Brian Garfield by Tripwire Read Free Book Online

“He has the fever,” as if in apology.
    â€œHe has chills?”
    â€œFrequently.”
    â€œWhen the chills start you should cover him up. Keep him covered and get all the water down him he can swallow.”
    Her eyes beseeched. “Is that all one can do?”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do? Hold his hand?”
    â€œWill he be better?”
    â€œHe’ll be better or he’ll be dead.” He turned. “You ought to tell that little girl to wear a hat in this sun.”
    Boag sank down in the patch of shade beside the old man. “What happened to your mules?” The iron rim of the wheel was hot against his back.
    â€œTwo Mojaves came here the night before last night,” the woman said. “They ate our meal with us and then stole our mules and our cow.”
    â€œNo mules,” Boag said weakly. He roused himself: “How do you expect to get anywhere without mules, you damn fools?” But it was in English, this last, and they only gave him puzzled looks, the woman and the girl; the old man’s eyelids had sagged and he wasn’t listening. Boag wiped a forearm across his face and looked at the river and saw that this had been a ferry landing at one time. The wreckage of a ferry-raft was tied up on the far side of the river.
    The wind came damp and sultry off the river. He was thinking that old wreck of a ferry would make a good enough raft if he could find some kind of pole to steer it with. Maybe that wagon tongue of theirs.
    The old woman had got started and seemed unable to stop talking now. “We have seen much misfortune. The revolution has destroyed my husband’s properties. We must go to my uncle in California, in the county of Tuolumne.”
    â€œWhat revolution?”
    â€œIn Sonora the revolution.”
    They were always having revolutions in the northern provinces but he hadn’t heard about a current one. “Tell me about that.”
    â€œHow can I tell you anything while my husband is so ill? We must get him across the river. This desert is a poor place for a proud man to die. He must be brought to our family in Tuolumne.”
    The wagon’s stripe of shade was very thin. Boag said, “You’d better get him under the wagon.”
    He sat frowning at the river while the old woman struggled with the old man’s weight. “ Nina, come and help me.”
    The little girl moved reluctantly; they struggled and the old man tried to assist them but he seemed weak to the point of helplessness. It was curious he had been able to hold the rifle.
    The old woman sat down by Boag. “There is no one to rob here except ourselves, and we are poor, it would not be worth your trouble. You must either go back in the desert or swim across the river. But you cannot go back, for you have no horse. What happened to your horse?”
    â€œYou will hurt yourself talking so much.”
    â€œI have nothing to do but talk, and you have little to do but listen. You cannot return into the desert with that injured leg. You must swim across. I only ask that you carry the end of the rope and tie it to the ferryboat. When you have done that, we can pull the ferry across to us.”
    â€œYou have a long enough rope?”
    â€œWe have three riatas and if they are tied together they are very long.”
    â€œYou are mistaken. Three riatas would be two hundred feet, perhaps three hundred feet of rope. From here to the other shore is four times that distance. Perhaps more.”
    â€œThere must be a method,” she said with stubborn helplessness.
    â€œWhat if I say you can die without my help?”
    â€œThen that is what we shall do, is it not?”
    â€œWhat if you do get to the far side? You still have no mules.”
    â€œBut we shall be in California then.”
    â€œWhat difference does that make? It is still the same desert.”
    The old woman seemed puzzled and confused. He saw that she had been doing the same