It had been sixteen hours since his body had ingested the first mouthfuls of rocksalt; its beneficence had ramified through his system and the muscles no longer had a tendency to cramp. They had consumed the blood of the javelina, its raw marrow and its sun-dried flesh.

His legs were tired but it was not the loose-kneed weakness he’d got used to. He’d lost a good deal of weight and for a time he’d been feeding on his own muscle but it hadn’t gone beyond restoration. Jay had suffered more because he’d begun with less: now his jut-ribbed gauntness was macabre but he was keeping up with the pace: salt and the meal had revived him.

When they reached the edge of the mountain range he judged the moon’s westward angle and saw no suggestion of light to the east. The clouds had gone on toward Tucson, El Paso, the Gulf.

“We’ll go through the foothills instead of around.”

“Won’t that slow us down?”

“A little. But it’ll put high ground between us and Duggai.”

“Good idea.”

So they climbed, striking through canyons and passes, skirting clumps of sandstone boulders and igneous rock. At the trailing end of the range the foothills were of lackadaisical proportion: above to one side the rock cliffs sprouted and the razor spine of the range stood several thousand feet higher than the plain. The low crumple of foothills bordered the range all round; staying within its folds they pressed on. Where canyons narrowed into deep shadow Mackenzie elected to go up and around rather than through: it made for stiffer going but they had light and it minimized the risk of accident.

With the first spread of morning they paused to eat and drink but they were up again and moving within ten minutes. Mackenzie looked back and had a last brief look at the arid plain that had sustained them. Shirley’s campfire winked ten miles away beyond the flank of Duggai’s hills and Jay said explosively: “Thank God.”

“They’ve made it so far,” Mackenzie agreed. Then they went on across the sandy hogback and when they began to descend its northern slope they were beyond any further view of the plain behind them—and beyond Duggai’s view as well: a smile stretched Mackenzie’s lips until the chapped skin split painfully and he felt his shoulders lift as they marched steadily downhill in the growing dawn.

The land out ahead was more of the same and that was no surprise but Mackenzie was vaguely disappointed. In a corner of his hopes had rested the improbable chance that they’d been marooned just out of sight of salvation. All the evidence stood against it but it had remained there until now. The span of sand-whacked plain to the north only fulfilled his expectations but it was enough to sunder the relief he’d felt on discovering Shirley’s fire.

They made good time in the freshening light—down the backslope through inconsequential hills and onto the plain. Rock ranges encircled the district but there was a gap between them to the north and they set out toward that passage. It was six or seven miles away and Mackenzie knew they wouldn’t get that far today but they were making better distance than he’d anticipated. At sunrise he stopped to parcel out a ration of water and searched Jay’s physique until Jay blushed.

“I’m trying to judge how many miles you’ve got left in you.”

“You don’t have to put it brutally.”

“If you look at your skin you’ll see what I mean. The sunburn’s starting to tan. The blisters have gone down on your shoulders.”

Jay tucked in his chin to examine himself. “So?”

“If we can add two or three hours’ walking time to each night we can cut a day off our travel time.”

“You want to keep going a few hours, that it?”

“It won’t get scorching hot for another four hours. If we walk for three hours and dig holes under scrub shade we still should be all right. Then start out again a couple of hours before sunset. If our feet hold out we may make it in three nights.”

“I can stick it as long as you can.” There was jealousy in Jay’s defiance; but he didn’t hold Mackenzie’s glance. “I’m just as eager as you are. If we can shave a day off it’ll make a lot of difference.”

So they continued until the sun was well up; dug their holes with the sun strong against their backs; and tumbled into their damp earth beds with a twitching of overtaxed muscles. Mackenzie had a final look back toward the mountains they’d crossed. He saw nothing remarkable and he was asleep instantly.

He awakened once with the sun just past zenith: it was the rush of a jet that had alerted him but by the time he lifted his head the plane was retreating toward the horizon. He saw no buzzards, no Duggai; he sagged into the cool bunker and slept.

He was awake again by three or so; he spent an hour repairing his frayed moccasins with rawhide but they wouldn’t last the night and there remained only one spare pair each.

Well, we’ll keep the ruined ones and try to stitch them together to make new ones.

They were fed and moving again well before sundown; by nightfall they’d crossed several miles; moonrise found them in the passage between ranges.

It was going better than he’d hoped: if their muscles and moccasins held out they were going to make it. But he itched terribly where the sun had baked his already punished skin and he was conscious of the dry scratch of the hard leather breechclout.

They walked without hurry, not letting impatience force the pace; they’d settled down to the march of soldiers, one pace at a time and no thought of anything beyond it. The water sack swung from Mackenzie’s fist, the palm tacky with sweat, and every hundred yards or so he shifted it from hand to hand.

They emerged from between the ranges. The moon was perceptibly stronger tonight: it threw a steel-hued glow across the flats and by its light Mackenzie could make out distinctly the canyon contours of sierras some miles away. To the northeast the plain stretched away to a level horizon many miles distant. At other compass points there were cairns and hummocks and mountain ranges that brought the horizons closer. Due north stood a forbidding rampart of boulder cliffs. No point going up against that: they struck off to the right and followed the flats.

Underfoot they traversed pebbles and clay and the dry-rotting remains of crumbling plants. The trick was to stay a good distance from any shrubbery big enough to cast a shadow. The bare earth ran in contours of washboard unevenness but it made firm footing and the journey was easy so long as you watched where you were putting your foot down.

The occasional coyote yapped distantly; the occasional rodent or jackrabbit bolted away. Mackenzie thought of the bonepiles of bleached remains that had been strewn across this desert a hundred years ago—pioneers trying to reach California across the infamous Jornada del Muerte: the trail had been signposted with cattle skulls and human skeletons.

Well, they didn’t have plastic raincoats in those days.

Judderingly weary; but he felt good. Triumph filled him, kept him moving even when spasms ran uncontrollably along his punished legs. Jay kept up—it was an evident struggle but he voiced no complaint and halted only when Mackenzie called a rest.

By midnight the moccasins had given out; they changed to the last ones. The new footwear was stiff and painful but they kept on.

As they approached the horizon a massive range climbed into sight and Mackenzie diverted the course again, swinging west of north. They were zigzagging in long arcs and it was adding to the distance but it wasn’t as severe as he’d expected: the ranges stood far apart and rarely extended more than a few miles in length. Off to the west he could see a great humping granddaddy sierra that covered an entire quadrant but it didn’t lie across their path. When they stopped to drink he said, “I think we may strike the highway sometime tomorrow night.”