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  She had me in such a cross-fire by now I couldn’t even think. I just looked at her stupidly. “You got what?”

  “Caught. You know. As in caught. I think I’m pregnant.”

  “Well, why tell me? After all, you’re married.”

  “I just thought you might be interested.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Look,” she said. “I’ll show you.”

  At first I thought she had gone crazy, and then I was sure of it. She was just staring down into the ravine. The place we were standing was a little to one side of the sawdust pile, on the brink of the ravine itself. The sawdust was stacked up maybe as high as a two-storey house, and as the pile had grown and spread while the mill was operating, it had edged further out all the time until the back edge of it spilled over the bank. It was very steep and probably fifty or seventy-five feet to the bottom. You couldn’t be sure, however. It was very dark down there in the trees and you couldn’t see the bottom.

  But it was what she did next that got me. She just jumped, without any warning at all, right out on to the steep slope of the sawdust. An avalanche of the stuff carried away and went down with her as she rolled and slid out of sight into the dense shadow below me. I stared down, completely speechless with amazement.

  She’s a psycho, I thought. She’s completely off her trolley. One minute she’s a blackmailer as cagey as Kruschev, and the next she wants to gambol half-naked on a pile of sawdust like a babe on an absinthe jag. It made me cold to think about it. This was the oversexed and rudderless maniac who could throw me back to the cops any time.

  I looked down and I could see the white gleam of her in the edge of the shadows. She was trying to come back up, and she was doing it the hard way. Instead of going down the ravine to a place she could walk out, she was trying to climb right up that steep incline of loose sawdust. She was sinking in it halfway up her thighs, like a man walking in deep snow, and every few feet she’d start a new avalanche and lose the little she’d gained. It was man-killing work. She fought it with a fury I didn’t know she had in her. Every time she’d slide back she’d tear into it again, lifting her legs high and battling it. It would have killed anyone with a bad heart. I watched her fight her way up the last few feet and then collapse exhausted on the edge of the slope. The laboured sound of her breathing seemed to fill the night.

  “Well!” She stopped and took a long, shaky breath. “How was that?”

  “All right, I guess, if you enjoyed it.”

  “Enjoyed it? Are you silly!”

  “Well, what’d you do it for?”

  “Don’t be stupid, darling. I just told you.”

  Suddenly the light burst on me. She hadn’t blown her top at all. The whole thing had been quite sane and deadly. “You mean, just throwing yourself down the hill like that—?”

  She laughed then. “No, dear. Not falling down the hill. Climbing back up.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It always works for me. I’m lucky that way.”

  It began to come home to me then that maybe I didn’t know all there was to know about her. I began to sense a steel-trap deadliness of purpose operating somewhere behind that baby stare and sensuous face. She was as tough as a shark, and she got what she wanted. She’d be hard to whip, because she got fat on her enemies. She got in trouble on a sawdust pile, so she used the sawdust pile to cure it.

  She motioned to me to squat down beside her. “Light me a cigarette, Harry?” she said.

  I got one out, and in the brief, yellow flare of the match she looked up at me with eyes that were almost black. Her face and body were shiny with sweat, and sawdust was sticking to her and to her clothes.

  She glanced down at herself. “Damn,” she said. “I should have taken them off, shouldn’t I?”

  She reached coolly around behind her and unsnapped the halter and slipped out of it. She shook it, and then brushed carelessly at the sawdust on her breasts. I was still holding the cigarette and the match. She looked up at my face and smiled at what she saw there, then reached out and took the cigarette from me. The match burned down and scorched the ends of my fingers. I cursed, my voice sounding strange and almost unrecognizable.

  “Poor old Harry,” she said tantalizingly, out of the sudden darkness. “He doesn’t like me.”

  “You lousy little witch,” I said, trying to talk past the choking tightness in my throat. “What’s it got to do with liking you?”

  “I told you we were a lot alike, didn’t I?”

  “Yes. And don’t do it again.”

  I saw the red trail of the cigarette as she threw it out into the darkness of the ravine. She took hold of my hand and placed it against her cheek. “Lean down, Harry. You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

  I leaned down. I couldn’t help it. There was a roaring like a big river inside my head. I shifted the hand down to her throat. “I’ll kill you,” I said. “So help me, I’ll kill you.”

  “No, you won’t,” she said softly. “Not now. Just kiss me now.”

  Her arms went up around my neck and tightened. And then we were slipping over the edge. Another big slide of sawdust gave way and we were half-buried in it, locked together and tumbling, sliding, rolling over and over all the way to the bottom. We came to rest somewhere at last and the world stopped whirling and settled into place. Her arms were still tight around me and her lips were against my ear. They were moving, and the whisper was ragged and frantic, and then incoherent in its urgency. It was very dark there in the ravine under the trees. It was just as well.

  “And you thought you could leave me.”

  I lay there, hating her, not touching her but knowing how near she was in the darkness. I didn’t say anything.

  “You and that prissy little owl. That Sunday-school kid. You think you could leave me for her?”

  “I told you. I’m through. This is the last time.”

  “That’s what you think.

  “About us. We belong together. If you left me, you’d come back. What’s the use of trying to kid yourself? We’re just two people who take what we want, and we belong together. We need each other. You said I was a tramp; well, did you ever stop to think you’re one too?”

  “So you admit it? Why’d you throw an ice-cube tray at me that night?”

  “I’m just touchy when I’m drunk. I don’t know why. I always suspect everybody of thinking I’m a bitch. And when I’m sober I couldn’t care less.”

  “Well, that’s a break.”

  “Why?”

  “Is there anybody who thinks you’re not one?”

  “You couldn’t prove it by me. But I do all right. So do you. I know what I want, and I get it.”

  “Well, let’s get something straight. You think I’m going to marry you? Haven’t you forgotten something?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, there are actually several things. One is that I wouldn’t marry you on a bet. I’ve already been married to one big-hearted girl who couldn’t remember where she lived, and once around the course is enough for any man. But the big thing I had in mind is that you’ve already got a husband. Remember? Or do you, very often?”

  “Probably as often as you do. But never mind about him. He got everything he paid for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you know why we came back from Galveston today?”

  I’d forgotten about that. “No. How could I?”

  “He had a heart attack.”

  “What!”

  “It was the second one.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “At home. He wouldn’t stay in the hospital.”

  “When was it?”

  “Let’s see. It was Monday afternoon I got him to call the Sheriff up here, wasn’t it? So it was Tuesday morning.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “He was fighting a big shark, trying to keep it from getting the line around the anchor or something, and swearing at the boatman at the sam
e time, and he just fell over. We brought him in to the hospital. He almost didn’t make it.”

  “What did the doctors say?” I knew I was in a funny position to be feeling concerned for him, but I did.

  “If he has another one, it may kill him.”

  “Why wouldn’t he stay in the hospital?”

  “He hates ’em. And he never pays any attention to doctors. But they warned him he’d better this time. He has to cut out that fishing, and the cigars. And not do any work for several months, and only a little then. Nothing that will excite him. You know what that means?”

  “Sure. Just what you said. No more big-game fishing. No more blowing his top over business and government forms and taxes.”

  “It means more than that. Remember, I told you he’d had two? Well, he wasn’t fighting a shark when he had the first one.”

  14

  I WAS DEAD THE NEXT day; it was worse than a hangover. Even after I’d gone home I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of her and what she could do to me, and for some reason I couldn’t get Harshaw out of my mind. It didn’t make much sense. Why should I worry about him? But every time I’d close my eyes and try to sleep the whole thing would start around again, his lying there alone in the dark listening to it like a mechanic to a missing engine and knowing that when it started to go away again he was done because there wasn’t anybody to do anything or even to be there when he left, while all the time the two of us were out there wallowing in our own cheapness. It was a little hard to sleep with.

  I was so filled with disgust I didn’t even go across the street to see Gloria. I didn’t know whether I could face her. The news was out, and everybody was talking about Harshaw’s heart attack.

  The following day I began to feel a little better. It was Saturday, and we were pretty busy. Around noon the telephone rang.

  “Mr. Madox?”

  What now? I thought. “Yes. Speaking.”

  “This is Mrs. Harshaw. George asked me to call you. He isn’t feeling well enough to come down to the office, you know. I guess you’ve heard about it—?” She let it trail off.

  “Yes,” I said. “I hated to hear it. How is he now?”

  “He’s a little better. That’s the reason I’m calling. He’d like to have you come out to the house tonight to talk over some business details. Do you think you could make it, around seven o’clock?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “That’ll be fine, then. And would you mind telling the girl in the loan office, Miss—ah—”

  “Harper,” I said. The lousy tramp. She just couldn’t resist it.

  “Yes. That’s it. Miss Harper. He wants her to come too.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll tell her.”

  I went across the street. She was busy with a Negro who was making a payment on his loan. When she saw me waiting she waved the pencil at me and her eyes crinkled up in a smile. In a minute the Negro said, “Thank you, Miss Gloria,” and went out.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “You’re looking very pretty.” I paused. We were both always just a little awkward with each other when we first met.

  “Do you like my new dress?”

  I looked at it. It was blue with white sort of ruffles. “Yes,” I said. “Very much.”

  She smiled. “It isn’t new. You’ve seen it four times.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve never seen it at all.”

  “You’re nice.” Then her face became serious and she said quietly, “It’s so awful about Mr. Harshaw, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But I just talked to Mrs. Harshaw, and I think he’s a little better. He wants us to come out there tonight. Something about the business. If you can make it, I’ll pick you up a little before seven.”

  “All right, Harry. But he shouldn’t be trying to think about business now. What do you suppose he wants?”

  “Probably just a report,” I said. “But there’s no telling. Maybe he’s going to sell out and retire.”

  She didn’t answer for a minute. Then she asked, “Do you really think he will?”

  Something in her voice made me turn and look at her. It still puzzled me after I left. She had seemed almost afraid. But why should she be? Even if she lost her job, which was unlikely, there were plenty of others.

  It was dusk when I drove over to pick her up. She wasn’t quite ready, and I waited, talking about cars with the Robinsons on the front porch. When she came out she was very lovely in a white skirt and dark, long-sleeved blouse, and as we went down the walk and I helped her into the car I was conscious of a faint fragrance about her in the air.

  The street going up past the filling station was deserted in the twilight, and just as we came to the oaks I stopped the car.

  “Did you forget something, Harry?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I didn’t forget it. This is just the first chance I’ve had to do it.” I took her face in my hands and kissed her.

  When her eyes opened they smiled at me. There was just enough light to see them. They were enormous. “You mustn’t get lipstick on you. We’re going to a business conference.”

  “The devil with business conferences. I just wanted to tell you something. Maybe I never told you before. You’re lovely; and you’re wonderful.”

  “Now you’re making me lose interest in business.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “We’ll sneak out right after we’ve voted our stock.”

  She laughed. And then, as I started the car again, she said soberly, “I do hope he’s better, Harry. It’s so awful thinking of him that way.”

  He was sitting up in a big chair in the living room, wearing pyjamas and a seersucker robe. He looked old somehow. His face was a dirty grey and seemed thinner, though that might have been just imagination. The only things unchanged about him were the eyes. They were as frosty and tough as ever, and you somehow got the impression that his heart might kill him but it’d never scare him worth a damn.

  She let us in. She was wearing a white summer dress and every ash-blonde curl was in place. Her face was heavily made up, but it didn’t quite cover up the faint shadows under the eyes. Climbing that sawdust pile was rough medicine, but apparently it’d worked. She was a tough baby. I saw her giving Gloria the inventory. No doubt she’d seen her before, but now she was putting her through the assay office a piece at a time. There was a thirty-looking-at-twenty-one appraisal in her eyes and she didn’t quite cover up all the hardness in them.

  “You know Miss Harper, don’t you? And Madox?” he asked her. I was surprised at his voice. It was a little shaky, and it had lost most of that parade-ground bark.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Won’t you sit down?” And then she murmured to Gloria, “That’s a lovely blouse. I like it.”

  She excused herself after a fill-in on how he was feeling and said she’d go out in the kitchen and fix some drinks. When she was gone, Harshaw asked, “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good,” I said. I told him how many cars we’d sold and about a couple we’d taken in on trades.

  “You think the ad did any good?”

  “Sure. I’ve got another one in this week’s paper.”

  He grunted. “O.K. I’ll tell you what I asked you over here for, but before I do, how’d you get crossed up with that Sheriff?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. For one thing, I was new here. And according to that cashier the robber was a big man.”

  “It’s lucky for you Dolly saw you over there at the fire. I know that bird. In two days he can make you believe you’re guilty yourself.” He stopped to take a deep breath. He didn’t have much strength. “But never mind that. Here’s what I’ve got in mind—”

  Just then she came out of the dining room and interrupted him. “It’s those darn ice-cube trays, George. They’re stuck again. Maybe Mr. Madox—”

  “Sure,” I said, getting up. “Excuse me.”

  The little witch, I thought; when she wants to throw ’em at somebody they’re not stu
ck. I followed her through the dining room and out into the kitchen. She watched me as I opened the refrigerator and took the trays out.

  “That’s funny,” she said, smiling. “I couldn’t budge ’em.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “Well, you could put the cubes in the glasses if you’d like.”

  I put them in four glasses. She poured whisky and soda in three of them and plain soda in the fourth. Then she began stirring, making a lot of noise. With the other hand she caught my lapel, and jerked her head for me to come nearer.

  She looked up at me, still with that hard smile on her mouth. “Very pretty, isn’t she?” she asked, not whispering, but keeping her voice low. Her nostrils dilated a little as she sniffed. “And you can tell the angel-faced little bitch to quit leaving her tracks on you. I can smell her all over you.”

  “You’re crowding your luck,” I said. “Don’t go too far.”

  “Maybe you thought I was joking. You’d better keep it in mind.”

  “I’ve told you once,” I said. “Don’t threaten me.” I caught the arm that was stirring, pried the spoon out of her fingers, and threw it on the drainboard. “Shall we take the drinks in?”

  We went in and passed the drinks around and sat down. Gloria glanced at me with her eyes shining.

  “Madox, I’ve just been telling Miss Harper,” he said. “Here’s the deal. I’m going to have to quit trying to work, at least for a long time. So I want you to take charge of everything down there. She’ll continue to run the loan office, just as she has been, but you’ll be responsible for the whole works. I’ll pay you a salary, plus your own commissions and the sales-manager’s take on what Gulick sells. You ought to be good for around six thousand a year. Do you want it?”

  Did I? I thought. It was a terrific break, and it took me a little by surprise. I didn’t understand it. We’d always fought like a couple of sore-headed bears. “Sure,” I said, trying to get my breath. “Of course I do. But why me? I mean, Gulick’s the senior man—”

  He gestured curtly. There was still a little of the old Harshaw there. “Gulick can’t handle it,” he grunted. “He hasn’t got the drive. I know you have, and you’re too disagreeable to be crooked, so it’s yours if you want it.”