Moontrap - Don Berry (44 page)

He picked up a stone and tossed it from hand to hand
for a moment, while he studied the meadow and the wall and the peak
above. Finally he shrugged and stood up. He heaved the rock out
toward the wall. It fell far short, clanked against another stone in
the meadow, and everything was silent again.

It was worth keeping in mind, if he didn't find
anything better. The wall would make a nice little fort, but he
wanted to get higher. He moved out around the edge of the trees and
started up the small peak. Beyond the trees the terrain was a tumbled
mass of rocky debris; loose gravel, occasional large boulders. The
loose rock slid out from under his feet and scattered down the slope,
the stones bruised his feet through the thin leather of the
moccasins.

He had to rest once before he reached the top. He
squatted, his bony wrists dangling over his knees, facing downslope.
The sun was dropping more quickly now, and taking on a reddish tinge.
This side was nearly all in shadow now, but farther off to the east
the sun still caught the tops of other ridges. picking out the peaks
like tiny match flames in the shade.

Finally he started up again, and shortly afterward
reached the big boulder that seemed to be the peak. He looked around,
checking the ground from the point of view of cover. The little peak
sloped down to the razorback ridge, tumbled rock again. The opposite
peak, a quarter of a mile away, was somewhat higher, and more
flat-topped. He thought it would probably be a better place to make
his stand. Satisfied, he sat down with his back against the boulder
to look around for the pleasure of it, and watch the day die.

He had almost forgotten how sweet it was to be on a
mountain, isolated and above the land. Below him and on all sides the
thick, matted forests stretched away along slowly undulating ridges.
A few miles south of him was the sudden sharp hump of the ridge he
had been on the evening before. It was the only real break in the
land worth noticing. All the other ridges, harsh and tiring in
reality, were flattened by distance and his height, seeming
inconsequential.

It was an odd thing, and one that always delighted
him, the way the land flattened out when you saw it from a mountain
peak. On the trail the next ridge always seemed to tower over you,
hovering like the breaking crest of a wave, an ordeal. a challenge.
But from here it was obvious that these little ripples couldn't
bother anybody; they made the difficulties of the trail seem minor.
It was just a different way of seeing.

His one real disappointment was that there was only a
blurred transition from sea to sky; off to the west. He couldn't
really be certain of the horizon; it was not the sharp, clean
dividing line he had pictured in his mind. Maybe it would be clearer
in the morning.

He thought he heard the faint sound of falling rock
on the other side, the side he had come up. A deer, browsing high the
lateness of the afternoon, searching out the last of the sun. If he
could get some fresh meat the day would be just about perfect.

He stood up and walked around the side of the boulder
to look.

2

An hour and a half after they had heard the shot, the
column came to the point where the trail crossed the dry creekbed,
and found the old horse. The animal lay with its legs pointed stiffly
out to the side, and flies were buzzing around the pool of blood that
collected below its head.

"Kilt his horse, by god!" one of them said
wonderingly.

"
Wonderful," Monday said. "You're a
real genius, now."

"Don't get smart, Monday," Thurston said.

One of the farmers was kneeling beside the animal in
fascination. Finally he stood up again, unconsciously wiping his hand
across his trouser leg. "Don't seem t' be hurt or nothin',"
he said. "What do you suppose he done that for?"

"Same reason we left ours at the crossroads,"
Monday said. "He's got t' be movin' faster."

"Well, hell, he di'n't have to shoot 'im."

Monday said nothing aloud.
Ain't
figurin' t' leave no way out
, he thought
miserably. There would be no loose ends of Webb's life hanging
around. Bit by bit everything the old man had was being left behind.

Thurston was looking apprehensively at the trail
where it continued into the heavy forest, disappearing in a few
yards. "It wouldn't be difficult to ambush the party in there,"
he said thoughtfully.

Monday snorted. "What's wrong with right here?"
he said.

The men looked around them. Except for the creekhed,
the forest was dense and impenetrable all around them. There was any
amount of cover available, just for the taking. They looked at one
another, grouped in a tight bunch around the animal, guns unloaded.

Thurston turned angrily to Monday. "Why did you
let us make targets of ourselves? Are you leading us into some kind
of trap?"

"
You're alive, ain't you?" Monday said. "I
figure he's headin' for the mountain, an' he won't make a stand
before he gets there."

"Why? How can you be sure?"

"I can't," Monday said. "That's what I
figure. That's the way he is."

"Damned little to go on," Thurston said.

"Huntin' men ain't a sure trade," Monday
said. "My opinion's all you got. Take it or leave it."

In the end Thurston turned away. Monday looked at the
western sky. "He's still got better'n an hour on us," he
said. "We best push on till dark, make camp, and get an early
start in the morning. If you approve, of course," he added to
Thurston.

Thurston shrugged, his insouciance returning.
"Whatever you say, my friend. I get the impression we're more or
less in your hands."

"
Monday looked down at the blackening wound in
the horse's head. "That's funny," he said absently. "I
get the same impression." He looked up at the mountain peaks,
barely visible above the screen of trees. The others followed his
glance, from the dead horse to the heights. There was a low
conversation between four or {ive of the men standing around the
horse.

Finally one of them laughed nervously. He shrugged
his pack into a more comfortable position and walked hesitantly over
to Monday and Thurston.

"Mr. Thurston—" he started politely.

"What is it?"

"Ah—there's a couple of us—well, we decided
to go home."

"
Go home!"

Monday grinned a little and looked down at the
ground.

"
Yeah," the man said hesitantly. "Me,
I mean I didn't want to come along here anyhow, you know?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Thurston snapped.
"You can't just go home. That kind of talk does nothing but make
trouble. You men are on a posse, not a picnic outing."

"Well, that's what we thought we'd do, though,"
the other said. The four other men came up to stand sullenly behind
their spokesman, looking neither at Monday nor at Thurston.

"
Look, Mr. Thurston," the first man said
reasonably. "Me, I got a wife and kids, you know? I got to think
about them. And I got wheat to get in."

"The last resort of cowards," Thurston said
contemptuously, "Wife and children. Do you think your wife and
children are safe while that maniac is loose?"

"Mr. Thurston," the other said doggedly, "I
ain't fixin' to argue with you. I know you c'n come over me slick."
He glanced down at the dead horse. "I don't care whether you
call it coward or whatever. But I figure to go home." The little
group behind him muttered a sort of wordless agreement. The first man
was standing his ground, embarrassed but adamant.

"Let me tell you something, my friend,"
Thurston said. "If you back out now, you will regret it the rest
of your life."

"Yeah," said somebody in the crowd. "But
it's like t' be a longer life."

There was a little laughter, and Thurston wheeled to
survey the main group angrily. "All right," he said
finally. "How many other cowards are there here? If you leave
this posse, you'd better start packing when you reach home."

Slowly they began to divide, a few more coming to
stand with the original deserters, looking embarrassedly at the
ground.

"
Just let me look at your faces," Thurston
said coldly. "I want to remember you."

"
Me, Iwas figurin' to go take a look at that
California gold anyways," somebody said, but it had gone too far
now. There was no answering laughter.

Through the exchange Monday had said nothing. He
looked at the ten men who had decided to stay, and figured it was a
question of fear either way. Some were more scared of Thurston than
of Webb, that was all. He shrugged.

"
I say let 'em go," he said finally. "This
here army's a sight too big for comfort anyways."

"
No one asked your opinion," Thurston said.

Monday grinned at the ground and rubbed the back of
his neck. There was nothing Thurston could do about it. He was losing
half his men, and that was that.

After having stared at the deserters, Thurston
suddenly turned and picked up the pack he had put on the ground.
Witlaout a word he started down the trail again.

Slowly, and with relief, the group of deserters
turned back the other way. A few of the remaining members looked
enviously after them.

"Now's the time, boys," Monday said,
watching them.

"Well, hell—" One of them shrugged,
looked at the ground for a moment. "I s'pose we might as well
see 'er through," he said. He picked up his pack and started
after Thurston. One by one the others reluctantly followed.

Monday came at the end of
the line, shaking his head in wonder at the ways of men.

***

It seemed almost lonesome in the morning, with only a
dozen men; and silent ones, for the most part. On a few faces there
was obvious regret that they had not gone off with the others; but it
was too late now. Thurston had improved the evening by delivering, in
a companionable way, his opinions of the deserters and his
predictions for their future. By the time he had finished, the talons
were well dug in, and Monday thought there would be no more to take
the back trail.

The longer he ran with this bunch the more baffled he
became, watching them sway back and forth before the wind, watching
Thurston politick them unceasingly. The establishment of his
authority was as natural as breathing for the small man; he did it
automatically, without thinking about it. And always a chance comment
dropped here, an observation there, to fertilize the suspicion of the
others for Monday.

Thinking back on it, Monday thought he had probably
made a mistake on the first morning. Thurston saw him as a threat
now. And slice by slice he was cutting him back to size. A
mistake—but what the hell else could Monday have done? Let himself
be cut out without fighting? ln the end it didn't matter. No matter
what he did, it was wrong.

Bill the carpenter had been one who stayed. In the
early light he came over and sat down beside Monday, rolling a
cigarette casually.

"Nice morning," he said, looking up at the
sky.

"So," Monday said.

After a moment, Bill said, "Say, that old man,
now."

"What about him?"

The cigarette paper tore across, and the carpenter
cursed it. Holding the ruined cigarette carefully so as not to spill
the tobacco, he reached in the pocket of his denim jacket for the
book of papers.

"I expect he's a pretty good shot," Bill
said. Others of the group had begun to drift over to listen.

"Expect he is," Monday said. "Thing
is, he won't get a shot at all until we're out o' the timber. Chances
are we can make it up t' the rock without him knowing.
If
you walk soft."

"
Y'really think so?"

"Listen," Monday said, gesturing to the
wood around them. It was full of sounds, rustlings of animals,
scraping of limbs, a steady murmur of life and movement.

"If we got a trail it shouldn't be too hard,"
Monday said. "After we get out into the open, that's a different
story. He's got his eyes, then."

"
All right, you men," Thurston said. "Pack
up and let's get moving."

The men started to drift off to their bedrolls.

"Think you'd best charge y'r guns this morning,"
Monday said quietly. He pulled the plug from his powder horn and
poured. "From here on in all bets are off."

The others looked at one
another, then silently went to get their gear together and load their
rifles.

***

They wound down into the little river valley
silently. Monday was amused at how quiet a dozen men could be if they
got scared enough. The morning wore on, the sun rose above the trees,
and the heat increased.

Just after noon they were filing along the flank of a
tiny ravine and could see the mountains plainly. Monday was leading,
with Thurston just behind. He was setting a good pace, hoping to make
up a little more time, and the others followed silently without
complaint.