“Take your time,” said his employer.
“Hey!” Ralph, who had been standing at the trailer window, staring glumly into the sheets of rain that swept toward them across the San Juan gorge, spoke up sharply. “Take a look at that river, will you?”
They joined him at the window and found that the stream had doubled in size since the rain had started. Now it was a raging yellow torrent that filled the gorge from border to border.
“It beats me,” said Hall, “how it can rain cats and dogs in this country one day and flood everything, but be dry as dust the next. When the government finishes building its series of dams around here and all this water is impounded for irrigation, you’ll see the desert blossom like the rose, I’ll bet.”
“The rain all runs off and does no good now, that’s a sure thing,” Donovan agreed.
“Look,” Ralph interrupted. “There’s a boat or barge or something coming down the river.”
“You’re crazy,” said Donovan. “Nothing could live in that—Say!” He rubbed mist off the window and peered out into the downpour. “Somethingiscoming down. You’re right!”
They stood shoulder to shoulder and stared in horror. Around a bend in the stream a heavily laden homemade barge had plunged into view. A vivid flash of lightning showed one man standing upright in the stern. Blond hair flying, he was struggling to steer the bucking craft with a long sweep.
“That’s Pepper March!” Sandy shouted as another flash spotlighted the craft. “He must be trying to prove that the San Juan is navigable.”
“He won’t last five miles,” Ralph snapped. “I’ve got to go after the young fool. Grab some rope, Sandy, and come along.”
There was no rope in the truck, so Sandy snatched up a coil of heavy wire cable used to lower electric logs into test wells. With it over his shoulder, he tore out into the storm after the driller.
They got the jeep going after considerable cranking and headed downstream. It was a nip and tuck race since there was no trail along the gorge. But Ralph put the car in four-wheel drive and tore along over rocks and through flooded washes while Sandy hung onto the windshield frame for dear life. Finally they managed to pull ahead of the tossing barge.
“There’s a rapids about five miles downstream,” Ralph shouted above the thunder that rolled back and forth like cannon shots among the buttes and cliffs. “He’ll never go farther than that. The only thing I can do is to stand by there and try to throw him a line. It’s a long chance. Thank heaven and the water spirits that I learned to rope horses when I was a kid.”
They reached the rapids with only seconds to spare. The Indian fastened one end of the cable to the power takeoff at the rear of the jeep and coiled the rest of it with great care at the edge of the gorge. Then he stood, braced against the howling wind, swinging the heavy log in his right hand.
“Here he comes,” Ralph said. “What a shame that damned fools often look like heroes. Your friend is probably thinking he’s Lewis, Clark and Paul Revere rolled into one. Stand by to start the takeoff and reel him in if I hook him, Sandy.... There he goes. There he goes! Stand by!”
Pepper was fighting the rapids now, like some yellow-haired Viking out of the past. It was no use. Halfway through, the awkward barge hit a submerged rock. Slowly its bow reared into the air. The heavy pipe with which it had been loaded started cascading into the boiling water.
Pepper had enough presence of mind to drop the useless sweep, and scramble out of the path of the lengths of pipe as they flew like jackstraws. As he managed to grab the uptilting rail, Ralph’s mighty arm swung back and forward. The end of the cable carrying the log paid out smoothly. Out and down it sped in a long arc.
It struck the boat and slid slowly along the rapidly sinking rail. After one wild look upward, Pepper understood what had happened. He snatched the wire as it went by and looped it twice around his waist.
“Haul away,” Ralph whooped to Sandy. “We’ve caught our fish.”
As the jeep’s motor roared and the takeoff spun, Pepper was snatched from his perch and dragged helter-skelter through the wild waters. Minutes later Ralph dragged him over the edge of the cliff, choking and half drowned.
“No real damage except a few nasty bruises,” the driller grunted after he had applied artificial respiration with more vigor than was really needed. “How do you feel, bud?”
“Awful!” Pepper groaned. Then he amazed them by sitting up and glaring at them.
“That was ... a stinking trick,” he croaked after he had spat out a mouthful of dirty water. “Stringing cable ... capsizing my barge ... I’d have made it.”
“Whaaat?” Sandy hardly believed his ears.
“I’d have made it, I tell you! I would have!” Pepper wailed hysterically. “Then you ... then you ...” He retched miserably.
“Listen, kid,” Ralph snapped as he half-carried the boy to the jeep. “Your Red Cavanaugh ought to be strung up for egging you on to try a stunt like that.”
“No!” Tears dripped down Pepper’s dirty cheeks. “My idea. He didn’t know.”
“Bunk! You mean he didn’t know you had built a barge and loaded it with pipe? Don’t lie! Your boss is a stinking, no-good, lowdown louse.”
“Oh, no!” Pepper tried to pull free, then leaned against the side of the car and clung there like a half-drowned monkey. “Red’s best boss a man ever had. He’s ... he’s wonderful.... Likes good music ... dogs ... Indians. I’d die for Red.”
“That’s the point.” Ralph rummaged in the back of the jeep, found Maisie’s mangy hide, and wrapped it around the shivering boy. “You almost did die. Cavanaugh’s next door to a murderer.”
Pepper stared at them as if he were waking from a dream.
“You really believe that, Sandy?” he gulped weakly.
“I know it, Pepper.” Torn between pity and anger, Sandy gripped the blond boy’s arm. “Cavanaugh’s a crook!”
“Crook?” Pepper babbled. “No, no!” His knees sagged and they just managed to catch him as he fell.
“A strange boy,” said Ralph as they drove back to camp with the would-be Viking sleeping the sleep of exhaustion between them. “He’s in trouble, some way. Maybe he was trying to prove himself, like young Indians once did before they could become braves.”
Pepper was black, blue, stiff and somewhat chastened when he ate breakfast with Ralph and Sandy the next morning. Also, he was disturbed by the fact that Cavanaugh’s plane had come over at dawn, circled the wrecked barge in the rapids for several minutes, and then scooted eastward without landing.
“He must have known I planned to run the river,” the blond boy admitted. “But why do you suppose he didn’t stop to ask whether you folks had seen me?”
“Probably was afraid to.” Ralph attacked a big plate of ham and scrambled eggs. “Figures he may be blamed for letting you drown, so he’s gone home to frame an alibi. Won’t he be surprised when you show up in one of our supply trucks!”
“Gee whiz! Do you really think he’s that bad, Mr. Salmon?”
“I think he’s worse. See here, kid. Why don’t you stop working for that heel and come over here? I’m sure John will give you a roustabout job.”
“No.” Pepper shook his head stubbornly. “I signed a contract and I can’t go back on my word. Besides, I haven’t seen him do anything really bad. I’ll admit that some of the things he does seem, well, sort of queer. But maybe you’re just too suspicious.”
“Maybe.” Ralph washed down a hunk of Ching Chao’s good apple pie with half a cup of steaming coffee. “Well, it’s your funeral.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open after this.” Pepper rose as a honk from the truck told him it was time to get going. “Thanks for everything. And I really do mean for everything.”
The Indian stood up and stretched like a lazy panther as he watched their visitor depart. “Crazy kid,” he said. “Well, it’s time for us to be getting back to the mines, Sandy. Don’s staying here for a few days to run some final tests. He has assigned our group to start surveying the other structure. So pick up your rock hammer and stadia rod. Hike!”
The new location proved to be several miles north of the river in a tumbled and desolate region of weathered buttes and washes that already were dry as bone.
“Geologists call those buttes ‘diatremes,’” Stack, the surveyor, explained to the crew as they unloaded equipment at a central spot. “They stick up like sore thumbs because they’re really vents from ancient volcanoes. The lava they’re made of doesn’t erode much although the surrounding sedimentary rocks have been worn away in the course of ages. There are at least 250 diatremes scattered through this Colorado Plateau area, and some of them are rich in minerals. So keep your eyes open while you’re prowling.”
“Prowling” was exactly the word for what the crew did, Sandy decided after a few days in the broiling sun. He had to admit that the territory was beautiful, in its wild way, but he decided that it was more fit for mountain goats than human beings. More and more, as he slowly worked his way from one rod location to another, measured the slope of exposed strata with his Brunton compass, or chipped rock samples for analysis back at camp, he began to dream of the soft green hills and winding streams near Valley View.
His homesickness grew worse when Hall brought him a letter from Quiz.
Dear Sandy,I sure do envy you, out there in God’s country. Things are mighty dull around here, although I do get some time for swimming and tennis, now that Dad is able to hobble around in his cast and help out at the restaurant.Last Sunday we had a picnic out by the lake. The fishing was swell. And there was a dance at the pavilion afterward. I’m not much for dancing, but I know you like to. Still, you must be having plenty of fun out at the well.
Dear Sandy,
I sure do envy you, out there in God’s country. Things are mighty dull around here, although I do get some time for swimming and tennis, now that Dad is able to hobble around in his cast and help out at the restaurant.
Last Sunday we had a picnic out by the lake. The fishing was swell. And there was a dance at the pavilion afterward. I’m not much for dancing, but I know you like to. Still, you must be having plenty of fun out at the well.
“Fun!” Sandy exploded as he reread that paragraph. He was bathing his blistered feet in the first spring he had found that day and batting at deer flies that seemed determined to eat him alive. Then he read on:
I haven’t forgotten about Cavanaugh. Dad says he’s a lone wolf and that nobody knows much about him. He came here about two years ago, flashed a lot of money around, and built his lab. Joined the Country Club, Rotary, and so on. Impressed a lot of people with his football talk. Makes good equipment and has several research contracts that take him to Washington quite frequently. His employees think he’s a stuffed shirt, too.I tried to look up his sports record at the library, but the newspapers that should tell about his big game are missing from the files. When Dad gets better, he says I can take a day or two off and see what I can find in the San Francisco library. I’ll let you know. Funny about those newspapers, isn’t it?Give my regards to the gang. I sure do wish I was there instead of here.As ever,Quiz
I haven’t forgotten about Cavanaugh. Dad says he’s a lone wolf and that nobody knows much about him. He came here about two years ago, flashed a lot of money around, and built his lab. Joined the Country Club, Rotary, and so on. Impressed a lot of people with his football talk. Makes good equipment and has several research contracts that take him to Washington quite frequently. His employees think he’s a stuffed shirt, too.
I tried to look up his sports record at the library, but the newspapers that should tell about his big game are missing from the files. When Dad gets better, he says I can take a day or two off and see what I can find in the San Francisco library. I’ll let you know. Funny about those newspapers, isn’t it?
Give my regards to the gang. I sure do wish I was there instead of here.As ever,Quiz
After he had finished reading Sandy sat for a long time with his chin in his hands, thinking. The survey wasn’t going well, he knew. Yesterday, Hall and Donovan had paid them a visit and shaken their heads at the map that Ralph and Stack were drawing.
“This isn’t an anticline, John,” the geologist had said. “What we have here is fault that has caused a stratigraphic trap. That is, layers of rock on one side of the fault line have been lifted above those on the other side of the crack by some old earthquake. The slip sealed off the upper end of what may be an oil-bearing layer with the edge of a layer of hard, impervious rock. If you drill here—” he pointed with his pipe stem—“you may hit a small pool. Nothing spectacular, you understand, but it ought to more than pay expenses.”
“I don’t know whether I should take the chance.” Hall had shaken his gray head. “I need something better than this to gamble on, the way things are. Tell you what, Don. There’s going to be a bid session at Window Rock next Monday. Keep the crew working here for a few days longer while I drive down and see if I can shake loose a better lease. Ralph, you’d better come along. I hear that the Navajo and Hopi Councils will have some sort of joint powwow at the Rock and I’ll want you to keep an eye on it. You come along too, Sandy, and bring the ‘ear.’ I have a hunch that a lot of things are about to pop.”
“Will we have room for Kitty?” Ralph asked. “I dropped over to see her after work yesterday and she told me the school is closing Monday and Tuesday because there’s going to be a big Squaw Dance in the neighborhood. She wants to go home and get her best clothes to wear to it. She could drive her own car, of course....”
“Kitty’s good company,” Hall had replied. “I’d be glad to have her along.”
A distant hail jerked Sandy out of his reverie. He put on his shoes, picked up his rod, hammer and compass, and started climbing over jagged rocks to the top of a crumbling low butte that was to be the next survey location. The going wasn’t too bad because one side of the cone had collapsed, thus providing a slope of debris up which he could clamber with fair speed.
When Stack’s transit came in sight, Sandy placed the stadia rod upright so that it could be seen against the skyline and started the slow business of moving it about in response to the surveyor’s hand signals.
Several times he stopped and listened intently. Off to his right, hidden in the underbrush that choked the crater, he thought he heard some large animal moving. A deer, probably, he tried to reassure himself, although he remembered that one of the other crewmen had had a nasty brush with a bobcat several days previously.
“That’s it, Sandy,” the surveyor in the valley bellowed through cupped hands at last. “Call it a day.”
The boy was beating a quiet retreat down the slope when a tired bleat stopped him in his tracks. The animal in there was either a sheep or a calf, and it seemed to be in trouble.
“Better take a look,” said Sandy. (He had got into the habit of talking to himself these last few lonely weeks. The noise seemed to keep the homesickness away.)
It was a calf, he found, when he had fought his way into the thicket. And it seemed to be sick. First it would nibble at some plants where it stood, then, lifting its feet high and putting them down gingerly, it would move slowly to another location and repeat the performance. Every so often it let out that piteous bleat.
“Poor thing,” Sandy murmured. “Maybe I ought to take it back to camp.”
He fished a length of cord out of his knapsack, looped it around the calf’s neck and tugged. The animal gave him a glassy stare and wobbled forward.
“Probably a Navajo stray,” he said. “Its owners will be looking for it.”
When he reached the temporary camp half an hour later, Ralph took one look at the calf and let out an astonished whoop.
“Loco,” he shouted. “Hey, gang! Come look what Sandy found.”
Men came running from all directions.
“Where did you find it?” Stack demanded.
“Up there. On top of that butte.” Sandy pointed.
“Was it eating anything at the time?” Ralph snapped.
“Yes. Some plants that looked sort of like ferns, only they had little bell-like blossoms hanging from stalks in their centers.”
“Locoweed,” the Indian crowed. “Astragalus Pattersoni, Donovan calls it. Sandy, you may have found just what the doctor ordered to get John out of his pinch. I’ll get a Geiger counter. The rest of you round up some flashlights, sacks and spades. We’d better take a look at this right away.”
“What about my calf?” Sandy objected.
“Oh, stake it out somewhere and give it some water. It may recover. It’s just drugged. Indians used to chew locoweed when they went down in their kivas, you know. They said it made them see visions in which they talked to the spirits. Eat too much of the stuff, though, and you’re a goner.”
Two hours later, after having dug up most of the crater, the men tramped wearily back to camp in the light of the rising moon. The sacks they carried on their backs bulged with loads of black earth mixed with yellow carnotite crystals that made the Geiger chatter madly.
Hall was just driving into camp as they arrived.
“We’ve found a rich uranium lode or lens, I think, John,” Ralph shouted to him. For once he had lost his Indian calm and was almost dancing with excitement.
“You don’t say,” yawned the producer as he dragged himself out of the car.
“Well!” Ralph stared, openmouthed, at this cool reception. “What’s the matter, boss? Don’t you care?”
“Where are we going to sell the ore?” Hall asked gently.
“Oh!” Ralph wilted. “I hadn’t thought of that. The government only buys from people who have mills.”
“Sure. A uranium strike these days is just like money in a safe for which you have lost the combination.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Hall,” Stack interrupted, “but doesn’t Midray own an interest in a uranium mill?”
“Oh, yes.” Hall smiled grimly at the surveyor. “Midray owns an interest in most everything. It will be delighted to help me develop the lode—in exchange for three-fourths of the profits.
“That’s better than nothing, though.” He straightened his shoulders. “A uranium strike will shorten the odds enough so I can take a chance on drilling a well here. Why, what am I grousing about? This could be a real stroke of luck. How did you happen to find it?”
When he had heard the story, Hall slapped Sandy on the back.
“That’s what’s called serendipity,” he said, chuckling. “You remember the three Princes of Serendip in the fairy story: on their travels they always found things they weren’t looking for. Congratulations, Sandy. You have the makings of a real wildcatter.”
But, as the boy went off to take care of his sick calf, he knew that his employer had been putting on an act. Serendipity or no, John Hall was still running a poor-boy outfit.
Hall had completely recovered his good spirits by the time that Ralph brought Kitty to camp at dawn. Just as the sun rose the little party set out for Window Rock in a holiday mood. Hall made one stop for a brief conference with Donovan. Then he drove on to his base camp, arriving in time for breakfast.
Sandy could hardly recognize the place where he had worked such a short time before. Number Two well had been opened and connected to the feeder pipeline through a Christmas tree, while its derrick had been moved to a new location. Three big new Midray rigs were being erected at other spots on the property. Still more derricks were going up on surrounding leases. This was rapidly becoming an important field.
Hall had a short talk with the Midray superintendent, a big man who reminded Sandy of Cavanaugh and who acted as if he owned the place. Then they were on their way again.
“The lease looks like Times Square,” Hall grunted as he headed the jeep toward Shiprock. “Makes me uncomfortable. I like to work where there’s plenty of room to swing a wildcat.”
“I bet you still prefer to use a burro when you go prospecting, you old sourdough,” Kitty teased him.
“Well, a burro never runs out of gas or breaks a spring, and it has a better horn than a jeep,” Hall said, grinning. “When a burro brays, even the mountains have to listen. That’s why he’s called a Rocky Mountain canary, I suppose.”
They reached Route 666 in good time, turned south between Shiprock Peak and Hogback Mountain, and sailed down through the picturesque Chuskas past road signs that beckoned toward far-off, mysterious places like Toadlena, Beautiful Mountain, Coyote Wash, Nakaibito, Pueblo Bonito (Lovely Village) and Ojo Caliente (Hot Eye).
Kitty made the time pass quickly by singing the praises of the desert, pointing out spots of historic interest, and telling them Navajo legends.
“The Wind People, who ride the lightning, own all of these box canyons and hilltops,” she said half seriously. “No Navajo will build his hogan near such places, or where lightning has struck. If he did, he thinks the Wind People would give him bad headaches.”
“It gives me a bad headache trying to understand why your Navajos love a godforsaken place like this,” Ralph said.
“Your Utes live here too!” Kitty’s eyes flashed.
“Only because white men drove us off our good land farther north,” Ralph snapped. “We put up a good fight before they expelled us, too. My grandfather was one of Chief Douglas’ warriors, back in 1879, when the Utes surrounded and almost destroyed an entire U.S. Army detachment that invaded our White River reservation.”
“The Navajos gottheirreservation back,” Kitty pointed out.
“Don’t squabble, children,” Hall said and added, to break the tension, “I heard a rumor that you’re going to the Squaw Dance together next week. Is that right?”
Kitty blushed and Ralph nodded.
“That’s the same as becoming engaged, isn’t it?”
“If our uncles approve,” Kitty admitted.
“Well, here’s a tip from an old bachelor: Don’t bicker about things that happened long ago, and don’t hold grudges. We’re all Americans today, no matter how our skins are colored.”
“I’ll be good,” Kitty promised. “And that reminds me. Will you all be good and come to dinner with Mother and me tonight?”
When they pulled up to the motel at Window Rock, an Indian wearing a Hopi hairband rose from where he had been squatting near the entrance and handed Ralph a message. The driller read it and turned to the others with a frown.
“It’s from Chief Ponytooth,” he explained. “He says the Hopis and Navajos are having a session at the Council Hall tonight and he wants me there as a representative of the Utes. Looks as if I’ll have to eat and run.”
“Dinner will be early,” Kitty promised.
“Wait here till I make a quick visit to the Indian Agency,” Hall said. “Then we’ll walk over to your house. I’m tired of riding.”
Sandy had expected that Kitty might live in an eight-sided wooden hogan such as he had seen in other parts of the reservation. Instead, she took them to a neat white cottage surrounded by palo-verde trees.
Mrs. Gonzales was an attractive widow who might have passed for Kitty’s older sister, except that she was somewhat heavier and her skin was much darker. She greeted the two older men as if they were members of the family and made Sandy feel at home immediately. First, she showed them around the tiny forge and workshop where she apparently earned a good living by making lovely silver buckles and heavy medallions called conchas which she sold to tourists. Then, after learning that Ralph had to leave soon, she rushed dinner to the table. It featured several highly spiced Mexican and Indian dishes and was delicious.
After coffee, they stood under the stars for a few minutes on a patio looking toward the great black hole in Window Rock.
“What is the light that twinkles on the cliff these days?” Mrs. Gonzales asked as she pointed upward with pursed lips.
“Bad man!” she sniffed after Hall explained that it was Cavanaugh’s light beam.
“What do you know about him, Mother?” Ralph asked.
“Nothing good.” She crossed her arms in the wide sleeves of her embroidered blouse to keep the evening chill away. “He came here in the early ’50s, looking for uranium. Pablo, my poor husband, was a prospector too in those days, and knew every foot of this reservation. Cavanaugh went into partnership with him, but somehow, he never got round to signing a contract.
“They made a strike too—one of the biggest. Cavanaugh sold the claim for much money, just before the government stopped buying ore. He forgot all his promises then, and went away. Pablo’s heart broke when the man he thought was his friend betrayed him.” She sighed deeply.
“Now Cavanaugh has returned,” she went on at last, “like the Spaniards who used to descend on us Indians like locusts when they needed more money. He is not good for this country.”
“He certainly is riding a high horse today,” Hall agreed. “When I was at the Agency he came stalking in with Pepper behind him, leading two of his big dogs on leashes. He looked just like the cat that ate the canary as he submitted a pile of sealed bids a foot high. I sure do wish I knew what he was up to.”
“If I didn’t have to attend the Council meeting,” Ralph said regretfully, “I could take the ‘ear’ up to his camp and find out, maybe.”
Kitty insisted on walking them back to town. She and Ralph went arm-in-arm until Hall met another oilman, got into a business discussion, and called his driller back to take part in it. Sandy and the girl continued on together.
Cavanaugh came out of the motel as they approached. Quite evidently, the redhaired man had had a few drinks.
“Well!” he said as he recognized them. “If it isn’t the squaw who kicked me out of school, with her little squaw man!” He stood in their path, swaying ever so slightly.
“Get out of our way, please,” Sandy said, fighting down his fury at the words.
For answer, Cavanaugh swung a brawny arm and struck the boy across the mouth with the back of a hairy hand.
Sandy staggered from the unexpected blow, then charged, fists flying. He connected several times, but he might as well have hit a brick wall. His 155 pounds made no impression on Cavanaugh’s 200-plus.
“So you think you can fight the man who made three touchdowns against California,” Cavanaugh bawled drunkenly. “Well, take this for being an Injun lover!” He swung a short right to the jaw that snapped Sandy’s head back. “And this for your Injun-loving boss!” He followed with a stunning left. “And this for your snooty Ute!” He swung a haymaker that smashed through the boy’s weakened guard and hit his solar plexus like a bolt of lightning.
As he lay in the gutter, gasping desperately for breath, Sandy thought he heard the sound of running feet.
“And this,” Cavanaugh said deliberately, “is just part of what I owe Donovan for calling me a liar. Won’t he look like a fool tomorrow if my high sign comes through?”
Through bleared eyes, Sandy saw his enemy push Kitty aside and swing a heavy boot at his ribs.
At that moment, Ralph plunged into the little circle of lamplight. The Indian gripped Cavanaugh by one beefy shoulder and spun him around.
“This,” he raged, “is for a skunk who picks on people half his size and kicks them when they’re down!”
He dealt the bully a smashing blow under the ear.
“Fight! Fight!” somebody in the motel yelled. In an instant the building poured forth a mob of oilmen. They gathered in a circle around the combatants and shouted encouragement. A few of them egged Cavanaugh on, but the majority were rooting for his opponent.
Sandy sat up groggily, dabbed at his bleeding lips, and watched the battle with growing excitement. Ralph was many pounds lighter than the redhead, but he made up for that by being fast as a rattler. He avoided the big man’s efforts to go into a clinch that would give him time to clear his head of that first murderous punch. He danced about as his ancestors must have done at their buffalo ceremonials. He struck again and again—short, stabbing blows that soon cut Cavanaugh’s face to ribbons and closed his right eye.
The bully was no coward though, Sandy was surprised to discover. He fought doggedly, and managed to get in some damaging blows to the body that made his supporters cheer. But Ralph’s long reach held him too far away. He could not use his great strength to advantage. And it was plain that he was badly out of condition. Before three minutes had passed he was becoming winded.
“Kill the big bum, Fisheater,” a Navajo whooped from the edge of the crowd. “He asked for it. Kill ’im.”
“With pleasure,” Ralph answered. “Watch this, benighted Navajo. I learned it in Uncle Sam’s Navy.”
He started a right, almost from the pavement. Up and up it came, completely under Cavanaugh’s guard. It landed on the point of his chin with a crack like that of a whip!
The big man threw out his arms wildly, rocked back on his heels, and came crashing down, as a tree falls, into the gutter beside Sandy. He scrabbled about there for a moment, managed to get halfway to his knees, then slid forward on his face. Out!
The Navajo threw his big black cowboy hat on the street, jumped up and down on it in utter joy, and sent warwhoop after warwhoop echoing through the little town.
“Hand me my coat, John,” Ralph said to the producer, who had been coaching him from the sidelines. “If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late for that meeting.”
Kitty, who had stood close beside Sandy throughout the battle, alternately wringing her hands and jumping up and down with excitement as Ralph seemed to be getting the worst or best of it, now ran forward. As the crowd cheered again, she hugged her man until he had to beg her to spare his bruised ribs.
“Kitty,” said Hall, when Ralph had been carried away on the shoulders of admiring Navajos and Hopis who had run over from the Council Hall to witness the fracas, “will you take Sandy home and patch him up? He has a pretty deep cut on his cheekbone. Better drive him over in the jeep, if he feels like he looks.
“I’ve got to talk to Ken White about Cavanaugh. This situation is getting out of hand. I’ll come over as soon as I can.”
Half an hour later, Sandy pushed aside the cold compresses that Mrs. Gonzales had been applying to his face and sat bolt upright on the couch where he had been lying.
“Kitty,” he gasped. “I just thought! What was it Cavanaugh said about a high sign or something?”
“When he was getting ready to kick you, you mean?” she frowned.
“Yes. It had to do with Donovan, I think. I was pretty groggy at the time.”
“Oh! He said something like ‘Won’t Donovan feel like a fool tomorrow if my high sign comes through!’”
“That’s it! That’s it!” Sandy yelled as he pushed Mrs. Gonzales’ fluttering hands away and scrambled to his feet. “It could only mean that he’s expecting some sort of message tonight over his light beam. Ralph’s tied up, so I’ve got to go up there and try to find out what it is.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Kitty. “You’ve taken a bad beating. You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”
“But I’ve got to go,” he pleaded. “This may mean everything to John, and Don, and, yes, to you and Ralph too. I’m the only one who knows how to operate the ‘ear.’ I’m going right now. And you’re going to help me!”
“Buthowdo I go about feeling like a dog?” Sandy groaned after he had explained his plan of action.
“You shouldn’t have any trouble about that.” Kitty smiled tenderly as she patted the last strip of bandage in place on his cheek. “You must feel awful.”
“That’s not what I mean. When Ralph went into Cavanaugh’s camp at Elbow Rock he wore a dog skin and made himself smell like a dog. But he said that wasn’t enough. He also had to feel and think like one. There’s a skin in the jeep. And you must know a kennel where I can roll around and get the smell. But how about the rest of it?
“Of course I’ve readThe Call of the Wild, but that’s only Jack London’sideaof how dogs think. What I’ve got to find out quick is how they really feel.”
“I am an Indian,” Mrs. Gonzales spoke up suddenly. “Indians are wise in the ways of animals. You have heard that Indians of the old days were the world’s best horsemen, although they used no saddles, and sometimes no bridles. Why? I say it was because they could talk with their horses. Yes, and they honored their mounts as no other people have ever done by printing what was called a pat hand on the rumps of those who helped them win battles.” She held up the palm of her hand to show what she meant.
“Then there are our totems. Animals, all of them. To be a member of the buffalo clan, a young brave had to study the wild herds until he knew their every thought—what frightened them, what pastures they preferred, their mating habits. All that.
“What of the great cattle and sheep herds in which modern Navajos take such pride? They thrive where it seems only jack rabbits could live because their herdsmen understand their every need, care for them as if they were children, and weep, as for children, when they are injured or die.
“And consider the Hopi snake dances. Why should the rattlers not bite the dancers, except that they are friends? You do not believe me, Sandy?”
“Well,” he gulped, “it’s just that I am not an Indian....”
“But white men have been the friends of dogs since time began. You can learn to remember how a cave man felt when he and his dog slept back to back to protect themselves against the howling things outside in the night. You want to be among dogs, Sandy? Very well, I will call them here.”
She closed her black eyes and sat swaying slowly from side to side, making an almost inaudible whining, snuffling noise through her nose.
A dog barked questioningly in the distance. Another answered, nearer. Within minutes, three scrawny mutts were scratching at the screen door of the cottage.
“You must remember that dogs are always hungry,” Mrs. Gonzales said as she let the animals in and went to the kitchen to find scraps for them, “so you must think of food at all times. You must remember that they are loyal, even though their master beats them, so you must not let your hatred or distrust of Cavanaugh into your mind when you approach his camp. You must be sleepy ... oh so sleepy ... so that you do not wake them from their dreams of chasing rabbits, or bigger game.
“Also,” she said thoughtfully, “it would be wise to remove all your clothing except the dog skin before you approach. There will not be so much man smell to overcome. Now play with these dogs for a time to get their scent on you. Then Kitty will drive you as near the camp as she dares. And may the blessings of the good Jesus and Mary, and the water and wind people, ride with you.”
Kitty was at the wheel as the jeep skirted the town and headed up a steep trail that had been chopped through the mesquite for the benefit of tourists who liked to snap their everlasting cameras from the top of the Rock. It was much too late for tourists to be out, however, so they had the road to themselves. This was a good thing, since they dared not use the car lights and had to depend on what little illumination was provided by a half-moon.
Sandy sat fingering Maisie’s hide nervously and holding the “ear” on his lap to protect it from bumps. From time to time, as they twisted and turned, he got glimpses of Cavanaugh’s beam far above. It twinkled without interruption and was hard to distinguish among the stars.
“Pepper must be playing music,” he said softly at last. “Ralph says the beam fades up and down when a two-way conversation is going on. We’re still in time.”
“Are you sure you ought to be doing this?” Kitty asked unhappily. “John wouldn’t have let you go if he had known about it, I’m certain.”
“That’s why I was in such a hurry to start before he returned from the Agency. Ralph isn’t here, so I’m the only person who knows how to operate this gadget. I have to go through with it.”
“But why do you have to?” she demanded. “Why not leave it up to the Agency and the Navajo police?”
“Because I have only a hunch to go on—the kind of hunch that Mother says Kit Carson used to have. I haven’t any proof that Cavanaugh is planning to play some sort of dirty trick on the Indians tomorrow, or that his plans may depend on what comes over the beam. The police would laugh at me. I’vegotto do it my way.”
“I guess you do,” the girl agreed. “You’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” she added, driving the car off the trail and into a thicket as the lights shining from Cavanaugh’s trailer showed up on the skyline ahead.
When Sandy climbed out, strapped the “ear” to his chest and started away, she called him back sharply.
“Take your clothes off here and put them in the back of the jeep,” she commanded. “You’d never find them on the trail.”
“But....”
“Do as I say, silly. And hurry. I’m scared.”
“I’m scareder than you are, I’ll bet,” Sandy said grumpily as he obeyed.
The cold night wind hit his bare skin and he started shivering.
Well, he thought as he started away through the darkness, that was all to the good. Dogs shivered all the time, didn’t they? And the hide offered some protection.
It seemed to take him an age to reach the vicinity of the trailer. Once he stubbed his toe badly, and once he cut his foot on a sharp rock. Confound that Kitty! He needed his shoes. Still, shoes did smell pretty strong sometimes. He grinned in spite of himself.
A hundred yards from the trailer he got down on hands and knees, started to crawl forward, then stopped with a jerk.
Dogs usually didn’t take kindly to strangers of their own kind! How many times had he seen them set upon an outsider and send him yipping for his life. Maybe the foreigner had come looking for a fight, though! He, Sandy, would be the friendliest doggy in seven states! He did his best to imitate the low whimpering that Mrs. Gonzales had used as he crept forward. If Ralph could get away with this, there was no reason why Sandy Carson Steele couldn’t!
He was only a few feet from the trailer when three big brutes, who had been sleeping under its wheels, rose and advanced toward him, stiff-legged. This was it!
Desperately, Sandy tried to project the idea through his soft whining that he was hungry, and cold, and wet with dew, and only wanted a quiet place where he could spend the night under the protection of those splendid humans, Cavanaugh and Pepper March.
For a moment, he thought he had got the idea across. The dogs hesitated. They seemed to confer among themselves. But they were not quite satisfied. The lead animal bared his long white teeth and barked a tentative challenge. The others followed his example as they sidled toward this strange creature who certainly smelled like a dog but who looked—well, looked somewhat queer, to say the least.
A quotation his father once had repeated flashed through Sandy’s mind:The minds of dogs do not benefit by being treated as though they were the minds of men.As the barking grew louder, he gathered himself and prepared to go away from that place as fast as his bare feet could carry him.
The trailer door banged open. A shaft of light illuminated the yard but mercifully did not reach to the spot where Sandy crouched.
“Shut up, you idiotic mutts!” Cavanaugh yelled. Then to Pepper, who appeared in the doorway behind him, “Can’t you make those confounded dogs keep quiet? They’re driving me insane.”
“I’m sorry, Red,” Pepper answered. “You brought the dogs here to guard the trailer.”