Biddy and the silver man

But that was foolish. It was always still up here in the ridges except for a horny toad maybe scraping faintly on a rock or a little dust-devil stirring the dry grass as it stood on its tail and whirled.

Always quiet and she was being foolish. Roy or Hoppy or Davey Crockett wouldn't sit there half-afraid. Biddy said, "Let's go, Buck," and urged the burro to the left toward the rocks.

The cave was clearly visible from the foot of the big boulders and Biddy waited for some moments before she slid off Buck and began climbing the hill. Her leg brace impeded her progress somewhat and clicked every time she took a step.

"No, it couldn't have been here before," she said. "That spot was just a wall in the rock. That was where Roy Rogers fell back and was real groggy for a minute after the bad man smashed a ten-pound boulder right down on his head."

But obviously, there was no solid rock wall now; instead, a rectangular opening clean and even as though cut out of soft butter with a sharp knife. Biddy moved resolutely forward. Ten feet from the opening, she stopped and glanced back at Buck for moral support. Buck slapped at a fly with his left ear and closed his eyes and gave all the moral support he had. Biddy stiffened her little chin and went on.

It was a cave all right but the fact of its being was over-shadowed by what it contained. There was plenty of light to see without going inside and Biddy stood in the entrance and stared wide-eyed.

The main thing inside was a big box with funny knobs and dials on it; a box of some kind of shining metal that almost hurt your eyes when you looked at it. There were other things too--a lot of wires and a funny looking chair and a thing that might have been a loudspeaker of some kind maybe.

Biddy's mind raced. The Eastern Bloc? She turned her eyes up into the sky where she could just make out the space station up there a thousand miles away going around the Earth like another moon watching day and night to see to it the people and the children of the Western Bloc were always safe.

Maybe this box belonged to the Eastern Bloc. They had their own space station but Biddy was just ready to bet they wanted to do something to ours! Maybe this was some kind of a machine they sneaked in here and built that would blow up our station. A pretty mean thing to do but the Eastern Bloc did all kinds of mean things.

Biddy was suddenly frightened--real-frightened, not just play-frightened--because what if the men would come out of the cave or from someplace and tie her up and not let her go back and tell Pop and Mom what she'd seen? Then the space station would be blown up and not even Davey Crockett could help because this wasn't like on television where people got killed but not really. This was serious.

Biddy turned slowly, hoping now that the silence would stay as it was and not break into the sound of heavy boots coming after her. It was awfully hard but she went back down the hill slowly, because when she went fast her brace rattled and made a lot of noise.

It seemed like a very long time before she was on Buck, urging him out of the arroyo and back toward Sage Bend.

And she got a little annoyed at how calmly Buck took it, ambling along at his usual rate and not at all impressed by the danger. But then what could you do with a stupid old burro that didn't even know how to wear armor properly and always shook the plume off his helmet and ate it...?

Dan Parker was tired. He held the jeep on the rutty road from the Circle-7 to Sage Bend and thought of the cold bottle of beer that was waiting for him at home. This twelve-mile drive every morning and night was rough, but what could a man do? A man couldn't put his wife and kid in a bunkhouse with a dozen hands, and there was no other place for Jane and Biddy at the ranch. The house in Sage Bend wasn't so bad, though. The rent was cheap and there were a few friends Jane could talk to.

Dan wiped the dried sweat off his face and wondered why it cost so damn much just to live. Of course, in his case, there was a reason. A big reason. Biddy getting hit with polio had cleaned him out and put him in debt. Not that he begrudged it of course. She was alive and that was the main thing. That damned brace cut him every time he looked at it, but she was alive and healthy again. He had no complaints even if it took him the next ten years to pay off.

He was lucky in a lot of ways. Being foreman at the Circle-7 paid little enough but it was still better than an ordinary cow hand's pay. And young Davey getting hit with polio in spite of all the serums about the same time it had clubbed Biddy down. Funny how bad luck for some was good luck for others. Davey getting hit was tragedy for the boy and for old Sam Taber, his father. But it had been good luck for Dan Parker because if Davey hadn't been crippled he'd be foreman himself and Dan Parker getting straight hand-money. Yeah, bad luck for some--good luck for others. Not that he gloried in Davey's misfortune, but a man had to look out for his own and the cards had just fallen that way.

Sage Bend came into sight and as Dan approached, he saw a plodding figure in the middle of the road moving in the same direction. The sight irritated Dan. Even when he got close enough to see the white cane tapping on ahead of the shuffling feet, he was still irritated.

Why did Art Haney have to be like that? He was blind, sure, and everybody felt sorry for him, but he didn't have to rub it in your face. He could hear the jeep coming and could move over out of the way but no, he had to stay smack where he was until you pulled to a dead stop and honked. Then he would jump as though you'd just missed running him down and cower on the side of the road. Didn't want anybody to miss the fact that he was blind and helpless--as if they could!

Dan stopped and honked and watched Art put on his pathetic little act and felt guilty because it didn't stir him. Maybe he was hardened, but what the hell? Every time you came down the road. There's a limit.

Dan called, "Hi Art."

The answering voice had a falsetto that sounded faked. "Oh, it's you, Dan. Blind man can't tell a thing like that."

"Want a ride into town?"

"No--no. I'll hobble along and make it myself. A blind man doesn't like to think he's dependent on everybody. Tries to do the best he can."

"Okay. See you later."

"Sure, but I won't see you, Dan. Could of once, but can't any more."

Dan Parker jammed down the gas pedal and the jeep rammed forward kicking up a cloud of dust that left Art Haney coughing. Dan immediately felt guilty. Mean trick, but he hadn't done it on purpose. Just thoughtless.

He rolled the jeep into town and lifted a hand as he passed the jail. Cecil Bates, sheriff of the county, lifted one in return but his expression never changed. Sour--that was the word, Dan thought. Cecil felt himself wasted in a country sheriff's job. Fancied himself of big-town caliber, but all he did was park on a chair in front of the jail and think about it. Sour was the word all right. In fact, Dan thought, sour was the word for the whole damned town of Sage Bend. Come to think of it, there wasn't a happy person in the place.

Except Biddy.

Dan parked the jeep and went in the house and got a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator. He went on through and out into the backyard where Jane was taking down the last of the wash. Damn--it seemed women were always washing. Come home and everytime they were hanging clothes or taking them down.

He stopped in the doorway and looked at Jane. Looked to actually see her which was not the same as the ordinary looking people usually did. There was a stoop in her slim shoulders and something--well, something in the way she carried her body. Tired-like. She'd been so deuced pretty when he'd married her; so pretty he'd just had to have her and that was the only way. Why kid himself? He'd married her because he wanted her and love, if there really was such a thing, had come afterward. But it had come; or maybe it was habit. Anyhow, he couldn't think of life anymore except in terms of Jane and Biddy.