Raymond said, “That’ll have to be when we
can hit a repeater. I’ve got nothing out here on the handie-talkie, and no bars on my phone, either. Haven’t had for a while.”
“Those hills about four miles back, the one high point, I think we had reception there.”
“That would be good, and we can call while we take a breather.”
“At least give them a basic report of what we found and that we’re leaving everything here for their investigation. Well, we’ll report all that if the cell service is good enough.”
“The deputies can take care of the hand…and him. When we get to the office, you and I can look at the photos we took, then drop copies off at the Sheriff’s Office. Man, everybody’s going to need four-wheel drives and some chains and front-end winches to get to this place tomorrow. You about ready?”
Hunter said, “I’m ready. Here.” She pulled the last two sticks of Juicy Fruit gum from a pack in her pocket and handed one to him.
Raymond unwrapped it and held the flat stick in his fingers, “I’m taking it, but this doesn’t mean we’re going steady or anything.” He folded the gum in his mouth and chewed, winking at her. Hunter double-tapped him on the shoulder with her fist and grinned.
***
Hours later, Miguel stopped in the shade of a hundred-foot high ridgeline made of up-tilted rock slabs that resembled the back of a stegosaurus. He waited for the last sliver of sun to drop below the horizon and take the heat with it. Ten minutes later, he heard the helicopter before he spotted it coming along his back trail. It was flying low, maybe seventy feet above the ground and hard to see in the grayness of coming night.
For some reason, Miguel felt uneasy. When it was almost over him, he heard the motor’s noise change and the copter flared and hovered as a man leaned out the open side.
Miguel saw the rifle and jerked an instant before the man shot. A hard jolt, like electricity hit between his left shoulder and his neck. Miguel fell hard and it was as if his arm was not his anymore when he tried to move it. He rolled under the shelter of the rocks and heard the helicopter lowering to land.
A waist-high triangular tunnel formed by tilted rock slabs left an opening that penetrated farther into the ridge. He scurried into it, crawling as fast as he could with the one good arm and on his knees. The tunnel forked and he took the one that doubled back on the opposite side of the ridge from the helicopter. Miguel stopped forty yards further and caught his breath as he put pressure on the wound. Feeling was coming back to his arm: strong, prickly sensations ran from his fingertips to his shoulder, as if the entire arm had been asleep. He was close enough to hear the people from the helicopter talking, and he understood English.
The man in the sunglasses said, “I hit him. There is blood on the rocks.”
Another man said, “Why’d you shoot him? I mean, he was just standing there.”
“Do not question my actions, do you understand?”
“Okay, okay. It’s getting dark fast, and we don’t have any night vision gear with us. What do you want to do?”
There was silence for twenty seconds, then the shooter said, “We will come back in the morning. There is only one ranch house within thirty miles he can try for, so we will have him tomorrow. Or better yet, we will find a cold, stiff corpse when we get here. Let us go, that body in the copter is already starting to smell.”
The helicopter lifted and Miguel watched it disappear into the night. He sagged against a rock and checked the wound in the trapezius muscle. A small hole was in the front, an inch above his collarbone, and a crater-shaped exit wound the size of a grape was on the back of the trapezius, but lower down because of the angle of the shot. Both wounds were swollen and the edges puckered outward like bruised lips.
They also leaked blood. A steady, throbbing ache ran from his shoulder to the nape of his neck and down through the shoulder-blade area. The headache pounded so strongly he could hear his heartbeat, like water squishing through a hose.
Miguel took off his mochila and rummaged through the few items to find a green, six-inch leaf of aloe vera. He took a sharp stone and split the leaf longwise so that both halves had slick pulp on them. He put a half on each wound, pulp side to the hole, then tore his one remaining shirt into strips and tied the aloe vera in place. It was awkward going, and the ache caused by moving was strong, but he felt the bandage would hold. Resting for a minute, Miguel thought about what he must do, and he wondered why the men wanted him dead. His head throbbed much too hard to think about any of it.
He pulled out the jar of water and drank the last of it, spitting out the grit and fibers after he sucked them dry of moisture. Miguel stood and slipped on the pack, grimacing as one canvas strap pulled on the wound, then he checked the stars for direction. He knew he had to reach Sam Kinney’s ranch by sunrise, or he would be dead. There was no sense in thinking more about it. Miguel crawled from the rocks and started walking.
***
Sam Kinney sat on the porch of the rambling old ranch house, drinking coffee and waiting for the sunrise. “You feeling all right this morning, Chula?” He said as he scratched the ears of his grey-muzzled Australian Cattle Dog and watched as the land around the ranch lightened to pewter, then began taking on subtle colors as the eastern horizon turned apricot.
Chula’s ears perked up and she stood, looking at something. Sam squinted into the pre-morning light and recognized Miguel immediately, and he knew the old Mexican was injured. Sam and Chula hurried out to meet him. Sam said, “Here, lean on me. Let’s get you to the house.”
He helped Miguel sit at the kitchen table and brought him a glass and a large pitcher of water. Miguel was so tired he couldn’t pick up the pitcher, so Sam poured the glass full.
Sam asked, “What happened? Did you fall?”
“They shot me.”
“Who?” The only people that Sam could think of at that moment was the Border Patrol, because they were always armed. “La Patrulla?”
“No. Men in a helicopter.”