"Only that it might be kind of rough on you. I'd have to walk it. Wouldn't know where we was going if we drove. And a blind man taps along pretty slow."
"Never mind that," Bates said grimly. "I'll tap right along with you. I'd crawl across the Gila Desert to get that guy. I truly would, Art."
"All right then. Let's get started."
Cecil Bates grinned. He'd show old Sam Taber what the score was; who was sheriff around here and who wasn't; who could go out and bring in a criminal while everybody else talked about it....
Davey Taber had special foot controls built into his jeep. This gave him a great deal of freedom—access to all the roads roundabout and to any part of the desert on which a jeep could travel.
Davey was a handsome youth with none of his father's characteristics of leadership. He had a rather long sensitive face with eyes made dark and beautiful from suffering. His hands were the slim delicate hands of an artist.
He had driven off the Circle-7 toward Sage Bend but when he came within a few miles of the town, he turned away from the road and into the flat desert. There was a strange restless stirring inside him, a hope that was almost akin to pain because he had heard the story of the mysterious man in the ridges and of what had happened to Biddy Parker. If he could only find the man—if the story were only true—if—There were a dozen ifs bouncing through his mind as he wound aimlessly over the hot expanses. If he could only—
He pushed down on the brake and came to a stop as he saw a spot across the waste, his sharp eyes telling him what it was. A small flop-eared burro and a little girl leading it.
Biddy Parker! Davey screamed the jeep into motion and headed in that direction. As the intervening distance lessened; Biddy stopped and waved a welcome.