he’d lost his glasses. He wondered where he’d left them.
Too bad about the gun. With the gun, he could hang up there on the sill and pot both of them. Now he would have to do it another way. He moved to the side of the window and put his back against the store wall, his feet against the hotel wall. He began to hitch his way up. It was slow work. Finally he was on a level with the window. Then, maintaining the pressure, he hitched sideways until at last his feet, spread wide, were on the sill. He straightened his legs and his shoulders slid up the store wall. He flattened his hands against the wall and shoved himself toward the window as hard as he could, ducking his head below the upper sill. He hit the center bar of the sash, carrying screen, sash, glass and all forward with him into the room. He landed lightly on the balls of his feet, pawing at the ranger with what looked like a foolishly light blow. Yet it dropped the man over into the corner beside the desk.
As Diana jumped up he grabbed her with one big arm. With his raised foot he shoved hard against the front of the desk. The desk slammed Tomkinton brutally against the wall.
Laughing aloud, Christy held the kicking, struggling girl in one arm. His left hand caught Sanson by the throat as Sanson tried to come up out of the chair where he had been frozen with shock.
Then, as Christy yelled for George to come see what he was doing, a pain like a flame seared across the backs of his legs just above the knees. The strength went out of his legs and he fell heavily. He saw Diana roll free and scramble over to where Sanson stood, turning in his arms to look at Christy on the floor.
Christy leaned his head back and looked up into the broad-boned smiling face of the Mexican girl. Her dark eyes glittered like the onyx that had once been carved into knives for the use of the priests of the sun god. She showed her even white teeth as she smiled down at him.
The red-bladed knife gleamed in her hand.
From an enormous distance he heard the ranger saying in a dazed voice, “By God, she hamstrung him! She had that knife taped to her thigh and she come up behind him crouched as though she were going to cut the grass, and she hamstrung him!”
The wave of darkness hung above him, a silent dark crest, and then it fell forward onto him, spinning him down into it.
10
THE LETTERS HAD COME TO HIS DESK IN THE newsroom in Houston. The first two weeks had been difficult, but now he knew that he’d be able to hold his own. The first big story he had brought them, an eye-witness account of all that trouble down at Baker, had helped. They’d slapped a by-line on it, too.
The first letter was from his agent.
Dear Lane,
It is nice to have you rise from the dead and have you say in your letter that you’re going to keep on working. From the last mss, I’d say you need a lot of work. A Daughter of Many Kings has its moments, but it suffers from a lack of discipline and plan. Work from your carbon and see if you can send me a tighter version. And shorter. This novella form is an awkward length for that sort of thing.
He grinned and put the letter in his desk drawer, then opened the other one.
Lane dear,
I suppose you follow the news and I suppose it is no news to you that I’m going to be a sort of house guest for a year and a day. My lawyer says I’m very lucky, and I guess I can live through it. I am writing this while waiting for the transportation to my new address. George drew twenty and it doesn’t seem half long enough, somehow. Vindictive sort, aren’t I?
Anyway, Lane, I wanted you to know that you straightened me out when I needed it and I’m grateful. A year and a day from now I will have decided what sort of new life I want. It will be a law-abiding and uneventful one, believe me. I hope some day to do you a favor in return—if I haven’t already done it.
Your Diana
He shrugged. The last part of the letter seemed incoherent. Not hard to
Too bad about the gun. With the gun, he could hang up there on the sill and pot both of them. Now he would have to do it another way. He moved to the side of the window and put his back against the store wall, his feet against the hotel wall. He began to hitch his way up. It was slow work. Finally he was on a level with the window. Then, maintaining the pressure, he hitched sideways until at last his feet, spread wide, were on the sill. He straightened his legs and his shoulders slid up the store wall. He flattened his hands against the wall and shoved himself toward the window as hard as he could, ducking his head below the upper sill. He hit the center bar of the sash, carrying screen, sash, glass and all forward with him into the room. He landed lightly on the balls of his feet, pawing at the ranger with what looked like a foolishly light blow. Yet it dropped the man over into the corner beside the desk.
As Diana jumped up he grabbed her with one big arm. With his raised foot he shoved hard against the front of the desk. The desk slammed Tomkinton brutally against the wall.
Laughing aloud, Christy held the kicking, struggling girl in one arm. His left hand caught Sanson by the throat as Sanson tried to come up out of the chair where he had been frozen with shock.
Then, as Christy yelled for George to come see what he was doing, a pain like a flame seared across the backs of his legs just above the knees. The strength went out of his legs and he fell heavily. He saw Diana roll free and scramble over to where Sanson stood, turning in his arms to look at Christy on the floor.
Christy leaned his head back and looked up into the broad-boned smiling face of the Mexican girl. Her dark eyes glittered like the onyx that had once been carved into knives for the use of the priests of the sun god. She showed her even white teeth as she smiled down at him.
The red-bladed knife gleamed in her hand.
From an enormous distance he heard the ranger saying in a dazed voice, “By God, she hamstrung him! She had that knife taped to her thigh and she come up behind him crouched as though she were going to cut the grass, and she hamstrung him!”
The wave of darkness hung above him, a silent dark crest, and then it fell forward onto him, spinning him down into it.
10
THE LETTERS HAD COME TO HIS DESK IN THE newsroom in Houston. The first two weeks had been difficult, but now he knew that he’d be able to hold his own. The first big story he had brought them, an eye-witness account of all that trouble down at Baker, had helped. They’d slapped a by-line on it, too.
The first letter was from his agent.
Dear Lane,
It is nice to have you rise from the dead and have you say in your letter that you’re going to keep on working. From the last mss, I’d say you need a lot of work. A Daughter of Many Kings has its moments, but it suffers from a lack of discipline and plan. Work from your carbon and see if you can send me a tighter version. And shorter. This novella form is an awkward length for that sort of thing.
He grinned and put the letter in his desk drawer, then opened the other one.
Lane dear,
I suppose you follow the news and I suppose it is no news to you that I’m going to be a sort of house guest for a year and a day. My lawyer says I’m very lucky, and I guess I can live through it. I am writing this while waiting for the transportation to my new address. George drew twenty and it doesn’t seem half long enough, somehow. Vindictive sort, aren’t I?
Anyway, Lane, I wanted you to know that you straightened me out when I needed it and I’m grateful. A year and a day from now I will have decided what sort of new life I want. It will be a law-abiding and uneventful one, believe me. I hope some day to do you a favor in return—if I haven’t already done it.
Your Diana
He shrugged. The last part of the letter seemed incoherent. Not hard to
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