I pulled a little can of stew and one of my water bottles from my provisions, along with Willie’s map.
“Okay, our next marker is a rock cairn about fifty yards down the next gully.” I looked at the dog. “Do they say people who talk to animals are crazy? What do you think?”
He looked back at me like this was the most normal thing in the world. That was good enough for me.
I peeled back the pull tab on my stew and ate it cold with the spoon on the pocketknife. I was feeling decidedly like a real outdoorsperson now. Tonight I’d have a hot dinner, I decided. One of those MREs, maybe. They even came with little desserts. Using a tiny bit of my precious water, I rinsed my spoon and dried it on the leg of my jeans. Boy, would they be ripe before this trip was over. The empty can and lid went into a plastic bag I’d brought along for the purpose, believing that hikers should always pack all trash out with them. I stuffed everything back into the duffle on Molly’s back and did a couple of leg stretches before climbing back on.
“Westward, ho-oh,” I yelled to Rusty, pointing down the trail. Being alone in the desert with two animals for company was helping me drop all my inhibitions, obviously.
The terrain was becoming rockier now, and I had to watch carefully for the very faint path. Rusty loped ahead, nose to the ground occasionally. He seemed to have a pretty good idea of where to go and I wondered if he might be catching a scent, animal or human. If it was human, I hoped it was Willie McBride.
We came upon the wash indicated on Willie’s map sooner than I expected. The rocky ground dropped away thirty or forty feet below us. I pulled the map out to verify. Sure enough, there was Weaver’s Needle on our left. According to the topo map this gully would lead us into a sort of canyon with pretty steep sides. Looking to my right, that appeared to be true. A mountain covered with boulders rose sharply to the east of us.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s see how we’re going to get down there.”
Rusty trotted back and forth, sniffing the ground. I turned Molly to my left, toward ground that seemed a little less steep. The dog found a place where a winding route appeared, a narrow opening of sand between the rocks. I guided Molly toward it. She hesitated at first. But Rusty, seeing that this is what I wanted to do, led the way. He bounded downward with no reservations. The horse picked her way delicately through the openings, following him. I simply hung on and tried not to throw her off balance.
At the bottom was a smooth highway of sand, easy to follow. Molly wanted a little more freedom now and I let her trot happily for a short while. Then I saw a hoofprint in the sand.
Chapter 19
“Whoa, there girl,” I said, pulling her up. I stared hard at the sandy surface.
There, clearly, where the wind had been unable to blow them away were two sets of prints. One was either a small horse or, more likely, a donkey and the other was human. I slipped down from my saddle to look closer.
The human tracks looked like western boots, smooth bottoms, deeper heel. Now I’d like to be able to say that I could tell it was a male, slender and probably in his eighties—but I couldn’t. I stared at the prints a long time. I traced the outline of one boot print with my finger. Then I looked up at the canyon sides that rose on either side of me.
The only sound was the rhythmic chirping of cicadas and the occasional screech of a bird. Even the wind was silent down here. I stood up slowly and looked around.
“Come on,” I whispered to my companions.
I gathered Molly’s reins in and led her behind me. Rusty stayed near my heel, obviously sensing something in my tone. I tiptoed for awhile, then realized that was pretty silly. The tracks were clear and easy to follow, messed up only now and then as some small animal’s prints brushed across the trail. I paused and pulled Willie’s sketch from my back pocket with my left hand, keeping hold of Molly with the right.
The trail on the map followed this canyon for perhaps a quarter of a mile. Then the directions became less precise. There was a large X ahead and to the left. But no indication of what kind of marker I should be looking for. I let out a breath of frustration.
Willie, of course, knew what to look for. His map wasn’t meant to allow anyone to walk right up to his mine and help themselves. I stuffed the map back into my pocket and continued to follow the tracks.
At least thirty minutes had passed since we’d wound our way down into the gully. I consulted the map again and decided the perspective must be off. The tracks led deeper into the canyon, whose walls now rose steeply a hundred or more feet above our heads. Now completely in shadow, the air became cooler here.
Then abruptly the tracks ended.
I stopped short, surprised.
Looked again at the steep canyon walls. An eerie feeling crept across the back of my neck. I looked at Rusty. He’d wandered to the edge of the sandy gully and sniffed casually at a rock. Molly seemed at ease. I decided I was just giving myself the creeps, imagining things that weren’t there.
I scanned the edges of the wash for some sign of where the tracks might have gone. At first glance I noticed only boulders, cactus and weeds—nothing different. Then I noticed it, on my left about twenty yards ahead, a small wooden cross. The only man-made object I’d seen in hours.
A cross.
An X.
I nudged Molly’s side and started walking toward it. The piles of boulders continued upward, without a break that I could see.
“C’mere,” I whispered to Rusty, waving him over. “Hold on to her.”
He took Molly’s reins in his mouth and sat down on my command. The docile horse stood quietly.
I crept slowly toward the edge of the sand, looking up at the small cross which stood about twenty feet above me. Gingerly testing each rock I stepped up a level, then another. When I reached the cross I noticed that it had been there a long time. It was made of weathered wood, gray now, with deep crevices outlining the grain. Crusted dirt covered the west-facing surfaces, blown there by storm winds. I stood beside it and looked around.
Below me, Rusty waited patiently, still holding the horse’s reins. I turned slowly and there at my feet was an opening.
From the bottom of the gully, it hadn’t been apparent but at this height I could tell that the cross actually stood on a little promontory that had formed when rushing water had hit some particularly large boulders and redirected itself downward at a different angle. The resulting formation was a bit of a mini-canyon, with an opening into the side of the large canyon. Protected from water and weather, it was probably also difficult to spot from the air. I turned in all directions.
The narrow opening could easily be a mine, I thought. At the mouth it was probably four feet high and three feet wide. I edged my way down to it, losing sight of my animals as I dropped below the wooden cross. I quickly discovered that I couldn’t tell a thing by standing outside the hole, and decided I wasn’t about to go in there without a light. As far as I knew, it could just as easily be a mountain lion’s dwelling. I backed away, crawling back up toward the cross.
Rusty had gotten to his feet and Molly shifted with uncertainty.
“It’s okay,” I called out. “I’m back.”
My voice echoed crazily off the multitude of rock surfaces.
A slight breeze ruffled my hair as I looked back up and down the sandy wash below me. I still hadn’t answered my initial question. There were the tracks—two sets of them including mine—leading right to this spot. Then they abruptly stopped. Where had they gone? And was it Willie McBride I’d been following?
Rusty whined.
“Okay, I’m coming,” I assured him. I started down the rocky incline.
About five feet from the cross I spotted the answer. Brush marks.
The person had used the classic old Indian trick of swiping out his tracks. Whether he’d used a tree branch or something else, I couldn’t tell, but I could see the wide arcs sweeping across the sandy streambed. I’d missed them before because my angle wasn’t quite right. It
was probably only because of the sun’s position right now that I could see them at all. I stayed in place and scanned ahead. The brush marks continued around the next curve in the wash.
I scrambled down to the sand.
“Come on,” I whispered to Rusty, taking Molly’s reins from him.
I climbed into the saddle again and we followed the brush marks. As we rounded the curve my eyes searched for traces. It was like working a difficult jigsaw puzzle, where just the faintest nuance of color is going to tell you which is the right piece. They were there but hard to spot. I walked the horse slowly, following them for perhaps another quarter mile. The canyon was becoming increasingly narrow, only about thirty feet wide at this point. I felt Molly’s nervousness as her head turned, eyeing the steep rocks beside us. I found myself doing the same.
And there it was.
Tucked into a hollow behind a huge boulder was a narrow path leading toward the top. A small clearing, no more than twenty or thirty feet in diameter, stood above us about twenty feet above the sandy bottom. The path led to it then continued to wind its way through the boulders to the top of the ridge. In the middle of the clearing were the remains of a tiny campfire. A slender stream of smoke rose from its center. I dismounted and handed off the reins to Rusty once more, signaling him to wait there.
The path was narrow but well worn and not nearly as hard to follow as the one we’d taken through the desert. I walked up to the campfire and stooped over it, stretching my hand over the center. It had been hastily covered in dirt but was still warm. I glanced around the area.
The fragile desert grass had been trampled into the dusty earth. A couple of good-sized rocks with flat tops had been arranged as seats near the fire. At the far edge of the clearing, out of sight from below, stood an old fashioned pup tent, the kind we rigged up as kids where you basically have a blanket held up at either end by a couple of little poles. They always drooped in the center and this one was no exception. Inside the tent I could see a cardboard box with the top flaps folded closed.
Beyond the tent, I realized that the little clearing extended beyond what I’d seen from below. A second clear area, this one smaller than the first, was ringed by boulders. The vegetation in this area was far greener, indicating that there must be a small spring among the boulders. Together in an aerial view the two spots would resemble a figure eight. Tethered to the ground in the second clearing was a small mule. It was nosing through the grass and didn’t appear to notice me. I turned slowly, surveying the spot but didn’t see any other sign of the inhabitant.
Was this Willie McBride’s camp?
I called out his name. No response but the gradually increasing wind.
Hmm. Now what?
Below me Rusty and Molly waited patiently. I looked around the camp once more but still didn’t see any sign of Willie. And what if it wasn’t Willie’s camp? What if I’d just tracked a stranger up here? The chill that tickled my bare arms wasn’t entirely due to the thickening clouds. I was a trespasser here. I decided to turn around. I followed the little path back down to the sandy bottom.
“What do you think, buddy?” I asked the dog. “Nobody’s up there.”
I took Molly’s reins and stroked the horse’s neck. The wind was picking up. If I hoped to get back to civilization before nightfall I needed to head back now. Right now. If I decided to camp out I better be thinking about a spot soon. I couldn’t turn back, I decided. I’d come too far to find Willie. If there was any chance this was his camp I needed to find him. I looked back up at the tent in the clearing. Maybe if I just looked through that cardboard box—I might find something that would verify whether I was near McBride or whether I’d tracked a total stranger.
Leaving the animals behind, I started up the path again.
“Hold it right there, missy.”
I stared up. Right into the muzzle of a gun.
Chapter 20
“Willie McBride?” I asked.
“I heard you the first time, when you shouted it out for the whole world,” he growled.
He didn’t look much like the photo Dorothy had given me. But he looked more like I’d pictured him. Faded Levi’s, flannel shirt, beat up straw cowboy hat with wisps of thin white hair showing below. His weathered face was screwed up into a frown and looked far more at home here in this setting than in the photo, wearing his one suit and tie. One gnarled hand held a Smith and Wesson .357, the other rested dramatically on his hip.
“Who are you?” The hand holding the gun wavered, sending the barrel on a spasmodic course from my chest to my head and down to my abdomen. His finger was firmly on the trigger, I noticed.
Behind me Rusty growled and McBride swung the gun toward him.
“Rusty! No!” I ordered. “Back away.”
The dog backed off two paces but didn’t sit down.
McBride brought the gun back up at me. His hand still tremored like a shrub in an earthquake.
“Could you aim that thing somewhere else?” I asked. My voice didn’t come out nearly as steady as I wanted it to.
“Not till I know who you are,” he said, steadying the gun with both hands and aiming it at my face. “What do you want with me?”
I took a shaky breath. “My name’s Charlie Parker. Your family hired me to find you. They’ve been worried.”
His eyes narrowed. “Which one? Who hired you?”
I had a feeling the wrong answer here would turn me into vulture food.
“Well, all of them,” I hedged. “Melanie’s real worried. And Bea. You know there was a big reunion at Dorothy’s and they all really wanted you there.”
“Dorothy, huh. She hire you?”
“Well, like I said, they all want to know you’re safe.” I focused for a second on the gun barrel and swallowed. “Look, you’re a grown man. I can’t make you go back if you don’t want to.”
“You can’t?” For the first time the gun drifted away.
“I’m not the law.” I guessed this wasn’t the best time to mention that the law was looking for him too. “Look, could we maybe sit down for a little bit?”
“Better bring your horse on up here,” he said. “Tether her over there by Little Bit.”
Molly looked relieved when I walked back down the incline to get her. I patted her neck and spoke gently to her as I led her up the narrow path and tied her reins around a boulder in the mule’s clearing. Clouds covered the sky completely now and the wind sent a distinct chill through the air. I pulled my jacket from the duffle.
McBride had stuck the gun into the waistband of his Levi’s and was stirring the campfire back to life.
“Better plan on staying the night up here,” he said. “Wouldn’t be smart to head down that wash right now.”
He got a small flame going and added a few bits of sagebrush to it. “You got your own food?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’d be happy to share, if you like MREs.” I sat on one of the flat rocks and he took the other
He made a sound that came out something like a snort, something like a laugh.
The light was fading quickly now and he suggested we cook our dinner while we had a little light to work by. I retrieved one of my packeted meals and a bottle of water. Drake had showed me how these things worked once. Willie pulled the box from his tent and rummaged through it, coming up with a can of chile and a spoon. While he ratcheted the lid of the can with a tool on his pocketknife, I ripped the top off the plastic MRE bag and examined the contents. I had a main dish of macaroni and cheese, a vacuum sealed bag claiming to contain a biscuit, a similar one with a brownie—we’d see about that—and a packet of plastic flatware. I poured water into the mac and cheese dinner packet and set it against the base of my rock. Within minutes it began to boil.
Willie had stripped the paper label from his can of chile and set the can into the coals.
While dinner cooked, I pulled plastic bowls from my duffle and gave Rusty food and water. Although Molly seemed content sharing the desert grass an
d spring water with the mule, I opened the feedbag of oats Bert had sent along for her.
“So Dorothy couldn’t stand me going off on my own,” Willie said. We sat on our respective rocks, each eating our version of gourmet fare. “Had to send somebody to look for me.”
“I guess so,” I said noncommittally.
“Can’t believe I ever claimed that woman as my daughter. Or the boy either.” He chewed on his chile slowly.
“I guess every family’s got someone they’d rather not claim.”
“Well, the other two’s okay, I guess. Bea turned out fine and she don’t bother me much. Dorothy and Felix, though, they’re a pair.” He’d pulled a waxed paper tube of saltine crackers out and he dipped one into the can then stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. “Once she got that law degree, whew! It was like she all of a sudden knew everything and her old man knew nothin’. I got so sick of hearing how I needed me a will. Then I needed me a new will. Course she wasn’t charging me no legal fees for it. I woulda sure put my foot down about that. No sir!”
“Why’d she say you needed a new one? Seems like one will’d be good enough for anybody,” I said. We were falling into a comfortable conversation and I discovered that the MRE mac and cheese wasn’t so bad.
“You’d think.” He scraped at the sides of the chile can. “But Felix, now he’s the one’s been pestering me to death. Guess a person just shouldn’t college educate their kids. Their mother really pushed for it though, rest her soul.”
“What was Felix pestering about?”
“My land. Place in Albuquerque, in the north valley.”
I didn’t want to sidetrack him again by admitting that I’d been there.
“That boy wants me to deed the place over to him. He’s got him a place in Socorro. Doesn’t even want to live on my land.”
“So why does he want it?”
“Mineral springs. There’s two of ’em on the place. Strange, I always thought. None of the neighbors got springs on their places. These are just little ones, ya know. One of ’em’s got covered over by now. But that Felix, he thinks he’ll get ’em running again, build some fancy spa thing there, and get rich people from all over the place to come there and soak in the water. Ain’t that the funniest thing you ever heard?” He chuckled out loud, presumably at the thought of people paying money to come sit in water that had been seeping out of his land for ages.
Reunions Can Be Murder: The Seventh Charlie Parker Mystery Page 18