"From a distance it'll look like we're still riding together. Maybe the Jaguars will chase me instead of hunt you up. Pyp's gold isn't worth your life, Max".
"No", Valentine agreed.
"Hope you make it back to the road, then, Samaritan".
"Ride free", Valentine said, summoning his one piece of biker slang. He handed over the camera case. "Give this to Lautenberg. Maybe you and he can split the proceeds of the sale. A thank-you from me.
"Aye-yup", Loring agreed. "Keep on God's good side". He winked and started up his bike.
Valentine ducked back into the shadow of the plane and watched Loring bump off. He dropped into a crouch, and began to hunt.
* * *
Valentine followed his nose uphill, found a telltale drop of blood or two, and finally heard rather wheezy breathing from a thick stand
of barrel-shaped cacti. Wild sheep dotted the mountain slopes above, feeding on the grasses in the wind-sheltered washes.
The flier had chosen his vantage well. It offered a good view of the wreck and the mountainside.
Valentine sat down on a flat-topped rock about ten feet away from the cactus and opened a bag of dried fruit, listened to the breathing. He rinsed his mouth out, then extracted a couple of apple chips and crunched them down. "You want some?"
The cactus stand didn't say anything. Whoever was within held his breath.
"This is a nasty patch of ground, flyboy. You're not going to like the natives".
Valentine took a swallow of water.
"On the other hand", Valentine said, "they're going to be happy as hell to meet you. What I can't figure out is what they do with the eyes. Eyes don't keep. Do they eat them as soon as they pull them out, maybe with a little salt like a hard-boiled egg, or do they carry around a jug of brine..."
The cactus stand let out a cough and went silent.
"Option three is me", Valentine said. "I'm just interested in that reward on the back of your jacket. I'm sure you know the wording by heart. It's a win for both of us: You get to be alive, and I get my money".
"Ya-hey", the cactus stand said. A man stood up, a bloody bandage on his hand and a good-sized swelling on his head. He had the blond good looks of an old magazine cover model. Powerful shoulders tested the limits of his jumpsuit, and a brown leather jacket of the type Valentine had last seen outside Dallas was tied around his waist. "You could have said so to begin. Navajo or Apache?"
"Neither", Valentine said. "Max Argent".
"Equality Hornbreed".
Valentine wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.
"First name was good politics", Hornbreed said. He blew his nose into a silk handkerchief, coughed again. "My genitors were all about good politics".
"Your ribs intact?" Valentine asked.
"It's the pollen. Spring allergies. I can walk all night if I have to. Got a headache that about has me cross-eyed is all".
"I think I've got some aspirin..."
"Took a couple, thanks. Grabbed the medical kit first thing".
"Your friends know you went down?"
He took a handful of dried fruit. "They do. Everyone was low on fuel - end of the leg. Guess no one had the guts to try a setdown to pick me up - strict rules about that, we lose too many ships. The strip we're heading for is just a temp, though, no pickup helicopter. There's a couple parked at Yuma, so I might be on my own until tomorrow".
"Hurt the hand on landing?"
"No. Planted it on some broken glass, otherwise I'd offer you a candied plum. Didn't look when I unhooked. I smelled smoke and was worried I was on fire".