Finally, Caballo turned to Scott Jurek “El Venado,” he said, which even got a reaction out of too-cool Arnulfo. Now, what was the crazy gringo playing at? Why would Caballo call the tall, lean,and supremely confident-looking guy “the Deer”? Was he giving the Tarahumara a foot tap underthe table, a little hint how to play their cards on race day? Manuel remembered very well the wayCaballo had urged the Tarahumara in Leadville to sit patiently on Ann Trason’s heels and “run herdown like a deer.” But would Caballo favor the Tarahumara over his own compatriot? Or maybe itwas a setup— maybe Caballo was trying to trick the Tarahumara into holding back while thisAmerican built an unbeatable lead….
Bond slammed the door of his cabin and dived for the Passenger List. Of course. Winter. Here he was. Aqc). The deck below. And then suddenly Bond's mind clicked like a comptometer. Winter. Wint and Kidd. The two torpedoes. The men in the hoods. Back to the passenger list. Kitteridge. In A49 too. The white-haired man and the fat man in the BOAC plane from London. 'My blood group is F'. The secret escort for Tiffany. And Leiter's description. "He's called 'Windy' because he hates travelling."
Bond lit a cigarette and settled himself in his chair. The long game was launched and the sequence of these gestures and the reiteration of this subdued litany would continue until the end came and the players dispersed. Then the enigmatic cards would be burnt or defaced, a shroud would be draped over the table and the grass-green baize battlefield would soak up the blood of its victims and refresh itself.
10 ADVANCED STUDIES
12 In a Glass, Very Darkly
The shining red vehicle pulled up in front of the cable station and the warning klaxons ran down with an iron groan. Men jumped to the ground. Some went into the station while others stood gazing up at the Piz Gloria, where a dull red glow still showed. A man in a peaked cap, presumably the captain of the team, came up to Bond and saluted. He fired off a torrent of Schwyzerdьtch. Bond shook his head. The man tried French. Bond again showed incomprehension. Another man with fragmentary English was called over. 'What is it that is happening?' he asked.
'I should think so,' said the gentleman. 'There ain't no sort of orse that I ain't bred, and no sort of dorg. Orses and dorgs is some men's fancy. They're wittles and drink to me - lodging, wife, and children - reading, writing, and Arithmetic - snuff, tobacker, and sleep.'