James Axler – Trader Redux

“What difference does that make?” Doc had found himself stumbling over the explanation of his bizarre past, and he had grave doubts that the woman had really understood too much of it, though she’d made a valiant effort.

“Old friends, Doc. And me bein’ new and not their kind of caliber.”

“Horsefeathers, madam! That is absolute tosh and complete balderdash!”

She pulled a face. “Sorry, Doc. But you and me have been getting on real well, haven’t we?”

“Not even a house on fire could hardly have got on better than we,” he offered gallantly, wrinkling his forehead at the sudden thought that there had been something not quite right with the sentence.

“Sure.” She grabbed him by the arm. “I just wish it was you and me, Doc, together.”

“Well, we shall have to wait and see what the future has to offer, Sukie. For now, we should step it out and get on to the house before dark.” He looked around, hesitating and staring into the distance behind them. “Are my rheumy old eyes faltering, or can I make something moving out across the sands of the desert that are red with the blood of the square that broke and I am so sorry, my dear. There goes my tripping tongue and my disconnected brain yet again.”

She turned to shade her eyes and looked westward, toward the vivid coppery glow of the setting sun. “Yeah, there could be something. About ten miles off, though. Can’t tell which way it’s moving, Doc. Best we get to the house, I guess.”

“Indeed, I cannot but agree with that. One small thing puzzles me, you know.”

“What?”

“We have been in the clearest sight of the ranch for an hour or more, yet nobody has noticed us and come out to greet us.” Judas tossed his head and tugged at the reins. “Yes, quite right,” Doc said with a smile. “We should indeed stop the talking and commence the walking. There will be a perfectly reasonable explanation, I am quite sure.”

RYAN WAS AT THE WHEEL, applying the brakes and going through the gearbox, bringing the land wag to a slow halt. He peered out through the shield.

“There she is,” he said. “Little gray home in the west, like Mildred called it.”

The sun was low on the horizon behind them. Visible in a slight dip in the land, about three miles along the narrow sandy trail, was the ranch house.

J.B. was in the cab with him. “I’d have thought someone would have been on lookout and spotted us coming a ways back. Though I guess that rainstorm must have laid a lot of the dust. But, even so”

“There’ll be a good reason,” Ryan stated.

THEY HAD STOPPED about a dozen feet from the front door, which stood slightly ajar.

“Hello!” Doc called, his right hand creeping down to cover the butt of the Le Mat.

“Trouble, you figure?” Sukie asked.

“I fear that it is beginning to appear a distinct possibility. Perhaps you should wait here, my dear, and I shall reconnoiter.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Best you wait here.”

“There’s no sign of life, Doc. How about if I go around the back?”

He considered the suggestion. “Perhaps You could go and keep a watch out, there. But I beg you not to go into the house until I have ascertained that it is safe.”

“Sure thing.”

He waited until the woman had walked around the side, then stepped up onto the creaking porch. Doc had often heard Ryan and Krysty speak about how they got a sort of “feeling” that something was wrong.

“Well, I confess that I have that feeling,” he muttered.

The light evening breeze was moving the half-open door very gently to and fro, the hinges creaking with the faintest whisper of sound. The sun had almost set, and the hall inside was as dark as pitch.

“Hello,” he called again. “Is there anybody there, said the traveler. No, I believe that there isn’t.”

The house was silent. Doc stood in the entrance and hesitated for a few moments. Then he heard the crunching sound of Sukie’s boot heels as she walked around the side of the building, toward the back door.