He looked away from his fire, listening. Had he heard something? Chief was sleeping, or seeming to sleep. Earlier he had growled, so there had been something out there.
A coyote? A mountain lion? Or some other person? Or thing?
Mike was glad he had talked to Gallagher. There was no nonsense about the man but he did have imagination. How much of the story he accepted was open to question, but at least he had listened.
The burned-out cafe was very much his business, and he had seen the white van. Whatever base they had might have been established for years, and those who lived there might be known in the community. Gallagher was working on the case, and he would keep hunting for an answer, no matter where it came from.
The night was very still. The stars were bright. A soft wind moved across the mesa, stirring the stiff leaves, rustling them. Mike listened for any unnatural sound, any whisper that did not belong to the usual night.
Old stories of haunted houses and mysterious happenings came to mind. Suppose there was truth to some of them? Suppose some of the stories of witches and ghosts had derived from visits across the veil? Some of his Indian friends accepted things as true that a white man would doubt, but the white man judged from limited knowledge and might be too quick to scoff.
He hunched his shoulders under Erik’s parka. The night was cold, as desert nights are apt to be. He stared into the outer darkness but could see nothing.
The world over there was evil. In what way? Evil was a word with many meanings. Evil was to some a sin against God. To others it was a sin against society. What had been the evil from which the Anasazi fled into this Fourth World? A social evil? He doubted it. Men did not flee from a social evil. They passed laws, or they ignored such evils; yet this evil had caused them to flee, to abandon the world in which they lived, leaving all behind.
What was the evil from which they fled? What was so fearsome, so terrible, that they would leave all behind? What was the evil some had been willing to accept by returning?
That was a question he must ask Kawasi.
Mike Raglan got to his feet. He added fuel to the lire. He peered into the darkness. Why could he not sleep? What was it out there that lurked, waiting? Why did it not close in, attack him? Was the evil that lay over on the Other Side a physical thing? Was it something that might attack, that could attack? Or was it some more subtle evil?
He glanced toward Kawasi. She slept, soundly. He walked toward her, looking all around. The ancient wall was close behind her, solid as the day it was built.
He sank down beside her and looked at his watch. It was scarcely midnight and he had been believing it was almost morning. The flames danced weirdly; shadows shifted and changed. The butt of the gun under his hand was cool. He eased it in the holster for quicker use.
Chief’s head was up. Mike looked where the dog was peering into the night. He started to rise. A hand touched his.
“Don’t!” It was Kawasi. “Do not go out there! Not now, no matter what happens!”
XII
He hesitated, a little irritated. What was there to fear?
“They come to the fire,” Kawasi whispered. “They watch the fire.”
For several minutes, neither spoke. Raglan listened, touching his tongue to dry lips. What “they” were he had no idea, but he remembered the creatures who responded to the flash of light or fire from the top of the mesa. Were these the same?
He heard a vague rustling, a stirring, then silence. Should he put out the fire? It would not be easy to do without exposing himself more than he wished and he did not like the idea of being left in the dark.
He started to move and her hand touched his arm. “They must not see you,” she whispered. “Be still, and they will go away as the fire dies down.”
He wished it were morning, still hours away. He liked to deal with trouble in the clear light. The creatures he had seen seemed manlike, and he did not want to kill anything. In any event, a killing could lead to many questions and much trouble. If there was an investigation, and there certainly would be, how could he explain his situation? Who would believe such a story?
Hunched in the shadows beyond the fire, they waited. Kawasi sat very close, her arm warm against his. She, at least, was real. Or was she? What was real?
The fire died to red coals and a few thin tendrils of flame. His leg was cramped and he changed position carefully, trying to peer beyond the fire and into the night. He could see the dark rim of the rocks, and beyond it the sky where the night told its beads with stars.
No shadows, no movement. “I think they’ve gone,” he whispered.
“Wait!” She put a restraining hand on his arm.
He relaxed slowly. Tired of the long waiting, he felt his eyes close. He opened them, shaking his head to clear it of sleep. He must get some rest. He’d had very little since leaving the East, as his first night’s rest at the condo had been interrupted.
He was leaning against the cot, his head against the edge of the bedroll. His eyes closed. Footsteps awakened him, and it was broad daylight. He started to get up, then stopped.
Kawasi was gone!
Gone where? He got up hurriedly, then stopped abruptly. Gallagher was standing outside the door, looking in at him.
Mike Raglan looked quickly around. Kawasi was gone—gone as though she had never been. At least she was not here. He looked around again, then stepped outside.
Gallagher was staring at him. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
“She’s gone. Kawasi is gone.”
He looked down the length of the mesa. Sunlight was touching the rocks in the distance and Navajo Mountain was aglow with a reflection of the rising sun. The rocks over toward where Rainbow Bridge stood were a brilliant rust-red.
“What d’you mean, gone?”
“She was here, right beside me when I fell asleep. We were waiting for the fire to die down.” He paused, realizing how foolish his words must sound. “There was something out there, some things. She said they were attracted by the fire.”
Gallagher’s hands were on his hips. “You say she’s gone. Gone where?” Gallagher’s eyes were cool. “I drove out here to ask her some questions, a lot of questions. Now you say she’s gone.”
He made a sweeping gesture. “Gone where? Where is there to go? Your car is over there, just where you left it. I didn’t see anybody when I drove over, and I started before daylight. I am going to ask you again, Raglan. Where is she?”
“I’m telling the truth. She was right here beside me. We were both listening to whatever was out there, and I was dead tired. I caught myself nodding a couple of times and tried to stay awake. I guess I fell asleep.”
Gallagher looked around. “You say something was out here?”
“Just beyond where you’re standing, I’d guess. We heard a rustling, a sound of movement. I saw nothing and I don’t believe she did. Whatever it was, she said they were drawn by the fire and would go away when it died down.”
“She’s a witness, Raglan. An important witness. I need to talk to her. She was last seen with you, heading out this way. She couldn’t just vanish.”
“No?”
“Don’t start that again. I don’t buy it.” He paused a moment. “I found your white van, or at least a white van.”
Raglan waited, his eyes sweeping the mesa. There had to be footprints in that dust. If there had been movement, there had to be signs of movement. “And … ?”
“Paiutes. Been here for years. Nothing unusual about them at all—just folks.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not much of a place. Been standing there for years. They run a few sheep, keep a pony or two. Lots of Indians don’t feel right unless they have some horses. Even if they don’t ride them, they want them.”
“You found the van?”
“Sure. Right there in the garage alongside the house.”
“Garage?”
“Sheet-metal building. Kind of a workshop or something. I guess they make their own repairs.”
“You talked to them?”
“Sure. There were three of them there. Old man and woman and a young buck, maybe twenty-five or so.”
Mike Raglan felt let down. He had thought if they found the van there might be a lead. “You know these people?”
“No, I don’t know them. I talked to Weston about them—he’s their nearest neighbor. He’s known the old folks for years. Seems their people used to live close around here but they pulled out and went away, years back. Weston says the old folks never bother anybody. He picks up junk, stuff along the highway. Old tires, anything thrown out or abandoned. The old man does sell stuff occasionally.”