ACT 4           Dawn found J.R. and Betty resting on the rocky slope of the hill directly north of the wrecked plane.           They had traveled throughout the rest of the night, stopping only briefly to catch their breath before proceeding again.  They were now well up from the valley floor, with a good view of the scene of the crash.  From there, they would be able to identify anyone who approached the airplane.           Rising up on her knees, Betty looked over a cluster of boulders and rocks behind which they had taken refuge, and surveyed the scene below.  She could easily see the white fuselage of the airplane glistening in the early morning sunshine and the trail of debris that littered the ground behind it.  Against the ridge where they had sought shelter from the scorching sun the previous day, she could just make out the ice chest and their luggage, small squares of color against the sandy brown of the desert.           She brushed a hand across her abdomen in an attempt to silence the hungry fumbling that reminded her that she had not had a decent meal since breakfast the previous morning.  The candy bars had been eaten during yesterday�s long hot afternoon, but she knew it would have been pointless to have saved any of them.  They would have melted into liquid in the intense desert heat.          From her elevated position, Betty could see a great distance to the south, east, and west of their location, and gazed with a feeling of despair at the tall, peaked, barren, craggy hills that rose, one after the other, for many miles in each direction.   Sweat trickled along her scalp and down the back of her neck, and her hair clung to the dampness.  The sun was barely up, and already the heat was beginning to build to an almost intolerable level.            Turning away from the valley, she readjusted the scarf that bound her hair, securing the strands that had come loose during their hike up the hillside, and sucked her breath in through her teeth with a hiss as the gesture sent a ripple of pain through her injured shoulder.  She quickly completed the task and lowered her arms, her right hand seeking out the source of her discomfort as her eyes sought out her companion.           In the shadow of a rocky outcropping that formed a shallow depression in the rugged hillside which had been carved out of the rocks untold years earlier by erosion, J.R. was lying on his back on the hard ground, one arm flung across his eyes, his other hand resting lightly against his injured side.  Betty quietly observed him for several moments, watching as his suntanned abdomen moved up and down with his breathing.  He was silent, as if sleeping, but his uneven, sometimes ragged breaths, indicated that he was awake.  She knew that every breath would be causing him pain.           She was worried about him, and wished for a quick rescue so that he could seek proper attention at a medical facility.  Despite his repeated assurances that his injured ribs were not causing too much discomfort, she knew he was trying to conceal his pain from her.  She gripped her shoulder again, recognizing the fact that she was no better; she was also keeping her pain from him.  The difference was that she believed he was unaware of her discomfort.           A distant sound, a peculiar egg-beater reverberation, broke the dead silence of the desert, and Betty lifted her eyes to the sky, and after several moments of searching for it, she located a shiny speck against the brilliant blue.  She knew instantly what it was, and initially felt her heart lift in reaction to it, but she quickly restrained her jubilation, for there was no way to tell if it carried friend or foe.  They would have to be wary until they were certain.           Scooting across the space that separated her from J.R., she reached out and placed a hand on his leg and shook him, gently.  �J.R., there�s a helicopter coming.�           He instantly pulled his arm away from his eyes and focused on her face briefly, then pressed his hand tighter against his side as he sat up with a facial grimace.  With effort, he pulled himself across the hard dirt and loose sandstone gravel in a seated position to the rocky barrier from which they could watch without being seen.           Hoping for a rescue chopper, they observed the shiny speck as it drew nearer, gradually taking a more defined shape of a silver and white helicopter.  It approached slowly from the southeast, indicating that its passengers were investigating the ground below, presumably searching for the lost aircraft.  When it reached the valley, it hovered there for several moments as its occupants observed the remains of the wrecked airplane.           �They�ve spotted the crash,� J.R. commented.          �Can you tell who they are?� Betty asked, hopefully.           He shook his head.           As they continued to watch, the helicopter descended into the valley, and its running blades touched down on the hard ground near the downed airplane.  A moment later, the doors opened, and four men stepped out, including the pilot           All four were dressed casually in slacks and polo shirts, in an obvious attempt to look inconspicuous in the rugged country, but that attempt fell far short of its goal.  Even at that distance, it was apparent that their clothes were expensive and out of place in the dusty heat of the desert.   Their dark sunglasses gave them a sinister appearance.           �They�re a bit over dressed for a rescue crew,� Betty said with disappointment.           Moving slowly, keeping a watchful eye on the cockpit, the four men circled the plane and approached the door, which hung open in a manner which prevented them from determining if it had come open during the crash or if it had been opened by survivors.  When they reached it, the first one peered inside.  After exchanging a few words with his companions, he climbed inside while the others remained outside, waiting.           After several minutes, the man climbed back outside and brushed dirt from his trousers with his hand as he spoke briefly to the others.  He was obviously explaining the absence of the pilot, for they immediately turned their attention to the surrounding desert.           �They�re looking for Tyler,� J.R. said, more to himself than to Betty.           �Which means they�re probably DuHart�s men,� Betty added.           �Looks that way.�           The men fanned out away from the plane, searching the ground, but it was apparent that none of them were capable of tracking, for not one detected any footprints that might have left on the sun baked surface of the valley floor.  Finally, one of the men spotted the luggage, and pointed.  Instantly, they hurried to the ridge and began rifling through the suitcases, pulling everything from inside it and searching through each one before casting it aside.           Watching as his shaving kit was dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, J.R. scratched at the rough stubble that was shadowing his cheeks.  �Well, they�ve just found out that Tyler had passengers.�  He sighed, regretfully.  �We probably should have hidden the luggage, somewhere.�           �There really wasn�t any place to hide it,� Betty reminded him, watching intently as her suitcase was searched.  �Look at all the trouble Tyler went through to try to find a hiding place for the cocaine.�           �Still, we could have at least brought it into the hills, where it wouldn�t have been sitting there like a beacon.�           �If they had spotted it, it would have pointed them right at us.  My bright red suitcase would have stood out like a cherry on a cream pie.�          Their eyes locked for several moments in mutual agreement, then they turned back to the activity in the valley.           One of the men had reached into Betty�s suitcase and had withdrawn her slip.  He was holding it up against himself, as a woman would hold a new article of clothing to admire before a mirror.   Even from that distance, they could see that he was grinning, as if thoroughly entertained as he modeled the slip for his co-workers.   Eventually, he tired of his jesting and carelessly wadded up the slip and tossed it on the ground beside her suitcase, then reached in and withdrew other feminine undergarments, holding them up for observation as well.            Betty�s face flamed with a distinct feeling of humiliation.  �They�ve obviously discovered that one of us is a woman.  They seem rather amused by it.�           �Tyler mentioned that his girlfriend �- what was her name, Crystal?  He mentioned that she sometimes travels with him.  They probably think he brought her with him this time.  They�re probably assuming that my suitcase is his and your suitcase is hers.�           One of the men opened the lid on the ice chest and peered inside it, then turned it upside down, emptying the water onto the dry ground.            J.R. lowered his forehead briefly to his forearm, which was draped on the rock in front of him, a gesture of despair.  �I had hoped they wouldn�t do that,� he admitted as he lifted his head again.  �We�re close enough that we could have returned for more water when it was safe.  By using it sparingly, it would have lasted us several days.�           �I was thinking the same thing,� she responded, grimly, then turned to look at him as if startled.  �Several days!  You don�t think we�ll be here for several days do you?�           �I�m afraid it�s possible.  We have no idea how far off course we are.�           A feeling of despair settled into her stomach, and her lips thinned and turned downward, as if she suddenly felt ill.          His eyes met hers briefly, understanding that her concern was as much for him as for herself.  He managed a reassuring smile.  �We�ll get through it.�          Turning their attention back to the drug dealers, they watched as the four men continued to concentrate on the contents of the suitcases.  The carefully pressed shirts, trousers and skirts that had been so meticulously folded and packed were all given thorough scrutiny.  Pockets were searched, and Betty�s cosmetics case and individual makeup jars and tubes were opened.          Betty felt J.R. start suddenly beside her, and she turned her attention to him.          In response to her silent question, he pointed, even though it was impossible at that distance to determine which man he was pointing to.  �See that guy in the tan shirt?  He has a pistol tucked into the back of his pants.�           Betty squinted at the man he had indicated, and saw something small and dark tucked into the waistband, but could not identify it.  �Are you sure?  I can�t tell from this distance.�           �I�m positive.  That�s a pistol, all right.  You can see the handle just above his belt.�           �You have good eyes, J.R.  I wouldn�t have noticed it.�  Even though she had already known that the men were probably DuHart�s henchmen, she felt her pulse step up a bit with the visual confirmation that they were armed and dangerous.           In the valley below, the four men soon tired of searching the luggage, having found nothing of particular significance, with the exception of Betty�s undergarments, in which one of them expressed great interest.  J.R. watched with unease as he lifted Betty�s slip from the ground in an almost reverent manner, brushed the dust from it with his hand, and then pressed to his face, as if inhaling the scent of her perfume, and then trailed the silky material over his arm in a seductive fashion.            He glanced at Betty, and realized that she was thinking the same thing he was.  She lowered her gaze, shaking her head slowly, obviously concerned about what would happen if the men caught up with them.           �Don�t worry,� he assured her, reaching out to grip her hand in his.  �We�ll stay ahead of them.�           She looked up to acknowledge his words, but could not offer a smile.           Finally, the man dropped the slip into the open suitcase again, and they stood and looked around at the rugged hills that surrounded them, as if uncertain where to go from there.           Betty and J.R. shrank down behind the rock, concealing themselves from view as much as possible while maintaining their surveillance of the drug dealers.           Finally, a decision apparently made, the men returned to the helicopter and got inside.  Moments later, the vehicle lifted into the air, and turned south, toward the hills where Tyler had fled, apparently assuming that he would head for Mexico.           J.R. breathed a sigh of relief.  �Well, we�re safe for awhile.  Maybe the rescue crews will find us before those guys decide to search the range on this side of the valley.�           �Yes, but Tyler . . . .� Betty began, but did not complete the sentence.           J.R. nodded, grimly.  �I know, but I�m afraid there�s nothing we can do for him.  There are plenty of hiding places in these hills.  If he keeps his wits about him, he should be able to elude them.�            He moved back into the shade beneath the overhang and picked up his can of water and took a small sip, then set it down again, wondering how long it would take to evaporate in the intense heat without a secure lid.  Then, tired and hurting, he lay back down to rest.           Betty joined him beneath the overhang, but instead of lying down, she leaned back against the rocky edge, just trying to stay out of the sun while she kept a worried eye on J.R. and massaged her sore shoulder with her hand.           Dressed in a crisp white shirt and gray slacks, Barnaby stood before the vanity mirror in the bathroom of his hotel room, and adjusted his tie.  A businessman who was rarely seen in casual attire, he would have preferred that Jedediah dress himself in a manner more suitable for the office which saw frequent clientele, yet he tolerated the younger man�s fondness for casual wear with mild, unspoken disapproval, a disapproval that was tempered by the knowledge that Jedediah always dressed appropriately when the circumstances warranted it.            Almost in spite of himself, he had grown very fond of the younger man.  After nearly four years, J.R. had more than proven himself as a valuable asset to the investigative services, and had become a colleague that could always be depended upon.   Although he never spoke of it, Barnaby secretly hoped that someday J.R. would take over the business, as his own son, Hal, had done years earlier.  Sometimes, he wondered if the same thoughts were on J.R.�s mind, for it seemed he would never complete the academic courses necessary to pass the California Bar.  The business had become more important than attending class.           He had already telephoned the judge to explain the unique and possibly tragic circumstances that had befallen the Jones family and why he would not be able to testify that day.  The judge, understanding the gravity of the situation and the verdict that hinged on the detective�s testimony, had agreed to postpone his portion of the testimony for another day, but warned that he could not delay indefinitely.  The trial must be concluded and sent to the jury within a reasonable timeframe.           With his tie adjusted to suit him and his collar suitably fastened, Barnaby returned to the bed and lifted his suit jacket from it and put it on, smoothing down the fabric with his hand.  He knew it was probably foolish to dress in a suit for the task he had decided to undertake, but he owned very few casual clothes.  In fact, suits were all he had brought with him to Phoenix.  He could always purchase a new suit; he could not replace Jedediah and Betty.           When the telephone rang, he stared at it for several moments, wondering if it brought good news or bad.  Clearing his throat, he crossed the floor to the bedside table and lifted the receiver.           �Barnaby Jones.�           �Barnaby, its John Biddle.  I just wanted to let you know that the search crews are back on site.  So far, they haven�t turned up anything, but I knew you�d be expecting a progress report.�           �Yes, I�m glad you called.  John, I�ve decided to hire a plane to fly me to Blythe.  I�d appreciate it if you would have one of your rescue men pick me up there.  I�ll call you back with the exact location.�           There was silence on the other end of the line as Biddle absorbed his friend�s words.  Finally, choosing his words carefully, he said, �Barnaby, are you sure you want to do that?  If we find the crash site . . . well, it might not be something you�d want to see.�           �I�m not a patient man when it comes to waiting, John.  You know that.  My daughter-in-law and my cousin are out there somewhere, maybe hurt or worse.  They�re the only close family I have left.  I need to be there.  Will you have someone pick me up?�           In his mind�s eye, he could almost see John Biddle, seated at his desk drumming on his vinyl blotter with a pencil as he nodded his head in reluctant agreement.  �You know I will, Barnaby.�           �Thank you, John.�           Barnaby hung up the phone, and pulled out the telephone book to hire a pilot.           They were uncertain how much time had passed when they heard the unmistakable report of a distant gun being fired somewhere in the hills.  It echoed chillingly against the rugged sandstone cliffs and ridges, and then faded away.           Jolted from his rest, J.R. sat bolt upright so abruptly that he was already in a seated position before he even felt the stabbing pain in his side that the movement caused.  He turned his head toward Betty, and they fixed their eyes upon one another in grim comprehension.   A second gunshot reverberated in the hot, still air, causing Betty to flinch in reaction to it.  It was followed by ominous silence.           �Oh, J.R.,� she said, solemnly, a sickened expression on her face.           He nodded in somber agreement.  �They found him.  That means they have their drugs, now, unless he hid them somewhere.  If he did, they may figure his passengers have them.�           Betty�s large eyes indicated that she had not considered that possibility.  �They know by now that we split up, too, which means they will, in time, come looking on this side of the valley.�           �Yes.�           They gazed indecisively at one another for a long moment, wondering what they should do, if they should flee or hide.  Their first instinct was to run, to put as much distance as they could between them and the drug dealers, but common sense held them in check, understanding that running would put them in the open, where they would be vulnerable.  Running was probably what had gotten Tyler killed.           Her eyes swept the interior of their sandstone outcropping, noting as she did that it was not very deep, a mere five feet or so of steeply sloping, uneven rock ceiling that shielded them from direct overhead view and provided them with meager shade at its deepest point.            �Do you suppose they can see us if we hide under here?� she asked.           He looked at their small shelter and was very aware of the painful throbbing in his side.  A deeper depression would have been preferable, but searching for a better hiding place might actual seal their fate in the worst possible way.            �I don�t think we have a choice, at least for now.  Out there in the open, we�re sitting ducks.  Plus, if we move too far from the crash scene, it�ll make it that much more difficult for the rescue crews to find us.�  He shrugged.  �Maybe, if we�re lucky and they have their cocaine, they�ll just fly off and leave us alone.�           �You don�t believe that any more than I do, J.R.,� she told him.  �You don�t have to say things to try to make me feel better.�           He nodded, admiring her emotional strength.  She was one tough lady who had experienced danger on more than one occasion.  �Okay.  In all probability, they�ll come looking for us, but we still have the advantage.  We�ll be able to see and hear them coming.�  He paused to listen carefully.  There was no sound of the helicopter.  They were still safe, at least for awhile. They slid back into the shade beneath the outcropping, but they did not lie down to rest.  They remained alert, their eyes searching the blue sky ahead of them for signs of the helicopter.           After fifteen minutes or so, they heard the chopping sounds of the helicopter again and instinctively shrank back against the solid rock wall to minimize the risk of detection.           The silver and white helicopter moved slowly along the southern range, glistening in the hot sunshine.  Even though they could not see the windows or the passengers inside, it was obvious by the slow pace of the chopper that the drug dealers were searching the rugged hills below.           �They�re looking for something,� Betty said, unconsciously rubbing her sore shoulder, gripping and massaging it with her fingers.  �They think they�re looking for Crystal.�           J.R. nodded.  �They probably figure Tyler hid her somewhere in those hills along with the coke. I think they�re probably right about the cocaine.  Tyler must have hidden it.  As long as they stay over there, it buys us some time, but you can bet they�ll be coming over here eventually.�  He gazed at her for several moments as she continued to knead her own injury, apparently unaware that she was doing so.  �Is your shoulder bothering you?�           She pulled the hand away, as if caught in an infraction.  �No more than your ribs.�  She shrugged, dispensing with the attempts to pretend that she was not in pain.  �Maybe we should just both admit that we�re hurting, and stop trying to convince the other one that we�re not.  My shoulder hurts pretty bad.�           He nodded.  �Okay.  So do my ribs.�  He suddenly remembered the trial in Phoenix and the papers that Barnaby was waiting for, the memory of the purpose for their flight coming back to him with a jolt.  The papers were crucial for a conviction.  �Betty, what did you do with the documents?�           She glanced at him quickly, as if surprised that it had taken him so long to think about the purpose for the trip in the first place.  �They�re in my suitcase.�  In response to the startled expression on his handsome face, she added, quickly, �There�s a hard lining in the lid that comes out, a secret compartment, if you will.  It�s specifically made for concealing valuables.  I thought it might be a good idea to place them in there.�           He gazed at her with admiring eyes.  �Betty, you�re a wonder, you know that?  If I ever become an attorney, I don�t suppose you consider coming to work for me, would you?�           She smiled in response, but did not answer his job offer.  �Well, I�m afraid I can�t take credit for the suitcase.  Hal had our suitcases specially made, and I guess being raised by a private detective and then becoming one himself, he had a suspicious mind.  He thought it was a good idea, one that might come in handy.  At the time, I thought he was just being paranoid, but the fact is, I�ve used it many times since then.�           �Thank God for his foresight.�  He rumpled his hair with his hand, his fingers dampened by the sweat that tickled his scalp.  �I�m glad I was unaware of it being in there when they were searching your suitcase, or I�d have been a nervous wreck.�           �Well, I thought it best that only one of us was a nervous wreck,� she answered with a smile.  �I was holding my breath the whole time, hoping they wouldn�t find it.�           They continued to watch until the helicopter disappeared again over the crest of one of the peaks, and Betty and J.R. breathed sighs of relief, even though they both knew the reprieve was temporary.            Barely ten minutes had gone by when they heard the chopper returning.  This time, it was coming across the valley straight for the north range.           J.R. pushed Betty as close to the wall of the depression as was humanly possible and pressed himself close against her, hoping grimly that they would not be spotted.  The helicopter soared overhead, stirring up the dust and debris and whipping their hair and clothes.  Then it vanished over the peak, and the sound of the blades faded away.           �They didn�t see us,� J.R. said, his face against Betty�s hair.           Betty nodded, hopefully.           Throughout most of the morning, they huddled beneath the overhang, listening nervously as the helicopter moved back and forth through the hills, searching for them.  Finally, in the early afternoon, the sounds of the chopper faded away.  J.R. leaned outside their hiding place and watched as the silvery chopper flew away in the distance, going back the way it had originally come.           �They�re going away,� he announced.           �Do you suppose we�re safe?� Betty asked, her smudged face           J.R. shrugged.  �For awhile, perhaps.  They may have given up, or they may have had to return for fuel.  Either way, that buys us some time.  I think the best thing for us to do is to hike back down to the plane.  They�ve already searched there.�           She hesitated, preferring to remain hidden until help arrived.  �I don�t know about this, J.R.,� she said, worriedly.  �What if you�re wrong?  What if they decide the drugs are hidden somewhere inside the plane and come back?  Maybe we should just stay here.�           �It isn�t likely that they�ll search it again, even if they do come back.  They have time limitations, too.  They�ll be risking discovery by one of the rescue crews if they remain in this area too long.�           Betty finally nodded her reluctant agreement, and moved out into the open.           J.R. started to rise, but a painful stab in his side forced him back down with a groan.  �Damn it,� he muttered as he doubled over the injury again, annoyed with the difficulty he had in doing simple tasks.           She instantly knelt down beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.  �Maybe we should just stay here,� she suggested, hopefully.  �You�re in no condition to be traveling.�           He shook his head.  �No,� he said through clenched teeth.  �Just a twinge.  I�ll be all right in a minute.�           �Honey, you could cause one of those ribs to puncture a lung or something!�           �I�m okay, I�m okay,� he responded, quickly.  �Just give me a hand.�           She stood up and offered her right hand.           He reached up to accept her offer of assistance.  Bracing herself against the pain in her left shoulder, she pulled on his hand and he rose unsteadily to his feet.  She instantly noticed that he was favoring his right leg, and she placed her hand at his waist to help steady him as he leaned his hand against the rocky ledge to regain his balance.            �J.R., you�re leg�s bothering you again, isn�t it?�           �A little,� he admitted.  �I think I pulled a muscle when I jumped out of the plane.  It�ll limber up when we get started.�            Betty picked up her purse and retrieved their cans of water from beneath the overhang, and they started back down the slope.           Although they were going down hill this time, the rugged terrain, the intense heat, and their own injuries forced them to maintain a relatively slow pace.  They paused to rest frequently, taking small sips of water from their cans, using the precious commodity as sparingly as they could.  The water was very warm, almost hot, as the strong sun heated up the cans and the contents they held.           �How hot do you think it is?� Betty asked, dragging her arm across her sweaty forehead as they paused near the foot of the hill to rest again several hours later.           �It�s got to be at least a hundred and five, maybe hotter than that.�           Betty groaned.  �Did you have to tell me that?�           J.R. smiled, teasingly.  �Is the flower about to wilt?�           �The flower is going to beat you over the head for getting us into this mess!� she retorted with a smile of her own.           �A wilted flower can�t pack much of a punch,� J.R. grinned, then lifted his can to his lips to take another sip.           A loud gunshot split the hot air and J.R.�s water can exploded in his face, drenching him as the can leaped from his hand and landed on the ground with a metallic clatter.  He turned quickly toward the source of the blast, and saw a man standing just within gunshot range in a notch between the hills.  The stranger was frantically fumbling with his pistol, and J.R. knew instinctively that the bullet had jammed in the chamber during the second attempt to fire.           He grabbed Betty�s hand and dragged her forcibly around a cluster of boulders, shielding them from the assassin who seemed to have appeared from nowhere.           �Where did he come from?� she asked, breathlessly, her eyes wide with alarm.           �Your guess is as good as mine,� he replied, his eyes urgently sweeping the landscape for an avenue of escape.  �I think it was one of the same guys, though, judging by the way he was dressed.�           �We should have heard them!� Betty exclaimed in disbelief.  �How could they show up without us hearing the helicopter?�           �They must have landed somewhere behind these hills and walked in.  If they came in low, it�s possible that these hills may have blocked the sound, or something.�            �But if they landed and came in on foot, that means they knew we were here!�           �Oh, they knew, all right.  They just didn�t know exactly where.  They didn�t spot us from the air, or they would have landed sooner.� He grasped her hand again.  �This way,� he said, gesturing toward a narrow cleft in the rugged terrain.            Casting a regretful glance at the bullet hole in the can that had held his ration of water, he led the way through the cleft, knowing as he did that it was taking them away from the location of the wrecked airplane.                                                               Go to Act 5