Basque Moon

by Julie Weston

  “Maybe he saw something. How did Moonshine get so far from the roadhouse?” Lulu didn’t want to sound like Gwynn, but finding the dog without his mistress was mighty strange. As little as she knew Nell, she’d seen the affection between the two, more like friends than dog and owner.

  Charlie shrugged. “I do not know. By the river is all I can piece together. He was not wet, but he wouldn’t be if he had been out of the water for even a few hours. You know how dry it is this time of year.”

  The three of them stood on the porch, thinking their own thoughts, and then Moonshine barked.

  “He wants action even if we don’t know what to do,” Gwynn said. “Find anything at the Rocking O?”

  “No, only two cowboys—Ned Tanner being one of them. He said after his set-to with Pearl, he went back to the bunkhouse and he’d been there ever since. Not sure I believed him. He looked as beat-up as I have ever seen any cowboy look, but he offered to let me into the bunkhouse and I took him up on it. No one there except another cowboy cleaning his Winchester. No one I knew.”

  “Maybe he hid her in the ranch house. Was O’Donnell there? He’s a cool customer. I never can tell whether he lies all the time or just during the week.” Gwynn’s color was coming back. “I had a whiskey with him—I mean a soda pop—at the saloon and he told me how many head of cattle he was running up in the hills and how much property he owns there in the Basin. To hear him tell it, he’s richer than Croesus.” The lines of his face sagged even more, if that was possible. Lulu thought he looked older than Croesus. “I tackled him about Domingo, said I thought one of his cowboys had played too rough—mighta been an accident, but my man was dead.”

  “Who is Croesus?” the sheriff asked. He had removed his hat and the sun shone on his black hair where it rippled from his fingers brushing through it. The day was heating up and it wasn’t even noon yet.

  “Oh some Greek guy with enough gold to sink a mountain,” Gwynn said.

  “Too hot out here for me,” Lulu said. “Come on in. I’ll rustle up some lunch for the two of you while you decide what to do next. I don’t think Nellie came by here, and Goldie says she didn’t come home. I think I’d have heard her on the gravel road if she’d gone by. Didn’t sleep too well myself last night. Heat’s building up on this side of the Pass. No cool night like you probably had in the Basin.” She glanced up the hillside across the road. “Coming on to fire season is what I’m thinkin’.” Moonshine followed her into the lodge kitchen. She poked her head back out. “If you want to send something to Twin, get it ready, and I’ll see that it gets at least to Goldie.”

  While Lulu worked building sandwiches from newly baked bread, slabs of ham, and slathers of mustard, she listened to the men talk and fed scraps to the dog. They apparently didn’t care if she heard or maybe they’d forgotten about her. Moonshine gulped down the ham pieces and then lay down near the table and fell asleep, his head on his paws.

  “How ’bout the saloon? Did you check back there?” Gwynn sounded as if he thought he should have done the checking, that the sheriff didn’t know how to do a good job of policing.

  “Sam came out the door when I drove in. He said he hadn’t seen Miss Burns since dinner the night before. He also said Pearl ran out on him last night, too, after she spilled a tray of beer onto Tanner. ‘Not the first time,’ he said, and he did not expect it to be the last time. Pearl lives in one of those shacks with a man, supposedly her husband. He pointed it out to me and I checked it out, too. No one there.”

  “Did you break the door down? I woulda.”

  Lulu served a platter of sandwiches and several colas and decided to put away stores there in the kitchen. She wanted to hear what else went on. She gave the sheriff a piece of paper so he could write a note to Goldie.

  “No, Gwynn. I did not break the door down. I scouted around. There was no Oldsmobile and no trace of anything related to Nell.” He took a bite of sandwich and said, his mouth full, “But I did look through all the windows. Not much of a housekeeper is Pearl.”

  Lulu turned to see if he was joking or laughing. That was as near to a sense of humor as she’d heard from the sheriff. He saw her and winked. She smiled and finished stacking cans of beans on a middle shelf where they’d be handy.

  “Maybe she went back up to find Alphonso. And stumbled across the—”

  When Gwynn interrupted himself, Lulu turned again and saw him looking at her. She tried to make it look as if she were merely glancing around the room preparing for the next job, and then she picked up another case of canned goods—peas—and slammed it on the countertop, making noise, hoping he would continue.

  “—still we found.” His voice was lower, but carried almost as well. “I know it looked deserted when we was there, but that don’t mean some of them moonshiners ain’t hiding out somewhere nearby.”

  The sheriff finished up his note, retrieved a box from a bag in his automobile, and handed it all to Lulu. She nodded and stuck it behind the counter.

  “I say we go back out Fourth of July Creek. That’s the only place she knows in the Basin.” Gwynn shoved his chair back. “Maybe her auto broke down and she’s stranded. Al’s too far back up in the mountains by now for her to find him without one helluva long walk. Hard to do without food and water.” The plaintive note in his voice trembled.

  Lulu couldn’t keep herself quiet. “There’s a creek right there, Gwynn. And fish. She’s no helpless ninny. If her auto broke down, she’d come back to the road and wait for someone to come along.”

  Before Gwynn or the sheriff could answer, they all heard an automobile drive along the gravel road leading to the lodge, turn in, stop, and doors slam. “Maybe that’s her right now,” Lulu said, and dashed out into the main store. Two couples, dressed as if for a city outing, walked in, asking questions, wanting supplies for an overnight campout. She hoped her disappointment didn’t show and began waiting on her customers. The men in back must have heard the voices and known Nellie’s wasn’t one of them. As she was finishing up with the people, giving them instructions and warnings about fire and animals, Gwynn and the sheriff came out of the back room. They were so obviously men of the country that the two women gawked as they walked through, their boots heavy on the wood floor, their Stetsons stained from wear and work, their shoulders broad, and their clothes well worn. Moonshine kept close to the sheriff’s feet.

  “Who are they?” one of women whispered to Lulu after they reached the porch.

  “One’s the sheriff and the other is a sheep rancher. They’re westerners.” Lulu could hardly keep the pride out of her voice.

  “Look kind of dirty to me,” one of the men said. The women stared at him, but he was oblivious, squatting to check out some cowboy boots.

  Lulu decided she could trust her customers not to steal her blind, and she left them in the store to follow the men to their autos. “Where are you going?” She wasn’t certain they would tell her. “I need to know in case Nellie shows up here and I can send word to you.”

  Charlie Azgo opened the passenger door and Moonshine leaped in, just as if he knew his place. The sheriff walked back to his side and opened his own door. “We are driving back to the Basin. Gwynn is going to the Rocking O to scout around again, and I will try Fourth of July Creek. We saw some structures up there yesterday that I want to investigate.”

  “A moonshine still? They’re all over the back-country. So you’re back to your law work, I suppose.” She didn’t think he’d give up on finding Nellie so soon. “But I think I’d check out Smiley Creek first, Sheriff. That’s where they hang out and cook up their plans, you know. What about Nellie? Are you just going to let her go missing?”

  Gwynn had already backed out and headed for the Pass. Charlie climbed into his auto, folding his long legs with care, closed the door, and turned on the engine. The dog gave Lulu a long soulful look from the side window.

  CHAPTER 8

  Her head split when Nell tried to sit up, so she ceased trying, hoping the pi
eces would knit together again. At first, she thought a blanket still covered her head, but she could breathe, so she was mistaken. Dark enveloped her. Was it night? Yes. No. No carpet of stars lit the canopy. A rocking motion held her in its sway, and then changed abruptly to bouncing, jouncing, rattling. She wanted to hold her head but couldn’t find an arm or hand to protect it from the stabs entering through her ears, her temple, her neck. A moan. Hers? She slipped back, thankfully, into a deep oblivion.

  The next time she was aware of herself, her head ached but no longer did needles shoot into her skull. Still dark. No motion. Once more, she pushed to lift her head and shoulders. Her head stopped her. Her legs were curled up and cramping. With as much care as if she would break them, she began to stretch one. It stopped at an obstruction. Where was her arm? She thought doggedly of each part of her body, naming it and wiggling it—a foot, a leg, her shoulder, her chest, her head—no, she couldn’t remember where her arm was. A smell like kerosene clogged her head, making her eyes water.

  Either she was growing used to the black or something was beginning to cast a delicate glow into the space around her. A feeling not unlike snow blindness assailed her, but no white obscurity this time. It was all dark and she couldn’t decide if she were prone or vertical. Maybe her foot had stopped at the floor. What was up? What was down? She’d lost her arm. Tears welled. What direction? She felt damp running down the side of her face into her hair. She was lying down. Gravity never lies. Pleased with her deduction, she stopped crying, but was reminded of her father’s admonition, “Only sissies cry,” and water ran again. She was a sissy.

  Time passed, or didn’t. She wasn’t certain. Everything was black but not everything was silent. She thought she heard voices, then a latch scraped, a cover lifted, and a light shone into her eyes, blinding her.

  “What have you done?” a voice demanded to know. “Are you crazy?” Even with eyes closed, Nell could identify Pearl. Her screech resembled nothing so much as an outraged magpie, the same tone she had used when calling Ned Tanner a two-timer.

  Mumbles answered.

  “Well, she knows me, you stupid—” Pearl removed the beam from Nell’s face, placed the light somewhere else, and leaned in. “Oh, Nellie, you poor thing! Can you move? Let me get this blanket off you. Careful now, your legs’ll cramp if you move too fast.”

  A comforting arm slipped around Nell and helped to lift her. She heard herself moan again, then gritted her teeth. When the blanket slipped from underneath her, she discovered her arms and could help boost herself from the trunk of an auto, which was where she had been. Not her own, she could see. This was a large touring car, all black and, in the ambient light, appeared to be covered with mud, as if it had raced through puddles and ditches. Maybe it had. She remembered feeling as if she had been in a wash-tub.

  Pearl placed the blanket around Nell’s shoulders and bade her stay sitting on the edge of the auto for a few minutes. Then the flashlight and the woman moved away and once again Nell was surrounded by night, but this time, the smell of sagebrush and fir trees scented the air. Above, familiar stars shone: cold beacons oblivious of life on earth. And she was alive. Had someone wanted her dead? No, she wouldn’t be sitting on a car edge if that were the case.

  She breathed deeply, trying to reorient herself, and at the same time gingerly touched a painful goose-egg on her head. What had happened? She remembered the wash-room and placing her exposed film in the lightproof box, the film carrier in her camera pack—where was it? She leaned back and felt around the boot of the auto. Nothing there. And Moonshine. He growled, then leapt at—no, through the doorway. Her camera and her dog, gone. Sobs threatened, but she closed them down. First things first. Where was she?

  Because it was still dark, she couldn’t be too far from Stanley. It had been close to midnight when she switched off the bedside lamp. The sagebrush told her she was on a south- or west-sloping hillside. The smell of pitch told her the north slope wasn’t far away. A glow almost too faint to register pointed her east. There was something else, a familiar smell, tantalizing her senses, but she couldn’t place it. She stood up, wrapped the blanket tighter, and took several steps. Her legs still worked, but her feet were covered only by socks. Maybe her camera was inside the auto. She stumbled over a rut, caught her balance on the top of the auto, and moved along the side until she reached a door handle. Her hand was still numb, but she managed to open it, lean in, and feel along the seat and the floor. Just as she came in contact with canvas, she heard Pearl coming back. At least she hoped it was Pearl.

  “Nellie? Where are you?” The flashlight beam swung one way and then another, stopping on Nell, where she leaned against the now-shut door of the car.

  “Where am I? Pearl, how did you get here?” With her throat as dry as it was, Nellie’s words sounded scratchy. “Could I have some water?”

  “Here, I brought a canteen. Drink from it.” Pearl lifted a round canister and Nell grasped it, holding it to her mouth. Except for a slight metallic tang, the water tasted pure and clean. She offered it back.

  “Keep it. You’ll need it again.” Pearl paced back and forth, her light flashing on brush, a few trees, a dirt road. They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, although the woman had approached Nellie from behind the auto. Whoever had driven her to this place was no longer around. Or was he hiding, listening?

  “Can you take me back? I was staying at a cabin in lower Stanley. I need my things, my camera—” she stopped before she said, “my dog.” “I’m sure there was some mistake.” She took another drink and remembered the sheriff. “Sheriff Azgo will be looking for me shortly. Surely, you don’t want a run-in with him—or your friends don’t. I know you wouldn’t have done this to me.” No response. “Would you?”

  “I got to think,” Pearl said, stopping several yards away. “The sheriff. The sheriff. Why’d you bring him to the saloon?” She paced again.

  “I didn’t! He’s looking for a murderer. We just happened to be traveling to the same places. I’m a photographer, trying to make a living. You know that.” The canteen had a strap and Nellie placed it around her neck and shoulder and stepped toward Pearl. “Help me, Pearl. I’ll never say anything about your—your—” What could she call it? Complicity in kidnapping? What was going on? “Ow!” She had stepped on small rocks. “I need my boots.”

  “Hush!” Pearl turned off the flashlight. The night was no longer totally dark; a fringe of light outlined the hills behind them. She grabbed Nell’s arm and pushed her back to the rear of the auto. “Sit there, like you’re having trouble getting up.”

  The sound of boots swishing through brush made Nellie follow directions. Pearl might be her enemy, but she might also be her friend. A man’s voice called, “Pearl.” Only the one word. The woman moved toward the sound, using her flash to guide her. Nellie watched her progress, hoping to see the man. He stayed behind several small fir trees. From a low rumble of words, she could pick out a few. “Get her . . .” and then “. . . loaded . . .” and then “. . . deal with her later.” After a minute or two, Pearl was back. “C’mon,” she said and led Nellie to a path.

  “But my camera. I think it’s in the auto.” She stumbled, almost falling, then deliberately sank to the ground, trying to delay her departure from the auto. It felt safer than being led off into the woods. “And I’m in my socks.” She deliberately mouthed a small moan.

  “Goddamnit.” Pearl’s oath was low and vicious. She strode to the auto, opened the back door, lifted a bundle, and began to close the door.

  “And my tripod,” Nell called, trying to keep her voice low. “I need it, too.” The door groaned open again and Pearl almost disappeared inside. “And my bag,” Nell said at the same time the door slammed shut. Two boots came flying toward her. She donned them immediately. They were hers. “I need my toothbrush.”

  “Damnit, Pearl!” Two words from the man in the bushes. Nellie tried to place the voice and couldn’t.

  By now, Nell could see mo
st of Pearl’s features. Her eyes flashed white as they turned to the source of exasperation, and she hurried her step. “Here,” she said to Nellie, thrusting the pack and the tripod at her. “Get moving,” she warned. “These men don’t play games.”

  With dawn brightening, Nellie found her way behind Pearl more easily. They followed a rough path that wound through sagebrush, over rocks, up and down hard-packed earth. Their direction was south so the road must have traveled east and west. The faint scent she’d smelled earlier grew stronger. Burnt sugar. That’s what it was. A sharp sting of memory—she and her mother baking cookies in their kitchen in preparation for a visit from her grandparents—made her stumble once more. Tears blurred her way and she wished with all her heart that she were back in Chicago, safe, taking portraits, and sharing her evenings with her mother, who stitched handwork while Nellie read, each at one end of the couch, a warmed teapot between them on a low table. What was her mother doing now? Perhaps arriving at her job in the library.

  Gossamer strings of clouds, like angel hair, began to turn pink, then deepened to fuchsia and several shades of lavender, then changed to gold and finally to white as the sun burst from behind the mountaintop above them. A rainbow had slipped from its moorings and splashed itself across the sky. From rabbitbrush a scant ten yards from the path, a meadowlark serenaded, and scarlet gilia, its trumpets glowing, grew in random patches across the hillside, interrupted here and there by yellow balsamroot and white lupine. Nellie stopped. Safety or glory. She had chosen glory. No time for regret now.

  Her guide, perhaps jaded with the beauty of Idaho, did not stop or look around, but plodded on, her slim figure clothed in a long canvas coat that caught on sage branches from time to time. From the back, she might have been a small man, so sturdy were her shoulders and straight her neck and head, only half-covered by a cap into which her hair had been tucked. Nell hurried along. The way was not so clear that she wouldn’t get lost if she didn’t keep up.