I set him down at the end of one of the work cars. We
were in shadow now, and I looked around again to be
sure no one had seen me. The moonlit plain was empty
except for Donnelly’s car. As I bent down to roll him
under the coupling between two cars he groaned and
tried to sit up.
“What the hell?” he mumbled. Then he looked up.
“Hey, you—”
“Remember me?” I asked, and swung. He didn’t see
the hand.
I massaged my hand and felt it for broken bones, then
got down and rolled him between the rails. I crawled
over the coupling and dragged him out on the other
side. We were between the trains now, in deep shadow.
Remembering the brakie, I squatted down on the
ballast and looked for the lantern. It was far up near
the front end.
I left him lying there and moved along the cars,
looking for an empty. The third boxcar had a door open.
I walked back and got him, letting his feet drag. The
floor of the car was chest high, and I was getting tired
now. I finally got him high enough and rolled him in. I
took a long breath and leaned against the door for a
moment, completely winded.
It took only a minute to slide the door in place, but I
had to tug and push to get it positioned correctly so I
could fasten the latch. Then I thought about the other
one. It had been closed, but it might not be fastened. I
ran to the end of the car and climbed through, across
the coupling. The lantern was still far up at the other
end of the train. I fastened the door and came back
again.
Next stop, California, I thought, and then went back
under the work train.
I ditched the car beside the highway near the dirt
road, left the keys in it, and walked back to where she
Nothing in Her Way — 43
was. She was sitting in the Cadillac smoking a
cigarette, and when she saw me coming she got out.
“Darling, is everything all right?”
“He’s on his way to Los Angeles in his private car,” I
said. I walked over and picked up the gun and broke it
to take out the two shells. Before I threw the unfired
one into the brush, I looked at it, and it made me a little
sick. It was a ten-gauge Magnum, with Number 2 shot.
Anything hit at close range with that would look like a
dish of raw hamburger. I buried the gun in the sand.
I walked back and stood looking at her. “Start
giving,” I said. “I want to know about Donnelly.”
“Darling,” she said innocently, “I’ve already told you.
He’s just a stupid thug who thinks he can scare money
out of me.”
I caught the fur coat with both hands and pulled her
toward me. “Don’t try any innocent double talk on me,
you redheaded little hellcat. Maybe he can’t scare you,
but he can scare me. I want to know who he is and why
he’s following you, so we can do something about it. I
saw him swinging that shotgun on you, and I don’t
intend to go through that again. Not twice in one
lifetime.”
“Mike,” she said softly, “you do still like me, don’t
you?”
“Shut up,” I said.
“I’ve missed you so terribly.”
I shook her. “Who is Donnelly?”
“Mike, darling, it isn’t anything, really. He just claims
Jeff owed him some money before he was killed, when
those men held him up. He hasn’t got any proof of it,
and I won’t pay it.”
It sounded fishy, and still it didn’t. At least one part of
it rang true—that about not paying it. Anybody who
tried to fast-talk her out of a buck was odds-on to kill
himself before he got through if he really took it
seriously. And then, somewhere in all the anger and the
fear for her going around in my mind, I was conscious
of that same old crazy question: How could you be this
much in love with a girl you fought with all the time
Nothing in Her Way — 44
and who kept the world in perpetual uproar? But I was.
God help me.
It must have made me angrier. “All right,” I said. “But
how in hell does he manage to find you everywhere you
go? He located you in New Orleans, and now out here
in the middle of nowhere in this sand pile. How does he
do it? Do you write to him or something?”
She gestured impatiently. “Who cares, Mike? I tell
you, he’s just a cheap chiseler. Quit worrying about
him. As for his finding me here, he probably just
followed me from San Antonio.”
“Well, you’ve got to get out of San Antonio before he
can get back there.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mike,” she flared up, “quit
being such an old woman. We’ve got a job to do.” Here
we go, I thought.
“Look, Cathy,” I said. “For the love of Pete, let’s quit
knocking ourselves out, just for an hour or two, shall
we? God knows why, but I’ve looked forward all week
to seeing you. Maybe I’m just stupid that way. And in
five minutes we’re going at each other like a couple of
punch-drunk pugs. I’m sorry I lost my temper. It just
scared me. Donnelly, I mean. Let’s try to forget the
whole damn thing for a little while.”
“All right, Mike,” she said contritely. “I’m sorry too.”
We got back in the car and drove on down the road
about a mile until we were out of sight of the highway
and lost in the rolling white immensity of the sand. I
saw the dry remains of an old mesquite, and broke off
enough limbs to build a fire behind one of the dunes.
There was a robe in the back of the car, and I spread it
on the sand, up against the slope before the fire. It was
beautiful and incredibly still in the wintry moonlight. It
was wonderful. She had a bottle of champagne and a
couple of glasses in the car. I opened it and we drank
some of it, watching the fire and talking. Firelight was
shining in her eyes, and she was still the most beautiful
girl I had ever seen. It occurred to me that this was
corny, that girls were always having firelight shine in
their eyes while they turned beautiful, but when I tried
Nothing in Her Way — 45
to look at it objectively, nothing changed. She was still
beautiful, and I was in love with her.
“How did we ever manage to make such a mess of
things, Cathy?” I asked after a while. “Let’s go to El
Paso for the weekend. Look, we could be married
again.”
“That would be wonderful, Mike,” she said. “But not
until after we get through here. You can’t leave now.
This is too important to take any chances.”
That about sums it up, I thought, trying to suppress
the anger and not start another battle. Trifling
incidentals like being blasted at with a ten-gauge
shotgun, or brushing off a package-deal proposition and
proposal, are entirely beside the point and can’t be
allowed to interfere with the main objective. Nothing
mattered except sandbagging Goodwin and then
ganging up on Lachlan.
No, that wasn’t quite fair, I reminded myself. The
thought of the two of them getting away with what they
had done haunted me too, and if it didn’t ride me all the
time the way it did her, it was probably because I was
lazy and inclined to take the easy way. Maybe if I’d quit
trying to pick her to pieces and take a good look at
myself…Maybe I was the one who wasn’t so hot. I
always let things slide.
“You see, don’t you, Mike?” she said. “I mean, that
we’ve got to do this first?”
“All right,” I said wearily. “I just forgot for the
moment that you’re the girl of destiny. I’ll take it up
through channels.”
“You’re a lamb,” she said, making a face at me. “And
I do love you. Why do you think I’m staying in San
Antonio so I can be near you?”
“Well, don’t crowd me out of my side of the bed,” I
said.
“Stop grumbling, darling. Now, tell me about
Goodwin. I mean, could you detect any curiosity at all
when you met him out there at the rifle range? And
don’t forget, never hurry him. You have to play it hard
to get all the way.”
Nothing in Her Way — 46
Progress report and pep talk in the moonlight, I
thought bitterly as I lay in bed in the bleak cabin
afterward. Vice-president making a swing through the
territory to keep the district managers on their toes.
Damn her. But what about San Antonio that night? She
could relax and be human when she wanted to.
I cursed myself. That was nice. So I was finding out
all over again all the things I’d learned in two years of
being married to her and a lifetime of knowing her, and
now they were big revelations. We were just going
around again. She was a whirlpool I was trapped in. I
ground the cigarette savagely against the ash tray and
tried to get back to Goodwin.
* * *
It began to break faster than I had expected. Little
things tip you off. You turn your head suddenly while
walking along the street and find the two people you
have just passed are staring after you and talking. You
come in the door and a sudden hush falls over a group
of three or four men enjoying some joke along the
counter in the restaurant. You get a lot of innocentsounding
and thinly disguised questions along with
simple transactions like buying a pack of cigarettes or
picking up your laundry. Are you going to work here?
How do you like our town? Good, healthy climate, isn’t
it?
People were beginning to wonder what I was doing
here.
And what in the name of God was in those boxes I
mailed every day?
On Tuesday I mailed four of them. The clerk at the
window smiled. “You’re our best customer,” he said,
with a lame attempt at joking. “We ought to give you a
rate.”
“Oh?” I said coldly.
During the week I dropped into the bank a couple of
times to cash small checks, and both times Goodwin
looked up from his paper work to nod and smile. And
then, on Saturday, I got another break. Taking a chance
he’d be out at the rifle range, I put two of the larger
Nothing in Her Way — 47
boxes in my coat pocket before I took off on my daily
walk east of town. Filled with sand, they weighed over
five pounds each.
Late in the afternoon I circled around to the rifle
range. I was in luck. Goodwin was there, with two other
men. I leaned my .22 against a mesquite and sat down
to watch them. After a while Goodwin asked me if I’d
like to try the gun again. Before I shot, I took off the
coat with its bulging pockets and left it by the .22.
When the session broke up he offered me a lift back
to town, as I had hoped. I put the rifle and coat on the
back seat and got in up front with him.
“Well, how do you like our town?” he asked, as we
wound through the mesquite on the little dirt road.
“Just fine,” I said. “It’s just what I was looking for.”
He didn’t ask me what it was I was looking for. I
didn’t think he would. He was by nature rather
reserved himself, apparently well educated, and had
better manners than the town loafers and most of the
other natives. He might be curious, but he wouldn’t
pry.
“We’re trying to build up our rifle club,” he said.
“How’d you like to join?”
I hesitated a little. “Thanks,” I said. “It sounds fine,
but I’ll be frank with you. Those guns are a little steep
for me right now.”
He nodded. “Yes, they are pretty expensive. But it’s a
fine hobby, and keeps you out in the open.” He stopped
suddenly, as if he’d said more than he intended.
I knew then it was beginning to work. He’d thought
about me. And he’d decided it was health that brought
me here, or rather the lack of it. The next thing, of
course, was to make him wonder if that was it.
“Well anyway,” he said, “come on out on Saturday
afternoons and take a few shots with this gun of mine.”
We were in town now, but he ran on out to the end of
the street and dropped me off in front of the motel. I
thanked him and got out, purposely not looking toward
the back seat where I’d left the rifle and coat.
Nothing in Her Way — 48
He started to drive off. “Oh,” I called out, waving my
arm and running toward the car. “I forgot my stuff.”
“Sure thing,” he said. He turned around in the seat
and reached for the coat, to pass it out the front
window.
“No, that’s all right, I’ll get it,” I said hurriedly. I
reached for the handle of the rear door, but let him
beat me to it. He picked up the coat, and I saw his arm
sag at the unexpected weight of it. Almost involuntarily
his eyes swept down toward it, but there was nothing to
see except the square outlines of the boxes in the
pockets.
Nothing in Her Way — 49
Six
In a couple of days he invited me out to the house. For
dinner, he said, and he’d show me his workshop, where
he did his reloading.
He had a nice place, a big two-story house out on the
edge of town about three blocks off the main drag. I
met his wife. She was a young blonde who wasn’t as
young or as blonde as she had been, but she was nice,
and a wonderful cook. She did water colors, and she
was a bullfight fan. I admired the landscapes she had
done, and we had a good session with the corridas. I
told her I’d lived in Mexico a couple of years, working
for some company I never quite mentioned.
They had swallowed the idea by this time that I had
come out here because my health had gone back on me,
though we very pointedly never talked about it. I think
they felt sorry for me. I knew, of course, that he’d also
heard about the strange boxes I was always mailing,
because everybody knows everything in a town of that
size, but he didn’t mention them.
I let it ride along about a week, going out in the
dunes every day with the little gun, and continuing to
mail the boxes. They had me out to the house again on
Saturday night for dinner, and to return the
compliment I took them to the restaurant and to the
movies. We were getting quite chummy. They liked me,
Nothing in Her Way — 50
and, oddly enough, I liked them when I wasn’t thinking
about the thing he had done.
Cathy met me twice that week, but it was just the
same old pep talk. She was wild to know how it was
coming along, and full of suggestions as to what to do
next.
It was near the end of the following week that I knew
the time had come to let him have the stinger. I’d
walked into the restaurant late one evening, and two
men who were playing the pin-ball machine near the
door didn’t see me come in. I passed close behind them
and as I went past I heard one of them say, “It’s rabbit
feet, I tell you. Don’t he spend all his time huntin’ jack
rabbits? He’s got a friend in New York sells ‘em for
him.” I heard them laugh as I went over and sat down
at the counter.
All right, boys, I thought, I’ll clear it up for you. After
I’d eaten I went back to the motel and started getting it
ready. I got out the bottle of sulphuric acid I’d brought
from New Orleans and mixed a little with some water in
a glass jar to the approximate strength of battery
solution. Then, taking out a cardboard box—one of the
larger ones—I wet it along the corners and seams with
the solution and let it dry. Filling it with sand I’d
brought in during the afternoon, I wrapped it with
paper, tied the parcel with white string, and addressed
it, just as I had done with all the others. To finish it off,
I put a drop of the acid solution on the string in three or
four different places, let it set for a minute or two, and
wiped it off. It was ready.
In the morning I waited until after eleven before I
started downtown with it, to be sure he’d be in the
bank. I had to handle it carefully. He was at his desk,
and he looked up and waved as I walked in. I set it
down on the edge of the glass-topped stand, got out my
checkbook, and started to write a check, keeping my
left elbow near the parcel and taking a long time to
make it out. It’d be a lot more effective if he came over,
though it would work whether he did or not I was in
luck. He did.
Nothing in Her Way — 51
I heard the gate in the railing open and close, and
then his footsteps coming up behind me. I tore the
check out, paying no attention.
“Say, Reichert, Mrs. Goodwin told me to ask you out
tonight for some frijoles and cabrito,” he said behind
me as he came up.
I swung around. “Thanks. That sounds—” I began,
just as my elbow hit the box and knocked it off.
“Damn!” I said explosively, and lunged for it. It was too
late. It hit the tile floor, and the acid-weakened box
came apart across one side like a dropped squash. Sand
spilled out onto the floor.
He looked down, and wasn’t able to control the
amazement on his face. Then he looked at me. I flushed
and stammered something, and then bent down
hurriedly and began trying to scoop the sand back into
the box, as if trying to cover up while I thought of
something.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” I said uncomfortably,
when I stood up. “It’s—well, you see, my niece, back in
New York, she’s bedridden. I was sending her this box
of sand to—well, she colors it, you see, and uses it in a
sort of Navajo sand-painting idea.”
“Oh, I see,” he said in a tone that meant he didn’t see
at all. “Well, don’t bother with it. The janitor’ll clean it
up. It’s too bad it broke, though.” He paused, then tried
an embarrassed joke. “One thing about it, you can find
plenty more around here.”
I managed a hollow grin. “Yes, that’s right, isn’t it?”
I went back to the motel with the remains of the box.
It had gone off beautifully. He knew I was lying, of
course. That was the most obvious part of it. And then,
after an hour or so, he’d probably decide I wasn’t crazy,
in spite of the way it looked. It would really begin to get
him about that time.
Try it, pal, I thought. It’s not as direct as diluting a
concrete mix, but it’s interesting when you work on it—
and tricky.
* * *
Nothing in Her Way — 52
I called up and begged off on the dinner date. I said I
had a bad headache.
The next day was Friday. I didn’t go out to the dunes
at all, or mail anything at the post office. Saturday was
the same. I sat around the drugstore most of the time,
reading all the new magazines. I didn’t even go out to
the rifle range.
Sunday morning I decided I’d let him wait long
enough, and I could try it. This time, instead of taking
any boxes, I stuffed my pocket with about a dozen little
cloth bags like tobacco sacks, a bunch of string, and
some tags. I took the gun and walked east on the
highway, the way I always did, left it before I hit the
sand dunes, and circled to get into them some distance
from the road.
This was a phase of it now that I didn’t have much
control over. If I’d played it right up to this point, I
should have him now. He should be ready to go along
with me. I was doing something crazy, something he
couldn’t figure out, and I was doing it on his land. The
fact that it was his land and that I not only hadn’t told
him about it but had actually lied about it should be
enough to overcome his natural reluctance toward
spying on anybody. If I’d guessed it right, it would be
Frankie or Johnnie who’d let him know when I went out
there again.
As I wandered around I kept watching the highway.
Time went by and I didn’t see anything of him. After a
while I began to worry. Had I bungled the whole thing?
Hadn’t I made him curious as to what I was up to? If he
wasn’t interested now, the whole thing was a fizzle.
In another quarter hour I was sure it had gone sour.
And then I saw a car that could have been his coming
down the highway. I watched it out of the corner of my
eye. It went behind some scraggly mesquites growing
along the fence, and it didn’t come out. I felt a tingle of
excitement. We were getting him.
In a moment I saw the glint of sunlight on something
near the end of the mesquites. I knew what that was.
He had the spotting scope with him. It was a twentypower
job, and with it he could see what I was doing as
Nothing in Her Way — 53
well as if he were sitting in my lap. I began pacing,
taking long steps like a man measuring something. At
the end of twenty strides I squatted down, scooped up
some sand, put it in one of the bags, and tied it. Then I
fastened on a tag and made a show of writing
something on it. Of course, he couldn’t see the tag, but
it’d take him only a few minutes to figure it out.
I took twenty steps more and repeated the whole
thing. I was going toward him all the time, but before I
began to get near enough to scare him I turned ninety
degrees and paced off the next twenty parallel to the
highway. After tagging this bag and putting it into my
pocket I made another right-angled turn, away from
him.
He’d know now. Anybody with even normal
intelligence could see what I was doing. I was laying
out the whole area in an immense grid and picking up a
sample of sand every twenty yards. It was completely
systematic.
I went on two or three more laps and then sat down
on a sand dune with my back to him to eat my sandwich
and give him a chance to get away.
All right, pal, I thought, it’s up to you now.
* * *
I didn’t have long to wait. About four o’clock Monday
afternoon Frankie or Johnnie came back to the cabin
and said I was wanted on the telephone. I went up to
the office. It was Goodwin, all right.
“Mrs. Goodwin and I wondered if you’d like to come
out and try potluck with us this evening if you’re free,”
he said.
“Oh,” I said hesitantly. “Uh—Thank you very much.”
“About seven, then.”
“That would be nice.”
I wondered how well I’d carry it off. This was tricky,
and Goodwin was no fool. There was one thing in my
favor, however, the same thing there had been all the
time, and that was that there couldn’t possibly be any
Nothing in Her Way — 54
reason for my trying to kid him. He owned the land,
didn’t he?
I dug the letter out of the bag, stuck it in my pocket,
and walked over to Goodwin’s. The moon wasn’t up yet,
and it was cold and dark and my heels rang on the
sidewalk. Goodwin let me in, and we went into the
living room. There was a nice blaze going in the
fireplace. Mrs. Goodwin came in with some drinks on a
tray and we all sat down.
I had to beat him to the punch, to make it look better,
but I had to be sure he was ready, that he had figured it
out. I was making a big show of being intensely
preoccupied with something and under a bad strain.
During the few minutes of small talk over the drinks I
appeared not to hear half that was said to me and was
always waking up with an “Oh? I’m sorry…Beg
pardon?” I had something on my mind, and I was
burning. They could see it. Or I hoped they could; I
wasn’t too sure I’d ever win an Academy Award with it.
He waited until she left the room to see about dinner.
The minute she was gone he put down his glass, lit a
cigar, and looked across at me with a probing glance
that meant business.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,
Reichert,” he said.
Well, here we go, I thought. I broke in on him.
“There’s something I’ve got to tell you, too. I’ve been
trying to make up my mind about it all day. I suppose
you’d call it a question of loyalty to the people you work
for, and just how far that loyalty is supposed to stretch
before it breaks.”
“And who is it you work for?” he asked.
“Occidental Glass,” I said.
He made an impatient gesture with his hand, and
swore under his breath. “That was the thing I never
could get,” he said. “Glass. It was just so obvious, I
guess, I couldn’t see it.”
I jerked my head up and looked at him. “Then you
knew what I was doing?” I asked in surprise.
Nothing in Her Way — 55
He smiled. “You’re probably a good engineer,
Reichert, but you’ll never set the world on fire as an
undercover investigator. You give yourself away
everywhere you turn.”
“Oh?” I said uncomfortably. “Well, what I wanted to
tell you was that I’m not working for them any more.
I’ve sent in my resignation.”
“Why?” he asked.
“For two reasons. The first is that I couldn’t tell you
what I’m going to, as long as I’m drawing their pay. But
the big one is that they’ve backed down on a promise
they made me. If this thing proved up and we built a
plant here, I was supposed to have a free hand with the
whole design, and I was to have complete charge of
production.” I fished out the letter. Charlie had written
it, and where he’d got the Occidental Glass Company
letterhead only Charlie would know. “Apparently office
politics got in the way.”
I passed it over to him. “Take a look at that last
paragraph. They’re ‘very sorry, but...’”
He read it, glanced again at the letterhead, and
handed it back. “It’s a rotten deal,” he said. “And I’m
sorry, Reichert.”
I nodded, waiting. In about a minute he ought to get
past my sob story to the real news. He did. His eyes
jerked around to me again and he said, “But what about
the plant? Are they going to put one up? Here?”
I stared at him, took a sip of my drink, and put it
down, taking my time all the way. “If they don’t,” I said,
“somebody else will. That’s what I wanted to tell you.
You’ve been a good friend since I’ve been here, and
after the deal they’ve handed me I don’t see that I owe
them enough to help them hand you the same one.”
“You mean—that exploration work you did, it proved
up?”
I nodded. “You can just about name your own price
for that sand deposit. Within reason, of course.”
It’s just as Charlie says. No matter who they are, the
minute you dangle the big money in front of them they
Nothing in Her Way — 56
begin to get the fever. Anybody will go for it, if you
make it look right.
“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to keep down the
excitement in his voice. “I mean, it looks like any sand.”
“They didn’t want it back at the lab just to look at. If
they wanted to look at sand they could go out to Coney
Island.”
“Then the lab reports were good? But why? I mean,
what makes it valuable?”
“It’s technical,” I said. “But what it boils down to is a
question of purity; that is, the ratio of silica to foreign
matter and undesirable grit, dust, organic matter, and
so on. They’re working on a new line of high-silica glass
—that’s the stuff with the low coefficient of expansion—
and this sand of yours out here is made to order for it.
Of course, it isn’t pure silica, because sand deposits like
that don’t exist, but it’s so near it’s unbelievable.
They’ll go plenty high to get it.”
He was leaning forward, staring at me. “How high do
you think they’ll go?”
“They’ll cry, but you can get a quarter of a million for
it.” He whistled. “My God, Reichert.” Then the
businessman began to take hold again. “But why did
you tell me? I mean, what’s your deal?”
I shrugged. “No deal. I don’t like what they did to me,
and since I’m not working for them any more, I’d like to
see you get what it’s worth. Of course, I’m not implying
they were going to steal it from you, or anything like
that, but they probably won’t offer over fifty thousand
until you make them come across.”
“Well, don’t think I won’t remember it. I mean, if it
comes off and I get anything like that for it. But do you
think they’ll try to get in touch with me?”
“Of course,” I said. “And it won’t be long. I’ll tell you
why. My resignation’s already in the mail, and when
they get that they’ll be out here as if their clothes were
on fire. You see what I’m driving at? There are several
things I could do. I could buy an option on the land
myself. Or, what’s more likely, since I don’t have that
kind of money, I’ll go to work for some other glass
Nothing in Her Way — 57
company, and let them in on it in return for the job
Occidental was supposed to give me.”
“By God, you’re right,” he said. “They couldn’t take a
chance, with what you know about it.” It was that easy.
Early the next morning I sent off the corny telegram
to Charlie’s address in Houston. “Congratulations to
the lucky couple. May all your troubles be little ones.”
That was the code for him to call his friend in New
York, who’d wire Goodwin from there that the head of
the Occidental Glass Company’s legal department, who
was en route to the West Coast, would like to stop off in
Wyecross and discuss a business matter.
It was like shooting quail on the ground. Wednesday
night Goodwin called me, full of excitement and almost
sputtering. He’d received the wire from New York, all
right, and then another from the lawyer himself, from
Houston. He’d be in on the nine a.m. Westbound next
day.
“All right,” I said. “You’re a businessman. You know
what to do when you hold a hand like that.”
“Yes,” he said happily. “You bet I do.”
I was looking out the window of the drugstore the
next morning after the train came in and saw Goodwin
go by with him. Bolton looked like the legal department
of Fort Knox, in a camel’s-hair coat that probably cost
as much as a small car.
He had to stay all day, since there wasn’t another
train until nine p.m. About nine-fifteen Goodwin called.
He’d just got back from the station, seeing him off. “I
did it,” he said, a little wildly.
“Good for you,” I said.
“He knew you’d told me, but there wasn’t anything he
could do. He’d probably have killed you if he could have
found you. I started him off at three hundred thousand,
and he finally gave up at two-seventy-five.”
“The deal already made?” I asked.
“Not yet. They have to have a meeting of the board.
But he says it’s almost certain to go through. They’ve
got an option on it at that price, for ten days.”
Nothing in Her Way — 58
“Fine,” I said. “That’ll give you just about time
enough to have your title searched. Then you’re in.”
I put that in to help him along. He still hadn’t got it.
He was going to, as soon as it soaked in, and as I said,
it was poison. It could kill you if you had a bad heart. It
wasn’t until the next afternoon around three that it
finally got to him. He called me at the motel.
“Reichert,” he said wildly, “can you get over here
right away? Something terrible’s come up, and I’ve got
to have some advice. I’m trying to get hold of my
lawyer now, and maybe he’ll be here by the time you
are.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be right over.”
He’d remembered it at last. The land was his, all
right, and the title was clear, but about five months ago
he’d sold the oil rights to a lease speculator by the
name of Wallace Caffery.
The thing that made it bad was that the lease said
“mineral rights.” And Wallace Caffery, of course, was
Wolford Charles.
Nothing in Her Way — 59
Seven
It wasn’t as dumb as it looked, and actually he probably
hadn’t forgotten it at all. It was just that it didn’t
matter. Land was often sold without the mineral rights,
which around here meant simply oil, as that was the
only mineral they had. Occidental Glass just wanted the
sand. And sand wasn’t a mineral. Was it? Was it?
The lawyer was already there by the time I made it.
They had a copy of the contract out, and Goodwin was
slowly going crazy. The lawyer explained it to me.
“I’d have to look it up before I could say definitely,”
he told Goodwin, “but just offhand I’d say you haven’t
got a chance.” He turned to me again. “What is sand,
Reichert? Technically, I mean. Rock, isn’t it? Silicia—
sil-something.
“Silicon,” I said, praying Charlie’s coaching wouldn’t
go back on me now. “Actually, it’s the oxide. Silicon
dioxide is the correct name for it. Its nonorganic, of
course. Physically, it’s nothing but small fragments of
quartz.”
The lawyer shook his head. “There goes your ball
game. Quartz is mineral to anybody.”
It was murder. Just a little matter of $275,000 thrown
out the window for the miserable handful of chicken
feed Caffery’d given him for the oil rights on land
where there’d never been any oil and never would be
Nothing in Her Way — 60
any because there were two dry holes on it already. You
could see it in his face. The eyes were beginning to look
haunted. Pal, I thought, it took a long time, but how
does it feel?
His only hope, of course, was to find Caffery and buy
back the lease. And he had just ten days to do it. The
only thing he knew was that Caffery was a small-time
speculator and wildcatter who operated out of a holein-
the-wall office in Houston when he wasn’t operating
out of his suitcase. He grabbed the next train east. He
was gone two days, and when he came back his eyes
were no longer haunted. They were wild. His face was
haggard.
He’d found Caffery, all right. And Caffery had just
laughed at him. So there’d been some big oil-company
geologists snooping around the land, and now he
wanted to pull a fast one and get it back? Fat chance.
If I hadn’t kept reminding myself of the thing he’d
helped do to my father and Dunbar, I’d have felt sorry
for him. He could lose his sanity. It was more wealth
than he’d ever dreamed of, and it was lying just beyond
his outstretched fingers in a nightmare where he
couldn’t move.
That was Monday. He kept calling Caffery and getting
the brush-off every day until Thursday, when some girl
who answered the phone said Caffery had gone out of
town and she didn’t know where he was or when he’d
be back. You had to admit it; Charlie was a genius. It
was magnificent. The final turn of the screw came
within an hour or two after that last, useless telephone
call. It was a telegram from El Paso, sent by Bolton, of
course. He had received instructions from the president
of Occidental Glass to take up the option, and would be
in town on the nine-thirty eastbound Friday night with
a certified check for $275,000. If you’d touched
Goodwin he’d have twanged like a bowstring, or blown
up before your eyes.
I was at his house when it came, and it was an awful
thing to watch. He had to fight himself to keep from
babbling and becoming incoherent when he talked. He
was sweating as he called Houston again. He asked me
Nothing in Her Way — 61
to listen in on the extension, just in case Caffery was
there, so I could see if I could detect any signs of
weakening. The stupid girl popped chewing gum in his
ear. Mr. Caffery? No, he was still out of town. But wait,
come to think of it, he had called in from some little
town just about an hour ago. She thought he was down
there where he was drilling an oilcat well. No, she was
trying to think of the name of the town, but she couldn’t
remember it. It sounded like Snookum. Was there a
town that sounded like Snookum? It was on the coast
somewhere, not too far from Houston—she thought.
There was something familiar about her voice, even
under the seven layers of stupidity.
I got off the extension and we both started tearing
wildly through road maps, looking for it, while Goodwin
kept the long-distance line open. We couldn’t locate
anything that looked like it. Goodwin went back on the
phone and pleaded with her. Couldn’t she possibly
think of it?
Oh, yes, she said; she’d just remembered. She had
written it down and forgotten she had. And wasn’t it
funny, it didn’t sound like Snookum at all. It sounded
like Cuddly. The name of the town was Ludley. Mr.
Caffery would be at the hotel there. There was only one
hotel, she thought. Oh, you’re welcome, she said
sweetly, and popped her gum. God, I thought, Charlie
must have hired Shirley Booth for the job. Then it rang
on me at last. It was Cathy.
So she was in San Antonio, was she? So she could be
near me? I tried to stifle the red blaze of anger.
Goodwin finally got through to the hotel at Ludley.
Caffery was out. Then, the next time, his line was busy.
I listened in on the extension when he got through to
him at last.
It sounded as if a battle was going on in the hotel
room, or they were having a stevedores’ union meeting.
If Charlie was making all the noise alone, he should
have been a one-man band.
“Hello! Hello! Yes, Caffery speaking,” he yelled. “Who
is it? Who? Goodwin? What the hell do you want?…Wait
a minute! Wait a minute!” His voice became muffled, as
Nothing in Her Way — 62
if he’d put a hand over the transmitter, but we could
still hear him. “Pipe down! Give me a chance to answer
the phone. You’ll get your money.”
Then he was back on the line. “Who is this now? Oh,
Goodwin.” He broke into a string of profanity. “How
many times do I have to tell you? It’s not for sale. I
wouldn’t take a hundred thousand. What!” This last was
apparently for somebody in the room. We could hear
his voice going on, muffled. “Look, this is none of your
business. I told you I’d get it, and I’ll do it. Go on out
there and start fishing for that bit. I tell you my credit’ll
be good anywhere in the state the minute we bring it
in.”
He was yelling into the telephone again. “Look,
Goodwin, where can I get hold of you if I have to? Will
you be at home? All right! All right! But don’t call me
again. I’m busy.” He hung up.
Goodwin was limp and ready to collapse over the
table. “What do you think, Reichert?” was all he could
say.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think he’s in a jam himself,
from the way it sounds. Sweat it out. I’ve got a hunch
he’ll come to you.” Some hunch, I thought. Charlie was
due to make his appearance just after eight tomorrow
morning, according to the schedule.
It was all over except tying up the loose ends and
actually getting the money, and it was time to be
getting ready to run. Bolton was already in the clear, of
course, since he was in El Paso. As soon as Charlie got
his hands on the cash, he’d head for El Paso, and Cathy
was to come by from San Antonio at noon of the day we
pulled it off and pick me up, and we’d meet them in El
Paso at the hotel. We’d split up and be out of the state
before Goodwin got wise, which would be when he met
the train Friday at nine-thirty and there was nobody on
it.
* * *
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