Just inside the barrier stood a long, low trough. A couple of the big creatures had their heads bent down into it. One of them lifted up its head and shook it. Water dripped from its muzzle.
Tom was suddenly more conscious of his craving for water than ever; his nostrils dilated as the moist smell reached him. He crept toward the corral.
Uneasily the horses looked up, ears alert. Anxiously they turned their heads toward Tom and stirred with apprehension.
Tom stopped. Fearfully he watched the wary horses. Instinctively he sensed they were afraid of him — and his thirst overcame his own fears. He slipped through the loose wooden fence.
One of the horses snorted in alarm; another took up the warning and neighed in fear; they all milled about in their haste to get away from the water trough — and the intruder.
Juan looked up at the sound of the agitated horses. He glanced meaningfully at his two companions. He grinned, revealing two front teeth missing. He wiped the saddle soap from his fingers with a dirty cloth, got up from the table and took down a double-barreled shotgun from a rack in a corner of the room. He checked it. Both barrels were loaded. He nodded to one of the wranglers, and the man put out the light. For a moment Juan stood motionless, acclimatizing himself. Then he walked toward the door…
Tom submerged his face in the water. He drank deeply. The cool water soothed him.
He lifted his face. Water ran down his cheeks and dripped from the bristly stubble of his beard. A faint sound had risen over the scuffling noise made by the big animals in the enclosure. A different sound. He listened intently, feeling the acute tension of danger course through him. Uneasily he stared toward the lone, square rock.
The light was no longer there.
Instinctively he linked it with the sudden feeling of peril. Noiselessly he turned from the trough and crawled toward the timber barrier and the brush beyond…
Outside the door of the adobe, Juan peered into the darkness, trying to see… There! At the water trough. A half-hidden form slinking away through the fence. He raised his gun…
Tom was through the barrier. He turned and glanced back toward the dark, square rock. Suddenly there was a quick, bright flash of light from it. In the same instant a thundering roar slammed against his ears and a violent blow struck him on the shoulder, spinning him around.
Pain seared him. With a snarl, part rage, part fear, part pain, he snapped his head around to grimace furiously at his burning shoulder. He grabbed the wound with his hand. It felt wet and slimy. It hurt.
Again the explosive thunder blasted the silence and the ground spat little puffs of sand at him.
Terror gripped him. He sprang to his feet. He ran.
The darkness swallowed him…
Randi gripped Paul's arm. “What was that?”’ she asked, startled. “Shots?”
“Came from that direction,” Paul said. He stepped from the Ranger Headquarters entrance, where he'd been standing with Randi. He peered into the starry night.
Randi joined him. “Over by the stables?”
He nodded. “One of the boys must be taking pot shots at a bobcat.”
“Bobcats? Down here?”
“They come down from the mountains during the night, now and again. Looking for water.” He looked at her. “Raise havoc with the horses.”
She nodded. “Good night, Paul,” he said. “I'm going back to the cabin.”
“You want me to drive you down?”
“No. Please. I–I feel restless. I'll walk. The air'll do me good.”
“I guess it'll be all right,” Paul agreed. “Any bobcats within miles would have been scared back into the hills.”
“Oh, Paul,” Randi said. “They'd be more afraid of me than I of them.”
He smiled at her. “OK,” he said. “We'll finish mapping out the search areas for tomorrow. Good night, Randi.”
“Don't forget, I want to go with you.”
“I won't.’” He looked closely at her. “Randi,” he said solemnly, “it would be an empty gesture to say, ‘Don't worry.’ But — I promise you — we'll do everything we can.”
She nodded, subdued. “I — know…”
She walked off.
He looked after her. She was quite a girl, he thought. Tom was a lucky bastard. He, Paul, had never run into a chick like that. Uncomfortably, he suddenly realized he was a little envious.
He turned on his heel and went into the building…
The quiet was cathedral. Black infinity arched above, its myriad eyes gazing down upon her as she walked in solitude toward the palm grove at the ranch. The silent calm of the night was in sharp contrast to the storm of emotions within her. Her mind was raked with doubts, with feelings of guilt, fear, frustration — and anger.
Was she to blame, after all? Despite what Major Trafford had said? Had she — had her frigidity and the frustration she had forced on Tom made him more prone to have an accident? Was she at fault? She did not want to do it. But she did not know how not to. Why should she be expected to carry all the guilt. It wasn't fair.
What would happen to them when Tom was found? And back with her again? Would it all be — like it had been? What if he was never found? Or died? Would she ever forgive herself? Was there anything to forgive?
She knew she would do anything to save her husband. But what could she do?… Did she love him? Really love him? She knew she did. His life was hers. Then why could she not — show it? Was it something in her — or was it in him? What was she doing wrong? Or he?
The questions, the doubts, the self-accusations and recriminations crowded in on her in greater numbers and with greater insistence than ever, now that she was confronting them. Questions — but no answers.
Only doubts and incertitude.
She found herself in the grove of tall palms — an oasis of quiet serenity. In anguish she turned her face up to gaze into the night sky. She watched the luminous disk of the moon glide in and out of the softly swaying palm fronds high above. So much like home.
She had a brief little pang of homesickness. She had them — but only occasionally. She remembered how supportive Tom had been when her father died. Back in Florida. Suddenly. Only three years ago. He'd been showing a house to one of his real-estate clients when he suddenly collapsed with chest pains. He'd died that night.
Tom had taken care of everything, quietly, efficiently, sparing her mother and her all the terrible details. She'd loved him for it.
Her mother was still in Tampa. Alone now. She suddenly shivered. How terrible it must be — to be alone…
The palms above her rustled softly in a sudden, gently gust of night wind. It brought her back. This was not Florida, however much it might seem so. It was Death Valley. It was California.
Tom was a native Californian. Opposites attract, he'd joked when he'd first courted her back in Florida. And you and I can hardly be more opposite — geographically speaking, that is. We ought to attract one hell of a lot.
Her eyes bright with unshed tears, her face pinched with torment, she stood for a moment in silence. Her voice was audible only to herself.
“Oh, dear God. Please let him be safe…”
She lowered her head and walked on. She passed the gate to the Outdoor Museum near the ranch. For a moment she hesitated. Then she took the path leading into the grounds. Her cabin was directly across.
After a few moments she regretted having taken the shortcut.