“Sure. Hardly time to turn from putting a copper coin on the eyes of one of them before another tiny heart had given up the struggle.”
“There was a cemetery up a hill. A steep, steep hill. It was as though one were already halfway to heaven. I disremember the name of it.”
“Mount Moriah.”
“Yes.”
There, among the tall trees, looking westward to where the land was bright, Sukie Smith had overseen the interment of her entire family. “There was a little jack left. I raised a stone. Least I could do. ‘I really miss them’ was what I had carved on the square stone.”
“You have a great deal of ill-fortune in your life, Sukie. What were you doing in this blistered wilderness with a murderous person of restricted growth?”
She laughed, lying back, with her knees slightly parted, showing several inches of firm thigh. “I needed a guide. Had a sister. Last I heard from her was around ten years ago. Thought I’d pay her a visit. Seemed to be a good idea at the time. Still does. She was living with a miner, out in a frontier ville called Hope Springs.”
“Eternal,” Doc said.
“How’s that?”
“Nothing, nothing. You must forgive my wandering mind, my dear.”
“Anyway, that’s why I was out here. Fell in with a small family group going my way. Found a haven. Canyon with sweet water. They decided to stop. Just me and their oldest boy went on. He was the little fuckhead who sliced me. Been trying to get inside my honeypot for three days. And nights. Lost patience this morning and did Well, you saw what he did.”
“So what now?” It was beginning to get dark.
She smiled at him, her teeth white in the gathering gloom. “Now, Doc? Now I show you how grateful I am for your help.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
A narrow stream tinkled its way toward the rim of the canyon, tumbling over moss-slick pebbles through a series of tiny green pools. Ryan lay flat and buried his dry, crusted face in the icy coolness, closing his eye, feeling the strength flowing back through his tired, dehydrated body. He had an almost overwhelming temptation to suck in the delicious elixir, fill his mouth, throat and stomach again and again. But he was too aware of the danger of such stupidity.
He hadn’t been there himself, but he remembered J.B. telling him of the occasion. A young woman from War Wag Two had wandered into the desert. When the search party eventually found her, she was almost off her head with the heat, her brains broiling in her skull.
It had been close to nightfall and they’d made a camp, sponging down the woman’s body with tepid water, allowing her only small sips, despite her desperate protests that she wanted more and more to ease her thirst.
In the night she’d crept from her sleeping bag and crawled to the drinking supply.
The rescuers had been awakened, only seconds later, by the noise of her dying.
The effect of the sudden vast intake of cold water had sent her whole body into shock. She had vomited, copiously and violently, her arms and legs thrashing at the darkness until her heart failed.
Ryan sipped a few blessed mouthfuls, then sat up, allowing the drops from the stream to trickle over his neck and chest. He cupped his hands to splash more over himself.
“Easy,” warned Trader, who had knelt on the other side of the pool, lapping at it like a thirsty dog.
“Feel better already.” Ryan tried to stand, but was surprised by a wave of dizzy nausea, making him stagger a few steps to one side. He steadied himself with a hand on one of the grove of tall pines.
“Yeah, you look a potful of fucking jack. Sit a spell, friend.”
RYAN FELT FOR THE PULSE at his wrist. “Steadying down to normal,” he said.
“Then we can start moving again. You young men, Ryan. All spit and no balls.”
“Take you any day, Trader. With both hands tied behind your back.”
“That’ll be the day, pilgrim. Way you looked back there on the trail, you’d have struggled to punch your way out of a wet paper bag.”