The man settled himself more firmly on the blacktop, legs wide apart. "Well, since you ask so polite, lady, I'll tell ya," he said conversationally. "We stop all kinds along this here stretch. Weirdos, acid-heads, crazies, mutes, the halt, the lame, and the blind. An' what we do is this: We take what we find an' have a little fun at the same time-- harmless fun, that is, nuthin' to it. But as you can see we're simple folks and we like to enjoy ourselves once in a while with all the human dung that passes by. All them that've used up their own sweet air and fresh water. We reckon as how we've a right to do that, seein' as how they've muddied their own drinkin' hole and want to do the same to our'n. You dig me, lady?"
"You have no right," Ruth said coldly. "This is a public highway and everyone is free to use it without hindrance. You're breaking the law."
While Chase endorsed her sentiments he felt that Ruth's psychological reading of the situation left something to be desired. These men weren't playing games, neither were they going to be pushed into an accommodating frame of mind by accusations and threats.
The man cocked his head to one side and squinted at her. "Where you bin livin' these past five years, lady? Backside of the moon? If you don't already know it--and it sure sounds like you don't--this ball of mud is comin' apart at the seams." He leaned forward from the waist and held up the stave between his fingertips. "You talk about rights? Law? This thing I'm a-holding is the law and rights is what every man can get for hisself by usin' it. Next you'll be tellin' me that the fine huntin' piece between you knees is jest to get you an' yer friend a rabbit supper."
Chase said, "We've only got camping gear with us, that's the truth. Nothing of any real value. Nothing that would be of any use to you."
"Well now," said the man craftily. "Wouldn't be too sure 'bout that. Not at all sure." His eyes under the brim glinted with sly amusement.
The knuckles of Ruth's hands were white. Chase rested his right elbow on the back of the seat, his hand hanging slackly.
Grinning with his red gums the man reached out with the stave and parted the vee of Ruth's shirt. Her jaw went rigid as the raw end of the stave, jagged with tiny splinters, snagged her flesh and drew a red line with droplets strung along it like ruby beads.
"Not at
Chase slipped his hand into the pocket of his Windbreaker.
"You're the best piece of ass I've seen in a long while," the man remarked, pressing the stave against her unsupported right breast through the plaid shirt. "I do reckon Oregon's gonna havta wait till we've done what has to be done. I guess you can take five of us, lady doctor, an' as you're in such a hurry we'll make it right quick."
He lowered the stave and with his other hand rummaged about his baggy groin and pulled out his erect cock, white and sluglike against his soiled dungarees, the purple crown like a blind creature seeking the light. He grasped it and began slowly to masturbate, his eyes never leaving Ruth's face. "Two at a time, how's that? One in your cunt, the other in your pretty mouth." The grin widened on red gums and black stumps of teeth.
Chase's sweating thumb slipped over the safety catch. He had to keep the gun in his pocket, hidden from the others. There was the faintest of clicks as the catch moved, sounding to Chase like a hammer striking an anvil. His grip on the butt felt greasy. He curled his finger through the trigger guard.
"If you'll jest give that to me," the man said, letting go of his cock and taking hold of the rifle barrel. Ruth hung on. The man half-raised the stave. "You heard what I said. Jest do it and nobody'll get hurt."
Chase said, "You'd better let go of the rifle and listen to me very carefully." The words seemed too big for his mouth. His back was stuck to the seat. "I have a gun and I'm pointing it straight at you and if you don't do exactly as I say I'm going to blow a hole in your chest. At this range it'll take your backbone with it. Do you understand my English ack-cent okay?"
The man was standing perfectly still, the stave arrested in midair. He was staring at the outline of the gun in Chase's Windbreaker.
"Step up on the running board and tell your friends to move the truck. If
The creased, grimy face, burned dark by the sun, was an immobile mask under the sweat-ringed straw Stetson. With astonishing speed the purple crown faded to pink and sagged meekly until it was pointing at the ground. The man released his hold on the rifle and tucked his naked flesh away as if it didn't belong to him.
"Step up and tell them to move the truck," Chase ordered, hardly moving his lips. "Also tell them that if they try anything you won't be around to see it."
