The Night Visitor (20 page)

He opened it. Inside were three stapled pages. The first sheet had a fancy seal on it.

Moon was about to take a sip at the steaming cup of coffee when the old man's roar shook the house. He spilled the black liquid on his new shirt.

Vanessa, who had been pouring a cup for herself, almost dropped the blue enamel pot. She rolled her eyes. “What now?”

“I imagine,” Moon said, “they've had a lovers' spat.”

She gave him a look that said, Shut up you are becoming tiresome.

The policeman grinned. “Nowadays, romances don't last all that long.”

“It's a damn court order,” Nathan McFain bellowed. “That sneaky woman was a damn process-server or somethin'!”

Vanessa was attempting—without success—to grab the papers he was waving about. “What is it, Daddy?”

Nathan's wrath was directed at Charlie Moon, the Southern Ute who happened to be at hand. “It's all on account of that damn land-boundary dispute—with
your
people,” he said, shaking the legal document under the policeman's nose. “And you brought her here—to my house!”

Vanessa looked to Moon for an explanation.

He shrugged, as if it was a trifling matter. “I've heard that some of the tribal leaders wondered whether the mammoth excavation—or at least part of it—might be on Southern Ute land. I guess they must've been talking to the lawyers.” He smiled weakly. “And you know the sorta things that happen when you start talkin' to lawyers. The tribe asked for an injunction and Nathan didn't hire a lawyer or show up in court to defend himself and …”

“Oh my,” she said, and turned to her father. “What does the court order say?”

Nathan ground his teeth and squinted at the legal writ. “It says that…
‘no fossil bones or artifacts or specimens of any kind can be removed from the excavation site.'
Not 'til a court-appointed surveyor comes out here and determines where the property line is. Damn sneaky Utes,” he muttered.

What was needed was a change of subject. Charlie Moon rubbed his belly. “Well, Nathan—I'm hungry as a bear who just woke up from an all-winter sleep.” He managed a grin. “Vanessa won't tell me what we're havin' for supper… except for some corn and peas and stuff. But I figure she's got some beefsteaks broilin' in the oven.”

The old man's lips curled away to expose yellowed canines; he licked his lips and snarled:
“I'm
gonna have me some liver. Fresh liver. And I like it bleedin' rare.” The rancher's bleary eyes focused on a spot just above Moon's belt buckle. McFain's hand moved toward the sheath knife on his belt.

The Ute policeman—who was quick to pick up on subtle nuances—got the hint.

Vanessa had followed Moon outside. “Daddy's really upset.”

“That crack about fresh liver was in bad taste,” the Ute grumbled.
Damned old cannibal.

She gave him a suspicious look. “Charlie, did you know what that woman was here for?”

He kicked at a pebble.

“Charlie?”

He nodded.

Vanessa was stunned at this admission. “But why didn't you warn Daddy?”

“Well, shoot—I didn't know he'd take it so serious.” He smiled and put his hand lightly on her arm. “I thought it'd be kinda funny… you know… to see old Nathan hornswoggled by that slick little law clerk.”

“Oh, Charlie… you're such a… a big doofus!” Vanessa turned on her heel and headed for the porch.

He watched her tall, slender form retreat into the darkness with some regret. Well, so much for honesty being the best policy.
But none of it's my fault. Neither that grumpy old man or his skinny daughter are able to appreciate the humor in things.

A vast ocean of blackness moves in rolling waves, washing against a towering shore of variegated sandstone. Silver-haired bats and violet-green swallows swim in its cool depths, feeding on swarms of insects that dart about like shadowy minnows. A thousand dark waterfalls spill off mesas, flooding the depths of sinuous canyons, drowning the last breath of day. This relentless tide flows out of the mouth of
Cañon del Espiritu
and ripples along the warm sands toward Daisy Perika's small home… which will soon be engulfed. It is by any measure an awesome event. A marvelous drama covering the world from horizon to horizon.

But hardly anyone notices.

Most particularly, Charlie Moon. As far as the Ute policeman is concerned, it is almost dark. Merely this and nothing more.

Moon turned the SUPD Blazer into the narrow dirt lane that snaked off the rutted gravel road toward Daisy's front porch. The lights in the trailer were on. But it was still the Moon of Dead Leaves Falling—when the long winter nights came, the old woman would follow the sun to bed. Especially now that her television set wasn't working. Which reminded him—he was supposed to take the thing into Ignacio for repairs. She'd be better off buying a new set, but Aunt Daisy would rather spend forty or fifty dollars every year patching up that old black-and-white relic from the '60s. Now there was a notion
for a Christmas gift. A little color television that would fit neatly on the small shelf in her kitchen. With Sarah Frank living here, that would be just the ticket. Pleased with himself for this insight, Moon switched off the ignition.

Daisy had watched her nephew pull up to the edge of the fan of light from the sixty-watt bulb hanging over the porch. She recognized the wide grille of the SUPD Blazer, but didn't open the door until he knocked.

Moon took off his dusty black Stetson and looked around the kitchen. “Hi,” he said to his aunt. And glanced hopefully at the cookstove.

“Hmmmf,” Daisy said. “I guess you want something to eat.”

Denied his supper by Nathan McFain's wrath, Moon was starving. “If you got something handy.”

Sarah was at the kitchen table, drawing pictures on a yellow pad with crayons. Yellow birds and purple flowers. The little girl scrambled out of the chair, scooped up her cat, and came to greet him. “Hello, Charlie.”

“H'lo, Sarah.”

“Mr. Zig-Zag says hello too.” She held the black cat up for his inspection.

Does she expect me to kiss him?
He backed away, but nodded cordially. “Good evening, cat.” Moon retreated to the stove where his aunt was stirring a thick brown broth that had bits of meat in it. He whispered in Daisy's ear, “So tell me the truth—this little girl too much for an old woman to handle?”

“Not this old woman,” she muttered. Daisy gave him a sly look and raised her voice. “Tomorrow's Saturday. Sarah wants Uncle Charlie to take her somewhere, don't you, Sarah?”

Uncle?

“Yes, Uncle Charlie. Aunt Daisy said you'd take me to see the elephant.”

Some fast footwork was called for. A distraction. “If she's your Aunt Daisy, I'm way too young to be your uncle. By about a hundred years.”

When you wanted something, grown-ups always tried to change the subject. “But about the elephant …”

So much for distractions—but maybe she could be discouraged. “It's not a real live elephant like in a zoo. Just a pile of old bones.”

“I know,” she said brightly, “I read all about it in the newspaper. The bones are from a mammoth. They looked a lot like regular elephants. The ones that lived way up north had long red hair to keep them warm.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess long hair would keep you warm. 'Specially if it was red.”

Sarah gave him a puzzled look. Sometimes Charlie didn't make sense.

Daisy's lips twisted into something that resembled a smile. “So is nice Uncle Charlie gonna take this sweet little child to see the elephant?”

This is a hard-hearted old woman.
But Moon had not yet surrendered. A delaying action was called for. “Well, I'll have to think about it.” Moon thought about it. He had lots of things to do tomorrow. Interesting, useful stuff that didn't have anything to do with crumbly old bones or grumpy old aunts. Or talkative little girls. So he thought.

The old woman tapped the lid of the steaming pot with a stained wooden spoon, “Sarah wants to see the elephant.” She aimed a threatening scowl at her nephew. “Does Uncle Charlie want his supper?”

His stomach rumbled an affirmative reply. One last shot. “I've got lots of other things to do tomorrow, so we'd have to get a real early start.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I'd have to get here before the first crack of dawn.” That should discourage both of 'em.

Sarah smiled blissfully at the tall man. “I always get up before it's light outside, Uncle Charlie.”

Daisy smirked.

Uncle Charlie—who knew when he was whipped—yielded the game. But it wasn't fair. He'd been double-teamed.

Nathan sat very still, staring hard at the legal document. He tried—like Vannie was always urging him—to see the positive aspect of this calamity. He cogitated about it for some time.

Well, maybe there was a bright side to this court order. For one thing, those damn tightfisted Utes would be out a bundle in legal fees. And on top of that, they'd have to pay for the land survey. Could be he was maybe a foot or two onto their land. So let 'em put up a new fence—to keep his stock from eating their grass! Ha. Serve 'em right. Greedy, land-grabbing redskins!

Under the dark circumstances, Nathan was blinded to the rich cultural heritage from his Navajo grandmother's branch of the family. But he was already sorry about giving Charlie Moon a hard time. Wasn't good manners to threaten to cut out a fella's liver and have it for supper. Not when the man was an invited guest in your home. And Charlie was a good man—for a Ute. Moreover, Vannie seemed to like him.

Nathan's daughter was gazing blankly into the fireplace, at a heap of dying embers. A charred husk of piñon log—also consigned to death—was having a last smoke. Vanessa was thinking about Charlie Moon. Such a big, dumb clown. She wondered whether he'd ever come back to the ranch. And whether he liked her. She was tall enough to intimidate most men. On dates, she wore flat heels and slouched in an effort to appear shorter. But Charlie Moon was practically a giant. Surely he felt comfortable with a tall woman. She pricked her ears as the humming sound of an automobile engine disturbed the quiet. But it wasn't Charlie Moon's SUPD Blazer.

Nathan McFain also heard the sound. “We got s'more company.” With any luck, it would be somebody to rent a cabin.

Vanessa stretched like a lazy lioness, yawned, and headed upstairs to her bedroom. “Well, I've had about all the excitement I can stand for one day. You can deal with it, Daddy.”

The rancher didn't get up from his chair until he heard the sound of footsteps on his front porch. A man's heavy boots. And the lighter step of a woman. He pitched the offensive manila envelope onto a heavy pine table and headed for the door. The old man saw the woman first. After that, he hardly wasted a glance at the broad-shouldered man who stood protectively beside her.
She looks like one of them gals whose Pictures are in the magazines showing how pretty the lipsticks looked on their lips. Or the ones that do the shampoo commercials
on the TV.
Lovely, ivory skin. Huge blue eyes. And hair the color of ripe strawberries. It fell over her shoulders in great waves.

“Hello,” the vision said in a velvety voice. “I'm Anne Foster. This is my friend, Scott Parris.”

The friend, who was the Granite Creek chief of police, nodded. He wasn't surprised that the old fart didn't even look at him. Anne had this effect on all of his gender. From puberty to senility, it didn't much matter.

The aging owner of the dude ranch found his voice. “I'm Nathan McFain. You're not a lawyer or somethin' like that, are you?”

Anne glanced uncertainly at her escort, and shook her head.

McFain allowed himself a sigh of genuine relief. “Good. I couldn't take another one o' them right now. Unless she was workin' for
my
side.”

The beautiful woman lit up the darkness with a smile. “I understand you have rental cabins.”

“Sure do. Every one of 'em has a bathroom, telephone, satellite TV, and a kitchenette. And they come stocked with some food, but you pay the replacement cost if you use it.” At triple the retail price. He backed away from the door and made a hospitable gesture to indicate that they should come inside.

They followed him into the pine-scented warmth of the enormous parlor.

Scott Parris liked the room. Especially the massive fireplace. “We'd like to stay for a night or two.”

Nathan looked directly at the woman's escort for the first time. Young fella had a sort of hungry, wistful expression when he glanced at the pretty redhead. Not like a husband. And neither of 'em wore wedding bands. “I don't rent a single cabin to couples unless they're man and wife. I'm kinda old-fashioned that way.”

“So's she.” Parris said glumly.

Anne patted her boyfriend on the arm. “We're not exactly tourists, though, Mr. McFain. I'm a journalist. I might want to do a story on your mammoth excavation.”

He showed them to an uncomfortable leather-upholstered
couch, then pitched a pine log on the fire which responded with a flurry of sparks. “Them scientists is awful touchy about newspaper stories. They won't give you the time of day about what they're doin'.”

“I don't need much. Just a few facts. And some photographs, of course.”

“Well, you got yourself another big problem there. Since the
Drum
published that picture of the bones, old man Moses has had a strict rule: no cameras inside the tent. The tent
I
put up,” he added by way of explanation, “that's where they're digging up the bones.”

Anne's lovely face mirrored her disappointment. “If I ask nicely, perhaps they would allow me to take just one or two photos.”

Nathan McFain shook his grizzled head. “I wouldn't bet my last dollar on it.”