Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

Going southwest was good, he thought. It would take them to Rhodes Canyon, probably above the pass. Anything farther on was more than a day's journey by horseback. They weren't provisioned for another night.

He had searched the pack and knew what supplies they carried. He just had to be patient. He held their shapes in the lenses until they turned into dots, then fired up the truck. He got in position just in time to watch Kerney bypass the canyon that ran out of Tipton Spring. They were running the ridge tops to Rhodes Canyon. Had to be. From where they were now, they had no alternative. Water still filled the washes from the storm. It would be too dangerous to ride through the draws. Two canyons over they'd hit Amole Ridge. There would be two steep steps up and down. They would have to break trail and lead the horses through it on foot. Above the eastern scarp of the ridge they would reach high country of broken benches, cedar breaks, and gentle slopes.

After that, they could easily pick up the road through Rhodes Pass. He moved the truck again and watched until they entered a stand of cedars. He held his breath as he scanned the prehistoric reef Kerney had to use to scale Amole Ridge. They came back into view just where he had his glasses trained. He watched them weave slowly back to the west.

Gutierrez was starting to feel good. He would be way ahead of them when they reached the road. *** Sara held the horses while Kerney fed them the last of the oats from the bag Dale Jennings had provided. The view was stunning; so completely different from the slashing gorges and mean canyons on the ride in. On both sides of the tight pass the land rolled in soft hills that hid the vast desert from sight. The road below her, carved and blasted out of the mountainside, clung to the edge of a drop-off dotted by the crowns of tall pine trees, rising seventy-five feet from the canyon floor, that formed a natural border along the shoulder. Here the turns in the road were gradual. Farther along it slashed in a series of cutbacks that pierced deeper into the canyon.

Sara had traveled the road many times before, but the vantage point from the top of the canyon threw her off. She asked Kerney to locate the MP outpost for her. He smiled and pointed at her feet. They were standing on top of the outpost, which was carved out of the mountainside.

Kerney finished with the horses and swung into the saddle. She mounted the gelding and took one last look at the breathtaking beauty around her before moving her horse down the slope to the road. *** Gutierrez surveyed the roadside patiently before selecting his spot. Where the granite changed to limestone, the ground was still soggy from yesterday's storm. At a blind corner, a large slab of limestone had separated from the top of the cliff. Chunks of stone and earth partially blocked the roadway. He drove around it carefully, the truck tires inches away from the fall-off into the canyon, found a place to turn around, and parked close to the rock wall below the slide. He climbed to the top of the cliff and scanned in all directions. Above him, there was no possibility of passage down to the pass. Kerney and Brannon would have to join the road long before they reached his position. He stayed back from the ledge, stretched his arm over the crevice, and poked at the crumbling limestone.

A small clump broke away and dribbled down the bluff. He kept working on the slab until rock blocked the entire road. After climbing down he moved rocks into a pile, then stopped to think things over. His back ached and his shirt stuck to him like a wet rag. He walked around the blind corner and then back to his truck, studying the road. He got a shovel from the truck and moved dirt and rocks from the lip of the road, leaving just enough space to allow foot traffic around the rockpile. He sprinkled earth and pebbles over it to make it look natural. He put the shovel in the bed of the truck and walked back up the road, pacing off five-yard increments, marking each with a small rock until he was fifty yards from the corner. He turned and examined his labors. The slide would look passable to anyone approaching on horseback. He went back to the slide and eyed the height of the pile. He needed it to be at least to the top of the truck's bumper and loosely packed. He threw some of the bigger stones over the side and hollowed out a peephole where he could watch the road without being seen. Judging the timing and the amount of force he would need was the only remaining problem. He estimated distances and moved the truck farther down the road. He walked from the farthest marker, timing himself as he went. He did it once more, walking backward to erase the footprints. It might be a Rube Goldberg scheme, but it would work. Shit happens, Gutierrez thought, smiling to himself. He spread some damp dirt over the rocks to make the pile look more natural. Kerney and Brannon would have to ride single-file to get around it. He stretched out at the peephole, still sweating from the exertion, and waited. When everything was over, he would erase any traces of his presence and be on his way. He checked his watch. He would be long gone before anyone came looking. Maybe to Yucatan or Veracruz on the Gulf of Mexico. He had visited both areas before, and Spanish was his first language. He'd blend right in. An hour passed. He was starting to get restless when Kerney came around the last bend. Kerney reined in and stopped, the roan packhorse siding up to the bay. Gutierrez held his breath. Finally Kerney moved and Sara Brannon came into view, closing the gap between her and the roan.

Gutierrez counted off the seconds as Kerney passed the first marker. The pace of the animals was perfect. He forced himself to wait, timing Kerney's progress over the next thirty yards. Still perfect. He crawled backward and scrambled to the truck. It was going to work! He started the engine, jammed it into gear, and plowed it into the rockpile, only a second or two faster than planned. Kerney was past the nose of the truck and on Gutierrez's right side, but the rocks still splattered his horse. Kerney spurred the bay desperately and dropped the reins to the roan. The bay was flying, landing with forefeet on tumbling rocks, fighting for solid ground, hind feet flailing in the air. The packhorse dropped over the edge, making sounds Gutierrez had never heard from a horse before. Amazingly, the truck continued to roll.

He braked hard, fishtailed into the wall, bounced over the remains of the rockpile, and landed hard on the undercarriage, the front wheels dangling over empty space. On his left, Sara Brannon and the gelding were spinning counterclockwise in a tight circle away from the scatter, out of danger. Gutierrez wondered how she was able to do that. He cursed and looked for Kerney. A few feet from the truck the riderless bay, eyes wild, ears back in fear, pawed the ground. Hatless, facedown on the roadbed, Kerney pushed himself upright and started running toward Gutierrez with murder in his eyes. How could the lame bastard move so fast? Gutierrez panicked, reached for the door handle, and heard a sharp, splintering sound from above. He twisted around to look out the rear window. The cliff gave way, burying the truck with rock, crushing his skull, and pulverizing his chest against the steering wheel.

Kerney watched the last of the rubble trickle over the truck, the thick limestone dust rising in the air like a plume of smoke. The roar of the slide gave way to the sound of stones careening into the canyon below. He scrambled over the truck looking for Sara. She stood with her back pressed against the rock face, holding the skittish gelding by the bridle.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She took a breath, held it, and exhaled slowly.

"Let's not do this anymore."

"Not enough excitement?" Kerney inquired, holding her arm to keep her steady.