The Interlopers

32

IT WAS WARM AND PLEASANT IN the big cook tent with the fire crackling in the stove and a kerosene lantern throwing a yellow light over the table on which lay, now, just one exhibit: a businesslike 7mm Magnum rifle equipped with a six-power telescopic sight. One collar was back on the pup; the other had been tossed aside. Grant Nystrom's revolver was back under my belt, which had been returned to duty, and the Buck knife was back in my pocket; but neither of these was apt to do me much good in this mountainous country, dealing with an expert and well-equipped long-range rifleman. Holz was no fuzzy-faced boy with a woodchuck gun. If I could stalk within two hundred yards of him without getting shot, I'd be doing well. But first I had to find him.

Libby said angrily, "Matthew Helm, if you don't cut me loose this minute, I… I'll…" She was so mad she couldn't finish the sentence.

I looked at her where she'd been bedded down comfortably near the stove. Her hair was mussed and her face was pink and lovely among the rough blankets.

I said, "You're warm and dry. You couldn't go anywhere even if you weren't tied up. Now shut up and let me figure something out, will you?"

"But I don't understand! It's so damn unreasonable, darling. You can't think I-"

"Look," I said warily, "at the moment, strange as it may seem and unflattering though it may be, I don't have time to think about you at all. That's why you're tied up, so I don't have to think about you. When I've taken care of Mr. Wood, I'll deal with y7u. Maybe I'll apologize. Maybe I'll even bend over and let you kick me hard. Okay? In the meantime, just be quiet."

"Well, I don't know what you expect to accomplish by just sitting there staring at that silly rifle-.-" I drew a long breath and took a handkerchief from my pocket. It wasn't very clean. I twisted it to form a loose rope, deliberately.

"If you insist," I said, "if you absolutely insist on being gagged as well as tied-"

"Matt, you wouldn't dare!"

I started to rise, but settled again as Pat Bellman entered the tent. She had a yellow cartridge box in her hand, and for a moment I was hopeful, then I saw that it was too small to hold the long Magnum cartridges.

"I found this box of thirty-thirties in the little tent," Pat said.

"No seven emm-emms?"

"Nothing," she said. "If you saw a box here, he took it with him."

I sighed. "Okay. At least we can load up the two carbines, one for you and one for Les. How's he doing with the horses?"

She laughed. "Well, just between you and me, he's a nice guy but a horseman he isn't. I'd better go out and help him before he spooks them all clear above the Arctic Circle."

"Sure." As she turned away, I rose and followed her outside. It was frosty and dark out there but a hint of dawn showed in the sky over the east rim of the valley. "Pat," I said.

She stopped and turned slowly to face me. I couldn't make out her expression, only the tousled blond hair and the long, slim, half-boyish figure.

"Yes?" she said warily.

"Thanks," I said. "I don't know why you did it, Skinny, but thanks."

"Go to hell," she said. "It was something to do. For kicks. You were so damned experienced and ruthless and professional. I got a big bang out of helping the great man out when he got himself all loused up like an ordinary human being."

"Sure."

"I still say it's all a big, bad joke. One side is as good as another, yours and that of the guy who just rode out of here. Or as bad. But I drove clear to Alaska to find some action, and your side happened to be where it was. I just took a piece of it, that's all."

"Sure," I said again.

"Besides, I did owe you something for turning me loose back there. I don't like being in anybody's debt. Now we're even… I'll see if I can't round up some of those nags." She started to turn away.

"One more thing," I said, and she stopped. "How much help was the pup, really? I'm curious."

I saw her look back at me and grin. "Well, he found us two coveys of ptarmigan and one bull moose," she said. "No, actually he did help, but it wasn't a hard trail to follow, four horses in all that soft stuff. But he made a swell diversion when we got here, didn't he? I kind of figured on that."

She was quite a girl. I watched her go off toward the open meadow. Holz had taken the only horse that was tied. The rest had been hobbled and turned loose, and you'd be surprised at how well an experienced wilderness horse can get around with his forelegs roped together. Well, that was her problem.

I went back to mine, which was very simple. The big Magnum rifle held three cartridges in the magazine. It could have held a fourth in the chamber, but Jack hadn't put one in. He'd been riding, and you don't carry a rifle in a saddle scabbard with a live round under the firing pin unless you're stupid, optimistic, or suicidal. Nor do you chamber a round in camp unless you're planning to shoot something right away. Apparently, he hadn't really expected trouble.

Three cartridges ought to be enough, with a properly sighted-in rifle. The question I had to answer was: Had Holz sighted in this gun carefully, and was it still on target? Presumably he had his number-one weapon with him. This was just his spare rifle, lent to Jack. Just how careful had he, or Jack, been about seeing that it shot where it looked? If I made the stalk and found a mark to aim at, would the bullet go where the cross hairs indicated?

I sighed. I was just kidding myself, trying to convince myself that I didn't have to waste any of my precious three cartridges. There's only one way to find out if a rifle is shooting right for you, and that is to shoot it, no matter what kind of a genius-marksman fired it before you. To go hunting a fellow specialist like Holz without first checking my weapon would be sheer lunacy on my part.

Waiting, I cooked some breakfast and listened absently to the wheedling and abuse put out by Libby, on the floor. It didn't bother me, now that I knew what I had to do. When there was clear daylight at the tent door, I bent down and kissed her.

She said, "Damn you, Matt."

"You're a lovely thing," I said. "You just talk too much. Be good."

I took the rifle and went out, cut a round white blaze in the bark of a nearby tree, and paced off one hundred yards. I lay down and adjusted the rifle sling to my measurements, chambered one third of my ammunition supply, and took careful aim. When the cross hairs were absolutely steady on the improvised target, I let the piece fire. Then I walked over there and looked at the result: a little black hole just three inches above my point of aim, exactly where it should have been to keep the bullet on a man-sized target out to roughly three hundred yards. Well,, now I knew.

I pulled the bolt to eject the empty case, worked a fresh cartridge into the chamber, and set the safety carefully, as Davis came running up with Pat right behind him.

"What is it?" Davis panted. "What's the matter? Did you see Mr. Wood? Why did you shoot?"

"I was just checking the gun," I said. "It shoots fine."

"Just checking… but you only had three cartridges!"

"And now I have two, but I know what they'll do when I fire them," I said. "Well, it's about time I was on my way."

"Where are you going?"

"Up there." I pointed. "That spot up there on the mountainside above the little lake we passed. You crossed the rockslide if you were following our trail. Mr. Wood is sitting right above it this minute. He's got to be. From there he can watch this camp-he's probably got his scope on us right now, and he's wishing we were about a mile closer. But he's not going to come after us, because we're doing him no harm here. What he's got to make sure of is that none of us gets back to civilization in time to pass the word about the plane that's coming in this afternoon."

Pat said, "You're sure there'll be a plane?"

"He was sure," I said. "And that's why he's not going to play Indian in the brush; one of us might slip out while he was doing it. He's just going to sit tight at the head of the rockslide where he can watch the camp and cover the only trail out of here-the only trail we know. From there, he can keep us from leaving, and at the same time he can pick us off if we try to interfere when the plane does come. At the last minute, he'll scramble down the rocks, jump aboard, and fly off with the NCS material in his shirt pocket."

Pat was watching me closely. She said, "So you're standing in the open arid waving your arms to tell him exactly what you're going to do."

I grinned. "He knows what I'm going to do, Skinny. He knows I'm coming after him. That is, he's almost sure. But if I'm real obvious about it-sighting in my gun where he can see me, and pointing out my objective dramatically-he may get a few doubts. He may just start wondering if I'm being tricky, and if so, how. The suspense will do him good." I looked at the two of them. "Stay here. Don't take any chances with Mr. Wood. You can't do a thing to help me with those damn little hundred-and-fifty-yard carbines, so don't try. And don't take any chances with the lady in the tent, either. She may just be the greatest, sweetest person in the world, but… wait a minute. Les, how well do you know your chief?"

"Mr. Ryerson? Ronnie's dad? Well, he's not the palsywalsy type of boss. I wouldn't say any of us really knows him, even Ronnie."

"Ryerson, eh?" At last I could stop thinking of them as Smith, Junior, and Senior. "Then you wouldn't be really startled to learn that he was running another organization parallel with yours, only much more secretive and uninhibited?"

Lester Davis frowned. "You mean… you mean you think he's just using us as a screen, a cover, for another…?" He stopped, and considered the proposition. Then he shrugged. "I really couldn't say, Mr. Helm. Of course if he were doing that, we'd be the last to know, wouldn't we?"

"That's right," I said. "Well, Libby Meredith claims to be one of his super-secret, lower-level operatives. Or upper-level, depending on how you look at it. A colleague of yours, no less. Maybe she is. It remains to be proved. In the meantime, she stays tied. You get the horses rounded up and wait for me."

Pat Bellman hesitated. "How long do we wait?"

I said, "Until you hear some shooting up there, and about half an hour longer. If I'm not back by then, I won't be back, and you'll be on your own…"