Jeebee killed the calf with a single shot, which was not only easier on his ammunition supply, but more merciful to the animal. From this short distance there was no problem in making such a quick kill with a single bullet.
For a few minutes he thought he would have trouble getting the cow to leave the dead calf so that he could safely get down and begin butchering. But when he untied Sally’s lead rein and galloped Brute at the cow, whooping and waving his cap over his head, she took fright and lumbered off in a clumsy gallop of her own. He got down and began the messy business of slicing through the skin of the calf and butchering off as much meat as possible, to be carried back in one of the plastic tarps again.
Done at last, he was ready to go. He found, as he had suspected, that in the process of chasing off the cow, getting down, and butchering the calf, he had lost his bearings in the still-white wilderness that surrounded him. On the off chance that he might not be too far away to see it, he unslung the binoculars and looked for the slash that identified the two hundred and sixteenth pole. But he could not even see the poles.
He secured the load of fresh, slippery, warm chunks of beef in its plastic and net on Sally’s back, tied her lead rein back to its anchor at the back of Brute’s saddle, mounted Brute, and using his compass, headed northward.
Either the cow and her calf had been moving away from him, all the time he was bearing down on them, or else the road had taken a turn to the north on its way to the highway—he had never been out along it this far before—but he rode for some little while before he began to pick up what looked like a row of black dots right on the horizon.
Reasoning that these would be the tops of the electric poles, the greater part of their length cut off from him by some swell in the ground ahead, he put aside the binoculars and simply rode directly toward where he had seen them. In about fifteen minutes they became visible to the naked eye, and then seemed to grow up longer and longer from the ground beneath them as he got close.
He rode right up to them and began to hunt to his left, which was westward and back toward the ranch, for one that bore the slash mark he had made. He did not find it and it occurred to him that he might well have gone toward the cattle on more of a slant back westward toward the foothills than he had thought, so that now he had come back to the line of poles behind the two hundred and sixteenth one.
But in any case, his compass showed him the way westward, and he knew he was heading toward the ranch and the foothills. That was all he really needed to know. He rode past several poles before he noticed something that caused him to rein Brute in sharply.
He was astonished at his lack of observation in not seeing it before. On the other side of the poles, there was a track in the snow. It was a track of boots, going in the same direction he was now going. He lifted the reins and Brute moved forward until he halted him again right over the track. The boots were small and tended to shuffle through the snow. Whoever it was, was walking—which should not be happening in this territory, where even if there were no vehicles that ran anymore, there was an abundance of riding horses. And it was headed toward a ruined ranch, which any neighbor by this time must know had no life left within it.
The track could only be that of a stranger, as he was a stranger, to this area. And any stranger was a possible danger. His first instinct was to turn and run. Then curiosity got the better of him.
He unslung his binoculars and looked ahead. Clear in the binoculars was a figure, heavily muffled in clothes and trudging, as the tracks indicated, toward the ranch—which was still out of sight. There was a pack on its back, but it seemed to be empty, and the figure was not carrying a rifle, or in fact any other visible weapon.
Jeebee reminded himself that the other could well have something like a revolver tucked into his belt in front. A revolver that could be pulled as the figure turned to face him, if he came up to it.
But at the same time, by contrast, he himself was almost a traveling armory of guns and knives.
He decided to catch up with the figure, but as quietly as possible. He took the horses forward warily, still at a walk, but at a fast walk—a walk faster than the pace the person ahead of him was making.
The sound of their hooves on the ground was muffled by the snow above it. Jeebee and the two animals went forward very quietly indeed. Still, he could hardly believe it when he came closer and closer to the walking figure and the other did not stop and turn to see who was following.
Now that he was only twenty or thirty feet behind the intruder, Jeebee began to read the expression of the other’s body. Whoever it was, his shoulders slumped, and he was pushing forward as if at the end of whatever strength was in the body above the legs that kept moving.
If the other was really ready to drop from fatigue, as he well might be if he had been going any distance through this snow from the time the sun had risen, then perhaps he was too worn out to hear Jeebee approach behind him, or to look around and take ordinary precautions. Loosening his rifle in its holster,
Jeebee closed the gap between himself and the plodding shape. He moved up right behind it, then level with it, before, at last, the figure stopped, raised its head, and looked at him.
It was Merry. Her eyes were like black holes in a face that was as pale as the face of a person in a coma.
For a long moment she stared at him unbelievingly. Then immediately he was off his horse and had his arms around her. The minute she felt herself held she sagged so suddenly that he found himself holding her whole weight. He realized suddenly that she must be on the ragged edge of exhaustion, only being driven forward by whatever had kept her moving so far.
His arms holding her had pushed her clothing up around her face. He kissed the icy tip of her ear, which was all he could see.
“Merry,” he said, with his whole heart and body speaking the word. He felt her arms try to reach about him and drop.
“Are you able to ride?” he asked softly with his lips right next to her ear.
There was a moment, and then she nodded. He lifted her up on Brute, a dead weight at first, and then she tried to help him—but weakly. He got her into the saddle, then put his own left foot into the nearest stirrup and swung himself up behind the saddle, putting his foot into the other stirrup and pushing away her own right foot, which was instinctively feeling for the stirrup.
“Just sit,” he said softly into her closest ear. “We’ll ride together and I’ll take care of everything. Just lean against me. It’s going to take an hour or two to get where we’re going. So just take it as easy as you can, and remember, I’ll hold you. You won’t fall.”
He held her to him with one arm and handled Brute’s reins in the other hand. Brute was not pleased to be carrying double, but Jeebee responded savagely with rein and voice at Brute’s first movement to protest.
“Damn you,” Jeebee snarled, “walk straight!”
The surprised horse was remarkably obedient from then on through the trip to the cave. Sally followed on her lead rein with her usual good temper.
They rode forward at a walk because for all Jeebee wanted to get Merry back to the cave as quickly as possible, he felt it would be much easier on her if he did not even put the horses into a trot. In any case, they would have to slow down to a walk to climb the foothills.
After a while, he got his glasses out and looked ahead along the line of poles. Sure enough, his glasses picked out the dark tiny shapes of the ranch buildings up ahead. He turned and angled off in the northerly direction. As he got closer to the foothills, he steered for the cut up which he had begun his route with the trailer to the meadow. The easier slopes would be the easiest on Merry.
The route was still slippery, but the horses were more surefooted without the weight of the trailer pulling them back. They came eventually to the meadow and the cave, and Jeebee got down from Brute to carry Merry inside. He lit the electric lights with a reckless disregard for depleting the batteries and got a fire going in the fireplace. Only then did he think of unloading or unsaddling the two horses. They could wait a little longer. Merry came first.
He shut and latched the inside door, leaving the outside door open. He looked at the fire apprehensively. But apparently with the outer door open there were still enough air leaks, in and around the inner door as well as through the inner wall, that the fire continued to have enough draft to burn cheerfully.
He felt Merry’s forehead and it felt hot to him, but then his hands were still cold from being outside.
She grabbed his hand fiercely as he started to move away from her.
“Don’t leave me!” she said.
“It’s all right,” he told her softly. “I’m just going to get a thermometer to take your temperature. We’re home
