Chee shrugged. “No gun,” he said. “I’m off duty.”
“Don’t bull me,” Redd said. “You cops always carry guns.”
“No we don’t. I’m on convalescent leave.” He held up his left hand, displaying the wrappings. “Because of this.”
“You have a gun,” Redd said. “Lean up against that rock there. Use your good hand. I’ll see.”
“No gun,” Chee said. Which, unfortunately, was true. Chee’s pistol was where it always seemed to be when he wanted it?in the glove box of his truck.
Redd checked his pockets, his pant legs, the tops of his boots.
“Okay,” he said. “I noticed you looking at this old hogleg. If you’re thinking it won’t work, it will. I tried it.”
“What are you planning to do?” Chee asked. “You didn’t shoot anybody. So, why not turn yourself in?”
Redd had walked to the cleft in the basalt where he had hidden the saddlebag. He was pointing the pistol at Chee, reaching in, leaning against the stone, trying to give his fingers a grip on the canvas, eyes still on Chee, a sardonic grin on his face.
“Turn myself in for what?” he asked. He grunted as his fingers slipped off the canvas. “Damned thing’s jammed back in there,” he said. “I didn’t want somebody to happen in here and find it. Like whoever was watching.”
“Why didn’t you take it with you?” Chee asked. Every nerve was tense. When Redd pulled the bag out, that would be the time to make a run for it. He had ruled out jumping the man long ago. Redd outweighed him by forty pounds and had two good hands.
“Because that goddam cop car came rolling up. First it was Nez. And then you.” Redd pulled the arm out, empty-handed again. “I didn’t have time to decide what to do. I just wanted to get away from here.”
“Why burn him?” Chee’s voice was strained.
“That crazy bastard,” Redd said, and Chee presumed he meant Pinto?not Nez. He stared into the crevice, estimating distance. “I shouldn’t have pushed it in there so far,” he said, half to himself. “The cop was already dead. The fire?he was shooting
I don’t know what happened. Dealing with a drunk, I guess you could call it an accident. Everything that’s happened has been sort of accidental when you think about it.” He laughed. “Kismet,” he said. “Fate.”
“Fate,” Chee said. “Yeah. Blame it on old Coyote.”
“Like you and the girl coming out here the day I came back to pick up the mailbag. I figured the cops would find it and stake the place out. And when I finally decided that hadn’t happened and came out to get it, it was the same day you and that woman came out. So I thought I’d just leave it until after the trial. Get it when everything got cooled down and forgotten.”
While he talked, he was looking around for something to pry the saddlebag with. He looked at Chee’s stick and rejected it. “It had been here like almost a century. What’s another few months?”
“What did you mean, ironic that Pinto shot the professor?” Chee asked.
“Well, hell,” Redd said, and leaned into the cavity as far as he could reach. “I meant Tagert gave the old man the whiskey. Coaxed him. Had him smell it. Told him he’d brought a really sweet kind because he knew Pinto liked it sweet.” He laughed. “I think he put Nutrisweet in Scotch.” Redd raised his voice, mimicking Tagert. ” ‘Just taste it. You don’t have to get drunk. Just take a taste.’ Just to make him drunk so he’d tell us more than he wanted to. When we were driving over to pick Pinto up, Tagert told me he did that. He said: ‘The old devil always tries to leave stuff out when you hire him to tell you something, but he can’t handle whiskey. So when he starts getting coy, I get him started drinking and once he’s drunk he tells me?’” Suddenly Redd grunted. He was leaning into the cleft, straining to reach. “Ah,” he said. “Now I got it.”
Just then the rattlesnake struck.
Redd jerked away from the rocks, gripping the saddlebag by some sort of reflex action. The great gray snake dangled, writhing, from the side of his neck, its fangs hooked through the neck muscles just below Redd’s left ear. Redd screamed, a terrified, gargling sound. He dropped the bag, grabbed the diamondback by its flat, triangular head, pulled it loose, and threw it back among the basalt boulders.
Chee wasted perhaps two seconds watching this?first too startled to move and then thinking Redd would drop the pistol. He didn’t. Chee ran.
Moving fast over rough country comes naturally to young men raised in a culture in which skill at running is both respected and useful. Within a minute, Chee was sure enough that Redd couldn’t find him, so he stopped, looked back and listened. It was snowing hard now, the flakes no longer tiny or dry. They stuck to the black rocks for long seconds before warmth from the stone converted them to water.
Redd wasn’t following him. Chee hadn’t really expected him to. Redd didn’t seem to know much about snakes but he’d know a rattlesnake when he saw one. And he’d probably know the neck was a hell of a poor place to get bitten. The venom had only a few inches to move to reach the brain. Redd would be running for help.
Chee climbed, looking for a place from which he could see something. He found one, and he saw Redd almost immediately despite the blowing snow. He was out of the ridge formation, running down the grassy slope toward the arroyo, and then up the arroyo. Probably to his Bronco II, Chee thought. He was still carrying the saddlebag.
Chee climbed down, found the path, and found his way through the snow to his pickup truck.
The driver’s side window had been broken out.
Chee climbed in and tried the starter. Nothing happened. He pulled the hood release, climbed out, and found exactly what he had feared he’d find.
Redd had torn loose the wiring.
Chee stood beside the truck, creating a map of this landscape in his mind. Where would be the nearest telephone? Red Rock Trading Post. How far? Maybe fifteen miles, maybe twenty. If he walked all night he could be there about opening time tomorrow morning. Chapter 23
