Part 3 (1/2)
”Good grief!” he exclaimed, startled. ”Take a look at that guy's face.”
”Looks like he's been scratched up by a cat, the poor devil,” Steve said, hurriedly climbing out of the cab.
Roy lifted one of the girl's hands.
”And here's your cat,” he said. ”There's blood and skin under her nails. Know what I think? The driver made a pa.s.s at her and she slashed him. She got his eyes and he drove off the road.” He studied the girl. ”Nice bit of homework, isn't she?” he went on. ”I bet that poor punk thought he'd picked up a pushover. Say, she's a real looker, isn't she? I don't blame the punk trying to make her, do you?”
”Let's get her down,” Steve said shortly, and together the two men carried the girl from the cab down on to the thick gra.s.s. Steve knelt beside her while Roy stood back and watched.
”She's got a nasty wound at the back of her head,” Steve said. ”We'll have to get that attended to right away.”
”Forget it,” Roy said, a sudden snarl in his voice. ”Leave her here. She'll be all right. A floozy who b.u.ms rides can take care of herself. We don't want to be cluttered up with a twist, anyway. Some guy'll find her and will be glad of it.”
Steve stared at him.
”We're certainly not leaving her here,” he said sharply. ”The girl's badly hurt.”
”Then bring her down to the road and leave her there. Someone'll be along in a while,” Roy said, his white face twitching. ”I don't want to be mixed up in this.”
”She needs medical attention,” Steve said quietly. ”There's no place between here and my farm where I can leave her. That means I'm taking her home and I'm going to get Doc Fleming over to fix her. Anything to say against that?”
Roy's face was ugly with controlled rage.
”You can't kid me,” he sneered. ”You're like all the other hicks who live too long in the mountains. One look at a dame who's got something on the ball and you shoot your top.”
Steve jumped to his feet. For a moment he looked as if he was going to hit his brother, but he choked down his anger, gave a twisted grin instead.
”You haven't changed much, have you?” he said. ”And you're not going to get my rag out. Why don't you grow up? You've still got a mind like a schoolboy.” He turned away and bent over the girl. As he moved her limbs, making sure she had no broken bones, she stirred.
”Why don't you undress her,” Roy sneered, ”instead of just pawing her over?”
Steve ignored him, although the back of his neck turned red. He felt the girl's pulse. It was strong under his fingers and her skin felt feverish.
”You'd better leave her, Steve,” Roy went on. ”You'll be sorry if you don't.”
”Oh, shut up,” Steve snapped, lifted the girl.
”O.K., but don't say I didn't warn you,” Roy returned, shrugging indifferently. ”I've got a hunch she's going to cause a h.e.l.l of a lot of trouble. But why should I care ? It'll be your headache.”
Steve pa.s.sed him and began his slow, careful walk to the van.
Silver Fox Farm was set in an enclosed valley of mountain peaks on Blue Mountain Summit, eight thousand feet above sea level. It was reached by a dirt road that branched off the highway and wound for four or five miles through big boulders and pine trees until it terminated at Steve's log cabin by the side of a lake, a pale blue sheet of water packed with mountain trout.
A year back Steve had decided to throw up his job as an insurance salesman and breed foxes. He had saved money, discovered Blue Mountain Summit, bought the deed and moved in. The farm was still in its infancy, but Steve hoped it wouldn't be long before he could afford to hire help. The worst part of the life was the utter loneliness of the place; to have no one but his dog to talk to from one day to the next.
Roy's coming should have solved the problem, but Steve was quick to realize that Roy was likely to be more of a nuisance than a companion. He was already beginning to regret the visit.
Roy had looked the cabin over with sour eyes and then had slouched down to the lakeside without a word, leaving Steve to carry the unconscious girl into the cabin.
But as soon as Steve was out of sight, Roy retraced his steps, ran to the Buick. He looked furtively towards the cabin, then raised the hood and unscrewed the head of the accelerator switch, snapped the leads, pocketed the switch. Closing the hoed, he lounged up to the wide verandah.
He could hear his brother moving about somewhere in the cabin and he sidled into the big living room, took in its rough comfort at a glance, crossed over to the gun-rack, which was equipped with an iron bar on a hinge and a padlock that, when locked, secured the guns in their rack. Roy fastened the padlock, pocketed the key.
Steve came into the room a moment later.
”Put your floozy to bed?” Roy asked jeeringly.
”Cut it out,” Steve snapped. ”I don't like it, Roy, so park it in, will you?”
Roy eyed him over, grinned.
”That's too bad,” he said; took out a cigarette, lit it.
”I don't know what's the matter with you,” Steve ”You've acted odd ever since we met.”
”That's too bad, too,” Roy said.
Steve shrugged.
”I'm going over to Doc Fleming,” he went on. ”It'll take me the best part of two hours. Keep an eye on her, will you ? She's got concussion, I think, but she'll be all right until I return.”
”That certainly makes my day,” Roy sneered. ”What do I do? Hold her hand and fan her with my hat?”
”Come on, Roy,” Steve said, keeping his temper with difficulty. ”I'll get the Doc to bring his car and we'll get her out of here. But while she is here you might try to be a little helpful.”
”Sure,” Roy said. ”You get off. I'll keep her amused. Dames like me.”
Steve gave him a hard look, went out.
Roy watched his brother get into the van, try to start the engine and he grinned to himself.
He was still lounging against the verandah doorway when Steve, hot and furious, came bounding up the steps.
”You've been fooling with the van,” Steve snapped, planting himself in front of his brother.
”Sure,” Roy grinned. ”What of it?”
Steve steadied himself.
”You've taken the accelerator head. Better hand it over, Roy.”
””I'm keeping it. I told you to leave the twist, didn't I? Well, you've got her on your hands now. No one's coming here while I'm around, and no one's leaving here until I say so.”
Steve clenched his fists.
”Look, Roy, I don't know what's on your mind, but you're not getting away with this. Hand over the switch or I'll take it. I don't want to get tough, but I'm not standing any more nonsense from you.”
”Yeah?” Roy said, stepping back. ”Then what do you think of this?” A gun suddenly jumped into his hand: an ugly-looking, blunt-nosed .38 automatic. ”Still got the same ideas?” he asked, pointing the gun at his brother's chest.
Steve stepped back, his mouth tightening.