He was moving, keeping low, on his elbows and knees-and was thrown hard against the side of the pickup box as the truck left the road and its high four-wheel-drive front end smashed through the wooden gate, exploded through it with the sound of boards splitting, ripped apart by the high metal bumper.
By the time Renda's three cars were through the gate and had come to a sudden stop, the truck was bounding across the desert pasture, making its own trail, running free where the cars couldn't follow.
No one had to say it. The rocks and holes, steep-banked washes and scrub, would rip the underbody of an automobile, tear out the suspension. They sat staring at the dust settling and the yellow speck out there in the open sunlight-Renda in the front seat with Lundy, Kopas in back.
"There's a road over there," Renda said finally. "They got to be headed for something."
"Taking a shortcut," Lundy said.
"There is one," Kopas said, "if I remember correctly. About a mile, county road cuts through there, goes up in the mountains."
The three cars turned in a tight circle and went out through the gate the way they had come in, the dark green Dodge leading off.
Within five miles the county blacktop began to wind and climb, making its way up into high country.
Majestyk felt better now. He had a little time to breathe and knew what he was going to do. The girl had set it up for him, given him the time. She had said he needed her and she was right. When he signaled to her and she stopped, he got out of the box and came up on her side.
"I guess there's no way to get rid of you, is there?"
"I told you before, Vincent, you're stuck with me."
She was the one to have along all right, but he couldn't think about her now. He told her to hold it about thirty-five, let them catch up again. He got back into the rear end and that was the last thing he said to her for a while.
There were a few new melon cartons in the pickup bed, flat pieces of cardboard he put under him for some cushion, soften the damn skid strips on the floor. Then he put the two suitcases at the back end of the pickup box, against the tailgate, and rested the shotgun on them. Lying belly down they were just about the right height. He reached up and pulled the latch open on one side of the tailgate. The other one would hold the gate closed until he was ready.
When he saw the three cars coming again, they were on a good stretch of road, straight and climbing, a pinyon slope rising above them on the right and a steep bank of shale and scrub that fell off to the left, dropping fifty or more feet into dense growth, dusty stands of mesquite.
Now he would have to keep down and rely on Nancy. In the window he saw her look back at him and nod. That meant they were coming up fast. He could hear the car.
Nancy was watching it in the rearview mirror-catching glimpses of the other two cars behind it-letting them come, watching the first car closely to see what it was going to do and trying to hold the truck steady on the narrow road. The car was fifty, forty feet away, crawling up on the truck, overtaking it and beginning to pull out, as if to pass. She held up two fingers in the rear window, a peace sign.
Majestyk was ready. He reached for the tailgate latch, pulled the chain off. The gate dropped, clanged open and there was the dark green Dodge charging at him, a little off to the right. At twenty feet Majestyk put his face to the shotgun, fired three times and saw the windshield explode and the car go out of control. It swerved across the road, sweeping past the tailgate, hit the bank on the right side and came back again-as the two cars behind, suddenly close, braked and fishtailed to keep from piling into the Dodge. The car veered sharply to the left, jumped the shoulder, and dived into the brush fifty feet below.
He fired twice at the second car, the Olds 98, but it was swerving to avoid hitting the bank. The shot raked its side and caught part of the third car, taking out a headlight, as the car rammed into the left rear fender of the Olds, kicked it sideways and both cars came to a hard abrupt stop.
Majestyk gave Nancy the sign, felt the pickup lurch as it shifted and took off, leaving the two cars piled up in the road.
The first thing Lundy did, he went over to the shoulder to look down at the Dodge, at the rear end of it sticking out of the brush. There was no sign of the two guys. They were probably still inside. He couldn't see how they could be alive, but it was possible. Lundy was starting down the bank when Renda called him.
"Gene, come on." Renda was walking away from the rear of the Olds. The other car was slowly backing up. He said, "We're okay. Let's go."
Lundy began to say, "I was thinking we ought to-don't you think we should take a look?"
"We're going to get in the car, Gene, and not waste any more time. Now come on."
"They could be alive. Hurt pretty bad, caught in there."
"I don't give a shit what they are. We got something to do, right now, before he gets someplace and hides."
Renda didn't say any more until they were in the car, following the road up through the pinyon, looking at side trails, openings in the trees where he could have turned off. But there wasn't any way to tell.
"That goddamn truck of his, he can go anywhere," Renda said. "He knows this country. He told me, he comes up here hunting."
"If he knows it and we don't," Lundy said, "it changes things."
"I don't know, is he running or what? The son of a bitch."
"If he's still on this road," Lundy said, "we'll catch him. Otherwise I don't know either."
There was a game trail nearby where he had sat with the Marlin across his lap and waited for deer: meat for the winter, to be stored in his twenty-five-dollar deep-freeze. He wondered if he would go hunting this fall. If the girl would still be here. If either of them would be here.
He sat with the Marlin now as he had sat before, this time looking down the slope, through the pine trees to the road, the narrow black winding line far below. The cabin was less than a mile from here. He wondered if Renda would think of it and remember how to find it. No, he wouldn't have picked out landmarks and memorized them. He was from a world that didn't use landmarks.
He said to the girl, "Did you ever shoot a deer?"
"I don't think I could."
"What if you were hungry?"
"I still couldn't."
"You eat beef."
"But I don't have to kill it."
"All right, I'll make you a deal. I'll shoot it, you cook it."
"When are we going to do that, Vincent?"
"In a couple of months. We'll have plenty of time. Sit around, drink beer, watch TV. Maybe take some trips."
"Where do you want to go?"
"I don't care. Anyplace."
"We going to get married first?"
"Yeah, you want to?"
"I guess we might as well, Vincent. Soon as we get some time."
Looking down the slope he said, "Here come a couple of friends of ours."
They watched the two cars pass below them on the winding road.
"Now what, Vincent?"
"Now we give them a kick in the ass," Majestyk said.
Renda's three men in the second car, following the Olds, were in general agreement that riding around in the mountains was a bunch of shit. That Frank Renda ought to take care of his own hit, if he wanted the guy so bad. That maybe they should stop on the way back-if they ever got out of this fucking place-and see about the two guys who went over the side. Though they must be dead; nobody had yelled for help. They were looking out the windows, up and down the slopes, but if the guy wasn't still on the road they knew they weren't going to find him. How could they get to him?
The one in the back seat said, "There shouldn't be nothing to it. Wait for the right time you can set the fucking guy on fire, do it any way you want. This hurry-up shit doesn't make any sense."
"You know what the trouble is?" the driver said. "The guy, the farmer, he doesn't know what he's doing. He shouldn't even still be around."