from better days when he had sold irrigation pumps.
Shining the light into the small, stricken face, Olcott asked, "Now, what are you doin' out here this time o' night, and how the devil did you do that?"
"
Ayuda,
" Jose said weakly but sucked in his breath when he spotted the badge on the man's chest.
Sanchez kept on barking, his tail whipping. He was still straddling Jose.
"Get that dumb dog away, and I'll help you," Olcott said gruffly.
Jose spoke to Sanchez in Spanish, calming him down. The mongrel moved aside but eyed Olcott, making low noises in his throat.
Olcott came over and knelt. "Good Lord, you did it up brown. That went right through." He pulled the jacket and shirt aside. "There's a half inch stickin' out. Sharp as a nail."
Jose closed his eyes so as not to see the badge.
"All right now, just lay still, and I'll get a hand under you. We'll go straight up. This is gonna hurt, boy."
The words were meaningless, but Jose gritted his teeth as Olcott's fingers worked under his shoulder. He refused to cry, but a groan came out.
"Here we go, up."
There was a red flash of pain, and then it was over and Olcott had pulled the shoulder free. Jose felt himself being lifted to his feet. His knees were wobbly.
"All right, boy, I'll take you to Doc Atherton's and wake him up. But somebody ought to pound your behind for being out so late." Then Olcott spotted the suitcase. "What you doin'? Runnin' away?"
Jose took several steadying breaths. He was certain this man would turn him over to
la migra,
then go looking for his father.
He moved back a couple of steps, scooped up the suitcase, and darted off toward El Camino Real. Olcott shouted, "Hey, come back here, boy."
But Jose and Sanchez were already out of sight, and Olcott hadn't run ten feet in twenty years.
He muttered, "I'll be double damned," and shook his head. "Crazy Mex kid." He went back to the service station and turned off all lights except the one over the cash register.
Â
J OSE MADE IT several hundred yards along the Real and then stopped. The shoulder hurt, but it was his stomach that was giving him the most trouble. He felt queasy. He looked back toward the station. The stoop-shouldered man with the badge wasn't following. He went on.
When they were almost opposite the mission, he said to Sanchez, "I must rest. We'll hide until morning."
They went up the worn, uneven adobe steps and into the nave. It was dimly lighted by a bank of prayer candles near the confessional booth and the wooden statue of Christ. There were more candles near the railing before the tabernacle at the front of the church. Jose crossed himself and looked around, feeling safer already.
But he was worried about someone coming in. He glanced up at the choir loft and started for the steep steps, Sanchez trotting behind.
They reached the top, and the hand-hewn floorboards creaked as they moved to the far side. Jose lowered himself down, sprawling against the cold outer wall, his left shoulder extending over the last board, which was spaced about six inches from the plaster-covered adobe. Letting out a long, shuddering breath, he said weakly, "I'm sure I'll be all right in an hour or so, Sanchez." His voice sounded hollow in the empty church.
The dog lay down, massive head between his paws.
There were twenty or so chairs at the front of the loft, near the solid wooden balcony railing. An old foot-pumped organ stood behind them. Nothing else was up there. Suddenly, Jose longed for the safety of Colnett. He could picture Enrique out there in the lee of the cape, pulling the anchor up, ready to move on to another spot. The pelicans would be beating north; maybe some gulls working a school of anchovies.
With dull eyes, he stared off through the darkness to the Immaculate Conception over the tabernacle. There were wooden statues of the saints in the ornate
retablo,
the decorated framework. A flickering sanctuary lamp, hung on a chain from the ceiling to the left of the altar,