Death walked with the three through the scattered but thick patches of scrub oak and manzanita; the sun would soon set in the hills that surrounded San Jose Valley, ending a particularly hot summer day.
The feast-or-famine vegetation was typical of the California coast ranges. The clothes of the two men and one woman were typical hunting outfits. The dominant thoughts were atypical: one would die.
They seemed two of a kind, Frank Morriss and Jim Thomason. Two — but only one Pat. She’d married Frank.
At the mouth of a small valley, Frank halted. Nervously, he gulped from a canteen. “We’ll find some up there.” He lifted his chin in gesture at the head of the dry stream.
Pat and Jim followed his line of sight, up the steep hill. Dense brush thirstily sought what little moisture remained close to the ground surface.
“What do you think?” Frank asked.
“Your party, Frank. You always were better at hunting than I,” Jim Thomason said, with a quick, side-wise glance at Pat.
Frank, wiping perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve, grinned. “Yeah, but that was when I was in condition—”
“When we both were in condition.” Jim patted a very slight bulge at his waistline. “Fifteen years is a long time ago, measured against hunting men.”
“But today you’re hunting deer, remember?” Pat asked impatiently. “And they won’t bring up any 88’s or SS reserves.” She softened then. “The hearth grows cold, men, and despite your talk, the wheelchair isn’t waiting. Believe me, 34 is not ancient.”
“I’m 35 today!” Frank objected. “Have you forgotten so soon?” Pat hadn’t, of course; the new Winchester Special in his hands was a reminder.
“She was complimenting you, dope!” Jim said. “Anyway, this practical female wants us to shoot the deer instead of waiting for them to die of old age. What is your Estimate of the Situation, Sergeant Morriss?”
The tall man smiled appreciation at the old standard joke. It had begun on a snowy night in France when Jim, a new replacement scared green on his first patrol, had asked the tough, experienced sergeant the question. Jim didn’t know the sergeant’s experience was all of two months and that Morriss was equally scared. His reply — “The Situation calls for us to run like hell!” — drew the men together afterwards, when they could laugh about it.
“If we go around the hill on either side, swing down and take ’em from behind, they’ll move in this direction,” Frank said, “Pat, hold the spot. We’ll flush ’em, and they’ll come right at you. Just shoot the males, though— What’s wrong? Why the strange look?”
“I can shoot only one more male,” she said levelly, “The game warden—”
“All right, all right! Shoot only one more, then.” Frank turned to Jim, who was mopping his brow. “The troops are falling apart! What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing. Too much sun, maybe.”
“When didn’t you have this reaction, Jim? Always scared before and after — but I’d have no one else beside me during a fight. Forget the flip-flops in your stomach, and take the west side. I’ll go east.”
“Like Hannibal at Cannae!” Jim was suddenly enthusiastic. “Double envelopment; you always were a good tactician—”
“And you always did read too much,” Pat interjected dryly. “We haven’t an awful lot of time left.”
Frank nodded. “True, we haven’t much time left at all. Let’s move out.”
Patricia Morriss sat on a fallen tree trunk, ideally placed at the mouth of the valley. From here, she could shoot anything that came down. Anything?
I guess I should have kissed him, she thought, I should have. At least, I could have said goodby. Yes, I could have kissed off 11 years of marriage. Frank, why did you force me to this? Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not commit adultery... am I a monster? I begged you, but you wouldn’t give me the divorce. Why was it always a fight between us, even to this?
She watched her husband’s retreating back until he was gone, striding boldly around the hill. Jim had already disappeared. Jim, smarter than Frank, much more easily manipulated — Jim would do it.
Funny, but she’d never noticed before how they’d leaned on Jim. Always knowing, but never recognizing how he’d helped, they just assumed he’d be standing by. There were hundreds of incidents — did Frank and Jim remember?
The dance that evening so long ago: both men entered together. For a few moments, as she watched from across the floor, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, eyeing the setup. Jim spotted Pat before Frank, approached, hesitantly asked for a dance.
