The scorpion was replaced by a white streak on the rock.
Simultaneous with the roar of the gunshot Mackenzie slammed the heavy stone with all his remaining strength against the side window. It was safety glass and it didn’t shatter; the stone punched a great hole through it and left the remainder starred and frosted. There was no falling tinkle of glass shards.
The explosion of the Magnum’s cartridge kept booming around the bowl of rocks, reverberating, dying slowly. Deafened by it, Duggai certainly hadn’t heard the smash of rock against glass above him. Mackenzie was in plain view but Duggai only put the Magnum back on the pile of clothes and braced both palms on the bank of the pool to lever himself out of the water. It put Duggai’s back to Mackenzie and now Mackenzie reached inside through the hole in the window and found the handle inside the door. As silently as he could he unlatched it.
His mind was hurtling forward in anticipation. Certain things he had to be aware of. The rifle was scope- sighted and probably zeroed in for a range of not less than 250 yards and that meant, at this short range, he’d have to aim low. A combat-trained rifleman like Duggai would keep a round chambered and ready to go but he’d make sure the safety was engaged so it wouldn’t go off accidentally. Mackenzie wouldn’t need to work the rifle’s bolt action but he would have to kick the safety off before pulling the trigger; otherwise nothing would happen.
All this went through his mind in the time it took him to free the door lock.
Duggai was still clambering out of the water, his back to Mackenzie, and Mackenzie with a rough uncaring need to finish it yanked the door open and caught the rifle as it tipped toward him and lifted it to his shoulder in a smooth synchronous motion, found the safety with his thumb and flicked it off, and saw by the sudden tensing of Duggai’s back muscles that Duggai had heard something-some sound Mackenzie had made. Duggai began to turn and began to fall to one side toward the Magnum where it lay only a few feet from him on the bundle of clothes.
In the circular telescopic lens Duggai’s profile was immediate, point-blank, and Mackenzie lowered it, remembering that it was sighted in for longer ranges than this, but suddenly there was too much rage in Mackenzie for this-a bullet through Duggai’s head wouldn’t even make the down payment-and so, as Duggai reached out for the Magnum, falling toward it, Mackenzie shifted his aim. It was guesswork because he didn’t know for what distance the scope was sighted but the target was big enough and close enough-it wasn’t more than thirty feet from him; he hardly needed sights-and Mackenzie squeezed the trigger quickly until the big rifle slammed back in recoil against his bare shoulder and the earsplitting racket exploded in his ears and the bullet knocked the Magnum spinning halfway up the salt lick far out of Duggai’s reach.
Duggai reacted with blinding speed. He pushed himself backward and slid into the water and ducked under. Mackenzie worked the rifle bolt. The empty cartridge case flipped out and rolled down the rock with a tinkle like something they rang at the altar between incantations, and Mackenzie watching it had time to think: it was one of those that started all this.
Duggai had a big chest and stayed under for a long time but then he came up, sputtered, raked hair from his eyes, stared at Mackenzie and finally went still, his head above water, looking like nothing Mackenzie had ever seen but something crossed the mind crazily:
John the Baptist on a silver tray.
The water reflected silver barbs all around Duggai’s decapitated face. He said nothing-only stared into the muzzle of the rifle. Mackenzie put his eye to the scope and he could count the bloodshot veins in the eyes.
Mackenzie did not speak or move. He wanted terror to reach into Duggai and spread through every fiber.
After a long motionless time Duggai finally turned to the shallow side of the pool and climbed onto the slope of rock. Then without even looking toward Mackenzie he began to walk up the salt lick toward the revolver.
Mackenzie spoke.
“Both kneecaps if I have to. You’ll never walk again.”
It stopped Duggai in his tracks. He turned to face Mackenzie and his face lifted, jaw jutting-
“You don’t think I’m going to make it that easy, you rancid bastard son of a bitch.”
Duggai’s eyes closed down as if he was bored. Insolence settled over his features. He merely waited, demonstrating his courage.
“Come up here. Bring the truck keys. Never mind the clothes, you won’t need them.”
Naked and powerful Duggai climbed the switchback rock trail. Mackenzie backed away, never letting him come in jumping distance: he had no reserves left but it didn’t take much strength to pull a trigger and Duggai knew that and Mackenzie kept the rifle aimed at his privates so that Duggai knew he couldn’t be panicked into a hasty kill shot. Even if it missed it would tear up his pelvis or his abdomen and he’d be a long agonizing time dying. No: Duggai’s illness of the mind wasn’t that kind. He hadn’t forsaken his shrewdness. Like his victims he would bide his time and wait for an opening-he wouldn’t fight the drop.
Mackenzie said, “You knew I was Navajo. You should have thought about that.”
“Half Navajo.
“White man hell. I put myself in your moccasins, Calvin. I knew what you’d do. I got here ahead of you. We played your game and I won. You hear me?”
“I hear you, Captain.” Duggai stood dripping, all hard dark musculature-mammoth and unbowed. He gaped at Mackenzie in that maddening way of his. “You can kill me now.”
The rifle was so heavy he could hardly hold it. He stopped Duggai at the tailgate and shuffled painfully around him in a wide circle. He got the truck open and found the pieces of wire where Duggai had tossed them inside. He threw two of them at Duggai and got his hand back on the rifle.
Mackenzie’s lips peeled back viciously. It came out in a whisper of rage: “
Duggai’s eyes went a little wider. He bent down and picked up the wire. While he was bent he hesitated a moment and Mackenzie knew he was thinking about making a try-throwing dirt in Mackenzie’s eyes-but it was too far for that and finally Duggai twisted the wire around his wrist and sat down on his naked butt and wired his own ankles together. Then rolled over on his belly and put both hands behind his rump.
Mackenzie approached him very slowly and put the muzzle of the rifle against the crotch between the buttocks and held his right hand on the trigger. With his left hand he wired the hands together behind the small of Duggai’s back.
He had trouble standing up after that but he made it. “Get in the truck.”
“How?”
“Hobble it.”
Duggai hopped like a farmer’s kid in a potato-sack race. Then he sat on the tailboard and lifted his legs and swiveled himself up inside.
“On the bunk now.”
He wired Duggai’s feet to the floor cleat as his own had been wired. He jammed the rifle against Duggai’s hip and again held the trigger at arm’s length while he leaned behind Duggai and wired his hands to the steel crossbrace of the wall.
“You fixin’ to leave me out in that desert, Captain?”
Mackenzie slammed the door in his face.
30
The truck came strenuously across the ravaged earth. Approaching the camp it tipped clumsily through a gully that almost rolled it over. It righted itself and advanced, gears snarling.
Shirley came out of her hole hollow-eyed and hesitant. She stood with her arms folded as if she were cold and stared at the truck with the face of a prisoner awaiting execution against a wall.
Drawn by the hated sound, Jay arose from the grave and sidled toward Shirley. He touched her hand and they stood together, watching.
The truck whined slowly up the slope and finally stopped. Mackenzie in shirt and shorts and boots opened the
