Soon we were over the top of the pass, rolling down the other side towards Ruidoso. Something had been done to the highway since I'd last seen it, but no one had figured out a way to keep the snow from falling on it- or if someone had it didn't work. It took me a while to find my way through the maze of dirty white mounds and ridges thrown up by shovels and plows at the fancy intersection. Finally I reached the town itself, which is up a side canyon.
Here also changes had been made, for better or worse, depending on whether or not you like your mountain villages modernized. We drove up the main street. There was a good deal of snow and not much light.
Gail licked her ~ "I don't think I'll ever drive down a strange street again without looking for a sign saying- There it is." Her voice didn't change as she said it.
The buildings themselves were a little off the main street, down in a hollow of pines, but the sign was right at the sidewalk: WIGWAM LODGE. I turned into the driveway and parked the truck with half a dozen other vehicles, most of which had ski racks-some complete with skis-on the roof. Well, it was good weather for it. I got out and walked around to let Gail out, although the chivalrous gesture seemed wasted on the leggy, boyish figure that emerged.
I steadied her as she slipped on the hard-packed snow. There was no wind at this hour of the morning, and it was very silent under the pines. We might have been miles from civilization, instead of a mere thirty yards from the little town's main street.
"Easy," I said. "Don't break a leg now."
She said, "Matt, I'm scared. And cold."
I took my little gun out of my pocket. "Here," I said, "it's still loaded. Don't shoot yourself and try not to shoot me, please, but don't hesitate to use it if you have to. If somebody's got to be dead, we'd rather it wasn't us. Well, I don't have to tell you. You've done all right with it so far."
"What-what do you think will happen?"
"I don't know, but they've already taken one crack at us, up in San Agustin Pass, remember? There's no doubt that they know us. Well, if they come to us, it'll save our looking for them."
She was looking at the little revolver. "Matt, I. Hadn't you better keep it?"
"Go on, take it. I've got a couple more, courtesy of some sick friends. We're gun-heavy, glamor girl. An armored division would have to be called out to match our firepower."
She took the little five-shot revolver, tucked it into the top of her pants and smoothed the bulky sweater over it. I looked at her and tried to remember the moment I'd fallen in love with her, but you never know it when it happens. I studied her face, not forgetting that we'd made love, or that she had saved my life, or that there actually was a Wigwam Lodge in Ruidoso, even though there was-or used to be-a gent named Wegmann in Carrizozo… I tried to sort out the' valid 'evidence from the possible coincidences, making allowances for my own suspicious nature, and got absolutely nowhere. I didn't know.
It was a hell of a time to be standing around in the snow feeling mushy and sentimental about a woman who could be leading me into a trap-who had to lead me into a trap, if I was to do the job I'd come here for. I reached out quickly and did something I'd been wanting to do ever since that style of garment came on the market. She jumped a foot.
"Ouch!"
"Come on," I said. "Let's see what's inside."
I started for the lighted door of the lodge. She came along, reaching back to rub the injured spot. "That isn't funny," she said with dignity. "Besides, it's vulgar. Besides, it hurts."
"If your bottom were decently attired, my dear," I said, "it wouldn't get pinched… Well, here we are."
The skinny blonde kid who opened the door was wearing a quilted robe and flannel pajamas, looked kind of cute even though her hair was in curlers. She called 'her mother, a stout blonde lady, who arrived in a flannel robe and nightgown. Her hair was in curlers, too, but she'd forgotten how to look cute years ago.
We transacted business at a desk in the big rustic lobby that was littered with ski equipment and had the strange, specialized, incomprehensible atmosphere of a place devoted to a sport you're not the least bit interested in at the moment. There have been times when the idea of sliding down a hill on a pair of boards seemed very attractive-I've done my share of it-but this just wasn't one of the times.
"I didn't know you had a ski area here," I said to the woman.
"Oh, we've had a little one for years, sir," she said, "but now they're opening a big one up on Sierra Blanca-. that's the big white mountain to the north. Well, I guess everything's white today, haha, but it stays white all winter. Here's your key. You're in Cherokee, the third cabin around to the right. The stove's turned on and there are extra blankets in the closet. I hope you don't mind finding your own way. My daughter has a bad cold, and I-"
"That's all right," I said. "We'll find it. Cherokee."
"I hope you'll be comfortable, sir. We serve breakfast in the dining room from six-thirty…
I went back across the yard for the suitcases. Gail fell into step beside me as I returned, and we walked together along a shoveled path around the main lodge. After passing a log cabin named Arapahoe and one called Blackfoot, we came to Cherokee. I set the suitcases down, got the key from my pocket and opened the door. It was dark inside. Warm air flowed Out to meet me as I picked up the suitcases again and stepped forward.
The lights came on abruptly, and I saw two men facing me. I had seen them both before: Wegmann and Naldi. As I drew back instinctively, a hard object poked me in the back.
"Don't move!" I was Gail's voice, breathless and kind of pleading. "I'm sorry, but please don't move, darling."
Somebody saved me the trouble of making up my mind by stepping out of the nearby bushes and laying a gunbarrel or a sap alongside my head.
XXI
When things cleared up again, I was lying on the floor inside the cabin. The door was closed. At least I could feel no cold draft. I was aware that the borrowed firearms- the ones I'd been careful to mention to Gail-had been removed from my possession-which was perfectly all right. I'd never looked upon this as a gun job, anyway. I'd only brought the weapons along as props, to establish my character as a dangerous man bent on a deadly mission. It wouldn't do for anybody to think I'd come here wanting to be hit over the head.
Despite a throbbing headache, lying there with my eyes closed, I felt kind of happy and peaceful. I suppose, as the victim of cold-blooded treachery, I should have been angry, but hell, I'd practically conned the girl into it, hadn't I? Now that it had actually happened, I couldn't develop any strong resentment. It was what we, Mac and I, had planned from the start, wasn't it? There remained only the question of whether or not she had betrayed me into the right hands.
Her voice reached me from some distance: "You didn't have to hit him! He wasn't doing anything! You promised-"
A man's voice, closer, said, "I was just making sure. After all, you said he was a dangerous-a trained government man sent to get me. They must think I'm real important." The man laughed as he stepped closer and kicked me casually in the side. "He don't look very dangerous lying there."
"Stop it, Sam!" Her voice was cold. "We made a deal. I've kept my part, now you keep yours. Go buy a football if you have to kick something."
Well, there was my answer. It had been a long, long chance, but it had worked. 1 think you had better get me Gunther, Mac had said, and here he was. All I had to do, now, was get him. I opened my eyes.
He was still the movie cowboy in boots, stagged pants and a big light hat. Tonight he was wearing one of those straight, sawed-off saddle-length overcoats that are often worn by ranchers and people who like to be taken for ranchers. In the background, I could see Wegmann, the service-station man, with his freckled country face. He was holding a gun. Dr. Naldi, the seismologist, was also there wearing his bifocals, but unarmed. It seemed like an odd assortment of conspirators, but then, they usually are.