“Cripple,” Clint said disgustedly.
“It happens,” Miller said. “I’ll go. This might take some time and —”
“I know,” Clint said. “I gotta fix dinner.”
“I’ll come along,” I said.
Miller nodded. “Might not be a bad idea. We might need some help if the deer run off very far.”
I took the gear back to camp and then went on down to the corral. “Any idea who it was?” I asked Miller, who was scanning the ridge with his glasses.
“Not yet,” he said. “Yesterday we could see you goin’ on over the other ridge.”
“I got a hunch it was Stan,” I said. “That pistol of his has a short barrel.”
“Ain’t the Big Man or your brother,” he said. “I can see both of them, and they ain’t movin’.”
I waited.
“Yeah, it’s the Professor, all right. He’s just comin’ up out of the gully.”
We saddled our horses as well as Stan’s horse and the pack-horse.
“We’ll cut along the bottom here and go up on the other side,” he said.
“All right.”
We rode on up to the head of the basin and crossed the ravine just above the tree line. We could see Stan’s fluorescent jacket in the brush about a mile up above. We started up.
We found him standing over the deer about a half mile from the ravine. The deer was bleating and struggling weakly, several loops of intestine protruding from a ragged hole in his belly.
“Why didn’t you finish him off?” I demanded, swinging down from the saddle.
“I — I couldn’t,” he stammered, his face gray. “I tried but I couldn’t pull the trigger.” He was standing there holding his pistol in a trembling hand.
I pulled out the .45, thumbed the hammer, and shot the deer in the side of the head. He stiffened briefly and then went limp.
I heard Stan gag and saw nun hurry unsteadily away into the bushes. We heard him vomiting.
“His first deer?” Miller asked me very softly.
I nodded, putting the .45 away.
“Better go help ‘im get settled down. I’ll gut it out. Looks a little messed up.”
I nodded again. The deer was a three-point. I think we’d all passed up bigger ones.
“Come on, now, Stan,” I said, walking over to him. “It’s all done now.”
“I didn’t know they made any noise,” he said, gagging again. “I didn’t think they could.”
“It doesn’t happen very often,” I said. “It’s all over now. Don’t worry about it.”
“I made a mess of it, didn’t I?” he asked, looking up at me, His face was slick and kind of yellow.
“It’s all right,” I said.
“I just wanted to get it over with,” he said. “I tried to aim where you said, but my hands were shaking so badly.”
“It’s OK,” I said. “Anybody can get buck-fever.”
“No,” he said, “it wasn’t that at all. It was what happened the other day — when you saw me.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I know you saw me,” he said. “I really wasn’t trying to kill him, Dan. You have to believe that. I just had to make him quit talking the way he was — about Monica.”
“Sure, Stan. I know.”
“But I just had to get it over with. I’ve got to get away from him. Next time —” He left it.
I glanced over at Miller. He was almost done. He was even faster than Clint. I was sure he couldn’t hear us.
“You all right now?” I asked Stan.
“You’re pretty disgusted with me, aren’t you, Dan?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “It’s not really your fault. Things just got out of hand for you, that’s all. You OK now?”
He nodded.
“Let’s go give Miller a hand with the deer,” I said.
He stood up and wiped his face with his handkerchief.
“I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Miller,” he said when we got back. “I guess I just froze up.”
“It happens,” Miller said shortly, cleaning off his knife. “Bring that packhorse over here.”
I got the horse.
We loaded the deer onto the horse and lashed him down.
“Did you leave any of your gear over on the other side?” Miller asked him.
“No,” Stan said, “I brought everything along.”
“Well, let’s go on down then.”
We climbed on the horses and rode on down to the bottom and across the ravine.
“What’s the matter with Cal?” Stan said, pointing up the ridge.
I looked up, Sloane was standing up, weakly waving both hands above his head at us.
I looked at Miller quickly.
“Somebody better go see,” he said.
I nodded and turned Ned’s nose up the hill.
Above me, Sloane fumbled at his belt briefly and then came out with his Ruger. He pointed it at the sky and fired slowly three times, then he sagged back down onto the ground.
I booted Ned into a fast lope, my stomach all tied up in knots.
26
“DAN,” Sloan gasped when I got up to him, “I’m sick. I’ve got to go down.” He looked awful.
“Your chest again?” I asked, sliding down out of the saddle. Ned was panting from the run uphill.
Sloan nodded weakly. “It’s all I can do to breathe,” he said.
“Here,” I said, “you get on the horse.”
“I can’t handle that horse,” he said.
“I’ll lead him,” I said. I tied his rifle and canteen to the saddle and helped him up. Ned didn’t care much for being led, but I didn’t worry about that.
“How is he?” Miller asked when I got him down.
“Bad,” I said, “worse than ever.”
“Let’s get ‘im off the horse.”
We got him down and over to the fire.
“Do you want a drink, Cal?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “My goddamn heart’s beatin’ so fast now it feels like it’s gonna jump out of my goddamn chest.”
Miller squatted down in front of him and looked him over carefully. “I hate to say this,” he told Cal, “but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to go on back down. You’re gettin’ worse instead of better.”
Cal nodded.
“I’ll refund part of what you paid.”
“No,” Cal said. “It’s not your fault. You took us on in good faith. You don’t owe me a dime.”
Miller shrugged. “I wish to hell it hadn’t happened,” he said.
“I was doin’ OK there for a while,” Cal said, “but it came back this morning worse than ever.”
“Well, let’s get you laid down for now. That way you can get rested up for the ride.”
We got Sloane over to his tent and came back to the fire.
“Somebody’s gonna have to go out with him,” Miller said. “He ain’t gonna be able to drive the way he is.”
I felt a sudden pang — almost a panic. I didn’t want to leave yet. Then I was ashamed of myself for it.
“I’ll go,” Stan said very quietly. “I rode with him coming over, and besides, I’m all finished up now anyway.”
Miller nodded, not saying anything.
“I could just as easily go, Stan,” I said, not meaning it.
“There are other reasons, too,” he said.
I looked at him. He really wanted to go. “All right, Stan,” I said.
Miller looked at me. “You want to go fetch the others down for dinner, son?” he said. “I’ll help Clint get things together for the trip down.”
“Sure,” I said. I went on down to get the horses.
Neither Jack nor McKlearey seemed particularly upset when I told them that Cal and Stan were leaving.
“I didn’t figure Sloane would be able to hold out much longer,” Jack said. “I’ve been sayin’ all along that he wouldn’t get it under control.”
That wasn’t how I remembered it.
McKlearey had merely grunted.
When we got back down though, the camp was pretty quiet. Stan had packed his and Sloane’s gear and had it all laid out by the corral.
After we ate, we all pitched in and helped get things ready.
Clint skinned out Stan’s deer and got it in a game bag. “Ill take yours down, too,” he told me. “I’ll hang it in the icehouse at the place.”
“Have you got an icehouse?” I asked him. “I didn’t think there were any of those left in the world.”
“Well, it ain’t really an icehouse. We got a big refrigeration unit in it. We don’t keep it set too cold. Works about the same way.”
McKlearey came over and looked Stan’s deer over. “Ain’t very big, is it?” he said.
“I don’t see yours hangin’ up there yet,” Clint said.
McKlearey grunted and walked off.
“I’m gettin’ to where I don’t much care for ol’ Sarge,” Clint said.
“You’re not the only one,” I told him.
“Still,” Clint said, squinting at the skinned carcass, “it really ain’t much of a deer.”
“Better than nothing,” I said.