with a shrug had gathered up Rodelo's gear and horse. To stop . him would mean a shoot-out, and neither knew which side Rodelo would join if awakened by gunfrie. He had mounted up and taken Rydberg's horse. Neither had planned on abandoning the young man when they stopped, but this was a case of survival of the fittest and Rodelo had given them an opportunity to decrease their number by one more.
'You sure the fishermen come there at this time of the year?'
'Pablo said so. He planned to go this way himself. Rocky Bay, they call it. From Flat Hill we go right down to the water. How could a man mistake a bay? And if the fishermen aren't there, we'll wait.'
Not long after that they came up to Tinajas Altas where they watered the horses and refilled their canteens. Isager looked over the back trail from beside the tanks. He saw no dust, no movement. Once he believed he saw something stir down there, but it could have been nothing more than a coyote or a mountain sheep. A horse would make dust.
They rested, drank water again, and ate a little of the hardtack and jerky they had smuggled from the prison, food hoarded against this effort. An hour passed, then a second hour. The rest meant much to them and to their horses. Otteson got up carefully, facing Isager. 'Reckon we'd better move on. I won't feel safe until we're on that fishin' boat headed south.'
Up on the mesa's side among the talus, something moved. Isager's quick eye saw it and recognized it in the same instant with a start of inward surprise. Otteson's back was to the talus, but he saw a flicker of something in Isager's eyes. 'What's the matter?' he exclaimed, starting to turn.
He caught himself, his eyes turning ugly. 'Figured I'd turn an' you'd shoot me? Don't try nothin' like that.'
Rodelo was on the slope behind and slightly above Otteson and about thirty yards back from him. His face was ghastly and red, his prison jeans were torn from cacti and rocks, but he clutched a businesslike .44 in his fist. He lifted it and took careful sight, shifting his feet as he did so. A rock rolled under his foot.
Otteson whipped around, quick as a cat. His rifle blasted from the hip and he missed. He never fired again.
He went down, clawing at the rocks and gravel on which he had fallen, blood staining their pink to deep crimson. Isager held his smoking Colt and looked up the slope at Rodelo.
The younger man had recovered his balance and they stared at each other over their guns.
'You might miss,' Isager said. 'I never do.'
'Why don't you shoot, then?'
'I want company. Two can make it easier than one. Much easier than three.'
'Then why didn't you let him kill me?'
'Because he wanted to kill me himself. You need me. I know the desert and you don't.'
Rodelo came over the rocks, stepping carefully. 'All right,' he said. 'Gimme water.'
Isager holstered his gun. 'There's the tinaja. Drink an' we'll push on.' He looked at Rodelo with curious respect. 'How'd you catch up so fast?'
'You rode around things. I walked straight to your dust. You rested. I couldn't afford to.'
'Good man.' Isager mounted up. Nothing was said' about what happened. 'If we play it smart now, we'll leave each other alone. Together we can make it through.'
One thing they had not forgotten. The knowledge of, the tinajas lay dead in the skull of Otteson.
'We'll have to make our water last. It won't be far now. That's Pinacate.'
The mountain bulked before them now, and by the time the stars were out it loomed huge on the horizon. They slept that night and when they awakened, Rodelo looked around at Isager. His cheekbones were slashes of red from the sun, his eyes deep sunken. Stubble of beard covered his cheeks and his shirt was stiff with sweat and dust. 'I smell the sea,' he said, low-voiced. 'I can smell the sea.'
When they started on once more, they kept the mountain between them and the sun, saving themselves from the heat. Once they found a water hole but the mud was cracked and dry in the bottom. Isager's brown face was shadowed with red, Otteson's hat pulled low over his cold eyes.
The horses were gaunt and beaten. Several times the men dismounted and led the horses to spare them. Their hunger was a gnawing, living thing within them, and their spare canteens were dry, their own very low. The eyes of the men were never still, searching for water. Yet it was not enough to look. One had to know. In the desert water may be within a few feet and give no indication of its presence. And then, from the top of a rise, they saw the gulf!
'There it is.' Rodelo stared, hollow-eyed. 'Now for that bay.'
A squarish flat hill was before them. They circled and saw the gulf due west of it. 'S'pose that's it?' Isager asked doubtfully.
'You can see for yourself that it's a big bay.' The tension between them was back: they were watching each other out of the corners of their eyes again.
Isager stood in his stirrups and looked south. Land stretched away until it ended in a point. There was a hint of sea in that direction but he was not sure. 'All right,' he said, 'but I don't see any boats.'
The plain sloping down to the bay was white with soda and salt. Long sand spits extended into the milky blue water. Here and there patches showed above the surface. 'Looks mighty shallow,' Rodelo said doubtfully. 'Don't seem likely a boat would come in here.'
Isager hefted his canteen, feeling its lightness with fear. 'We'd better hunt for water.'
South of them, the rocky bluff shouldered against the sky, dark and rugged. North the beach lay flat and empty ... frightening in its emptiness. The horses stood, heads down and unmoving. The rocky bluff looked promising, but the salt on his lips frightened Isager. Behind them they heard a deep, gasping sigh and they turned. The paint packhorse was down.
It had sunk to the sand and now it lay stretched out, the hide on its flanks hanging like loose cloth in the hollows of its ribs.
Isager removed the gold from the horse, and with the gold off, it struggled to rise. Isager glanced at Rodelo, hesitant to use both hands to help the horse. 'Go ahead,' Rodelo said, 'help him.'
Together they got the horse up, and then they turned south. The salty crust crunched and broke beneath their' feet. Sometimes they sank to their ankles; the horses broke through at every step. They often stopped to rest and Isager glanced at Rodelo. 'We better have a truce,' he said, his eyes shifting away, then back. 'You couldn't make it without me.'
Rodelo's lips thinned over his white teeth. 'Don't need you. You knew the desert. I know the sea.'
'The desert's still with us,' Isager said. Suddenly the water in Rodelo's canteen was more precious than gold. He was waiting for a chance to go for his gun.
The white glare around them forced their eyes to thin slits, while soda dust settled over them in a thin cloak. They stared at each other, as wild and thin as the gaunt, skeleton like horses, white and shadowy things that seemed to waver with unreality in the heat. The milky water, undrinkable, and taunting them, whispered secret obscenities along the blue-white beach. 'There'll be a fishing boat,' Isager said. 'No reason to kill each other. Maybe there's water beyond that bluff.'
'There'll be no boat.' Rodelo stated it flatly. 'This is the wrong bay.'
Isager stared, blinking slowly. 'Wrong bay?' he said stupidly.
'Look!' Rodelo shouted harshly. 'It's too shallow! We've come to the wrong place!'
Isager's dry tongue fought for his lips. There was no hope then.
'Give me your gun' Rodelo said, 'and I'll take you there.'
'So you can kill me?' Isager drew back, his eyes cold and calculating.
'I know where the bay is,' Rodelo said. 'Give me your gun.'
Isager stared. Was it a trick? How could he actually know?
Suddenly, Rodelo shrugged. 'Come on, then! I'll take my chances on you!' He pointed toward the dark bluff. 'Look! That's a water sky. There's water beyond that point. Another bay!'
He took a step and a bullet kicked dust at his feet. He grabbed for his gun and whirled on Isager, but the gun-fighter had already faced the hillside. Four Indians were coming down the hill, riding hard. As Rodelo turned, Isager stepped his feet apart and fired. An Indian's horse stumbled and went down, throwing the rider head over heels.
Rodelo dropped to one knee and shot under the belly of his horse. He saw an Indian drop and he fired again
