"You need a doctor," Miss Leon said. "That hand's broken."
McKee put the hand carefully back inside his shirt, irritated at himself for giving her a chance to see it.
"It's just a dislocated knuckle. The swelling makes it look worse than it is."
"This is absolutely insane. I'm going to turn around and we're going back where you're camped and soak that hand." She started slowing the Volks.
McKee put his boot on top of her foot on the accelerator and pressed. The little car jerked forward and she pulled at the wheel to control it.
"Now get this straight," McKee said. His voice was angry and he spaced the words for emphasis. "I had a hard day yesterday. I was up all night. I'm tired and my hand hurts. I'm worried about Jeremy. You're going to behave and do what you're told. And I'm telling you again that we're going to climb out of this canyon."
"All right, then," Miss Leon said. "Have it your way."
There was a long, strained silence.
"If I'm wrong about that guy, I'll apologize," McKee said. "But really I can't take a chance on being wrong. Not if he's as crazy as I think he is."
Miss Leon was silent. He glanced at her. She looked away. McKee suddenly realized she was crying and the thought dismayed him. He slumped down in the seat, baffled.
"Is this where we turn?"
"Right, up that side canyon."
The tributary seemed narrower now than it had when he and Canfield had poked into it earlier. Just day before yesterday. It seemed like a week.
McKee wondered what he could say. What did you say when you made a woman cry? "Getting pretty narrow," he said.
"Yes."
The canyon bent abruptly and the stream bed here was too narrow for all four wheels. The Volks tilted sharply as the right wheels rolled over a slab of exposed sandstone. It jolted down, slamming the rear bumper against the stone.
McKee suddenly noticed tire tracks on the bank ahead of them. A truck had been in here recently, but before yesterday's rain. Runoff had wiped out the tracks on the sandy bottom but the rain had only softened the imprint where the stream hadn't reached.
McKee was suddenly alert and nervous.
Miss Leon slowed the Volkswagen.
"Do you want me to try to drive over that?" she asked. Just ahead the canyon walls pinched together and water-worn rocks upthrust through the sand.
" Ill take a look," McKee said. He climbed stiffly from the Volks. The rocks were partly obscured by brush and didn't look too formidable. A few yards upstream they gave way to another stretch of sand. Beyond, the canyon rose sharply and was crowded with boulders from a rock slide. It was probably impassable for a vehicle.
"Put it in low and angle to the left," McKee directed. "We can get it past that brush and leave it there out of sight."
The Volks jolted over the rocks more easily than McKee had expected. He showed Miss Leon where to park it out of the water course behind the brush and then collected the canteen and cracker box.
"We can lock the car," he said. "You can take anything you think you'll need, but I'd keep it light."
"I have a box of things I was taking to Dr. Hall," Miss Leon said. "I couldn't replace those."
"We can take it," McKee said. It was then he noticed she was wearing an engagement ring—a ring with an impressive diamond. Why be surprised? he thought. Why be disappointed? Of course she was engaged. Not that it could possibly matter.
Walking was easy for the first fifty yards across the hard-packed sand, but then it became a matter of climbing carefully over the rocks. McKee noticed with surprise that the truck had apparently made it across this barrier. Its path was marked by broken brush. He glanced back. Miss Leon was sitting on a rock, holding her ankle. He noticed she hadn't brought the box.
"What happened?"
"I twisted it." She looked frightened.
He looked at her wordlessly, feeling for the first time in his life absolutely helpless. He walked back down the rocks toward her.
"How bad is it?" He squatted beside her, looking at the ankle. It was a very trim ankle, with no sign yet of swelling.
"I don't know. It hurts."
"Can you put your weight on it?"
"I don't think so."
McKee sat down and rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead. His head ached.
"We'll wait awhile," he said finally. "When it feels better, well go on."
He tried to think. If her ankle was sprained, it would swell soon. And if it was sprained it would be almost impossible for her to make the climb out. The long walk across rough country to Shoemaker's would be even more impossible. At least twenty-five miles, he calculated. Perhaps farther from here. What if they simply waited here? Would the man in the Land-Rover follow them?
And what if he did? McKee tried to retrace all that had happened since yesterday. The rams with their throats slashed. The note from Canfield. The man who came in the darkness. What had that been in his hand there in the moonlight? Had it really been a pistol? The feeling of being hunted down the canyon. That seemed unreal now. Incredible. But the tree being winched across the canyon had been real. He tried to think of an explanation for it. There was none. It must have been intended to close the canyon behind Miss Leon 's Volkswagen. To pen them in. He rubbed his forehead again, and pulled out his cigarettes. Miss Leon was sitting motionless just below him, resting her head on her hand.
She's not very big, he thought. Maybe 110 pounds. If it wasn't for this damned hand he could carry her. Miss Leon 's short-cut hair had fallen around her face. Her neck was very slender and very smooth. He felt a sharp, poignant sadness.
"Would you like a cigarette?"
"No thank you," Miss Leon said. She didn't look up.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am," McKee said slowly. "I know you must think I'm out of my mind. But that man…" He stopped. There was nothing to be gained by going over it again.
She looked at him then.
There's no reason for you to be sorry," she said. "I know you're just trying to protect me."
McKee had thought her eyes were black or brown. They were dark blue. He looked away. If he was wrong about this she would forever think of him as the ultimate in idiots. And even if he was right, and she knew he was right, there was her fiancй, the man she was trying so hard to find. And, he realized bleakly, it wouldn't matter anyway.
"But I think we should go back now. We have to go back."
"Maybe so," he said. If she couldn't walk there were no happy alternatives. He would simply have to gamble that he had been insanely wrong about it all. It occurred to him then that Miss Leon might be faking the injured ankle. He didn't think that would be like her. And then he thought about the tire tracks. There had only been one set, which meant the truck had either come out of this canyon before yesterday's rain, or had driven in and parked. A round trip would have left two sets of tracks. He walked up the canyon a few yards to where the brush closed in over the rocks. The branches had obviously been broken by something tearing its way upward. And unless the canyon bottom widened suddenly, and flattened—which looked impossible from here—it couldn't have gone much farther. "I'll be right back," McKee said. "I'm going to see where that truck went."
It proved easy enough to follow. Beyond the barrier of brush, its wheels had straddled the now-narrow stream bed, leaving two deep tracks in the loamy soil—tracks which disappeared behind a brush-covered outcropping of rock a hundred feet upstream. McKee walked slowly toward this screen, feeling a growing tenseness. Behind it he would find some sort of vehicle. It couldn't possibly be the Land-Rover. It might be, he realized, Canfield's camper. Or the pickup of some Navajo sheepherder. If it was Canfield's truck, where was Jeremy?