Tunnel in the Sky

  “Your what?”

  “My executive officer. She was captain of the guard, chief of police, anything you want to call her. She did everything. She hunted, too, but that was just because she liked to. Carol is, uh—well, Carol is swell.”

  “Roderick, are you involved with this girl?”

  “Me? Gosh, no! She was more like a big sister. Oh, Carol was sweet on half a dozen fellows, one time or another, but it never lasted.”

  “I am very glad to hear that you are not seriously interested in her. She does not sound like desirable companionship for a young boy.”

  “Dad—you don’t know what you are saying!”

  “Perhaps. I intend to find out. But what is this other matter? ‘City Manager!’ What were you?”

  “I,” Rod said proudly, “was Mayor of Cowpertown.”

  His father looked at him, then shook his head. “We’ll speak of this later. Possibly you need, eh—medical help.” He looked at Helen. “We’ll attend to the change in guardianship tomorrow. I can see that there is much I must take care of.”

  Helen met his eyes. “Not unless Buddy consents.”

  “Daughter!”

  “The transfer was irrevocable. He will have to agree or I won’t do it!”

  Mr. Walker looked shocked, Mrs. Walker looked stricken. Rod got up and left the room…the first time anyone had ever done so while the Lamp of Peace was burning. He heard his father call after him but he did not turn back.

  He found Matson in his room, smoking and reading. “I grabbed a bite and let myself in quietly,” Matson explained. He inspected Rod’s face. “I told you,” he said slowly, “that it would be rough. Well, sweat it out, son, sweat it out.”

  “I can’t stand it!”

  “Yes, you can.”

  In Emigrants’ Gap the sturdy cross-country wagons were drawn up in echelon, as they had been so often before and would be so many times again. The gate was not ready; drivers gathered at the booth under Liberty’s skirts, drinking coffee and joking through the nervous wait. Their professional captain was with them, a lean, homely young man with deep lines in his face, from sun and laughing and perhaps some from worry. But he did not seem to be worrying now; he was grinning and drinking coffee and sharing a doughnut with a boy child. He was dressed in fringed buckskin, in imitation of a very old style; he wore a Bill Cody beard and rather long hair. His mount was a little pinto, standing patiently by with reins hanging. There was a boot scabbard holding a hunting rifle on the nigh side of the saddle, but the captain carried no guns on his person; instead he wore two knives, one on each side.

  A siren sounded and a speaker above the Salvation Army booth uttered: “Captain Walker, ready with gate four.”

  Rod waved at the control booth and shouted, “Call off!” then turned back to Jim and Jacqueline. “Tell Carol I’m sorry she couldn’t get leave. I’ll be seeing you.”

  “Might be sooner than you think,” asserted Jim. “My firm is going to bid this contract.”

  “Your firm? Where do you get that noise? Have they made him a partner, Jackie?”

  “No,” she answered serenely, “but I’m sure they will as soon as he is admitted to the Outlands bar. Kiss Uncle Rod good-by, Grant.”

  “No,” the youngster answered firmly.

  “Just like his father,” Jimmy said proudly. “Kisses women only.”

  The count was running back down; Rod heard it and swung into saddle. “Take it easy, kids.” The count passed him, finished with a shouted, “ONE!”

  “Reins up! Reeeiins UP!” He waited with arm raised and glanced through the fully-dilated gate past rolling prairie at snow-touched peaks beyond. His nostrils widened.

  The control light turned green. He brought his arm down hard and shouted, “Roll ’em! Ho!” as he squeezed and released the little horse with his knees. The pinto sprang forward, cut in front of the lead wagon, and Captain Walker headed out on his long road.