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"If you're the last one alive," he said, "and the Indians take you, you might
talk them into taking you to Sam Burrows. He'd give them a hundred dollars for
you. Tell them that it might save your life."
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"And otherwise?"
"There are some springs on Adair Bay, and there's to be a boat there to pick
up a man named Isacher. He's dead, so don't worry about him. If not that boat,
there are fishing boats along from time to time."
"And what if we all come through? Or if it is just you and Joe Harbin?"
He looked at her thoughtfully in the darkness. "Then I suppose you will have
to choose, Joe Harbin or me."
He turned suddenly and took her by the shoulders, and for a moment he held
her, looking into her face. Then he bent his head and kissed her, lightly, on
the lips. "There ... when the times comes, that may help."
At no great distance, at a place where the basalt had faulted, Hat lay in a
niche in the rock. It was a place where he was sheltered from the cold wind,
and high enough above the sand so that he had a good view of the camp with its
red, winking eye marking the fire. He could distinguish occasional movement
near the horses, or about the camp.
They were standing watch, of course. He had expected that. In fact, he had
expected about everything that had happened thus far. There was not much a
running man could do when he got into the Pinacate country. The only
difference was that someone here knew about the water holes.
He knew now who it was. It was simply a matter of reading the sign right,
seeing who scouted in the right directions. It was the man with the new boots
... Rodelo.
They were carrying something they could not have had when they left the
prison, and it was too heavy to be supplies. He had seen the tracks of the
pack horse that carried it, and he had seen where it rested at night.
Hat had his own plans, but they were not new. He had used them many times
before, and they had been successful. He had never attacked until they reached
the dunes or the beach.
Here, among the broken lava flows around Pinacate, there were too many
sheltered places. They could defend themselves too well, and usually they were
still in shape to put up a stiff fight. He could wait until the dunes and
drift sand broke their spirit. None of them carried much water, and that was
his first target.
His plan was simplicity itself. Get them out in the dunes. They would have
had little to eat or drink, and if their horses had lived this far they had
reached their limit. There was shelter in the dunes for him and for his
warriors, and they could move easily. The escaped prisoners would be trying
for the coast, and he would edge them back from it, make them struggle among
the dunes until the last of their water and the last of their strength was
exhausted. After that, it would be easy enough.
Usually they died among the dunes, but occasionally one or two would reach
the shore. Then he would push them toward one of the two or three poisoned
springs nearby, keeping them away from those where fresh if slightly brackish
water might be found. Several of the escaped prisoners in the past had been
dead before he shot them ... the bullet hole was evidence of his capture.
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Hat was curious, as all Indians were inclined to be. Now he was wondering if
the man with the new boots knew about the other water holes. Which side of the
Pinacate would he take? He had an idea it would be the eastern side, away from
the volcanic vents and the lava of the western slope.
Hat now had eleven warriors with him, all eager for the hunt. Four were
Yaquis, one an outlaw Pima, and the others of the Yuma tribe. All but one had
ridden with him before, although at different times.
With such a number he could herd the escaped prisoners like sheep, firing a
bullet when necessary to turn them back, edging them away from the easiest
routes, winning his final victory and the gold merely for a long ride into the
desert. It amused Hat to consider that. Yet he had a moment of doubt ... There
was that one with the new boots ... he was a cunning traveler, like a prairie
wolf. Would he find another way?
But eventually he must turn to the dunes. Of course, if he held to the line
of mountains he could reach a point where the ride to the water would be
shorter. If he tried that, they must head him off.
Hat was first of all a hunter, and as such, he was interested in what his
prey might attempt. He was not worried. After all, they were amateurs in the
Pinacate country; he was the professional. One last reservation he had ... the
Pinacate itself might take a hand in the game.
The old gods lurked among the mountains, this he knew, and the Pinacate was a
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