McKee pulled out the hand.
"Well," the man said. "I see I've been too suspicious." He smiled again. "That's quite a finger."
McKee said nothing.
"Now, I'll have you put your hands against that tree." He flicked the long barrel of the pistol toward the trunk of a piсon. "Lean against it while I see what you have in those pockets. And, Ellen, you stand over here where I can watch you."
The man stood behind McKee and searched him deftly. He pulled out the cans of meat and dropped them, took the pickup keys and his billfold, ran his hand quickly around McKee's belt line and patted his shirt. Then the hand was gone, but the voice came from directly behind him.
"You will hold that position until I finish checking Miss Leon 's possessions. I don't want any movement at all. I don't have to tell you that I will use this pistol."
"No," Bergen said glumly. "You don't."
He heard the voice telling Miss Leon to hold her arms out. McKee looked back over his shoulder.
The blow was so sudden and vicious that he dropped to his knees and huddled against the pain of it. The man had jabbed him, full strength, above the kidney with the muzzle of the pistol.
"You didn't pay attention to what I said," he heard the man saying. "I said not to move. But now you can get up."
McKee pulled himself to his feet. He had hurt his finger again and his hand throbbed violently. He saw Miss Leon looking at him, her face very white. The man was looking at him too, still smiling slightly. He wore a black shirt and denims tucked into the tops of his boots.
"You know, I almost missed you again," the man said. He stopped smiling. "You've been a hell of a lot of trouble. When we have a little time I want you to tell me how you got away from me last night at your camp. That's been puzzling me." The man stopped a moment, staring at McKee.
"I think I know why I didn't catch you at my tree. You were farther down the canyon than I thought you could be and you heard the winch. Didn't you?"
"That's right," McKee said.
"I almost waited there too long," the man said. "You were smart enough to run, but then you gave away your advantage. I wonder why you waited for me here." He looked at McKee thoughtfully. "You could have made me hunt you another day," he said. "Why did you stop? Did you give up?"
McKee didn't look at Miss Leon.
"We didn't think anyone would know where we were."
The Navajo laughed. He seemed genuinely amused. "If you didn't know this was the only way out, I had some luck with you."
"Who the hell are you?" McKee asked. "And what do you want with us?"
"Let's go now. You will walk a little ahead and do as you're told."
He turned the machine pistol sideways, and tapped the safety button beside the trigger guard.
"I carry it cocked, with the safety off. It's a.38 caliber and I'm good with it."
"I'll bet you are," McKee said.
The man kept well behind them as they walked past the brush and over the rocks. McKee walked silently, trying to think.
Miss Leon touched his arm. "I'm sorry." Her voice was very small.
"Nothing to be sorry for."
"If I hadn't been so stupid," she whispered. "I thought it was because you had hurt your head."
"What else could you think? It still seems crazy."
"I'm sorry. You could have gotten away."
"I should have been able to manage it anyway," McKee said. His voice was bitter.
"How did he know our names?"
"He looked through the papers in our tent," McKee said. "I guess he saw them there."
"No talking," the Navajo said. "Save your breath."
They walked in silence up the sand and around the outcropping where Canfield's camper was parked.
"We'll stop here a moment," the man said.
McKee saw Miss Leon looking at the truck. He was glad he had had sense enough to close the tailgate.
I noticed you looked in it," the man said. "I wish you hadn't broken that window. What did you think that would accomplish? It's going to look funny."
The Navajo moved toward the pickup, watching them as he did. He glanced inside and then briefly inspected the broken window.
"This Canfield seemed like a nice fella," he said. "Full of jokes."
"Then why did you kill him?" McKee asked fiercely. He spoke in Navajo.
The big man looked at him, as if trying to understand the question. He answered in English. "Just bad luck. There wasn't any other way to handle it." He looked at McKee solemnly and pursed his lips. The expression was rueful. "Have to go on now," he said. "It's more than a mile to my car and a lot of climbing."
Within a few hundred yards, the going became increasingly difficult. The canyon floor rose sharply now and was choked by brush and tumbled boulders. McKee climbed stolidly, helping Miss Leon when he could and trying to think. What kind of a monster was this? He seemed perfectly sane, as if this crazy episode were simply business. He had apparently killed Jeremy as unemotionally as he would swat a fly. McKee was absolutely certain he would kill Miss Leon and him with the same coolness. And, as usual, he could do nothing about it. He had thought about turning suddenly and trying to hit the man with a rock. But his right hand was almost useless and the Navajo kept a cautious distance behind them.
It didn't seem likely the man would leave them alive, not with the knowledge that he was a murderer. But why hadn't he simply shot them by the camper? McKee had sensed that the man had considered this, at least for a moment, after he had confirmed that Canfield's body was still in the truck. But he had dropped the idea. He must have some use for us alive, McKee thought. Either that, or he wants our bodies somewhere else, and it's easier to have us walk. But why? The man seemed sane but there was no conceivable sanity in any of this.
"We'll climb out here," the Navajo said. He indicated a gap in a rockslide which had broken out of the south wall of the canyon. "You go first, Dr. McKee. When you reach the top you will lie down with your feet sticking out over the rim where I can see them. Ellen will be just ahead of me and if you try anything foolish I will have to shoot her so I can come after you. Do you understand how it will work?"
He studied McKee's face.
"You may think I'm bluffing. I'm not. I don't really think I'll need Miss Leon."
McKee looked at her. She stood just below him, breathing heavily from the exertion, her face damp with perspiration. She attempted a smile.
Somehow, McKee thought, I'm going to get her out of this. Even if it kills me.
He began climbing. It was slow because of his right hand, and by the time he reached the top he was drained with exhaustion. He lowered himself onto the rimrock, with his feet jutting out.
"Stay on your stomach," the voice from below ordered.
The position left him completely helpless. He couldn't move without the Navajo seeing him and he had no doubt at all that the man would kill Miss Leon the moment he did. He wondered what the man had meant about probably not needing her. Why would he need her? And why did he need him?
The Navajo reached the top before Miss Leon and stood well aside while she finished the climb.
"Walk right over there to the truck," he said. McKee saw the Land-Rover almost hidden behind a growth of juniper.
"But first hold that hand out so I can see it."
McKee held out his left hand, palm open.
"Are you left-handed, Dr. McKee?"
"No. I'm right-handed."
"I was afraid you would be. Let me see it."
McKee slowly raised his injured hand. He suppressed a wince as motion renewed the pain. The sun was directly south now and that might explain some of the weakness in his legs. It was noon and he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.