Fear in a Handful of Dust

“I’m not asking you to do anything. Just try to see my side of it, that’s all.” Jay followed him up, started digging, searched his face with inquiring intensity. “Maybe I’m asking you a favor, come to think of it. You’re so much stronger than I am. I used to hate you because you were always so sure of yourself.”

“Did you really think I was?”

“Come off it, Sam, I’ve never seen a hint of self-doubt in you. You exude self-confidence like musk. You’ve got the composure of a sphinx. All right, for all I know maybe it’s compensation for all kinds of turmoil inside—but that’s not the image you project.”

He felt uncomfortable under the glass of Jay’s scrutiny. “What’s the favor you want?”

“You know what it is.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t.”

“Leave me room with Shirley, Sam.”

They ate the dirty salt, bagged a chunk of it, went back to the pool and drank deep. Jay dipped water with his cupped hands and splashed it down his face. With his eyes shut, dripping, he looked like a tearful supplicant. “You could take her away from me without half trying. If you did I might even try to kill you for it—I might be capable of that—but I’d probably decide against it. Because it wouldn’t get her back to me.”

In sudden embarrassment Jay started to wash himself busily, scrubbing his face and chest and arms.

It was an extraordinary performance. It didn’t astonish Mackenzie but he had to walk away to keep his contempt from showing. He stood at the base of the switchback trail and watched light pour into the sky; he rolled the taste of salt around his tongue.

Mackenzie thought: it’s the first time he’s mentioned her and all he can say about her is that he owns her and he doesn’t want me to steal his possession. He still wants to keep her but he can’t even remember why. And he talks as if we’re in San Francisco unaffected by any of this.

And then reluctantly he granted the alternative: maybe Jay didn’t talk to me about her but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been thinking about her, worrying. I’d be the last one he’d confide in, about her.

“Sam.”

He turned. Jay was waiting for his answer.

Mackenzie came back down to the pool. “You’re a chronic worrier. We’re not out of this alive yet.”

“You’ll get us out. Look how far we’ve come already.”

“The sun’s come up. Eat some more salt—we’re starved for it. Then we’d better get underground.”

“You don’t care about her the way I do,” Jay insisted. “It just wouldn’t be fair.”

“Stop obsessing yourself with it, Jay. We don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

It shocked Jay into silence. Mackenzie took satisfaction from that—and the satisfaction displeased him: it was petty. Disliking himself, he went up the trail on fingers and toes.

He slept in snatches. Now and then he had to throw rocks at buzzards around the hanging salt pork: it worried him because the circling scavengers were bound to draw Duggai’s attention to this spot but a great many animals used the water hole and Duggai would have to assume there was an injured or dead one on the ground. But that was a risk too: suppose Duggai was ru

He could still taste the acrid filthy salt in his mouth; it was as if he could feel his grateful organs soaking it in.

Some time before noon he posted a watch at the base of the catclaw and in time he was rewarded by the distant movement of Duggai’s patrol along the summit line. It reassured Mackenzie to know Duggai hadn’t come down off the mountain. The man’s malevolent patience amazed him. Duggai seemed prepared to spend the rest of his own life on that rock if that was what it would take to extinguish his victims.

How much simpler it would have been for Duggai to have murdered them all with his rifle and left them for the buzzards. But to Duggai that would have been pointless and too merciful.

Heat drove him back to the dugout.

Clouds heavier than usual built up during the late afternoon along the western skyline. When it was cool enough to climb out of the pit Mackenzie gathered the pigskin sack which they had left to dry in the shade. It had stiffened so much that he wasn’t sure they’d be able to draw it shut with the hide laces they’d prepared. It wasn’t crucially important except to the extent that evaporation would be minimized if the bag could be sealed.

He’d thought about sending Jay back to the others and continuing toward the highway on his own. He’d ruled it out—Jay might be seen by Duggai and that might lead Duggai to search northward for Mackenzie; and with two of them striking for the highway the chances of success were doubled; he had other thoughts as well but he wondered if they were shabby rationalizations—perhaps he wanted to keep Jay away from Shirley.

It was a possibility he had to reckon with, but it came to a choice between guilt and sending Jay back and that was no choice at all. He kept Jay with him.

By evening a great toppling tower of cloud loomed overhead. There was no sunset; the light simply faded from the gray air: sky merged with earth along the uncertain twilit horizons. It was a great boon for them because the clouds obscured nearly all the stars and there was no possibility that Duggai might see them cross the open plain.

As soon as it was dark Mackenzie took Jay in tow and they struck out into the soul-sucking darkness.

24

Those first miles were painfully slow because of the bad light. The clouds pressed residual heat back against the earth; it remained warm for hours. Dust rose into Mackenzie’s eyes and teeth, carried on wanton gusts of eccentric wind. There was a thick dampness in the air but it didn’t bode rain.

They had to pick their way with infinite caution. Several times they blundered against shrubs; twice they had to stop to extract spines from their ankles. A portion of sky to the northeast remained clear for a long time and Mackenzie, having memorized a pattern of stars there, guided on it—kept it ahead of his right shoulder.

There was a range of low mountains ahead of them and he wanted to go around its western flank. Once past that buttress they would be permanently out of Duggai’s sight; but there remained miles to cross.

It was too dark to make out the mountains but Mackenzie knew where they were. They settled down to a flat-footed weary march and he realized they were not likely to get beyond the flats by daybreak. The pace was too slow and in this blackness there was no way to crowd it.

It meant another day holed up under Duggai’s jurisdiction and he wasn’t sure he had the patience for that. They would lose precious hours of cool traveling time: they’d have to stop an hour before first light, dig their pits and get out of sight. If it weren’t for Duggai they’d be able to keep walking at least two hours longer before stopping to dig in; and the digging would go faster by daylight.

He was carrying the water sack and they’d filled it with three or four gallons; it was a heavy burden. Jay had taken all the other accoutrements—these consisted pitifully of the food sack, the two brass knives and the spare moccasins. In the food sack were several pounds of dried pork, the remaining shreds of jackrabbit jerky, a few clots of rocksalt, a pair of small thick clay bowls and the folded square of transparent plastic. Like Punjab beggars they lugged their worldly possessions across the flayed arid landscape.

The clouds tumbled eastward on high winds aloft; along the surface of the earth dust devils whirled and greasewood bushes clattered like cicadas. As the slim moon moved west it passed beyond the thicker body of cloud; it began to throw a hazy glow through the trailing sky-fog and this pittance of illumination helped them move faster: no longer was it necessary to test the ground with a prodding toe before putting one’s weight down. Cactus and rocks became vaguely visible against the paler surface of the desert. Several times Mackenzie stubbed a toe against things unseen but they were making a good walking pace now and he revived his hope of passing the end of the mountain range before first light.