Erle Gardner - The Danger Zone and Other Stories

“Only when cattle are being shipped,” Buck Doxey explained. “This is a loading point.”

“Oh.”

She settled back against the seat, and was conscious of a reassuring masculine friendship on her right side, a cold detachment on her left side.

“I suppose it’s horribly ravenous of me, but do we get to the ranch for breakfast?”

“I’m afraid not,” Kane said. “It’s slow going. Only sixty feet of the road is paved.”

“Sixty feet?”

“That’s right. We cross the main transcontinental highway about five miles north of here.”

“What do we do about breakfast?”

“Well,” Kane said, “in the trunk of the car there’s a coffee pot and a canteen of water. I’m quite certain Buck brought along a few eggs and some ham...”

“You mean you stop right out here in the open and cook?”

“When yuh stop here, you’re in the open, ma’am,” Buck said and somehow made it seem his words were in answer to some unjustified criticism.

She gave him her best smile. “Would it be impertinent to ask when?”

“In this next coulee... right here... right now.”

The road slanted down to a dry wash that ran east and west. The perpendicular north bank broke the force of the north wind. Buck attested to the lack of traffic on the road by stopping the car squarely in the ruts.

They watched the sun rise over the plateau country, and ate breakfast. She hoped that Buck Doxey’s cold disapproval wouldn’t communicate itself to Howard Kane.

When Buck produced a battered dishpan, she said, “As the only woman present I claim the right to do the dishes.”

“Women,” Buck said, “are...” and abruptly checked himself.

She laughingly pushed him aside and rolled up her sleeves. “Where’s the soap?” As she was finishing the last dish she heard the motor of the low-flying plane. All three looked up.

The plane, which had been following the badly rutted road, banked into a sharp turn.

“Sure givin’ us the once-over,” Buck said, his eyes steady on Kane’s face. “One of ’em has binoculars and he’s as watchful as a cattle buyer at a loading chute. Don’t yuh think it’s about time we find out what we’ve got into, Boss?”

“I suppose it is,” Kane said. Before her startled mind could counter his action, Buck Doxey picked up the purse which she had left lying on the running-board of the car.

She flew toward him.

Doxey’s bronzed, steel fingers wrapped around her wet wrist. “Take it easy, ma’am,” he said. “Take it easy.”

He pushed her back, found her driving license. “The real name,” he drawled, “seems to be Jane Marlow.”

“Anything else?” Kane asked.

“Gobs of money, lipstick, keys and... Gosh, what a bankroll.”

She went for him blindly.

Doxey said, “Now, ma’am, I’m goin’ to have to spank yuh if yuh keep on like this.”

The plane circled, its occupants obviously interested in the scene on the ground below.

“Now — here’s something else,” Doxey said, taking out a folded newspaper clipping.

She suddenly went limp. There was no use in further pretense.

Doxey read aloud, “ ‘Following the report of an autopsy surgeon, police, who had never been entirely satisfied that the unexplained death of Frank Hardwick was actually a suicide, are searching for his attractive secretary, Jane Marlow. The young woman reportedly had dinner with Hardwick in a downtown restaurant the night of his death.

“ ‘Hardwick, after leaving Miss Marlow, according to her story, went directly to the apartment of Eva Ingram, a strikingly beautiful model who has, however, convinced police that she was dining out. Within a matter of minutes after entering the Ingram apartment, Hardwick either jumped or fell from the eighth story window.

“ ‘With the finding of a witness who says Frank Hardwick was accompanied at least as far as the apartment door by a young woman whose description answers that of Jane Marlow, and evidence indicating several thousand dollars was removed from a concealed floor safe in Hardwick’s office, police are anxious once more to question Miss Marlow. So far their efforts have definitely not been crowned with success.’

“And here’s a picture of this young lady,” Buck said, “with some more stuff under it.

“ ‘Jane Marlow, secretary of scientist who jumped from apartment window to his death, is now sought by police after witness claims to have seen her arguing angrily with Frank Hardwick when latter was ringing bell at front door of apartment house from which Hardwick fell or jumped to sidewalk.’ ”

Overhead, the plane suddenly ceased its circling and took off in a straight line to the north.

As the car proceeded northward, Buck put on speed, deftly avoiding the bad places in the road.

Jane Marlow, who had lapsed into hopeless silence, tried one more last desperate attempt when they crossed the paved road. “Please,” she said, “let me out here. I’ll catch a ride back to Los Angeles and report to the police.”

Kane’s eyes asked a silent question of the driver.

“Nope,” Buck said decisively. “That plane was the sheriff’s scout plane. He’ll expect us to hold you. I don’t crave to have no more trouble over women.”

“All right,” Jane said in a last burst of desperation, “I’ll tell you the whole story. Then I’ll leave it to your patriotism. I was secretary to Frank Hardwick. He was working on something that had to do with cosmic rays.”

“I know,” Doxey interrupted sarcastically. “And he dictated his secret formula to you.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, “but he did know that he was in danger. He told me that if anything happened to him, to take something, which he gave me, to a certain individual.”

“Just keep on talking,” Buck said. “Tell us about the money.”

Her eyes were desperate. “Mr. Hardwick had a concealed floor safe in the office. He left reserve cash there for emergencies. He gave me the combination, told me that if anything happened to him, I was to go to that safe, take the money and deliver it and a certain paper to a certain scientist in Boston.”

Buck’s smile of skepticism was certain to influence Kane even more than words.

“Frank Hardwick never jumped out of any window,” she went on. “They were waiting for him, and they threw him out.”

“Or,” Buck said, “a certain young lady became jealous, followed him, got him near an open window and then gave a sudden, unexpected shove. It has been done, you know.”

“And people have told the truth,” she blazed, “I don’t enjoy what I’m doing. I consider it a duty to my country — and I’ll probably be murdered, just as Frank Hardwick was.”

“Now listen,” Kane said. “Nice little girls don’t jump off trains before daylight in the morning and tell the kind of stories you’re telling. You got off that train because you were running away from someone.”

She turned to Kane. “I was hoping that you would understand.”

“He understands,” Buck said, and laughed.

After that she was silent...

Overhead, from time to time, the plane came circling back. Once it was gone for nearly forty-five minutes and she dared to hope they had thrown it off the track, but later she realized it had only gone to refuel and then it was back above them once more.

It was nearly nine when Buck turned off the rutted road and headed toward a group of unpainted, squat, log cabins which seemed to be bracing themselves against the cold wind while waiting for the winter snow. Back of the buildings were timbered mountains.

The pilot of the plane had evidently spotted the ranch long ago. Hardly had Buck turned off the road than the plane came circling in for a landing.