Abducted Innocence (Emily Etcitty)

by Sandra Bolton

  “Don’t take it all,” Hosteen cut in. “Leave enough for the dog to get the scent. I’ll radio Newman, see what he thinks.” After a brief conversation, Hosteen told Abe and Will to go ahead and get started. He would wait for the state trooper and his dog.

  “Sweep out wider as you go, Abe,” Will said. “I’ll flank your right side.”

  Abe surveyed the untamed expanse of land spread out in front of him. It would not be smooth walking. Hogbacks, gullies, and rocky cliffs lay ahead. “Okay,” he said. He wished he had Patch with him. Even though his dog only had three legs, Abe thought he could track down a goat or even Emily better than any police-trained search-and-rescue dog.

  Didn’t Patch find me two years ago when I became trapped in a cave, and a crazed motorcycle gang leader tried to kill me? Patch, I need your help, boy.

  Abe studied the ground, saw some pellets, pulled out his plastic bag, and decided they were too small and round. Probably rabbit. He climbed a rocky hillside and stood a moment to catch his breath. Even resting, he could not stop from scanning the ground’s surface for any sign of Emily. If there had been prints, they had been erased by recent rains. The land lay barren and rocky, with only a few scatterings of pale grass and rabbitbrush.

  When he reached the top of a knoll, he had a good view of the surrounding area. He looked to his right to check on Will’s progress, then back to where he had left Hosteen before he started out again. Chamisa and mountain mahogany shrubs grew thicker there and made walking difficult. He bushwhacked his way through a patch of scrubby oak and spotted what appeared to be a deer trail a short distance ahead.

  Any sensible goat would follow a trail, he told himself as he made his way to the path, expecting to see a lot of deer pellets. And maybe some goat pellets?

  He walked a short distance farther and saw something unexpected—a line of large, dry, round dung. Not quite like a horse’s, but maybe a mule or donkey. He didn’t know if there were wild burros in this part of the state, but Will would know. His adrenaline kicked in, bringing with it a glimmer of hope. Maybe someone had found Emily and had taken her to a safe place. Abe put two fingers in his mouth and whistled—a loud, piercing call for help.

  27

  Sunday, April 15, 1990

  Chipeta Longtooth’s Camp

  Colorado Backcountry

  While Chipeta prepared for her departure, Emily continued to practice walking with her crutches, building her endurance. She hopped to the outer edge of the rock shelter to get a better look at her surroundings and discovered that Chipeta’s camp perched on the brink of a high cliff. A narrow path cut through a dark crevice in the cliff’s wall and led down to a thick patch of juniper and skunkbrush. The goats looked up at her and bleated before continuing to munch on shrubs. Emily knew it would be impossible for her to climb down the path on her own; she would have to use both hands to cling to the wall and hop on one foot. Her leg still throbbed painfully, and she had periods of dizziness. She scanned the horizon in all directions but saw no sign of Chipeta or her donkey. The Ute woman had gone out to gather food and supplies.

  When Chipeta returned later in the afternoon, she carried a bundle of dry wood and green boughs of juniper. Emily had been resting on her pallet but lifted her head when she heard the woman’s footsteps.

  “For your fire,” Chipeta said, as she dropped her load near the entrance of the cave. “You’ll need this wood when I’m gone.”

  Emily stared at the small stack of brush and sticks, knowing it would not last long.

  Then what? Please, don’t leave me here alone.

  “It’s burro shit, all right,” Will said. He kicked the rounded droppings. “See how dry it is? They’re desert animals—know how to retain water. This scat is about two days old. It could be a wild one, but wild burros and horses aren’t usually alone—like to herd for protection. Someone is herding a couple of goats and a burro.”

  “And that person could be taking care of Emily,” Abe added hopefully.

  “Maybe.” Will turned at the sound of Hosteen and Mark Newman approaching. The dog was in the lead, pulling on his leash.

  “Spike led us here after he picked up the goat’s trail,” Newman said. “Did you find anything else?”

  “Donkey dung,” Abe said. “How about on your side?”

  “Nothing,” Newman said. “It’s like we had her trail, and she disappeared. Spike kept circling back to the blood spot. Strange.” He kneeled on one knee and looked at the animal dung. “You say it’s donkey?”

  “Right,” said Will. “Somebody’s domesticated animal.”

  “Who would be living up here?” asked Hosteen.

  “Could be people from the reservation out grazing their animals. Funny you would take a goat and a donkey this far from any Ute homes, though,” Newman said. “There’s better places than here.”

  Will crinkled his eyes as if in deep concentration. “I remember a story about a Ute woman hiding from the law out this way. She killed two men, stabbed them, but one escaped. Her grandmother was missing, maybe murdered as well and buried somewhere. They say the woman went crazy, though she was just a girl of about fourteen at the time. All this happened at least twenty years ago. You think it might be her?”

  “Chipeta Longtooth is what she goes by,” said the Colorado lawman. “She’s legendary—elusive as all hell. I grew up on stories about her. No one’s ever been able to track her down.”

  Abe saw the pained expression on his friend’s face. “What makes you think she’s still around here?” Abe said.

  Newman scratched his head and scanned the horizon before answering. “Well, about twelve years ago, someone reported spotting Chipeta in a Denver hospital, but she disappeared again. The Utes believe she came back home and lives on her own in the wild. Although no one has ever seen her, they’ve stumbled onto remains of camps. It’s all rumors and speculation, though.”

  “Have there been any more killings?” Abe asked.

  Newman frowned as if he were pondering the question. “There’ve been killings, but none could be attributed to her. Hell, she’s probably dead by now.”

  Hosteen studied the sky. “We don’t have much daylight left. Newman, can your dog track donkeys?”

  “Hell, yes,” said the Colorado trooper. “There’s nothing Spike can’t follow.” He radioed his team, asking if they had turned up anything, telling them his location and plan. After he had signed out, he turned to the other three. “Let’s go.”

  The search dog pressed his nose to the donkey dung and ran ahead as he followed the scent, with the men trailing close behind. The path meandered in a roundabout fashion, sometimes doubling over ground they had already covered.

  The sun dropped lower, casting dark shadows on the land. Abe’s frustration grew as he realized they were traipsing over ground they had already covered. “What the hell? We’re going in circles.”

  “The animals were grazing, wandering wherever they found food,” Will said. “Look. More dung—maybe two or three goats.”

  The sun disappeared behind the western range, and dusk began to creep in. Abe pulled out his flashlight, looking for any sign of human footprints. He was still thinking about Chipeta Longtooth and her murderous rampage. How was it possible a child so young could kill three people? Spike tugged on his leash, but it soon became too dark to continue.

  Neither Abe nor Will wanted to go back at that point. “We’re onto something,” Abe said. “If we quit now, we’ll lose ground and have to spend half the day getting to this point tomorrow.” He watched the rising moon disappear behind low clouds. “If it rains, the dog will lose the scent as well.”

  “I say we stay here, keep looking,” Will added.

  “Listen,” said Newman, “I’ve got another crew back there I need to track down. I’ll call in for horses tomorrow, and we can spread out more.”

  Abe shook his head. “I think we should sleep here tonight so we can get an early start in the morning.”

  Despite Ne
wman’s objections and the fact that they didn’t have enough food or water, or even bedrolls, Will agreed with Abe. “We can manage. We’ll ration our water and forage for food if needed.”

  Hosteen had remained quiet throughout the discussion, chewing his lower lip as if pondering what to do. “I’ll stay with them, Trooper—make sure they don’t get in trouble. Tomorrow morning, bring us some food and water with the horses. We’ll mark the trail so you can find us. I agree we should keep looking for Officer Etcitty.”

  Trooper Newman shrugged. “Okay, Hosteen. I know she’s your partner. It’s your call; just be careful. You all are carrying, right?” He studied the darkening sky. “I’m heading back before it’s too late. I’ll find you tomorrow with a string of pack horses and supplies. Probably won’t hurt to bring a first-aid kit as well.”

  “You know your way?” said Hosteen.

  “I was born in this country, Joe, and I’ve got my radio and my dog. I’ll be fine.”

  The three men watched Trooper Newman as he gradually grew smaller and finally disappeared in the dwindling dusk. They looked at one another—sweaty, dirty, and dog-tired. Abe blew out a whoosh of air. His bum knee hurt and he was thirsty, but he didn’t pull out his canteen, thinking it best to conserve water.

  “Well, we better continue searching while we have a little daylight,” he said. Without the dog to lead them, they decided to stick together. No point in having someone lost or fall off a cliff.

  They walked for another hour and stopped to make camp for the night at the base of a mesa. A blanket of clouds blocked any light from the moon and stars. Night, black as a tomb, engulfed them, and a cold wind blew from the west. Using a flashlight, Abe gathered deadwood for a fire while Will cut piñon boughs to form makeshift beds, and Hosteen radioed the control center to inform the sheriff and Bertha Etcitty they were spending the night. As they sat on the hard ground near the campfire with shared remnants of sandwiches and water, Abe stared gloomily at the flames.

  “You told my mom we were staying here, looking for Emily?” Will said.

  “Yeah,” said Hosteen. “She’s okay, glad she knows. She’s sleeping at the ranch tonight. I asked her if they had found the girls.”

  “And?” Will said.

  Hosteen took a bite of his bologna-and-cheese sandwich and chewed. “Not yet. The Feds are interviewing all the families. If they learned anything, they’re not sharing. That’s the way the FBI operates. But when we were interrogating Betty Prescott, she mentioned something interesting. Will and the sheriff had stepped out of the room because they heard the ruckus in the hall. I asked her if she had spent any time with Lina and Darcy.”

  Will leaned in toward Hosteen. “Oh, yeah? What did she say?”

  “Said the one girl was sick, had been throwing up—told them she was diabetic and needed her shots. There’s a woman there called Mary Jo who is also diabetic, so they called her in, and she shared some insulin with Lina. But when Mary Jo went back to check on her, the girl was gone.”

  “That’s some comfort, at least,” Abe said. “If Lina did get a couple shots, it gives her more time. I hope Langley didn’t take the girls with him.”

  “Yeah.” Hosteen knitted his brows. “The thing is, Emily and I questioned the mother of a girl who went missing several years ago—the daughter’s name was Mary Jo. She was also celebrating her Kinaaldá when she disappeared, and her mother is diabetic. I’m betting this is the same girl.”

  Abe listened carefully to the conversation while he chewed bologna and bread. “Sounds like this has been going on for a long time. The bastard has to be found and stopped.” Then his thoughts returned to Emily. “Hosteen? You think the Ute woman might have—”

  Will cut him off before he could finish. “Shut up, Abe. Don’t even talk like that.”

  Abe took a sip of water and wiped his mouth with his hand. It was the bleakness of the black sky, the skittering in the brush of night animals, the worry and uncertainty, that left him feeling helpless and unsure.

  “You’re right, Will. Just wish we had more than goat and donkey shit to go on.”

  Hosteen used his backpack for a pillow and settled onto his bed of boughs. “Get some sleep. We’ll be up early tomorrow.”

  Abe pulled his jacket around him and lay on his back, his hands behind his head, his eyes staring into the dark. When he finally drifted off, he dreamed of Emily calling him. Her voice echoed off canyon walls and cliffs, seemingly coming from all directions. Abe rushed from one place to another in a frantic, futile attempt to find her. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  He awoke in a cold sweat by a yell and a curse from Hosteen.

  “Goddammit! Get off me, you sons of bitches!”

  Abe sat up and, in the dim glow of the dying fire, saw Hosteen stomping his feet and brushing frantically at his arms and neck.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Abe, on his feet as well.

  “Spiders, maybe scorpions. I don’t know.”

  The noise woke Will. “What’s going on?” He trained his flashlight on Hosteen. “Ants. You bedded down near an ant nest and got them riled up. You need to find a better place to sleep.” He returned to the place where he had dug a groove in the sandy soil and lay back down.

  “Shit,” said Hosteen. “It could have been spiders or snakes. You don’t know what’s out here.”

  “I do know what’s out here. You don’t. You grew up in the city, spent all your life there except for the last two years, Hosteen. Now bed down closer to the fire, and let us sleep. Emily is what’s out there, and we need to find her.”

  Will’s right, Abe thought. Hosteen and I are both out of our element—fish out of water—in the desert. All I know are the mean streets of Atlantic City, and Hosteen may be a cop, but he’s not much different. The only one who knows what he’s doing is Will.

  Abe shifted his body to the hard surface, trying, without luck, to find a more comfortable position. He thought he felt snowflakes brush against his face. He covered himself with the plastic poncho and hunkered down.

  In the gray of early morning, Abe shivered and rubbed his eyes, groggy from his restless night. Will and Hosteen stood in ankle-deep snow studying the cliff wall and discussing whether they should scoot around or try to climb up the slopes. They both chewed on a granola bar and handed one to Abe. That and a sip or two of water to wash it down was breakfast.

  “We’ll be able to tell more about the lay of the land from a high vantage point,” Will reasoned, looking up at the mesa top. “But we won’t find any more goat or donkey shit until this melts off.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see more if we manage to get up there without breaking our necks,” said Hosteen. While they discussed options, sunshine broke through the clouds, providing hope for clear skies and good weather.

  Abe emptied his bladder behind a nearby boulder, tried to ignore the pain in his knee, and said, “Let’s walk around and see if there’s an easier way to the top.”

  28

  Monday, April 16, 1990

  Chipeta Longtooth’s Camp

  Colorado Backcountry

  Emily shivered as a gust of cold wind whipped through the cave. She pulled the deer-hide blanket up to her chin and lay wide-awake in the pitch-black darkness. She could hear no other sound except the wind. She didn’t know what time it was, or if Chipeta had left or not. The Ute woman had returned from her foraging in the afternoon with a bundle of roots and herbs. She divided out a portion for Emily and indicated a jug of water and a bag of elk jerky she planned to leave behind. A single clay pot and spoon sat on the stump by the dead fire pit. Her remaining possessions had been readied to pack onto the burro.

  “When you wake up, I’ll be gone,” Chipeta had said. “Remember what I told you. Don’t make a fire until daylight—no one will see it but me if you try.” After a slight pause, she added, “I wish you well, Navajo cop, but I hope I never see you again.”

  What could Emily say? Good luck, Ute woman? I hope I never have to arrest you? S
he mumbled a “Thank you” when Chipeta handed her a steaming cup of herbal tea, and that was all.

  Despite the tea, Emily had not been able to sleep. Along with the pain in her leg from the recent exercise, she could not stop thinking.

  Is anyone going to see the smoke from my fire? Is Abe out there looking for me? And Will? If no one comes, will I be able to get down, or will I stay here and die alone?

  Once she thought she smelled smoke, but the fire in the pit had gone out hours before. She waited in the silence for what seemed like an eternity, and when she couldn’t stand it any longer, she called out in a soft voice to the Ute woman.

  “Chipeta?” Receiving no answer, she called once again, louder. Again, nothing. She had not heard any movement in the cave, but the woman moved as silently as a ghost. She must have slipped away during the night. Emily could do nothing in the complete darkness, so she burrowed under her blanket and tried to sleep. Eventually, she drifted off.

  She opened her eyes to a gray morning light and brushed a layer of wind-driven white flakes from her bedding. A spring snowstorm had blown in with the west wind during the night. The wind had died down, leaving a blanket of fog hugging the cliff tops. From what she could see, the surrounding countryside remained sheathed in three inches of snow. Emily reached for her crutches and, bracing herself against the rock wall, staggered to her feet. Losing her balance, she fell to the hard floor of the cave and lay there for a moment, breathing deeply, catching her breath, and willing herself to stand again.

  How can I survive here if I can’t even stand on my own two feet? she asked herself.

  She reached for the branches Chipeta had formed into crutches and pulled herself onto her good knee. Pushing with the one strong leg, she stood once again and gazed at a muted sunrise.

  I’m alone, she thought. Whatever I do, I do on my own. It’s me out here; there’s no one else.

  Fire. Emily shivered. I have to build a fire.

  Chipeta had left a pile of branches, but they were dusted with snow. She shook the flakes off and looked around the enclosure. Matches? Flint? Of course, there were none. Dry twigs? They would have to be under the pile of branches. When have I ever tried to start a fire by rubbing sticks? Never.