Biddy and the Silver Man (4)

    Bates let him take a fairly long one, then retrieved the bottle. "And you say you can show me the exact spot where this guy's cave is?"
    "Sure can. Only—"
    "Only what?" Bates scowled and pulled the bottle back as though to keep from wasting any more good liquor.
    "Only that it might be kind of rough on you. I'd have to walk it. Wouldn't know where we was going if we drove. And a blind man taps along pretty slow."
    "Never mind that," Bates said grimly. "I'll tap right along with you. I'd crawl across the Gila Desert to get that guy. I truly would, Art."
    "All right then. Let's get started."
    Cecil Bates grinned. He'd show old Sam Taber what the score was; who was sheriff around here and who wasn't; who could go out and bring in a criminal while everybody else talked about it....
    Davey Taber had special foot controls built into his jeep. This gave him a great deal of freedom—access to all the roads roundabout and to any part of the desert on which a jeep could travel.
    Davey was a handsome youth with none of his father's characteristics of leadership. He had a rather long sensitive face with eyes made dark and beautiful from suffering. His hands were the slim delicate hands of an artist.
    He had driven off the Circle-7 toward Sage Bend but when he came within a few miles of the town, he turned away from the road and into the flat desert. There was a strange restless stirring inside him, a hope that was almost akin to pain because he had heard the story of the mysterious man in the ridges and of what had happened to Biddy Parker. If he could only find the man—if the story were only true—if—There were a dozen ifs bouncing through his mind as he wound aimlessly over the hot expanses. If he could only—
    He pushed down on the brake and came to a stop as he saw a spot across the waste, his sharp eyes telling him what it was. A small flop-eared burro and a little girl leading it.
    Biddy Parker! Davey screamed the jeep into motion and headed in that direction. As the intervening distance lessened; Biddy stopped and waved a welcome.
    The jeep came to a halt and Biddy ran toward it. "Look Davey! I can walk! I can run!"
    "I heard. Somebody came to the ranch this morning with the story. Dad went into town."
    "I saw him and he talked to me."
    Davey's eyes asked the question. "What—?"
    Biddy dropped her own eyes. "I—I wouldn't tell anybody where Joe's cave is, Davey."
    "Joe?"
    "He's the man who fixed my leg. He comes from the sky bloc. He's a wonderful man and I was afraid they meant to hurt him."
    Davey had inherited one thing from his father. Pride, and now his face fell as the hope died within him. "Oh, I see. Well, you were probably right. There are some pretty crazy people around these parts. But I'm glad you found him and got cured. It must be pretty nice to walk and run again."
    Biddy came quickly forward and laid a hand on Davey's arm. "I didn't mean that I didn't want you to see Joe, Davey. In fact I talked to him about you and he said he might be able to help you too."
    The gratitude in Davey's face was eloquent. "He did?"
    "Uh-huh. Joe is just wonderful. We'll go there tomorrow—just me and you and Joe will fix your leg."
    Biddy saw the disappointment her words brought. Davey said, "That would be just wonderful."
    "You see its quite a long way from here. I came in the opposite direction on purpose in case anybody followed me. I didn't want to lead them to Joe and now it's getting pretty late."
    Davey glanced at the sun. "Uh-huh. Sun'll be down in fifteen minutes."
    "And I've got to get home or Mom and Pop won't like it. They'll be cross."
    "Sure—a little kid like you shouldn't be out on the desert at night."
    "I'll meet you tomorrow, though. Let's see, where—?"
    "Any place you say, Biddy."
    Biddy thought it over very carefully, then suddenly bubbled with the warmth that was a part of her nature. "Davey—we won't wait. We'll go now. It will be way after dark when we get there because I can't leave Buck and he can't go very fast on his short legs, but we'll go anyway and see Joe tonight!"
    Davey's hands trembled. "But what about your folks?"
    Biddy shrugged. "Well, I'll be with you and you're an old person so that ought to make it all right."
    "Well—"
    "Anyhow, let's worry about that later. You make the jeep go real slow and I'll ride beside you. I can make Buck go faster that way."
    "All right."
    So the strange little cavalcade started slowly off across the desert. Biddy prattled on as she rode the phlegmatic Buck beside the jeep and Davey's heart sang a song within him, a crazy, ecstatic song: We're looking for Joe. We're riding over the night desert hunting for him. And maybe we aren't the only ones. Maybe everybody in the world is stumbling through the darkness looking for Joe. What Davey's heart was saying made little sense to his mind. But he did not question its source. He was only twenty-one and not a wise philosopher so he completely over-looked the wisdom of his instinct....
    Cecil Bates sat in the Sage Bend tavern celebrating his luck and preparing for his triumph. This preparation consisted of spreading the word because his very nature demanded witnesses or there would be no triumph at all.
    "So you know where this foreign invader is, eh Ceec?"
    "Sure do." Cecil emptied his shot glass and tapped his forehead with a knowing finger. "Used my head. Used my head, I did."
    "Old blind Haney led you right to the stop, huh?"
    "Almost as close as I am to you. Now nobody'd think a blind man could do a thing like that—nobody but a man who uses his head like I do."
    "You sure are smart Ceec. You say you actually saw the machine he's going to blow us up with?"
    "Not us, I don't think. I think the rat's after our space station. Now what better spot could they pick? Visibility clear as a bell out here—"
    "Think he's from the Eastern Bloc, Ceec?"
    "Course he is. Where else could he come from?"
    The voice of a more logical hanger-on came from somewhere in the greatening group. "But it doesn't make sense to come over here to do it. Too risky. They've got deserts over there—just as good visibility."
    Cecil was annoyed. Always some guy goofing things up. "Is that so? Well listen to me. Just what in the hell do you know about the mechanics of space-fire and locations and—and things? Seems to me you take a mighty lenient view of things in general mister. It sure does."
    "Gosh, Ceec—I didn't mean—"
    "Then keep your trap shut." Cecil Bates glanced around. Plenty of people here now. Quite a crowd. "Me—I'm going out and get him. I'll have him back in town in an hour. We'll show those rats we got pretty alert law around here."
    "You going alone, Ceec?"
    "Sure am." Bates got up and walked importantly toward the door. There, he stopped and turned. "Course, if a body of citizens tagged along to see how justice works, I guess there's nothing I could do about it." He grinned and winked.
    A shout of approval went up and last drinks were hurriedly slopped down and additional quickies ordered. Then they followed Cecil Bates out into the street, moving with drunken anticipation of excitement.
    Loaded with the dynamite of irresponsibility.
    They streamed out of town behind Cecil Bates' car, not stopping to get other cars or mount horses for fear of being left behind. There was no danger of that however. Bates was not eager to face the strange man in the cave without some show of force in his wake so he traveled slowly enough for all to follow....
    Dan and Jane Parker stood on their porch watching the town empty out into the desert. Jane said, "Dan! You must do something. They're—they're dangerous!"
    Dan Parker frowned. "But it's not my job. Cecil Bates is the sheriff—"
    "Bates is a slovenly, dishonest—hoodlum. You know that Dan. They'll do something out there—"
    "What? What will they do? Bates is just going out to arrest that man for questioning and I think he's got a right to do it."
    Jane Parker looked at her husband in new surprise. There was something in her face that had never been there before. A look he would have done well to heed. She said, "Dan—I just don't understand you any more. This isn't you. There's an—an evil coming into you."
    "That's nonsense. Just because I won't stick my nose into the sheriff's business—"
    "At least do this for me, Dan. Go out and tell Sam Taber what's happening. If Sam refuses to act, then I'll be satisfied. But go and tell him."
    Dan Parker's mouth twisted in anger and helpless frustration. "So you think Sam Taber's a better man than your husband? So you have more respect for him than you have for me?"
    "I'm afraid I do—at the moment." Jane spoke quietly and there was a distant regard in her eyes. "Will you go, Dan? Or will I?"
    "I forbid you to go kiting off across the desert—"
    "You go, or I will."
    "All right—I'll go."
    Jane stood in the yard watching the tail light of the jeep fade off toward the Circle-7. There was a stark misery in her heart—a bleak unhappiness she had never before known. "It's not Dan—not Dan at all!" she whispered fiercely. Then she ran back to the porch and sat down on the steps and began to cry.
    But not for long. She came erect suddenly. Biddy was not home yet! She was out there in the desert. A drunken mob was moving out there somewhere. With a choked cry, Jane Parker ran off into the night. After a while she began calling—"Biddy—Biddy baby—where are you? Where are you?"
    But the stars were silent and the night was silent too....
    Joe had heard the sounds of the approaching crowd. He came from the cave where he had just got the report of zero-minute two hours away and waited in front of the cave. He looked up into the heavens from where, very shortly, a small, dark ship would arc in and settle quietly down.
    The headlights of the car leading the crowd cut two paths through the night and he stepped out into their radiance. Instantly an unpleasant voice barked, "You there! Stand still. Don't move. I've got you covered."
    From curiosity rather than fear, Joe remained where he was. The voice and the harsh discordant vibrations from the crowd in the background fascinated him. What sort of a demonstration was this? What strange primitive motivations generated the black aura about these people?
    A scowling figure emerged from the gloom and peered over his shoulder into the cave. "What you got in there?"
    "The equipment I brought with me."
    "Where'd you bring it from?"
    The mob was straining forward to hear and a baleful silence waited to be broken by Joe's answer. "From the Galaxy—well, the Galaxy Capital I suppose you'd call it."
    "Where the hell's that?"
    "I don't think you could understand if I told you."
    "Is that so? Well, I'm not as stupid as you think, buster. You've snuck in here from the East somewhere. You've been pretty damn clever, but no Eastern fifth column is going to get a foothold in my territory. You come along with me. You got some questions to answer."
    An ugly tremor went through the crowd. It raced from drunk to drunk and influenced even the sober. Fear mixed with panic.
    "See that stuff in there?"
    "Lousy Eastern fifth columnist."
    "Brought his equipment with him."
    "Bet it is something to blow up our space station just like they said."
    Cecil Bates expanded under the reflection of these revelations. He'd shown them all right. He'd brought them out here and shown them what was going on and what he was going to do about it. He said, "All right—come on you—into the car and right down to the jail house."
    As Joe hesitated, four men came out of the crowd. "You heard what he said. Get going," and they laid rough hands on Joe and carried him bodily away.
    But they did not stop at the car. The raucous-voiced leader of the group yelled, "Don't worry, Ceec. We'll get him there for you. Don't need no car. We know where the jail is!"
    The spark was touched off—the thought suggested—by a blurred voice from the crowd. "We don't need no jail house. What we need's a rope!"
    Laughter—ugly laughter—and other suggestions: "There's the tree by Indian Head Rock. About big enough to hold a rat his size."
    More drunken laughter but laced now with viciousness and excitement. Shouts and curses rising into a steady roar. A lynch mob.
    Cecil Bates never quite knew how it happened. He made no resistance because he lacked the courage and he was afraid to defend the prisoner. After all, he rationalized—when he saw how things were going—these were the people, the taxpayers, the hard core of the country. They had an instinct for knowing when swift action was necessary. And by gosh, when it was time, they acted!
    But he realized these were only weak alibis for his own impotence and that he was held helpless by his fear, his inner rottenness, his lacking of stature as a man.
    And when they took the stranger and hung him to the tree by Indian Head Rock, Cecil Bates looked himself in the face for the first time in his life and was sickened by what he saw. He screamed at himself—do something. For God's sake don't let this happen. That man hanging there is you. When he dies you've come to the end of your rope too. But there's still time. Do something. Stop them.
    But the weakness he had nourished and fed within himself for so long would not let him raise his voice or his gun. And he stood alone with his sickness watching the body of the stranger twirl gently at the end of the rope someone had brought along just in case....
    Sam Taber and his riders prowled the dark desert and the desert was a big place after sundown. Finally he pulled up and said, "I can't figure this thing out. Bates must have used a car. Why can't we see the headlights?"
    "Maybe he turned them out so as to slip up on the man in the dark." This from one of the men in his group; men who obeyed orders and seldom spoke.
    "With the whole town and half the county tailing along behind him? I think not."
    A different voice: "There, boss. Look. See the glow?"
    Sam's gray eyes pierced the night. "Sure. That's Bates. We swung in the wrong direction. Should have gone to Sage Bend and started from there."
    "The light's at Indian Head Rock."
    "Let's go."
    They swept across the desert, thundering up a dust cloud that hung in the night behind them. Rode until sight of a terrible thing sent a chill down Sam Taber's spine; sight of a man hanging from a rope against the glare of a car's headlights; a silhouette of savagery that killed the last faint hope in Sam Taber's breast; the last hope for a crippled son.
    Sam fought to control himself as he and his men rode silently, gently, into the lighted circle. He struggled there in the saddle with the red rage that tried to flare up from the stormy heart of him; the uncontrollable anger he had fought all his life and thought he had conquered. The mob was now looking at its handiwork in silence, each member wishing himself somewhere else.
    The roaring in Sam Taber's ears drowned this silence as he reined up and one of his men rode close to the turning body. The man's hand went out. He said, "Too late, boss. We're too late."
    Taber sat like a dead man for a full minute. Then his rage broke its bounds and flooded out through his eyes and his throat across the desert. "Take them!" he bellowed. "Take every last rotten mother's son of them! Lash the swine down! Cut them to pieces!"
    He stood up in his stirrups and bent forward and lashed out with his quirt. Without question his riders went into action. Quirts rose and fell, slashed and cut. Screams and bellows and curses arose on the dark desert as the shadowy avengers moved into their bloody work.
    The mob broke to run bellowing and screaming in all directions. There was no leadership now, no courage to rally them for a stand against their tormentors. The only thought was to get away from the slashing quirts; to run off into the desert and hide like squealing rats in the blackness of a safe hole. To find sanctuary.
    But just in the middle of the terrible savagery, a cry went up from one of the riders. "Hey. Over there! The boss! He's down!"
    The riders turned from their work and converged upon the indicated spot where Sam Taber hung limp in his saddle and was just ready to slip from his mount's back. They spied him just in time.
    Two of the riders cut skillfully in and caught the lolling body. "What's wrong, boss? One of 'em get you?"
    Taber's reply was tortured, throaty. "Heart. Heart's gone—bad. Can't—breathe. Done—all done."
    "We've got to get him to town—quick!"
    So, as quickly as it had come the avenging force moved back into a group and thundered away. Cecil Bates had got to his car during the melee and rammed it in panic through the crowd and off into the desert. The mob itself had melted like tallow in a blast furnace.
    And now there was nothing—no one from the rising moon to see except the still body of Joe hanging from the tree beside Indian Head Rock....
    Biddy Parker kicked a heel into Buck's flank and said, "Davey—the light's gone out now. I wonder what it was. It wasn't the moon."
    "No, the moon's coming up over there. Probably somebody parking in a car and then they drove on."
    "But we didn't see the lights move away."
    "No. Well, you say we go right by there. Maybe we can find out."
    "It's not very far. We'll be there soon."
    The moon came up in desert splendor and the landscape brightened. The rocks threw shadows and for all purposes it was the light of day.
    Shadows of rocks. And another shadow as Biddy and Davey approached the place. The shadow of—Biddy reached over and touched Davey's arm. "Look—Davey! Do you see—?"
    "I see it. A—a man! He's hanging from the tree there, Biddy. He's killed himself—or somebody has—"
    "But nobody is around. I wonder who it is." Biddy's heels beat a veritable tattoo on Buck's little flanks and the burro went into a reluctant trot. Closer they came, closer, until Biddy cried, "Davey—Davey—it's Joe hanging there!"
    "You mean the man we're going to find?"
    "Yes—yes. He's dead! Davey—somebody did this. Joe would never—"
    "That's not important now. See if it's too late!"
    Biddy slid off Buck and ran to the tree. She could just reach the waist of the hanging figure. She began to cry and turned a streaming face to Davey. "I—I can't help him! I can't even reach! There's nothing I can do!"
    "And I'm helpless too!" Davey had tears in his eyes too—tears of anger as he reached for his two canes and tried to struggle from the jeep.
    "You can't, Davey! You'll hurt yourself!"
    Davey stopped. "Wait a minute, Biddy. Do you think you could climb the tree and go out on the limb and cut the rope?"
    "I haven't got any knife."
    "I have. Here—do you want to try?"
    "I can do it."
    "You'll have to hurry. Every second may be important."
    "He'll hurt himself falling maybe."
    "Skin up that tree. I'll swing the jeep around under him. It will break the fall and then we'll take him to a doctor. Hurry."
    Davey backed the jeep in under the body while Biddy climbed resolutely carrying the knife between her teeth. She got a little dizzy but she closed her eyes and when she had wriggled far enough out on the limb, she cut at the rope until it separated.
    At that moment, two things happened. The body fell heavily into the back seat of the jeep and the car itself went completely dead. The motor died, the lights faded slowly and the glow of the moon illuminated the scene.