Randi was subdued as she sat beside Paul. The scout was laboring in low gear up the steep slope toward the high vantage point, the motor noises reverberating through the naked hills. She shivered in the heat — a whisper of growing despondency. She had been overwhelmed by the wild vastness of Death Valley. It terrified her to think that her husband was out there somewhere in that hostile wilderness. Alone. Injured. Terrified. And in total incomprehension of what was happening to him. How would they ever find him? It seemed hopeless… even though she knew that Paul had selected as his sector the one where that Mexican man had last seen Tom. But that was hours ago. Tom could be anywhere by now… She ached with worry.
They reached the final switchback that led to the observation level at Zabriskie Point. They drove onto the small flat area. Paul lifted his binoculars and scanned the surrounding hills.
The view was breathtaking. The age-old, eroded bluffs stretched all around them, looking like the wrinkled skin of a gigantic, sleeping prehistoric reptile. Far below, through a pass cradled between golden rock peaks and huge brown rounded mud humps, the expanse of the valley could be seen spread out before them, hazy blue in the heat. Randi felt the awe of it clutching her throat.
A Ranger pick-up drove up to the observation point and stopped behind the scout. Ranger Adams dismounted and joined them.
Paul turned to him. “Adams,” he said, “take the right.” He pointed. “I'll take the left.”
“Okay, Captain.” Adams began to search the area with his binoculars. He could not help feeling keyed up. It was the first time in his five months with the Park Rangers that something exciting had happened. He enjoyed it. He had a pang of guilt. Enjoy? A man was lost out there. Dying. He glanced at the young woman tensely staring out over the barren landscape. He felt genuinely sorry for her. He wished very much to find her husband for her. Soberly he returned to his sweep of the ridges and cliff before him.
Paul let his field glasses roam. He searched the crest of a bluff, swept down the weather-wrinkled slope — down into a dry wash far below. Its dark-gray flow snaked through the scalloped hillocks toward the valley.
Suddenly he started. Rounding a bend, a tiny figure came plodding along the wash.
Tom.
“There he is!” Paul shouted. “My God! There he is!” Excitedly he turned to Randi. “Randi! Call to him! Shout! As loud as you can.”
Randi tumbled from the scout. She ran to the low parapet surrounding the observation ledge. “Tom!” she shouted. “Tom! It's me!” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Tom! It's me! Tom!”
Far below, Tom stopped dead in his tracks. Alarmed,
he looked up toward the new, alien sound that came down to him from above. He was afraid — but an angry defiance was building up in him. He felt a burning hatred for his pursuers. They would give him no rest. He lifted his face toward the distant sound. The heat from the blazing sun beat down on him and drained him of strength. And the frightening monsters chasing him would give him no respite — always closing in on him.
For a brief moment he listened to the faint calls from above. The shell of injury clamped around his head was penetrated by the sound — but not by its meaning.
Abruptly he turned and ran down the wash the way he'd come.
High above, Paul saw him disappear around the bend.
Randi was shattered. “Tom! Wait!” she called, knowing it was in vain. She sobbed. “Please — please wait,” she whispered.
She seemed to collapse a little within herself. With unnaturally bright eyes she turned to Paul.
“He didn't listen, Paul,” she said, holding back the tears. “He didn't know me at all… You were right. I'm no good.”
He looked at her. Of course he was right. But he suddenly realized the crushing strain on the girl, the anxiety and desperation she must be going through. The “I told you so” died on his lips.
“Perhaps he couldn't hear you,” he said, himself unconvinced. “It's a long way down there.”
“Yes.” Randi clung to the tiny shred of hope. “Yes — that could be it. We'll have to get closer to him.”
Paul turned to the young Ranger. “Adams,” he said briskly, “how do we get down there? Fast? Cut him off?”
Ranger Adams already had a map spread out on the hood of his truck. He shook his head. “We can't get through to him from here that fast,” he said. “But I think we have a chance to corner him.” He pointed to the map. “There.”
Paul at once turned to the Sergeant. “Hays,” he ordered, “get Major Ward.”
“Roger!”
He spoke urgently into his mike. “Armadillo Two. This is Armadillo One,” he called. “Come in. Come in.”
He switched to receiving. Static crackled from the set. With concern Hays glanced at the surrounding mountains.
“Armadillo Two. This is Armadillo One. Come in. Come in!” Unconsciously his voice grew more insistent. “Come in!”
He listened…
Wilson was guiding the scout around a large boulder fallen onto the trail as the vehicle emerged from a steep-walled canyon. The radio sputtered: “… Armadillo Two. This Armadillo One. Come in!”
Ward, sitting next to Wilson, picked up the mike. “Armadillo One. This is Armadillo Two. Go ahead.”
Paul's voice came over the radio. “Ward! We've spotted him. He's headed for Desolation Canyon. Take the west entrance. We'll go in from the east. And step on it! Over.”
Ward was at once alert. “Roger, Armadillo One,” he said. “Leaving Hell's Gate immediately for west entrance to Desolation Canyon. Over and out.” He replaced the mike.
“Let's make tracks, Wilson,” he said.
The scout took off in a cloud of dust…
Tom had a strong premonition of danger. His heart beat faster. Adrenalin shot through his system. His pursuers were narrowing the gap. He suddenly thought of the little gray-furry creature that had been stalked by the larger beast on the mountainside. Now he was the one being hunted.
At a half-trot he loped along the bottom of the gorge. It was narrowing markedly. The sides were getting steeper. He came to a dirt trail entering the gully from the left and disappearing into the narrowing canyon ahead. The high, steep walls cast a darker strip of shade along one side. Tom ran into the ravine, welcoming the relief from the direct sun beating down.
He ran on, his footsteps echoing in hollow cadence between the sheer rock walls rising abruptly on both sides of the narrow gorge — adding to his growing panic. Uneasily he glanced up the precipitous walls of the deep chasm,
searching for the thin ribbon of blue sky high above his head. He kept on running…
At the west entrance to Desolation Canyon, Ward's scout came careening down the desert trail toward the canyon mouth. Slowing only a little, Wilson drove into the ravine…
At the east end, where the trail swung into the steep-walled gorge, Paul's scout negotiated the turn and began to threadneedle a course between the perpendicular rock walls of the narrow canyon…
Tom was running at a half-trot through the close-walled crevice. In growing alarm he glanced up the virtually unscalable sides that shaded the canyon floor. He sensed he was trapped. The shade had given him relief from the burning sun, but he knew that what had lured him into the ravine had been the bait for his plight. He sped on, every step a painful effort. He would soon come out the other end of the chasm. Soon…
Suddenly he stopped. Gulping air, he stood rooted to the spot, listening. From behind him the now familiar and feared deep rumbling noise of the creatures chasing him came rolling down the gorge. He redoubled his efforts, racing along the sandy ravine floor.