The Cat, The Devil, And Lee Fontana. The Cat, The Devil, The Last Escape

?Morgan Blake wanted the truth from Falon, he wanted to see Falon duly tried for the crimes that he committed, for which Morgan had been convicted.

?That has now been accomplished. Blake and Fontana committed no new crimes coming across the country. They lived on the money Mrs. Blake earned and borrowed. They had a destination and a goal. Their efforts, against all odds, have corrected a grave injustice.?

Becky?s arm was around Sammie, squeezing her close. Judge Crane asked both Morgan and Lee if they had anything further to add. Neither did. When the judge leaned forward, looking down from the bench directly at Lee, Becky couldn?t breathe.

?Mr. Fontana, can you tell me why, at Terminal Island, all of a sudden after so long a time, Brad Falon decided to reveal where the stolen money was hidden??

Becky saw Lee swallow.?At first,? Lee said, ?we tried to talk with Falon, tried to reason with him. But reasoning didn?t work very well. It made Falon so mad that he went after Morgan, he hurt Morgan bad, I didn?t know whether he?d live or die. After Morgan was taken to emergency, I found Falon,? Lee said,?and Iused a little force on him.?

?How much force, Mr. Fontana??

?Enough to scare him,? Lee said quietly.

The judge nodded. He didn?t press the question. When he glanced up at the defense attorney, Ballard was blank faced and quiet. Becky expected him to pull open Falon?s collar and reveal the red marks Lee?s cable had made. Ballard didn?t, nor did Falon attempt to exhibit the injury. Maybe they knew it wouldn?t makeany difference, that this judge wouldn?t go soft over Falon?s pain.

Judge Crane looked back at Lee and Morgan, ready to sentence them. Becky couldn?t breathe. She took both Sammie?s hands in hers; they were ice-cold.

?Escape is a serious charge, gentlemen. It is not dealt with lightly by this court. However, the statement that Mr. Storm has made on your behalf, and the circumstances of the situation, must be taken into account.?

U.S. Attorney Heller approached the bench. The thin, pale man made Becky uncertain. He was not prosecuting Falon now, he was concerned with Lee and Morgan, with their escape from prison. When she looked at Morgan she could see sweat beading his forehead around the white tape.

Heller?s narrow back was rigid, where he faced the bench.?Your Honor, Mr. Fontana and Mr. Blake have confessed to breaking out of Atlanta Federal Prison. Their attorney has stated that this was for an admirable cause.? The thin, dark-haired man stood silent for a moment, then, in a reedy voice, ?The United States Attorney, Your Honor, declines to press charges. We will not seek prosecution in this case.?

Becky felt limp. At the witness table Morgan and Lee were very still, watching Heller. As if they couldn?t believe his words, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the downside.

?I move, Your Honor, that in light of the present trial of Brad Falon and the jury?s verdict of guilty, Morgan Blake?s conviction for murder, robbery, and attempted murder be overturned in its entirety. That it be wiped from the books. With the perpetrator in custody and duly sentenced, Mr. Blake should be left with a clean record. I move that he be released from all charges. That, as of this hearing, Morgan Blake be divested of any criminal record.?

Morgan put his face in his hands. Lee?s arm went around Morgan?s shoulders, hugging him. Judge Crane looked down at them.

?Mr. Blake, Mr. Fontana, it has been only a matter of days since you turned yourselves in at Terminal Island. Since that time, you have been waiting, hoping for this hearing. I sentence each of you only to the time you have already been held in custody awaiting trial. As of this moment, Morgan Blake, you are a free man.? He nodded to Heller, dismissing him from the bench.

?As for you, Mr. Fontana,? Judge Crane said, ?you are a riddle. I have your record. I see what you have done in the past, and I can guess there are many crimes for which you were never apprehended. But there is another side to you. You took a grave personal risk to help Morgan Blake. As far as Iknow, you had nothing to gain by that risk. Now you have a little time left on the term you are serving. And time will be added on for your escape from Atlanta. I rule that both be added to your parole, that you finish your sentence on the outside. With the hope, Mr. Fontana, that this time you will stay out of trouble.

?You will both be returned to the prison long enough to get whatever personal belongings you left there and attend to the paperwork to transfer you out. Mr. Blake, you will have to be released by the medical staff. And Mr. Fontana, you will be interviewed by a probation officer before you leave. Then you?re free to go, you?ll be on your own.? Judge Crane looked them over. ?Mr. Blake, your wife and child are waiting for you.?

Morgan and Lee thanked Judge Crane. He smiled and nodded and shook hands with them. The look in his eyes was satisfied, a look that said justice had been done despite the bizarre and questionable manner. Lee would always wonder, even years later, what had gone on between Judge Crane, Reginald Storm, and Falon?s attorney, that Lee?s use of force on Falon had not been further pursued.

When Morgan turned away, Becky and Sammie ran through the gate, they were in his arms, Becky crying against him. Lee thanked Reginald Storm and, stepping aside with him where they could talk in private, he removed the Blythe money from his pocket, counting out the bills. Storm pushed them back at him.

?When you first came to my office, Lee, you gave me a six-hundred-dollar retainer.? He took the folded bills from his pocket. ?Every year I do a couple of cases pro bono, cases that I find particularly interesting or rewarding, that move me in some way.? Storm grinned. ?Looks like I?m starting early, this year. This money is yours and the Blakes?. This one?s on me, Fontana.?

Lee stared at him.?We can?t take this. You did a fine job for us, you saved Morgan?s life. You can?t??

Storm shook his head.?Ican. This is my decision. I enjoyed every minute. As to the six hundred,? he said, ?I can sell you the Chevy for that, if you want it. Save you looking for transport, and save me the bother of advertising and selling it, now that I have the Buick.?

Lee didn?t know what to say. He?d need transportation, at least until he could pick up a good saddle horse and a packhorse. But more important than the car or the money, Lee truly liked this man. Reginald Storm was one of the few people who?d touched his life in a way he wouldn?t forget. ?There?s no way in hell to thank you,? Lee said, handing back the six hundred. ?And I sure could use the car.? He watched Storm remove a slip of paper from his pocket, lean over a table, and sign it.

?You can fill out the rest,? Storm said, handing it to Lee. Turning, he nodded to the deputy marshals. He shook Lee?s hand, stepped over to say good-bye to Morgan and to give Becky and Sammie a hug. Then he moved away out of the courtroom, not looking back.

Lee and Morgan were escorted out to a marshal?s car heading for T.I., for their final processing and release. And where Lee would spend a tedious hour with one more federal probation officer no different, no more amiable than any of the others he?d dealt with. But by five that evening they had jumped through all the hoops. They moved out the sally port of T.I. for the last time, to where Becky and Sammie waited.

Crowding into the green Chevy, they headed for their motel, where Becky had gotten a second room for Lee. Soon they sat in the small restaurant for what should be a happy, celebratory dinner. But even approaching the little caf?, already Lee hung back, distancing himself from the Blakes, feeling heavy and sad and not liking the feeling. Not liking that they would soon be parted. For maybe the first time in his life he didn?t relish the fact that he would soon again be alone. It was only when Sammie took his hand and pulled him along faster that he hurried to catch up with Morgan and Becky.

?Can Uncle Lee come home with us? And live with us in Georgia??

Becky turned, laughing.?Of course you can, Lee. We were hoping that?s what you?d want. Come back to Rome, live with us, get acquainted with your family?the family you didn?t know you had.?

Lee felt a sudden sharp longing, imagining that kind of life. As they entered the caf? Becky tucked her hand under his arm, looking up at him. But, watching him, she saw it in his eyes. Saw that he wouldn?t come with them, that he would soon leave them. She felt hurt and disappointed, but she?d known this was how it would be. Lee had a different agenda. Something urgent guidedhim. Whatever pulled him in the opposite direction, it was too private for her to ask. What could be so urgent that he would abandon Sammie? Where would Lee?s life take him? She so wanted him to remain part of their family and she knew he never would. Nor could she and Morgan and Sammie follow into that other world, the one Lee longed for.

Except, she thought, Sammie might follow. In her dreams Sammie might still reach out to Lee. Becky prayed that would happen, prayed Sammie could know something of Lee as his life played out.

43

AS THEY HEADED for the Blakes? motel room after a quiet supper, Becky handed the car keys to Lee, but he hesitated to take them. ?You could drive it home to Georgia.?

?The Chevy?s yours,? Morgan said. ?If we drove home we?d be forever getting across country. This time,? he said, grinning, ?I?m in a hurry.?

Lee dropped the keys in his pocket, fished out the money he?d drawn from his savings account in Blythe and counted out six hundred dollars. Morgan tried to push it back.

?I?ve still got a couple hundred,? Lee said. ?Soon enough, I?ll be rolling in cash, I?ll be fixed up just fine.? They both looked at him, but said nothing. He hoped he was right, hoped the stolen money was still where he?d buried it. ?I?ll take you to the airport in the morning,then I?m on my way.?

In the Blakes? small room, Lee and Morgan sat in the two faded armchairs, Becky and Sammie on the bed leaning against the limp pillows. This last night together they were all uncomfortable, reluctant to say good-bye, knowing they might never see each other again. Lee hated partings, hated to string things out.With their long ordeal ended, parting was harder than he?d imagined. He itched to move on, and at the same time he wanted badly to stay with them, to head for Georgia, to be with his family and with Sammie, see Sammie grow up. He couldn?t explain that if he stayed in the U.S. he might soon be back in the joint. When Sammie slid down from the bed and crawled in his lap, he wondered for one unrealistic moment if he could go back to Rome and never get caught for the post office heist. Sammie leaned against him, wanting him to stay. When he could no longer stand her sadness he stood up, huggingthe child to him, and set her on her daddy?s lap. ?We need to be up early, need to head for the airport by six. Maybe we can grab a bite of breakfast near there.? Not looking at Sammie again, quickly saying good night, he headed for his own room.

Crawling into the lumpy bed, he slept fitfully. He dreamed of crossing the desert on horseback, choking on dust, dreamed of thirst, of fighting rank and unbroke horses. He woke wondering why he?d dreamed that. At five-thirty, he showered and dressed and headed for the Blakes? room.

They left the motel in darkness, the air cold and damp with mist. As they hurried through a greasy breakfast in a tiny caf? near the airport the sky began to grow light, to brighten the dirty windows. In the airport, checking Becky?s bag and the canvas duffel Morgan carried, they moved out to the tarmac behind the terminal where the DC-3 sat waiting, the metal stairway being rolled into place by four sleepy Hispanic men.

In the cold dawn they endured a last, tearful good-bye. Lee watched them ascend the metal stairway among a dozen passengers. He waited, shivering in the cold morning, until the plane backed around, revved up a little, and headed for the runway. Watched it taxi away to the far end of the strip, thinking how the manmade birds had helped to shape his life. Planes not yet invented when he was a boy: helped him steal, helped him escape, carried him to prison, and now carried away the child he loved. Far down the field the engine roared, the plane turned in a tight circle, came back nearly straight at him, lifted over him into the sky. He watched until it had vanished among the clouds, then turned away, a heavy knot in his belly.

He gassed up the Chevy near the airport and headed south out of L.A., taking the inland route against the green hills, direct for San Bernardino and on toward Blythe. All the while, part of him longed to turn around and follow the Blakes back to Rome, to live among his own family. The pain of parting was wicked, of learning to care for someone and then turning his back on them. Walking away as if he didn?t give a damn, when in fact it took all he had to do that. The distress of leaving Sammie, just as he had abandoned Mae, was nearly unbearable.

Passing through the little towns separated by stretches of orange and avocado groves, he thought about Sammie?s smile, so like Mae?s. Such vital little girls, Sammie so filled with joy after the trial when he and Morgan had been freed?but then, at the airport, Sammie smearing angrily at the tears she couldn?t stop.

But in Sammie?s dark eyes he had seen something else as well. He?d seen a power that startled and then cheered him. In that moment, something in Sammie had shone out as strong as steel?she was born of Russell Dobbs?s blood. No matter what turns her life took, no matter what occurred in the years ahead, Sammie would prevail. And maybe he would see her again, maybe somehow he would manage that. The ties that had begun with his memories of Mae and that had led to Sammie, those ties could not be broken.

Moving on past San Bernardino, he pulled up at a little cluster of houses and stores, parked the Chevy before a pawnshop. How many pawnshops over the years, all with the same black iron bars protecting their tangles of old watches, dusty cameras, tarnished jewelry, and used guns. At the counter he chose a .357 Magnum with a shoulder holster that fit nicely beneath his heavy jacket, and ten boxes of ammunition. He picked up a frying pan, a used sleeping bag, a good knife, all the necessities for a meager kit, then he stopped in a little grocery for canned beans and staples.

Leaving the store with his box of groceries he spotted, on down the street, a tiny Mexican caf?. Stowing his purchases in the car, he stepped on in. He bought four burritos and four tacos, which the accommodating waiter wrapped in a red-and-white-checked napkin and dropped into a brown paper bag with two cold beers.

Driving south again munching on a taco, heading for Blythe, Lee?s thoughts turned to the moves he?d have to make slipping in and out of the area, easing up the hills unseen to where he?d buried the cash. That got him thinking about the gray gelding he?d ridden up the mountain when he buried the money, had ridden back down to connect with the crop duster that lifted him fast over into Nevada. Not until the plane had appeared had he turned the gray loose, watched him gallop away over the desert bucking and kicking. Lee knew when the horse got thirsty and hungry he?d head for the isolated ranch that stood below on the empty desert.

The gray had been a good and willing companion; Lee missed him. He didn?t like this sadness of being alone, this was new to him, this hollow loneliness.

What he?d planned to do was buy the gray back, if hehad been taken in by that ranch, buy him if they?d sell him, and take off on horseback for Mexico. But a little thought, a few questions asked, and he knew the land along the Colorado, down into Baja, would be way too hard on a horse. Little if any grass for miles across the desert, little if any water, and much of the Colorado River inaccessible where it ran deep between ragged stone cliffs. Even if he bought a trailer, maybe traded the Chevy for a pickup, it would still be a hard journey, hard to care for a saddle horse. He didn?t have any real destination, didn?t know where, in Mexico, he?d end up. Somewhere along the gulf, but how much feed could he buy there, how much water could he count on? He?d be smarter to wait, to buy some Mexican cayuse later on.

Well, hell, the first thing was to get the money. If it was gone, he couldn?t buy a flea-bitten hound dog.

Parking beside an orange grove he unwrapped a burrito and opened a beer. It was then, as he ate the rest of his lunch, that Misto was suddenly beside him, grinning up at him, yellow shaggy coat, ragged ears, ragged, switching tail. How often had it been this way over their long friendship, Misto abruptly appearing pressing against him, loud with rumbling purrs. Lee stroked his rough fur and offered him a bite of burrito, but Misto sniffed and turned his nose away. Too much hot sauce.

He stopped once more before he reached Blythe, to gas up the Chevy again and use the restroom. The attendant was young and shy, he looked at his feet when Lee addressed him.?Can you tell me the name of that ranch out on the old road to Amboy??

The young man glanced up at him, turned, and headed for the office. Lee could see him ringing up the sale. Bringing Lee his change, still he didn?t look at him. ?That would be the Emerson place,? he mumbled. ?It sets just beyond the little airstrip.?

Lee nodded.?That?s the only ranch out there??

?The only one,? the young fellow said shyly, studying his boots. But he stood watching as Lee pulled away. The ghost cat had disappeared. The car seemed filled with emptiness as Lee headed for the road to Amboy.

Approaching the old abandoned barn on the Amboy road, he parked behind it and, at the base of a boulder, he dug with a rock until he?d uncovered the little folding shovel he?d buried there, and then the saddle and bridle. There wasn?t much left of the rotted blanket. He wiped the leather off as best he could, laid the saddle and bridle in the trunk beside his meager kit. Somewhere down the line, he?d need them. As he headedthe Chevy up the shallow mountain the scene came back too vividly, the robbery, returning here in the truck with the dead convict sitting in the seat beside him, the man he had killed to save his own life and who, it turned out, had come in real handy. That day, he had driven up the hills as far ashe could, leading the gray with a rope through the open window, the dead man propped in the cab beside him. Picking his spot along the canyon, he?d gotten out, tied the gray at a safe distance, and sent the truck and dead man, with the gun and a few scattered post office bills, over the edge of the ravine, a no-good convict taking the rap for the robbery.

The truck and his companion disposed of, he had moved on up the hills on horseback, buried the money, and ridden back down to the old barn. Had buried the saddle and, when the duster plane came into view, had turned the gray loose, then buried the bridle and shovel. Stepping up into the cockpit, he?d headed for Vegas. No commercial plane to fly him from the empty desert, and the small duster plane left no record. For all intents and purposes, when the post office robbery went down, Lee was already drunk and raising hell in Vegas, cursing and assaulting the Vegas cops, and was thrown in thecan there. So far, his alibi had held firm.

Now, heading the Chevy up the shallow desert mountain, he thought he could make it maybe halfway before boulders made the trail impassable and he?d have to walk. Already he could see, high up to the east, the rock formation where the money was hidden.

Before he left the car he backed it around so it was headed down again, the parking brake set, the front bumper secure against a boulder. Moving on up, on foot, the sand hushed beneath his boots with an occasional soft scrape. Lizards scurried away, and once he startled a rabbit that went bounding off. Nothing chased it. Was Misto with Sammie? Would Sammie, in a dream, see him walking up the mountain, watch as he approached the tall rock and began to dig, see him bring up the stolen post office bags? What would she think, how would she judge him? That thought bothered him.

?It?s all I have,? he told her, wondering if his words would enter her dreams. ?All I have, for whatever years are left.? A little cottage in Mexico, good hot Mexican food, soak up the hot sun. The money he was about to dig up, that?s all there was against an empty future.

44

IN THEDC-3, as Sammie yawned in Becky?s arms, already Morgan had drifted off, his head on Becky?s shoulder. Becky couldn?t have slept again; her stomach felt queasy from breakfast or maybe from the plane taking off, banking over the city, then lifting fast above the mountains. Below them clouds hung low between the highest peaks, then soon the plane?s shadow raced ahead over mountains mottled with snow. Snowcapped ridges tinted gold by the rising sun surrounded a deep blue lake; far ahead, long white ridges marched, jagged, primitive, stroked with gold.

Last night in the motel room Sammie, sleeping peacefully, had stirred suddenly and sat up, her rigid body silhouetted against the motel lights beyond the window. Becky couldn?t tell if she was awake or still asleep; but a darkness stood across the room slicing fear through her?a dark consciousness more alive than if they faced a human intruder.

?Leave us alone!? Sammie shouted. ?Leave my daddy alone. You tried with Uncle Lee, too. You failed with both of them. Now go away. Go away from us. Go bother someone whowants to follow you.?

The authority in the child?s voice held Becky. Morgan was awake and took Becky?s hand. They didn?t speak to Sammie. This was not the kind of dream they were used to. Sammie didn?t reach out to them, frightened. She seemed quite in control, there was a new power in the child. Her strength seemed to press at the dark presence as if driving it back; it smeared and grew thin. ?You couldn?t hurt Russell Dobbs,? Sammie said boldly. ?You couldn?t hurt Lee or my daddy. Youcan?t hurt us any longer.?

Her fists gripped the covers.?Youcan?t direct my dreams. You never could, they never came from you! Go away from us, we are done with you!? She was not a child now, something within her seemed ageless, they could only watch as she faced down the dark that stifled the small room. The child waited silent and rigid as the spirit receded. When it vanished, she turned away?she was a child again, soft and pliant, leaning into her daddy, pulling Becky close, pressing between them until soon she slept, curled up and at peace.

They exchanged looks, but didn?t speak. At last Morgan slept, too. Only Becky lay awake, thinking about the strength they?d seen in Sammie?and then about the days to come. Home again in their own house. Morgan back in the shop he loved. Caroline with her comforting support. Anne a real part of the family now, Anne and Mariol.

With Morgan exonerated, all charges wiped from the books, would time turn back to what life was before? Would the town?s anger be wiped from the books? As cleanly as the legal charges were expunged? Would they be a real part of their community again?

She didn?t think so.

Their true friends, who had stood by them, would embrace them. But the rest of the town, that had turned so cruel, why would they be different now? She couldn?t be friends again with people who hadn?t trusted or believed in Morgan, peoplethey could never trust again. And that was most of the town.

What kind of life would they have among people they could never again feel close to, could never respect? She and Morgan had no reason to embrace their onetime enemies. And what about Morgan?s customers? Would they return to him or would they remain distant, so business continued to falter? Caroline was doing her best to oversee the work, to make appointments, pay the bills, take care of the books on top of managing the bakery. Even bakery sales had fallen off some. And Becky?s own work? The clients she?d lost were, in her view, gone for good. She couldn?t hope there?d be new work for her. Now, this morning, heading through the sky to Georgia, were they returning not to their regained freedom, but to a new and different kind of confinement?

As if, though Brad Falon was locked away, his shadow still followed them.

She thought about California, the miles of orange groves below as they?d left the city. The open green hills, the small communities lying snugly along the sea. She thought about the way Lee had talked, over supper last night, about watching the ocean surge so close outside his cell window. Thought about the friendliness of the few people she had met, the waitressesand manager at the little motel, and about the kindness of Reginald Storm?her thoughts filled with the bright mosaic of that world, so very different from what they might find at home.

But then, looking down from the DC-3 at the dry desert of Arizona and then soon at the snow-patterned prairies of the Midwest, her thoughts turned to Lee and to where he might be headed in his mysterious odyssey. Already she missed him, she said a silent prayer for him. Give him peace, give him what he longs for in his last years. And then she thought about Misto.

Would the ghost cat know new earthly lives yet to come? But meantime, would he stay with Sammie yet for a while?

And where would he go when he must return to a new life? Into what place and what time? Must the little cat spirit start over each time as a small and ignorant kitten with only his own strong will to guide him? That seemed so cruel.

But how could she understand the patterns that guided the soul of animal or human? She could only guess. Yawning, she looked at Morgan sleeping against her and prayed that life would be good to him now, would be good to all of them as she and Morgan tried, as best they knew how, to protect Sammie and nurture her.

45

LEE?S SHOVEL, STRIKING stone, echoed louder than he liked. Though the desert stretched away empty below him, only scattered mesquite and boulders to conceal anyone observing him. And who would be out there on the empty land alone? But he kept watch as he dug at the base of the tall rock formation, shale falling back again and again so he had to scoop out the hole with his hands. There: his hand stroked hard leather. Quickly he uncovered the saddlebags, hauled them out and dug feverishly into the two pockets.

The stash was there, the packets of money, solidly wrapped as he?d left them. Pulling out several packs of hundred-dollar bills, he found none of them crumbled or torn as if rodents had been at them, no corners chewed by marauding ground squirrels. He tucked a thousand dollars in his left boot, folded a thousand more in his pants pocket, left the rest in the saddlebags, and tied them shut. He covered the hole, scattered sand and debris across so the ground looked untouched.

Carrying the saddlebags, he headed down the mountain, sliding on his heels in a couple of steep places. At the Chevy he shoved them under the front seat, slid into the warm car, and drove on down, thinking again about the gray gelding.

He knew he couldn?t take the gray with him, that was kidding himself. But he?d like one last look, like to know the gray had found a good home, know he was all right. Easing the Chevy on past the old barn, he turned in the direction of the lone ranch, the old Emerson place.

It wasn?t far, a couple of miles. A pair of stone pillars supported a wrought-iron sign: J. J. EMERSON. Parking the Chevy across the road, he slipped in through the gate, shutting it behind him, and headed on foot up the long, rutted drive. Strange, even with all the hill-climbing and digging, his lungsweren?t bothering him too bad. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush of having the money safe. Rocky hills rose behind the ranch house, sparse with brown winter grass. A herd of Hereford cattle was being moved, worked slowly down toward the corrals that surrounded the faded ranch house. He saw the gray, a kid was riding him, likely one of the rancher?s boys, a slight youngster of twelve or so. The three riders pushed the herd in between board fences that funneled them into a catch pen. Lee watched the kid spin the gray to turn back a reluctant steer, hustling the steer on through the gate but never tightening the reins. He watched the way the gelding moved, loose reined and easy, and the sight put a grin on Lee?s face. He hungered to have the gray back, to have him for his own.

The two older riders began to separate the cattle, moving the younger steers into a long chute. The gray?s rider moved away as if their part of the job was done, eased the gray into a small corral without lifting the reins, dismounted, pulled off the heavy saddle and slung it on the fence. Reaching up, the rider took off the wide-brimmed hat that provided shade from the desert sun, releasing a cascade of long blond hair, bright and clean looking. Lee watched the girl pull off her Levi?s coat, revealing a slim female form beneath her Western shirt. A child of maybe thirteen, a little older than Sammie. A child living the life Mae had wanted to live, the life Sammie had never been exposed to,and that was a pity. Lee watched this young girl doing what she loved, doing what she was meant to do. He watched her remove the gray?s bridle, slip a rope halter on him, and tie him to the fence.

She left the corral, returned with a bucket and carrying a sponge and rags. Lee watched her fill the bucket from a tap and hose next to the fencepost, watched her sponge the gray, starting with the sweaty saddle mark, sloshing the sweat off real good, the gray flicking his tail and tossing his head with pleasure. He liked it even better when she turned the hose on him, sloshed him all over, washed his face and wiped out his eyes, the good gelding snorting and shaking himself and asking for more. Lee looked him over, the good shape he was in, well fed but not fat, his hooves neatly trimmed and shod. The girl knew he was watching, but she gave no sign. She swiped the excess water off the gray?s back and rump and neck with a rounded metal tool. She hugged the gray, soaking the front of her shirt, hugged him again, removed his halter, slapped him on the rump, and laughed as he spun away, running the length of the corral.

At the far end he lay down and rolled, twisting this way and that, making a muddy mess of himself. When the girl turned to look at Lee, her gaze was wary, questioning. Lee knew what she was thinking: This horse had appeared at the ranch running loose, no brand, no mark of an owner. They?d taken him in, a nice horse like this. Maybe they?d looked for the owner, maybe not.

Did she think Lee was the owner, that he?d found the gelding at last, after all this time, and had come to claim him?

It was strange they didn?t know where the gray came from. Lee had bought him not that far away, out on the other side of Blythe. Ranchers, horsemen, they knew every horse for miles.

Or maybe these folks did know who?d owned him? Had old bowlegged Rod Kendall, who?d sold him the gray, had he for some reason not wanted the gelding back? Didn?t have the money, or the man?s health was failing? The girl watched Lee, assessing him, her look far older than her youth.

?Rod Kendall died last fall,? she said. ?You the fellow who bought the gray from him? Smoke. I call him Smoke.? Lee was silent, watching her. ?He?s not for sale,? she said. ?I don?t know how you lost him or why it took you so long to come for him. I figure, you abandon a horse like that for over a year, it?s finders keepers. He?s not for sale.?

Lee laughed.?I didn?t come to buy him. Where I?m headed, the way I?m traveling, I couldn?t take him with me. I just wanted a last look, see what kind of shape he?s in.?

Her look eased. The gray trotted back across the corral to shake mud over her, but when he saw Lee he nickered and trotted over, leaned over the fence nuzzling at him, stirring a pain in Lee?s heart. Lee scratched his neck, scratched under his forelock and behind his ears, then gave him a little push, moving him back toward the girl. The gray laid his head on her shoulder, pushing mud into her pale hair. She scratched his ears absently.

?Just came for a last look,? Lee repeated. ?Have to be on my way.? He looked the gray over good, filling up on the sight of him. He looked hard at the girl, wishing Sammie could live like this, with a good horse to love, free of the hard times, free of the haunts that plagued her.

?Means a lot to me,? Lee said, ?that you love him, that he?s with you and cared for.? He reached through the fence and they shook hands solemnly. Then Lee turned away, walked back up the road, got in his car feeling old and alone, and headed for Mexico.

He wasn?t alone long when the ghost cat settled beside him, warm and purring, and Lee knew, hoped he knew, that the spirit cat would stay with him for a while, maybe continue to move between Lee himself and Sammie for as long as he remained in ghost form. Who knew how long that would be, until Misto mustreturn to the world of the living? However long, Lee was glad for his company.

So it was that Lee and Misto worked their way south until they crossed the border to travel along the Mexican side; skirting Arizona, moving down into Sonora, Lee looked south across sage and mesquite to the distant gulf, imagining a small village right on the shore, a little empty hacienda waiting for him.

Each night he slept in the locked car, gun at hand. On a night when he?d parked beneath a grove of tamarisk trees, as he lay dozing, the moon filtering light down through the lacy branches, the ghost cat brought him awake, rubbing against Lee?s face. ?Just for a little while,? Misto whispered. And he disappeared, gone into another element. Only his last wordslingered. ?Sammie?s lonely, too, she needs a snuggle, too.?

MISTO WOULD RETURN to ride with Lee, watching over the old train robber as Lee headed at last where he longed to be. And though sadness filled the ghost cat that the old man traveled alone, he knew that could change. This night as Misto departed, willing himself back to Rome, slipping beneath the covers into Sammie?s arms, she woke and hugged him. ?Lee?s all right?? she whispered. ?You?ll keep him safe, you won?t leave him for long??

He pressed his nose against her warm cheek.?I will return to him, I will travel with him, just as I will be with you.?

?I saw him dig up money,? she whispered. ?Lots of money. Will that put him in danger?Will he be all right? Oh, Misto, will he be safe? And happy??

?The gods willing,? Misto said, ?I will tell you how he fares, and I can bring him messages. Will that please you??

?Oh, yes,? she whispered, hugging him tighter. ?But what happens when you must be born again? Then what will happen to Lee??

?My life on earth is but an instant, in the eternal warp of time. But always, as spirit, I am with you and with Lee, I can move anywhere, into any time. Always I will be with you, we belong together. Wherever I am, my spirit self is near.?

Yawning, Sammie kissed Misto?s nose. Holding him close, she drifted into dreams where for a few moments she felt herself a part of eternity, was lifted up into an incomprehensible freedom that buoyed and strengthened her. ?Wherever I am in endless time,? Misto repeated, purring, ?I will be with you, forever I am with you.?