“It’s the sensible solution, Sam. You know it is.”

“I don’t know anything of the kind.”

“He’ll see the two of us here. If he notices you’re gone he’ll think you’ve only gone looking for Jay. It can give you and Jay time to reach the highway and get help for us.”

“How long do you think he’d stay fooled?”

“Sam, anything’s a risk.”

He fought it bitterly. “You’re talking about suicide.”

“I’m not and you know it. I’m trying to give all of us the best chance. Sam—we don’t know if Jay’s alive or dead. He may be injured. He’s already been out there through the heat of one day. We’ve got to find him as fast as we can—and you know Earle’s right, we can’t move quickly if he goes with us. There’s only one choice. You go alone—find Jay, do what you can for him, take him with you if he’s able. Get to the highway. Isn’t that really the only thing we’ve got left?”

“And suppose Duggai ambushes me. Where does that leave you?”

“No worse off than we are anyway.” She scratched her scalp violently. “You can’t go by that—you can’t decide on the basis of suppositions. What if Duggai comes down here now and shoots us all? The only thing we know is we’ve got to make the best of what we have. Earle’s right. You’ve taught us how to stay alive here. We can do it as long as we have to. The only thing Earle can’t do is move. Now you’ve got to be sensible.”

“I don’t like—”

“What you don’t like is the guilt you’ll feel if you let us out of your sight. You’ll feel you’re not doing your best to protect us. You’ll be abandoning us. You can’t help that feeling, Sam, but it’s the wrong emotion to be guided by. Please try to face that.”

He stood brooding down at her and saw a tentative smile waver across Earle’s tiny lips.

“Shirley’s right, you know.”

His heart resisted it; his mind acquiesced.

He gathered the things he would need. The water pouch, plastic lined: he took half the water from the still. A bag of jerked meat. One of the knives. He took Shirley along the jackrabbit run, pretending to dismantle the snares that didn’t exist any longer; he took her along the slope two hundred yards to a new trail and showed her how to rig them. He spent half an hour talking to her, telling her everything that came to mind—every trifle of information that could contribute to survival. “As you accumulate pelts you’ll get enough to make clothes. Soak them in animal fats and dry them in the shade—they’ll stink for a while but they’ll cure out a little softer that way. Wash them down with soap morning and night. Wear them hair-side in against your skin. You’ll sweat less. And don’t forget to keep feeding the still with cactus.”

He cut the raincoat evenly in half—regretted doing it but if he found Jay alive they’d need that much water. Dug a new pit for the still to accommodate the shrunken plastic roof. Tucked two extra pairs of moccasins under his belt. Knelt down by Earle and examined his wasted face. “Don’t go hopeless. It could be a week—could be two weeks.”

“Could be never,” Earle said, “but I’ll take whatever God dishes out.”

Mackenzie stood up. He put his arm around Shirley’s shoulders. “I’ll walk you to the ravine.”

Her hip brushed against him as they walked. At the lip of the ravine he turned her in the circle of his arm and held her roughly.

She looked up at him. He said: “That’s for Duggai’s benefit. Climb down here with me.”

He took her hand and jumped into the ravine. Lifted her down. Took her in his arms and lowered her to the ground.

“We’re out of his sight now. Stay here a while before you show yourself again. He’ll think I’ve gone to sleep.”

“Post-coital exhaustion,” she said dryly. But she smiled with gentle warmth. “I wish we were really—”

“No you don’t. Do you.”

“If it weren’t for Jay.”

“If my aunt had whiskers she’d be my uncle.”

“All right, Sam, whatever you say. I suppose I should wish you good luck or something. It seems awfully lame.”

He left her, going up the ravine doubled over; he picked his way around the distillery pit and climbed toward the low summit. Just before he turned the bend he looked back. She was sitting crosslegged, watching him. He climbed away.

19

When he got near the crest he saw there was an open stretch he’d have to cross. It lay twenty yards long in plain sight of the hills across the valley. That was no good; Duggai might be looking this way. Mackenzie slid back down the ravine to consider his options.

On the eastward horizon a thin first-sliver of moon stood low and pale. It did nothing to brighten the desert; it would be four or five days before there’d be sufficient moonlight to make a difference. The stars made enough illumination to pick out the silvery span of the desert, the darker clumps of growth, the shadow outlines of hills and mountains. You wouldn’t see a man out there unless he moved but you’d see movement quickly enough.

The air had cooled down rapidly since sundown; it was comfortable against his skin now. Another four hours and he’d be chilly.

He rubbed his stubble-bearded chin against the skin of his shoulder and searched the slope to either side. Nothing looked useful by way of concealment.

You never see an animal out here unless it moves, he thought, and it became clear there was only one way to do it. He fought down his impatience and made his start.

He emerged very slowly from the ravine and lay flat against the earth. The back of his hand before him was hardly visible—the starlight failed to distinguish among colors and the shade of his skin blended well with that of the earth. His head of dark hair would be visible as a dot against the earth—visible perhaps; but noticeable only if it were seen to move.

He went up the slope an inch at a time, crawling with toes and fingers and caterpillar humps of belly and chest musculature. It was distressingly time-consuming but it was the only answer: he was out in plain sight and his only invisibility was his motionlessness. From a mile away his movement was no faster than that of the moon: imperceptible but deliberate.

He was thinking about Duggai’s possible arsenal of equipment. It was remotely possible Duggai had a heat-seeking infrared scope but Mackenzie found it highly doubtful. Duggai would have had to raid a military armory for that. All the equipment Mackenzie had seen in the camper appeared to be the sort of things you could steal from a private dwelling. The rifle—he hadn’t taken too close a look but he was sure it hadn’t been a military weapon. It was some sort of big-game rifle, a civilian arm, scope-sighted and expensive.

Assume Duggai had a five- or six-power scope on the rifle. Assume—for safety—that he had binoculars as well. Ten-power? Certainly not more than twelve magnifications. The nearer of the two possible lookout positions stood a mile away by Mackenzie’s rough naked-eye measurement. A twelve-power glass would bring that down to about 150 yards—but a twelve-power glass had to be tripod-mounted or rested because no human hand could hold it steady enough for practical use. Even so: how much could Duggai see, given a twelve-power lens with good night-resolution, at an effective distance of 150 yards?

Mackenzie looked to his left, turning his head with infinite slowness. He picked out a maguey that he judged to be 150 yards from him.

If a man was lying beside that century plant would I see him?

He decided he could not.

Heartened, he continued his crawl.

When he was over the top he slid down the back of the ridge and had a look around. Nothing he saw surprised him. A flat pan of earth stretched away to the south and west; mountains stood around in small ranges and there seemed to be a fairly high sierra along the far southern horizon but that might be clouds. From this bit of elevation he probably was surveying distances of thirty miles or more; there was not a single light.