anyhow. What would have been the point of deliberately trying to make it through those breaks in the cliff if I didn’t think they were going to take me anywhere?”
“I must be having trouble with my ears. A minute ago I was sure I heard you say that you didn’t know how to read a map.”
That stopped him. He stood motionless where the main street was cut across by a narrow side street, a restaurant on one corner, dust and scrub grass all around, and the old man went on a few more feet before he realized he wasn’t being followed.
“Anyway, of course the town’s not on the map,” the old man stopped and said. “It’s never been on a map. They put it up so fast and left it so fast that nobody ever really knew it was up here. The stable’s just down the street a ways.” He pointed halfway down the block to the left. “Those pads are all ripped to hell anyhow. The horses will be glad to get them off.”
They angled toward the stable, its big doors pinned open against the walls on both sides, the stalls slanted with sunlight in there. A thick smell of sawdust and rotted grain and must hung in front of the doorway. Feeling the same uneasiness he had felt in the forest, he stopped again.
“What is it?” the old man asked.
“You first.”
“No matter.” Snapping his fingers for the dog to follow, the old man went in.
He hesitated, trembling, and went after him.
13
The must filled his nose, choking him. There were ten stalls on each side, half of them tumbled over, the worn board floor littered with dust and straw so dry it turned to powder as he walked. He tied the horses to the first rail he came to. Ready with his gun, he ducked into the second stall on the right, staring up at the hayloft across from him.
As much as he could tell, there wasn’t anyone.
He dodged across to the left, checking out the loft on the right as well. He hurried past all the stalls, looking in at them. He went over to a ladder that was built onto a thick post. After testing its rungs, he climbed to check the far corners of the loft. Still no one.
“You’re really something, you know that?” The old man chuckled, looking up at him.
He didn’t answer. Halfway down, a rung snapped, and he barely stopped from falling.
The old man snickered. “Yeah, you’re really something. Oh I don’t say you’re wrong for being careful. All the same you’re really something. Who you running from anyhow? Surely you don’t think I’m one of them.”
“I told you.” He stepped down angrily. “We’re not on the run from anybody.”
The old man sucked at the corners of his mouth. “Suit yourself, sonny.”
“And stop calling me sonny.”
The old man sucked the corners of his mouth once more. Then snapping his fingers for the dog to follow, he started toward the back door.
“Now just hold it right there.” He aimed.
The old man turned and eyed him patiently. “Listen, sonny, I’m doing my best to be as friendly as I can, but if every time I move to break wind or something you start aiming that gun at me, we’re just not going to get along at all. There’s a well outside, and unless you want your horses to drop from thirst, I’m going to pick up that pail over there and go on out and get them water. If you’ll let me.”
14
The old man took too long coming back. Thinking of Claire and Sarah alone at the hotel, he hurried toward the back door, and just as he reached it, the old man banged it open, coming in stooped over, holding the handle on the overflowing pail of water. He was breathing hard.
“Get nervous, did you?” The old man grinned. “This is good for me. It keeps my arm from atrophy. That’s a good word, atrophy. You know what it means?”
“I think so.”
“Shrink up and shrivel away.” The old man was over by the horses, setting the pail down, breathing hard. “You know, like what your thing does after sex. I read it once in a book. We’ll have to gather up some long grass to feed them and bring them in more water, but in the meantime I guess we’d better get their saddles off.” The old man was starting on the buckskin, uncinching it, leading it into a stall. “The way I figure it, you’re either on the run from the police or somebody against the police, and that nice-looking family you got, you don’t look too bad to me, it must be the other guys. Right?”
“I told you—”
“Yeah, I know, you’re not on the run at all, but am I right or am I?”
He didn’t have the strength to deny it anymore. He just shrugged.
“Of course I’m right. Now don’t you feel better?”
But he couldn’t tell if the old man was talking to him or the buckskin the old man was patting in the stall, removing its bridle, setting down the pail of water, and backing out, closing the gate on the stall.
“What have they got after you?” the old man asked and turned.
“Three horsemen. A helicopter. I don’t know.”
“What did you do to them?”
“Made them mad.”
The old man laughed. “I bet you did. Well I don’t want to know what you did to them anyhow. I’ve got my own sad stories. Just tell me this. Do they know what they’re doing?”
He nodded.
“Well, we’ll see. The helicopter isn’t any problem. We can hear it long before they’re anywhere near. We’ll have a chance to make preparations against it. The horsemen are another matter. We don’t have time before sundown now, but tomorrow morning we’ll go up to the cliff and pry down a couple of boulders to block the passage you came through. If they get down here in the meantime, there are plenty of places to give them a fight from. Who knows, with luck you might even get a few days’ rest before you need to move on.”
The tone was unmistakable. “You mean in a few days you want us to move on regardless.”
The old man thought about it. “Yeah I guess that’s what I mean all right. Even as it is I’m going to have to move on too. This place is going to be damn crowded for a while. Of course you can’t ever tell. This town down here is funny. Sometimes you see it from on top, and sometimes you don’t. The last person found his way down here was twenty years ago, and that was me.”
“Then you couldn’t have known the guy who ran the hotel.”
“You must be right. Say, you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand, would you? These aren’t
my
horses, you know.” The old man took off the pinto’s saddle. “Yeah I’ll move on anyway. Just to be safe. Once the snow starts I’ll come back.” He turned. “Meantime you just stick with me. The things I know, I’ll show you how to keep away from them. Yes sir, it’ll be just like the old days.”
15
“A meal like this,” the old man said, wiping his mouth and leaning back, “a meal like this, just beans and biscuits and dried beef, would have cost you close to twenty dollars back then and wouldn’t have been half as good.” He smiled across the table toward Claire as he said that, and in the lamplight his smile was easier to take and Claire thanked him.
She had found a kitchen in the back room of the hotel while they were gone. Making a fire in the big black stove, she had taken care to get dried wood from boards outside that wouldn’t smoke, but birds had built nests in the stovepipe vents, so there was smoke anyhow, not outside but all through the kitchen. The old man had helped dismantle the pipes and clean them before Claire could start to cook.