按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
ith the question of why a worthless hat would be stolen and a valuable silver concho band left behind。
The hat was thoroughly coated with ashes now； but there was still a dark outline against the faded felt； the outline of linked circles where heavy silver conchos had once protected the dye from the sun。
When I look in the hatband； Leaphorn thought； it will be size seven and three…eighths。 The Big Navajo was the Navajo Wolf。 But why was he the witch？ This was why the Hand Trembler and Sandoval had decided to prescribe an Enemy Way。 The Navajo Wolf was a man nobody knew。 A stranger to the clan and to the entire linked…clan society of the Lukachukai slopes。 But what had he done to be singled out for this terrible proscription of The People？ Death within the year by his own witchcraft…turned against him by the medicine of the Enemy Way。 Or； Leaphorn thought grimly； death much sooner if the Tsosies or the Nez family happen to catch him。
The high slopes of the Lukachukais were obscured now by the darkness of the cloud。 Light from the setting sun glittered from the strata of ice crystals forming in the thin； frigid air at its upper levels。 Deep within it； the structure of the cloud was lit by a sudden flare of sheet lightning。 And then there was a single lightning bolt； an abrupt vivid streak of white light pulsing an electric moment against the black of the rain； connecting cloud and mountain slope。
If the witch was there； he's dead enough； Leaphorn thought。 And he couldn't blame himself for that。 Not the way he would blame himself if The People found the Wolf before he did and executed this sentence of death。
Chapter 11
There had been intermittent thunder for several minutes。 But； even so prepared； McKee had been startled by the sudden brighter…than…day flash of the lightning bolt。 The explosion of thunder had followed it almost instantly； setting off a racketing barrage of echoes cannonading from the canyon cliffs。 The light breeze； shifting suddenly down canyon； carried the faintly acrid smell of ozone released by the electrical charge and the perfume of dampened dust and rain…struck grass。
It filled McKee's nostrils with nostalgia。 There was none of the odor of steaming asphalt； dissolving dirt； and exhaust fumes trapped in humidity which marked an urban rain。 It was the smell of a country childhood； all the more evocative because it had been forgotten。 And for the moment McKee dismissed the irritation of J。 R。 Canfield and reveled mentally in happy recollections of Nebraska； of cornfields； and of days when dreams still seemed real and plausible。 Then a splatter of rain hit； big； cold； high…velocity drops sent him running to the tent for his raincoat and back out into the sudden shower to rescue the eggs frying on the butane stove and the bedrolls spread out on the sand beside a jumble of boulders。
When he reached them the rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun。 McKee dropped Canfield's blankets and cautiously inspected the slice of sky visible above the canyon。 Up canyon it was blue…black； with a continuing intermittent rumble of thunder。 Directly overhead； the clouds were a mixture of gray and white。 Down canyon to the south and east there was the dark blue of open sky and； nearer the horizon； the violent reds and yellows of the setting sun。 The breeze had shifted back to the southwest now and he saw the rain was drifting across the canyon higher in the mountains。 Only the trailing edge of it had touched here。
McKee decided it would be safe to leave the bedrolls out。 He walked back to the butane cooker； forked an egg onto a piece of bread and folded it into a sandwich。 The sunset now was flooding the canyon with eerie rose light； which made the eroded sandstone and granite of the cliff seem to glow。 McKee heard the water then； a small sound； moving down the canyon floor below him。 The rain had been little more than a heavy sprinkle here but northwestward on the mesa it had been heavy enough to send runoff down the network of washes which fed Many Ruins Canyon。 It would have to rise into a torrent eight or ten feet deep before it topped the high mound of talus where the camp was and McKee estimated the stream； now spreading across the flat sand on the canyon bed below him； was no more than six inches deep。 It was muddy； carrying a burden of sticks； pine needles； and assorted debris； but it wouldn't get much deeper unless the rain upstream turned into something like a cloudburst。 If that happened； it might be a little tough driving on the canyon bottom tomorrow。 That turned McKee's thoughts again to Canfield。
Ever since his return to the camp he had alternated between uneasy worry that some inconceivable something had led Canfield to sign a false name to his note； irritation at himself for such foolishness； and then irritation at Canfield for causing this uneasiness。 He was all the more irked by the thought that； when Canfield returned and explained the signature had been inspired by some ridiculous Canfieldian whim； the whole affair would seem too asinine and trivial for plaint。
〃Silly bastard；〃 McKee muttered。 He folded the third egg into a sandwich； poured himself a mug of coffee； and scrubbed out the frying pan with sand。 By now the light in the canyon had faded from rose to dusky red and McKee's mood had shifted with it； back to irritation with himself for being nervous。
It was about ten when he finished going through his accumulation of notes in the tent and planning his activities for the next day。 He would have to stay in camp at least until Canfield returned because tomorrow Miss Leon was supposed to arrive。 If Canfield was finding anything interesting in his digging； he wouldn't want to stop…and someone should take the girl up into the labyrinth of canyons to try to locate the van truck。 It might； or might not； belong to her electrical engineer； but it shouldn't be too hard to find。 Not if it was still parked in Hard Goods Canyon； and not if； as Old Woman Gray Rocks had said； the canyon ran into Many Ruins nine miles up from the mouth。 That would make it only about four miles up from their camp。
He turned off the butane lantern and stood at the tent flap a moment； letting his eyes adjust to the night before walking back to the bedrolls。 He felt tired now； ready for sleep。 He left his boots beside the bedding； rolled his shirt in his trousers for a pillow and slid into the blankets。 The storm cloud had drifted away and he heard； far to the northeast； the faint suggestion of thunder。 His side of the canyon was in total darkness but the top of the sheer cliff on the west side was tinged now by the dim yellow light of the rising moon。 It would be about three…quarters full tonight； McKee thought； and he felt a sudden inexpressible loneliness； a loneliness almost as intense as in a dream he sometimes had。 In the dream he floated in a great airy blackness； wanting to shout； but remembering…dream fashion…that he had shouted before and his voice had been lost in an infinite echoless distance。 Remembering this would sadden him because it told him there was no one anywhere but him。 When he had this dream； sometimes when he was overtired and depressed； it would awaken him and he would