Point Ultimate Page 4

  He felt better after he had eaten a little of what Mrs. Tisdail had prepared for him, washing it down with water from the flask.

  He relived what had gone on at the Tisdails’ as he did so, and he wondered how things were with her at that moment.

  He looked up through the tall trees to the moon, guessed from its position it was long after midnight. Then he looked for a likely place to spread the blanket. Two trees growing close together on a small rise about twenty feet away seemed to offer the best place. It had the further protection of shadow from the foliage of nearby trees.

  In a few minutes Emmett had the blanket rolled about himself in the natural hollow at the roots, his head resting on a large root branch for a pillow, his eyes on the sky and a few cloud formations that marched along. It made him feel as if he were on some large boat, sailing smoothly over a quiet sea, the trees being the masts. He felt very serene. . . .

  The snap of a twig jarred him suddenly to wakefulness.

  Emmett’s nerves jangled with a sense of emergency, yet he did not move. Something had awakened him. But what?

  He saw nothing except the profusion of the thicket on the other side of the small clearing, the trees stretching higher than he could see without turning his head. There was a breeze now. He could hear the sough of it through the leaves. But otherwise nothing had changed.

  Then he heard the cracking of small branches and underbrush. It grew louder.

  Now he could hear voices.

  Had they hunted him down?

  Emmett threw off the blanket carefully, found his sleeper and knife, crouched in the shadows.

  The snapping and crackling seemed to pervade the entire area now. His grip tightened on the gun.

  Then he saw them, a group of shadowy figures moving single file across the clearing. They moved sw’iftly, did not seem to be looking for anyone. At least they did not look to the right or left; they kept their eyes straight ahead. Occasionally he heard a voice.

  The string of people passed within a hundred feet of him, and he assumed, when the last one had disappeared, that this was all. He was about to get up when he heard more voices, saw another group closer now. These were not in single file but in twos and threes. And then they had passed from view. There was only one last person lagging behind a little, within fifteen feet of him.

  Emmett watched the last figure move across the clearing, limping a little. When it reached the rise on the other side, in full view and silhouetted against the sky, it stopped and sat down, removing a shoe.

  Emmett rose cautiously, moved behind the twin trees where he had made his bed, made a wide circle through the underbrush, his eyes never leaving the person on the rise. These people were not looking for Emmett Keyes. That much was plain. And they did not fear detection. Otherwise no one would stop in plain sight and remove a shoe.

  Once Emmett stepped on a twig. It snapped with a sound that was like thunder in his ears. He froze.

  The person on the hill glanced toward him, then returned to the shoe.

  Clouds often darkened Emmett’s view of the rise. He could not then be sure that the person was still there. But each time the moon brightened the area he saw the figure. The person was through with the shoe now and seemed to be resting.

  When Emmett had wormed his way to within six feet of the person’s back, the figure rose and started off in the direction of the others.

  Hoping the companions had gone far beyond hearing, Emmett ignored caution, jumped out of the bushes and rushed the figure.

  It whirled. Emmett saw a surprised face brightened by moonlight before he threw himself at the knees.

  They both fell heavily to the ground.

  Emmett rolled a little, darted his arm out around the other’s neck. He sat up. There was a furious squirming, a clawing at Emmett’s arms and hands. The fingernails were long and sharp and felt like razors drawn across the fingers and knuckles.

  He looked down and saw the hair of his opponent and let loose of—her.

  She wrenched away, breathing in gasps, one hand on the ground for support, the other on her throat. She turned her head and the moonlight brightened her pale face, dark eyes and black hair. She looked at him furiously.

  Emmett could only gaze at her in astonishment.

  “You . . . you . . . !” She compressed her lips and shook her head angrily.

  “I didn’t know you were a girl.”

  “You nearly choked me to death.”

  She massaged her throat, coughed several times, continued to shake her head. Finally, she brushed back a few wayward strands of hair, tucked them in place, and rose. She was dressed in a short dark jacket, slacks and—she looked for and found her hat, a shapeless felt. She put it on her head. It didn’t look bad there at all, Emmett decided, getting up.

  They stood looking at each other.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “Why did you attack me?”

  “You lost the battle,” Emmett said. “You’re the one who’s going to answer the questions.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Is that so? Well, we’ll see about that. The boys will be back directly.”

  “The boys?”

  “Yes, the boys.”

  “I’m not waiting for any boys,” Emmett said, reaching out for her hand. “You come along with me.”

  She eluded his grasp, turned and ran.

  He sped after her, caught her arm and spun her around.

  For a moment they stood together like dancers, breathing hard at each other. She was young, a head shorter than he and her eyes looked up unflinchingly into his. He liked the smell of her, the size of her. He tightened the grip on her arm behind her. She involuntarily moved hard against him. She snorted and shoved him away.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll come. But you can do what you like, 111 not answer any questions.”

  He led her back to the twin trees.

  “You were sleeping here?” she asked in surprise. “Why?”

  “Why not? A man has to sleep, doesn’t he?”

  “But in a place like this?”

  “I can think of worse places.”

  She sat on a thick root and looked at him. “I don’t know of anybody these days who sleeps in the woods.”

  “What were you doing in the woods?”

  “What were you doing in the woods?”

  Emmett grinned. He saw her look at his teeth. “You’re the hardest woman to get an answer out of I ever saw. What’s your name?”

  “What’s yours?”

  He stopped grinning. “I could get you to answer. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe. But you wouldn’t know if it’s the truth or not. And they’d find you and you’d be sorry.”

  “Who’d find me, the boys?”

  She nodded.

  “Who are ‘the boys’? Your brothers?”

  “Maybe.”

  She presented a comely picture in the moonlight, sitting on the root, her arms behind her and supporting her, one trousered leg atop the other, the foot moving a little. How in the world could he have thought her a man? At a hundred feet it should have been obvious. But then, he had not been expecting a woman.

  Emmett tried to analyze what drew him to her. Perhaps it was the moonlight that softened her face. Maybe it was her hair, for there was a lot of it and it flowed away in gentle curves from her forehead back to her shoulders. Or was it her challenging, unafraid manner? There were no girls like this in Spring Creek. . . .

  He watched her, saw her take a piece of yarn from a jacket pocket and tie up her hair. As she did so, her jacket pulled open at the front and he could see the press of breasts against the blouse there. He caught his breath, looked away.

  Then he was conscious of her eyes on him. Damn it! Why did he have to feel like a schoolboy before her?

  “You make a habit of this, I see,” she said.

  He looked up, wondering what she meant, saw that she was looking at the equipment near his blanket.

  “What
are you running away from?”

  “Maybe I’m just touring the country.”

  “Nobody tours the country. Unless he has a permit. And if you had a permit you wouldn’t be doing it like this.”

  “But this way I get close to the earth and people. You, for example.”

  “And far from commie eyes, is that it?”

  “That depends on who you are.” Emmett fondled the sleeper. “And what you are.”

  “Well, I’m not a commie, if that’s any help,” she said. “My guess is you’re not either.”

  “If there’s anything opposite to a commie, I’m it.”

  “You feel that strongly about it?”

  “More strongly than that.”

  “There ought to be more of you.”

  “You mean more of us, don’t you?” He darted a sharp glance at her.

  “Of course.”

  It didn’t sound convincing. But she was right about the questions. How could he tell which were true answers and which not —even if he should wring her neck, and he had no desire to do that. If she had been less attractive, less agreeable and less friendly, he might have been more militant about the interrogation, but her decisiveness and her confidence didn’t help.

  What to do with her? He puzzled over several ideas, decided the best thing would be to send her on her way and to move in the opposite direction at top speed. That was the only sure, safe thing to do. But he found himself putting off the move.

  “Why so quiet all of a sudden?”

  ‘Tm trying to decide what to do with you.”

  “Oh?” She smiled. “Don’t I have anything to say about it?” “Not a damn thing,” he said sharply. “Maybe I should just sleep you and move on. It’s a cinch I can’t get any information out of you.”

  “Is that really a sleeper?” she asked.

  “Yes, it’s a sleeper. I’ve used it twice already today.”

  ‘Where did you get it?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I’d like very much to know.”

  ‘Why?”

  She smiled again. She turned her head slightly as if listening. It seemed to Emmett he had heard a sound, too.

  “I think the boys are coming,” she said. “I told you they would.”

  From out of the clearing behind her came two figures.

  CHAPTER - 5

  The two figures were men dressed as the girl was, in dark felt hats, jackets and trousers. The moonlight was behind them, their faces were in shadow.

  As they approached, Emmett rose, his sleeper in his hand.

  “You can put that away,” the girl said, rising. “We’re your friends.”

  “Yeah,” Emmett said drily, “Eve heard that before. It seems everybody wants to be friends with me. But it always turns out bad for me.”

  “What happened, Ivy?” one of the men asked, joining her. Emmett kept the gun ready, but the two made no menacing move.

  “I got something in my shoe,” Ivy said. “I stopped to get it out and the next thing I knew”—and she indicated Emmett with a nod of her head—“he had tackled me.”

  The two men looked at him.

  “He means no harm,” Ivy said. “We’ve been having a session of questions without answers. Only I think he’s even more curious than I. He was sleeping right by the trees here.”

  “We stopped at the road,” one said. “When we counted, you were missing.”

  “Did the rest go on ahead?”

  "They’re probably at the point right now.”

  "Good. We mustn’t keep them waiting.”

  "You’d better come along with us, Mister.”

  Emmett advanced a step, put the gun out where they could see it. "And I think you’d better stay here. I have a lot more questions to ask.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ivy said, "but we’ve got to go. Perhaps if you go with us some of your questions will be answered. We can’t leave you here.”

  "You forget that I could keep you all here and ask questions of you after you awaken.”

  They stood looking at him.

  Suddenly an arm from behind circled his throat, he was tripped and fell violently to the ground. The fall knocked the wind out of him.

  A moment later he saw there were three men. And the girl was standing over him with his sleeper in her hand.

  "We wanted to save you that embarrassment,” she said. "Now I have your gun and in a moment I’ll have your knife. Then you’d better gather up the rest of your equipment and come with us.”

  "Are you sure he’s all right?” one of them asked.

  "No,” the girl said. "But he said he was anti-commie.”

  Ivy stood by while they helped Emmett pack his few belongings. Then they set out across the clearing, Emmett sandwiched between a lead man and the girl. They did not talk but walked briskly, moving like shadows among the bushes and trees with such a definiteness of direction he wondered how often they made the trip.

  They came to a road and paused. One of the men moved across first, then waved the others to come. Once on the other side, they started through a plowed field with undiminished pace.

  In ten minutes they came to a large outbuilding. It was dark, but a few whispered words opened a door and they passed through to a lighted interior.

  It was an old implement shed, illuminated by a single gas lantern hung over a rafter in the center of the room. There were new boards where the windows had been. The shed was nearly devoid of farm devices, but it was filled with eyes—eyes that bored into his, some of them distrusting, others fearful, several curious. The eyes and the shadows on the old walls belonged to half-a-dozen men and more than twenty women, all dressed in dark clothes.

  “Who is this?” asked a lean, tall man who moved toward them from a small group on the far side of the room. His voice was low, clipped and authoritative. As he neared him, Emmett saw that his clothes, while dark, were tailored to fit him. And he saw too the alert blue eyes, the sureness of step, the air of authority.

  Ivy spoke up. “He’s a man who held me up for a while. He was sleeping in the woods, says he hates commies.”

  “Really?” The eyes crinkled in amusement. “Do you hate commies?”

  “Yes,” Emmett said. “Does it make a difference?”

  “Let’s see your hands.”

  Emmett hesitated, wondering why this man, so evidently the leader of the group, should make such a request.

  “Let’s see them,” he commanded. When Emmett still hesitated, he grabbed a hand, felt of the wrist, looked at his identification on the left forearm, then examined the right.

  “What’s your name?”

  “You’re lucky if you get him to tell you,” Ivy said. “I tried hard to find out myself.”

  “Elmer Pease,” Emmett answered. “What’s yours?”

  “Where are you from, Elmer?”

  “I’ll tell you that when you tell me who you are and what all these people are doing here.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Also,” Ivy said, offering the gun and the knife, “he had these.”

  The leader took them. He examined them for a moment, then looked at Emmett. “Where did you get these?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “A little unusual, carrying a sleeper, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Only commies carry sleepers,” someone ventured.

  “And Enemies,” someone else added.

  “He ain’t got the build for an Enemy. He ain’t fat enough.”

  There was laughter at this. Emmett looked around at the faces. They were not friendly now.

  “They’re right, you know,” the man said. “Can you explain?”

  “I can explain,” Emmett said evenly, “but I’ll be damned if I will.”

  The leader stared at him for a moment, then he held up the gun to see it better in the glow of the lantern. “Serial Number AK2560892. Model six. I’d like to know who this sleeper belongs to.”

  Emmett was s
urprised when the man turned his back and walked away.

  He turned to Ivy. “Friendly bunch,” he said.

  She eyed him coldly, said nothing.

  Emmett now was conscious of the stares of those in the room. As he stared back he tried to make sense out of it all—this gathering, the predominance of young women, the trek through the woods. But nothing jelled. The only thing that didn’t puzzle him was what they wore. Dark clothing would be less conspicuous at night in the woods.

  They seemed to be waiting for something, these people. They didn’t even speak to each other. It was uncomfortable and nerve jangling. He looked at the leader who now sat on an old sawhorse. Others looked at him, too, but none of them talked to him. He turned to look at Ivy. A nice name, he thought, viewing the pale, smooth skin of her face. The moonlight hadn’t lied; she was still lovely. Dark eyes, delicate nose, full lips. Red lips. And flowing hair. She, too, was watching the man who had spoken to him, a man who now sat lost in thought, staring at the wide boards of the shed floor.

  For what seemed an interminable length of time the man sat there, looking as if he were arguing with himself. This puzzled Emmett still more. Finally he appeared to have come to some conclusion, rose and came to Emmett swiftly.

  He didn’t like what he saw in his eyes.

  “Why did you lie about your name?” he asked.

  Ivy muffled a cry and moved away. Everyone was looking at him now, and some of them moved toward him. Emmett put down a feeling of panic. How did he know he had lied? Was it a wild guess? A bluff?

  “What makes you think I was lying?” Emmett asked with as much conviction as he could muster.

  “Your name is Emmett Keyes and you live in Spring Creek,” the leader said. “And you are carrying a sleeper assigned to a man named Cadwallader Tisdail.”

  “Tisdail!” One of the men ran up to the leader. “He’s a commie if I ever saw one. He lives on a farm about twenty miles south of here.”

  “I would suggest that you tell us how you manage to have a commie sleeper, Mr. Keyes. And in the meantime—” He nodded to the men.

  Emmett was seized roughly, his bag taken, his pockets emptied. And all the while his brain groped for the answer to how this man could have known his name, the fact that the sleeper belonged to Tisdail. It was impossible! But still it had happened and while he was being held, others were spreading his belongings on the blanket.