Steve’s eyes followed the pointing finger and he stamped on his brake pedal, stopping the Buick. He leaned out of the window to look up the sloping hill that rose to meet the Oakville road a couple of thousand feet above him.
It was a wrecked truck all right. It lay on its side, pinned between two pine trees.
‘What the hell are you stopping for?’ Roy asked irritably. ‘Haven’t you seen a wrecked truck before?’
‘Sure,’ Steve said, opening the door and sliding out on to the road. ‘I’ve seen too many of them. That’s why I’m going up there to look it over. Some poor devil may be hurt. After the storm last night it’s possible no one’s spotted him.’
‘Little comrade of the mountains, huh?’ Roy sneered. ‘O.K. I may as well come along: haven’t stretched my legs in years.’
They reached the truck after a stiff climb through thick grass and broken slabs of rock.
Steve climbed up on the side of the overturned cab, peered through the broken window, while Roy leaned against the truck and tried to control his laboured breathing. The climb had exhausted him.
‘Give us a hand, Roy,’ Steve called. ‘A driver and a girl. It looks like they’re dead, but I want to be sure.’ He reached down, grabbed hold of the man’s hand. It was cold and stiff, and Steve released it with a grimace. ‘He’s dead all right.’
‘I told you how it’d be,’ Roy said. ‘Now let’s get the hell out of here.’ From where he stood he had an uninterrupted view of the road that stretched for miles. Nothing moved on it. It was empty: a dusty ribbon that wound into the mountains. For the first time in weeks he felt safe.
Steve reached down and touched the girl who lay across the driver. Her hand was warm.
‘Hey, Roy! She’s alive. Don’t go away. Help me get her out.’
Muttering under his breath Roy climbed on to the cab, peered over Steve’s shoulder.
‘Well, come on,’ he said, with an uneasy glance along the mountain road. ‘We don’t want to stick around here all day.’
Steve gently lifted the girl, passed her through the cab doorway to Roy. As Roy laid her on the side of the cab he caught sight of the dead driver.
‘Good grief!’ he exclaimed, startled. ‘Take a look at that guy’s face.’
‘Looks like he’s been scratched up by a cat, the poor devil,’ Steve said, hurriedly climbing out of the cab.
Roy lifted one of the girl’s hands.
‘And here’s your cat,’ he said. ‘There’s blood and skin under her nails. Know what I think? The driver made a pass at her and she slashed him. She got his eyes and he drove off the road.’ He studied the girl. ‘Nice bit of homework, isn’t she?’ he went on. ‘I bet that poor punk thought he’d picked up a pushover. Say, she’s a real looker, isn’t she? I don’t blame the punk trying to make her, do you?’
‘Let’s get her down,’ Steve said shortly, and together the two men carried the girl from the cab down on to the thick grass. Steve knelt beside her while Roy stood back and watched.
‘She’s got a nasty wound at the back of her head,’ Steve said. ‘We’ll have to get that attended to right away.’
‘Forget it,’ Roy said, a sudden snarl in his voice. ‘Leave her here. She’ll be all right. A floosie who bums rides can take care of herself. We don’t want to be cluttered up with a twist, anyway. Some guy’ll find her and will be glad of it.’
Steve stared at him.
‘We’re certainly not leaving her here,’ he said sharply. ‘The girl’s badly hurt.’
‘Then bring her down to the road and leave her there. Someone’ll be along in a while,’ Roy said, his white face twitching. ‘I don’t want to be mixed up in this.’
‘She needs medical attention,’ Steve said quietly. ‘There’s no place between here and my farm where I can leave her. That means I’m taking her home and I’m going to get Doc Fleming over to fix her. Anything to say against that?’
Roy’s face was ugly with controlled rage.
‘You can’t kid me,’ he sneered. ‘You’re like all the other hicks who live too long in the mountains. One look at a dame who’s got something on the ball and you shoot your top.’
Steve jumped to his feet. For a moment he looked as if he was going to hit his brother, but he choked down his anger, gave a twisted grin instead.
‘You haven’t changed much, have you?’ he said. ‘And you’re not going to get my rag out. Why don’t you grow up? You’ve still got a mind like a schoolboy.’ He turned away and bent over the girl. As he moved her limbs, making sure she had no broken bones, she stirred.
‘Why don’t you undress her,’ Roy sneered, ‘instead of just pawing her over?’
Steve ignored him, although the back of his neck turned red. He felt the girl’s pulse. It was strong under his fingers and her skin felt feverish.
‘You’d better leave her, Steve,’ Roy went on. ‘You’ll be sorry if you don’t.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Steve snapped, lifted the girl.
‘O.K., but don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Roy returned, shrugging indifferently. ‘I’ve got a hunch she’s going to cause a hell of a lot of trouble. But why should I care? It’ll be your headache.’
Steve passed him and began his slow, careful walk to the van.
Silver Fox Farm was set in an enclosed valley of mountain peaks on Blue Mountain Summit, eight thousand feet above sea level. It was reached by a dirt road that branched off the highway and wound for four or five miles through big boulders and pine trees until it terminated at Steve’s log cabin by the side of a lake, a pale blue sheet of water packed with mountain trout.
A year back Steve had decided to throw up his job as an insurance salesman and breed foxes. He had saved money, discovered Blue Mountain Summit, bought the deed and moved in. The farm was still in its infancy, but Steve hoped it wouldn’t be long before he could afford to hire help. The worst part of the life was the utter loneliness of the place; to have no one but his dog to talk to from one day to the next.
Roy’s coming should have solved the problem, but Steve was quick to realize that Roy was likely to be more of a nuisance than a companion. He was already beginning to regret the visit.
Roy had looked the cabin over with sour eyes and then had slouched down to the lakeside without a word, leaving Steve to carry the unconscious girl into the cabin.
But as soon as Steve was out of sight, Roy retraced his steps, ran to the Buick. He looked furtively towards the cabin, then raised the hood and unscrewed the head of the accelerator switch, snapped the leads, pocketed the switch. Closing the hoed, he lounged up to the wide verandah.
He could hear his brother moving about somewhere in the cabin and he sidled into the big living-room, took in its rough comfort at a glance, crossed over to the gun-rack, which was equipped with an iron bar on a hinge and a padlock that, when locked, secured the guns in their rack. Roy fastened the padlock, pocketed the key.
Steve came into the room a moment later.
‘Put your floosie to bed?’ Roy asked jeeringly.
‘Cut it out,’ Steve snapped. ‘I don’t like it, Roy, so park it in, will you?’
Roy eyed him over, grinned.
‘That’s too bad,’ he said; took out a cigarette, lit it.
‘I don’t know what’s the matter with you,’ Steve ‘You’ve acted odd ever since we met.’
‘That’s too bad, too,’ Roy said.
Steve shrugged.
‘I’m going over to Doc Fleming,’ he went on. ‘It’ll take me the best part of two hours. Keep an eye on her, will you? She’s got concussion, I think, but she’ll be all right until I return.’
‘That certainly makes my day,’ Roy sneered. ‘What do I do? Hold her hand and fan her with my hat?’