Girl on a Slay Ride by Louis Trimble

all Mallory had to see by. He glanced up and noticed that Graef was poking into the coals with a thin stick. Mallory moved so that his back was to Graef.
    He worked quickly, pushing cans of tuna, beans and packages of dehydrated food into a sack. He found a package of cheese and another of coffee. He dropped them into the sack. He located a box of crackers by feel and squeezed that in on top. He slipped some silverware alongside the packages, wedging the pieces between the sack and the food so they wouldn’t rattle.
    He put the sack into the big kettle, and said, “I’ll get some water to heat up for the dishes.” He carried the kettle to the creek. Kneeling at a spot close to the front of the tent, he dipped the kettle into the creek and rocked back on his heels. He glanced toward the fire. Graef was looking at him. Mallory got up. He lifted the kettle with his left hand and the sack with his right, holding the sack close to his leg so that Graef could not see its outlines. He started back toward the fire, walking so that he would pass within a foot of the tent flap. Graef glanced away.
    Mallory lifted his right arm and threw the sack of food into the tent. He heard it land softly on the end of the sleeping bags. He walked slowly to keep the water from slopping. And then he saw that Denise was watching him closely.
    She had the food on plates when he returned. He set the water in the kettle on one of the burners to heat, took his plate, and squatted down near her stool.
    Graef ate delicately but quickly.
    He said, “That was very good, Mallory. Does a fifty-cent hash-house meal always taste this way in the mountains?”
    “It depends on the company,” Mallory said. He got up and collected the plates and dropped them into the now-heated water in the big kettle.
    Graef said to Thoms, “Bring Blalock closer, Nick. I want to talk to him.”
    Thoms lifted Blalock from the boulder by his arm. Blalock walked unprotestingly into the firelight. Graef got up. “Take this chair,” he said with mock courtesy.
    Blalock sat down. Graef said, “Now let’s talk about the money.”
    “It’s mine. Not yours,” Blalock said.
    “We freed you,” Graef said. “The money wouldn’t have done you any good in an asylum.”
    “I didn’t ask you to help me.”
    Mallory noticed that Blalock’s eyes were clear. His voice had taken on some animation. He sat up straighter than he had before and there was a caged defensiveness about his expression.
    “We got you out,” Graef said. “So we have a share coming.”
    “You’ll take more than a share,” Blalock said thinly. “You’ll take it all and kill me.”
    Graef’s voice took on the patient tone of a man dealing with a stubborn child. “Last night you trusted me enough to admit I was right in guessing that this was the area where you brought the girl and the money.”
    He turned to Mallory. “I guessed some time ago,” he said. “I figured it out by how far he’d flown his plane and how much gas he had left when he was caught.”
    “You could figure it out but the F.B.I. couldn’t?”
    “They searched this area,” Graef said. “But they weren’t clever enough to find the money. I will be.”
    “Why tell me?” Mallory demanded. “I don’t give a damn.”
    “I want you to know what kind of man you’re dealing with.”
    “I already know,” Mallory said pointedly.
    Graef turned back abruptly to Blalock. “You have one more chance.”
    “It’s my money. I’m going to keep it for myself.”
    Graef said, “Nick, get the equipment. Blalock is going to tell us where the money is. And he’s going to do it tonight.”
    Mallory could hear the rising impatience shrilling Graef’s voice. Thoms rose and hurried to where their bedrolls were laid at the edge of the meadow. He came back quickly. Mallory saw that he was carrying a soldering iron and a pair of long-handled pliers. He laid the iron so that its tip projected above the coals of the fire. He placed the