Love's Dream Song

by Leesmith, Sandra

  Jess rubbed the moist earth between his fingers, sickened by the red stain it left. He wasn’t positive whose blood it was, but he could see it only in the imprint of one body—a man’s. Autumn had been spared. The gunmen might plan to use her as a hostage to guarantee their safety.

  She wasn’t part of the ring. Relief filled him, but worry stifled the joy. He needed to find her first.

  Jess kicked dirt on the campfire the men had left burning in their haste. His mind raced. The men had a definite advantage on horseback. It would take the whole day to get back to Coyote Springs and retrieve his mount, and he’d still have to wait until it was safe to traverse the flooded canyon.

  Best to hike out of the canyon and head toward his ranch. He could call in a helicopter. A crew of ranch hands worked the northeast section. If lucky, he’d run into them.

  In minutes he backtracked to last night’s campsite. Pangs of remorse hit when he spotted Autumn’s empty bedroll. If only she’d slept through this.

  He gathered his gear and jammed it into his pack. It would be easier to travel light, but he didn’t know for sure how long he’d be out here. If he found tracks he could follow, he wouldn’t return to the ranch.

  With his pack secured on his back, Jess hiked at a fast pace out of the canyon. The sun heated the red rocks. His steps automatic, his mind raced to figure out missing pieces to the puzzle. This latest event threw his theories to the wind.

  Both men had been Anglos. Autumn was not involved, nor did it appear any of The People were in on it. If Arlo was still alive, he’d be happy to know both facts. Arlo hadn’t told his father that they believed Autumn was part of the operation. The suspicions about Autumn put a strain on their relationship with Real Tall Man.

  The heavy drug traffic through the reservation had been of major concern to Arlo. He fought to keep his clan from dealing in drugs. The easy money and relative safety in handling the fly-ins from Mexico offered too much temptation.

  If the Navajo weren’t involved, it would explain the activity at Coyote Springs. Without cooperation from the clan, it would be foolish for the drug smugglers to stage their activities on the reservation. Were they using the canyon on his property? The thought infuriated him. They would soon realize they’d made a poor choice.

  With all the side canyons, avoiding the professor and his two students was feasible. The arrival of the crowd of scientists and reporters definitely crimped the smugglers’ activities. The explosion cleared out the area.

  One thing bothered Jess. The explosion had occurred while everyone was at the kiva and out of danger. Too coincidental. Someone on the inside was leaking information. So if it wasn’t Autumn, who was it? Riker? Wayne Carson? He still hadn’t ruled out Connie Turner.

  What were they doing at Coyote Springs? Surely the professor would figure something was wrong and try to find them. He groaned. It would be two or three days before any of that group would realize Jess was in trouble. By then he’d be out of the canyon, and more than likely, it would be too late for Autumn.

  He crested the rim just as the sun slid below the skyline. The plateau stretched before him. If he continued hiking, he’d be at the ranch between midnight and dawn.

  Jess lifted his pack off his back and set it on the rocky ground. Tired and hungry, he stopped long enough to fill his canteens at a natural spring. Apache warriors could run seventy miles in a day. They trained for speed and endurance. He took a deep breath, reminding himself again that he carried their blood.

  Visions of Autumn haunted him. She’d been with the criminals for too many hours. Was she still alive? Were they hurting her? Jess clenched his fists.

  Daya’s chant echoed. Slowly, he murmured the words. Negative thoughts disappeared. The words of the song strengthened his thinking. Courage and hope grew.

  Closing his eyes he tried to focus on images of Autumn, safe and protected. When he opened them again, he found himself staring at Real Tall Man.

  Quickly, he averted his gaze and greeted the older man in his native tongue. “Yaá át ééh. It is good.”

  “There is trouble. I came.” He gestured toward four horses waiting patiently behind him.

  Peace settled over Jess. He did not need to question how Real Tall Man knew of trouble. Psychologists could claim mental telepathy. The hataali would credit the spirits with a vision. At this point, it didn’t matter to Jess. The man was here and he had horses.

  Jess explained to Real Tall Man what had happened. As he spoke he reached for his pack, ready to mount one of the horses and head for the ranch.

  “Where are you going?” Real Tall Man asked.

  His low tone clued Jess in to what was coming, but Jess ignored it. “I’ve got to find Autumn and Arlo. I’m going to call the sheriff and have him get some choppers out here.”

  “There is no need for that. I can find them.”

  Jess tamped the impatience that flared. The old ways had their virtues, but now was not the time to indulge in them—not with helicopters within calling distance, and especially not with lives at stake. He untied the lead of one of the horses from Real Tall Man’s saddle.

  “We will have a stargazing ceremony, you and I. Then we will know where to find her,” Real Tall Man said.

  Clamping his jaw to keep from saying something he’d regret, Jess hoisted his pack on the back of the horse. It didn’t take long to secure it behind the saddle, but it was enough time for Autumn’s grandfather to speak.

  “You once believed in the way of The People. Trust me now. If you want your woman, you will pray.”

  Pray. He wanted to scoff. All of his and Daya’s prayers hadn’t saved his father. No. He would use them to keep his mind clear and strong, but he wouldn’t trust Autumn’s welfare to them.

  “What harm can come? Even if you return to the ranch now, the pilots can’t search until morning. Stay with me and I will ask the spirits to help us.”

  For a moment, Jess wavered. One of the hataali’s specialties was finding missing persons. Two summers ago, tourists visiting Grand Canyon National Park had lost their son. A search party of a hundred men had scoured the area for hours. Finally Real Tall Man had been consulted. The child had been found before nightfall.

  Jess sighed. Who was he to say that finding the boy had been coincidence? Real Tall Man’s way could work. He might see Autumn and Arlo in a vision. Besides, the medicine man was right about one thing: a helicopter search couldn’t start until morning.

  Real Tall Man continued. “I will bargain with you. Stay the night. We will make a picture in the sand and chant the Vision Song. At dawn you can ride to where the spirits tell us. I will return to your place and call the sheriff.”

  The deal tempted Jess. The most he would lose would be the two hours it would take to get to the ranch.

  “I don’t know if they’re even still alive,” Jess muttered, more to himself than his companion.

  “They live. I would know if they had passed from the world.”

  Jess hated to ask the question, but couldn’t keep from doing so. “Is Autumn being tortured?”

  Real Tall Man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Jess held his, waiting for the answer, yet not wanting to hear it.

  “I don’t feel pain. She’s surrounded by blackness.”

  “Unconscious?”

  “That is what I think.”

  “But not dead.”

  “Definitely not dead.”

  Logic told him to ignore the older man, but his heart filled with hope and promise. He had to believe she was all right.

  Jess lowered his head on the saddle and let the weariness take control. Daya’s words echoed in his head. Sing the Vision Song. Stay true to your heart.

  Again, logic demanded he mount the pinto and head for home. Yet he’d seen the power of the dream song to clear confusion from the mind. That alone would help him in his search. For several minutes more, he wavered. The two worlds warred inside his head. He barely heard Real Tall Man speak.

  �
�Sit down and rest. I will get my things and we will begin.”

  The procedure would take most of the night. Again Jess balked, but Real Tall Man went to collect his special bag of arrowheads, cornmeal, and quartz from his saddlebags as if Jess had already agreed. Against his judgment, Jess did as the hataali asked.

  * * *

  Throbbing pain came in waves to the back of Autumn’s head. Afraid to move, she remained still as she tried to think. What had happened? Where was she?

  Memories of the camp fire slowly focused. Two men—yes, there had been two of them. But something—no, someone—had knocked her out. A third man must have been waiting for her. Suspicion set and jelled. It couldn’t have been Jess. She refused to believe that.

  Between flashes of agony, images began to form. Emotional pain meshed with the physical, only this ache didn’t recede. Jess. He couldn’t have been the one who had knocked her out. But then, where had he been?

  “No,” she moaned as she closed her eyes.

  The sound echoed with chilling hollowness. Autumn’s eyes flew open. It was dark. She held her breath and listened, but there was only silence. Her senses focused on the ground below—cold rock.

  Panicked, she sat upright with a jerk. Shots of pain jolted through her head. She peered up at the blackness and searched for the stars. She was either blinded, or there were none to see. A sense of urgency escalated as she felt around her.

  A sign of life—a blade of grass, a bush, even a cactus would be a welcome clue that she was not where she feared.

  Another moan tore from her throat as she listened. Again it echoed in eerie tones. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. Her turquoise nugget, tucked under her blouse, reminded her of hope. She pulled it out and grasped the hard stone.

  Don’t panic. You’re alive. You’ll survive.

  The question was how. She was in a cave. The musky smells of damp, stale air, the echoes of the smallest sound, even her breathing, confirmed it. She sat motionless, petrified with fear.

  A breeze came and went. It traced across the skin on her sweat-dampened cheek. She waited for another wisp of air. Where had it come from? There had to be an opening.

  She ignored the throbs that came every time she moved as she peered around. Finally she saw a hole. One star shone in the small opening. It was high above her—at least fifteen feet—in the center of the ceiling.

  She’d probably been dumped through that opening. Her body ached everywhere. A large bruise burned on her hip. Had she landed from that height?

  She checked her legs. Pinpoints of pain prickled through her stiff muscles, but no bones were broken. She ached, but she could move.

  She peered up at the lone star and rolled onto her knees. There had to be a way to the hole. She placed her hands before her and crawled another foot, then set her hands down and suddenly jerked back. What was that? It felt solid and cold. A scream bubbled forth and it took every ounce of willpower for her to keep it down. She wasn’t alone. Someone else lay next to her.

  Her eyes strained as she tried to see in the inky blackness. She reached out again and touched the body. Fabric crinkled between her fingers. Solid flesh molded underneath. She jerked back.

  “Jess,” she cried as she quickly felt the broad male shoulders in search of his face. “Jess, is that you?”

  Hysteria welled in her voice. She took a deep breath and tried to push it down. She touched the body. It didn’t move, and it felt cold and stiff, as if he were dead.

  Her control slipped another notch. Fear paralyzed her.

  “Are you hurt?” she managed.

  The body didn’t move. Suddenly, she had to know if it was Jess. The metal belt was her first clue, but the coarse, long hair assured her that it wasn’t the rancher. She placed her fingers at the pulse point of his neck and on top of his chest. No heartbeat. She leaned her face in front of the man’s mouth. No breath.

  Dead, the man was dead.

  Autumn jumped up and backed away from the dead man. The cold stone wall halted her retreat. Sobbing, she sank to the floor.

  Her back pressed against the wall, she struggled for rational thinking. Her mind raced as she tried to piece together the events that had led her to this hell.

  Autumn rocked back on her heels. Relief that it wasn’t Jess mingled with repugnance at the nearness of death. She fought momentary flashes of panic. The man’s headband was damp from sweat. He hadn’t been dead for long. From the length of him, she guessed he was tall. Perhaps it was one of Jess’s hands who’d come across the campfire as she had.

  No, wait. Her fingers had traced the belt. Suddenly, she knew whose body was in the cave. Only one man wore a belt with stones set in that pattern—Arlo Ross.

  Her mind reeled. It couldn’t possibly be Arlo. She’d seen him at the campfire—he’d been the one to put her in here. She couldn’t imagine what his death meant, unless he had come across the men as she had.

  Absently, Autumn sat down. She contemplated searching for an exit, but staring into the inky blackness proved how futile that would be. Wait until daylight.

  For several moments she considered moving away from Arlo’s body, but fear of what else was on the cave’s floor kept her from doing so.

  Autumn settled onto the cold stone floor, her knee drawn up for security as well as warmth. Her eyelids grew heavy. As she drifted off, the words of one of Real Tall Man’s chants came to mind. It was the chant of the dream way. She grasped the turquoise nugget and held it in the palm of her hand. Her last conscious thought was an image of Real Tall Man singing the chant and Jess walking toward her.

  * * *

  In the distance, a coyote howled. A good omen. The chanting filled the night air as Real Tall Man started another song. Flames cast light from the nearby fire.

  The cornmeal slipped through Real Tall Man’s fingers as he continued to paint the image on the blanket in the sand. The dry painting was almost complete. In spite of his lack of experience, Jess recognized that Real Tall Man had created a beautiful form. It had taken painstaking precision and agonizing patience, but the proper image had emerged.

  Unlike sings, where colored sand was used for dry painting—the stargazing ceremony required a painting made with cornmeal. Real Tall Man had surrounded the picture with rainbows to protect it from evil spirits.

  The task and singing had served at least one purpose. It had kept Jess’s mind occupied to the point where he could no longer struggle with the image of Autumn’s predicament. His mind had now numbed into a trance.

  At last, the dry painting was complete. Real Tall Man directed Jess to put out the fire and then began another song. The chant hypnotized Jess. His vision blurred. He blinked, hoping to see Autumn’s face in the darkness.

  After Real Tall Man finished the song, he sat very quietly. Jess remained still, knowing the medicine man needed to concentrate in total silence. Now the visions would come. Jess canceled thoughts of doubt and focused on remembered images of Autumn.

  For a long time, they sat in silence. The stars overhead shifted as the earth spun on its axis. Jess closed his eyes.

  Suddenly, Autumn’s image flashed in his mind—a different image from those he’d conjured up. It seemed to float toward him. He opened his eyes, yet still the vision remained.

  Her eyes were wide and glistened like polished stones, but tears tracked from them. Strands of her hair streamed from the loosened knot. It looked like a gash creased her forehead. Softly, she called to him. “Help me. I’m trapped.”

  Jess blinked and the image disappeared. Real Tall Man remained quiet, but rocked back and forth. Again Jess stared into the darkness.

  Another apparition appeared. It was Autumn, and it wasn’t. She called as tears trailed down her cheeks. Jess had seen her many times before—the woman in his dreams. He reached toward the image, but the vision disappeared.

  “Hasteen Nez,” he whispered in the language of his people. “Did you see her just now?”

  The medicine man didn’t an
swer. Jess waited, not wanting to interrupt the medicine man’s vision in case he saw Autumn in the dream. After several minutes, Real Tall Man spoke. “She’s hurt, but not badly. No one is harming her. It is dark and lonely. She is afraid.”

  Real Tall Man fell silent and Jess clenched his teeth against the urge to jump up and shake the man into telling him more.

  Suddenly, Real Tall Man began to wail. Alarmed, Jess straightened, afraid Autumn had died. No. He would not believe it. He’d just seen her.

  Another wail cut through the dark night. Jess got up and went to Real Tall Man’s side.

  “It is my son. He is gone from this world.”

  Jess’s shoulders sagged. He did not doubt Real Tall Man’s words. There had been a lot of blood where he’d last seen Arlo.

  Saddened, he sat back down. Arlo Ross had been dogmatic, but he’d lived from his heart. Jess thought about the drug connection. Operators were known for their ruthlessness. His fear for Autumn heightened.

  “His body lies in a cave. Autumn is there, too.”

  “A cave? Are you sure?” Jess tried to remember if there were caves in the area. None came to mind.

  “It is dark and cold. She is trapped and afraid.”

  ”Do you know where it is?” Jess fought the frantic need to go to her.

  Real Tall Man heard the building apprehension. He spoke calmly. “Do not worry. She will be all right. You can find the cave in the small box canyon where the ancients built a farm.”

  Real Tall Man’s words brought him immediately back to the present. “What farm?”

  “The small house constructed at the end of the canyon.” He explained more about the single-dwelling ruin, and Jess remembered. Daya had taken him there a couple of times. They’d found broken pottery and flints. It was miles from where he’d last seen Autumn.

  “Near there is an entrance to a ceremonial cave that the ancients used before they went on a hunt.”

  That was news to Jess. Daya must not have known, or else had decided not to tell him. Considering the change in his attitude toward his Indian heritage, that possibility was real enough.