THEY’D DISCUSSED the possibility of trying to find someplace to eat in the ville, but Krysty had pointed out the serious risk that the girl, Maria, from Ma’s Place, might spot them and rouse a lynch posse against them.
“Should’ve strangled her, you and Doc,” Jak insisted. “Trader said live enemy’s bad enemy.”
“And the only good Indian is a good Indian,” Doc countered. “Yes, dear youth, we do all know that. But the taking of human life still comes hard to me. Call me a humanitarian old fart, but I would rather spare than take.”
Mildred grinned, unwilling to miss the chance. “Sure. You’re a humanitarian old fart, Doc.”
The old man nodded. “I realize that traveling the way that we do through this blighted world of Deathlands must inexorably weaken the sensibilities. But it will never justify a callous disregard for the sanctity of life.”
The albino shrugged. “Live like you want, Doc. Just saying girl was vicious. Better chilled. Now can’t risk a stop here to eat. Shame.”
THEY PASSED the burned-out ruins of Ma’s Place, heading a little way out of the ville, up toward the north. They took a side trail that carried them another mile, up a long, rising grade, past some raggedy, tumbled shacks, shortening the walking distance from the redoubt.
The road petered out along a forest of stunted pion pines. Ryan tried to force the wag a little farther, but the slope was too steep and it ground to a halt, the arrow on the temperature gauge sliding deep into the red.
“And that concludes the entertainment for the day,” Doc said, swinging open the hatch. “Oh, my dear friends, smell that wonderful scent.”
Conifers in the cool of evening, after a hot summer’s day, had liberated the odors of the balsamic sap.
Everyone piled out of the sweating interior of the armawag, Ryan last of all, having switched off the engine, which began to click as it became chilled by the dusk.
“Going to leave it or blow it?” the Armorer asked. “Could just walk away. Give someone a nice present.”
Ryan nodded, tossing the ignition key into the driver’s seat, leaving the hatch open. “Hell, why not?”
He took several deep breaths. “Fireblast! You’re not wrong, Doc. That is some good air.”
“Are we going to walk on up to the redoubt, lover, or camp here?”
Ryan considered the question, glancing up at the red-tinted, cloudless sky, with the segment of silver-bright moon riding high. “Should be enough light, I reckon,” he said.
BEFORE FULL DARK descended over Colorado, they covered a mile and a half, climbing constantly up a winding path among trees. Twice they disturbed small herds of long-horned goats that clattered off across the bare rocks.
Doc struggled with the climb, still not acclimated to the altitude.
“Upon my soul! There was a time in my life when I used to do this sort of madness for pleasure! Presume not that I am the man I was.” He looked around. “I have the odd feeling that I have already said that, not long ago. Perhaps I did and perhaps I did not. I know not.”
“Can’t help you, Doc,” Mildred said. “Truth is, we never listen to what you say, anyway.”
RYAN CALLED A HALT when they crested a ridge, a half hour later, pausing to look down over the twinkling lights of the ville, now far, far below them.
“How’s everyone? Doc?”
The familiar voice boomed from the darkness a little farther down the winding trail. “I confess that for once I shall almost be pleased to make a jump. Anything to get away from this damnably thin air.”
“But it’s good thin air, Doc,” Mildred said. “You told us that yourself.”
“That was then, madame,” he retorted, finally joining them and slumping down with a creaking of joints, “and this is definitely now.”
After a brief rest Doc was ready to carry on. “How much farther, my dear Ryan?”
“We’re moving across to cut the trail we came in on. Unless there’s a problem, my guess is that we should find ourselves back close to the redoubt in about another hour. Hour and a half. No more.”