thillerman.theblessingway-第11节

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found　Afraid　of　His　Horse；　he　would　learn　the　coyotes　were　also　active　this　season　north　of　Many　Ruins。　Taken　together；　he　thought；　the　two　linked　incidents　would　provide　the　first　of　the　specific　examples　he　needed　to　support　his　scapegoat　thesis。　He　felt　suddenly　optimistic。
　It　was　not　until　he　had　turned　the　truck　up　the　sandy　bottom　of　Many　Ruins　Canyon　that　McKee　realized　that　he　wasn't　sure　exactly　how　a　coyote　could　have　gotten　into　the　rams'　pen。　The　pen　was　built　in　a　rough　half…circle　extending　from　the　arroyo　wall。　McKee　remembered　he　had　not　been　able　to　look　over　the　pen　from　the　arroyo　bed。　That　meant　the　pole　wall　was　about　six　feet　high…too　high　for　a　coyote；　or　even　a　wolf；　to　jump。　It　occurred　to　him　then　that　Yazzie　must　surely　have　built　the　corral　with　coyotes　or　wolves　much　in　mind　and　designed　it　to　keep　them　out。　The　poles　were　wired　together；　top　and　bottom；　and　the　bases　had　been　buried　in　the　sandy　soil。　The　gate；　a　narrow　door　of　poles　held　together　by　horizontal　braces；　had　also　been　wired　securely　shut。　McKee　remembered　this　clearly　because　of　the　time　it　had　taken　him　to　unfasten　the　wires。　If　Yazzie　had　carelessly　left　the　gate　insecurely　fastened　the　night　the　wolf　got　in；　why　would　he　have　bothered　to　fasten　it　so　securely　after　the　damage　was　done？
　McKee　drove　slowly　along　the　hard…packed　canyon　floor。　The　cloud　he　had　noticed　earlier　had　built　higher　now　and　there　had　been　a　shower　somewhere。　The　breeze　was　cool　and　smelled　of　wet　pine。　In　places　the　going　was　slow　and　rocky。　Here　the　canyon　walls　closed　in；　sheer　smooth　cliffs　which　funneled　the　water　of　the　occasional　flash　floods　into　a　narrow　torrent。　But　generally　the　road　was　smooth　and　the　canyon　bottom　broadened　to　a　hundred　yards　or　more。　The　runoff　stream　here　required　only　a　small　portion　of　the　canyon　floor。　Its　bed　wandered　between　tumbled　hills　of　rocky　debris　and　there　were　grass　and　even　a　few　cottonwoods。　Here　the　sandstone　had　been　softer　and　more　readily　destroyed　by　wind　and　water。　It　was　in　places　like　these　that　the　Anasazis　had　built　on　the　talus　slopes　and　high　under　the　overhanging　shelter　of　the　canyon　walls　the　cliff　houses　which　gave　the　canyon　its　name。　McKee　passed　three　of　these　stone　ruins　on　his　way　to　the　campsite　without　giving　them　more　than　a　glance。　He　was；　by　then；　thoroughly　disgusted　with　himself　for　his　oversight　at　the　sheep　pens…carelessness　which　meant　he　would　have　to　return　to　the　Yazzie　hogans　and　find　out　exactly　how　the　coyotes　had　gotten　in。　He　was　so　immersed　in　this　problem　that　it　was　not　until　he　turned　his　truck　up　the　slope　to　the　campsite　that　he　noticed　Canfield's　camper　truck　was　gone。
　McKee　switched　off　the　ignition　and　sat　silently　a　moment。　The　exhaust　noise　echoed　up　and　down　the　canyon　and　then　died；　leaving　an　utter　stillness。　The　butane　campstove　was　unlit；　McKee　noticed；　and　there　was　no　sign　that　Canfield　had　started　cooking　supper；　although　it　was　his　turn　for　the　chore。
　〃Where　in　the　devil　could　he　have　gone？〃　McKee　said　aloud。　He　was　inside　the　tent　when　he　saw　the　note；　a　sheet　of　typing　paper　on　the　folding　table　weighted　by　a　turquoise　frog…Canfield's　proof　against　witches。
　Bergen…
　A　Navajo　dragged　himself　up　here　with　a　leg　all　swollen　up　with　snakebite。　I'm　taking　him　to　Teec　Nos　Pas。　Be　back　tomorrow　morning。
　John
　McKee　reread　the　note　and　stared　at　the　signature；　Dr。　J。　R。　Canfield's　first　name　was　Jeremy；　not　John。
　
　Chapter　10
　
　Sandoval　squatted　beside　the　sand　painting　and　told　Charley　Tsosie　to　put　his　knees　on　the　knees　of　the　Corn　Beetle。　He　showed　him　how　to　lean　forward　with　one　hand　on　each　hand　of　the　figure。　When　Tsosie　was　just　right；　Sandoval　began　singing　the　part　about　how　the　corn　beetles　called　out　to　tell　the　Changing　Woman　that　her　Hero　Twins；　the　Monster　Slayer　and　the　Water　Child；　were　ing　home　again　safely。　His　voice　rose　in　pitch　on　the　〃lo…lo…loo〃　cry　of　the　beetle；　and　then　fell　as　he　chanted　the　part　about　the　Hero　Twins　visiting　the　sun；　and　slaughtering　the　monster　Ye…i。　It　was　stifling　in　the　hogan　and　Tsosie's　bare　back　was　glistening　with　sweat。　Even　his　loin　cloth　was　discolored　with　it。　That　was　good。　The　enemy　was　ing　out。　And　now　Sandoval　was　ready　for　the　next　part。　He　sprinkled　a　pinch　of　corn　pollen　on　Tsosie's　shoulders　and　had　him　stand　up　and　step　off　the　sand　painting…carefully　so　that　the　pattern　wouldn't　be　disturbed。
　Sandoval　felt　good　about　the　painting。　He　hadn't　done　an　Enemy　Way　since　just　after　the　foreign　war　when　the　young　men　had　e　back　from　the　Marines。　He　was　afraid　he　might　have　forgotten　how　to　do　it。　But　it　had　worked　out　just　right。　The　arroyo　sand　he　had　poured　out　on　the　hogan　floor　for　the　base　was　a　little　darker　than　he　liked　but　he　had　known　it　was　going　to　work　all　right　when　he　poured　out　the　colored　sand　to　make　the　Encircling　Guardian。　He　had　made　it　in　a　square　as　his　father　had　taught　him；　with　the　east　side　open　to　keep　from　trapping　in　any　of　the　Holy　People。　The　Guardian's　head　was　at　the　north　end；　with　his　two　arms　inward；　and　his　feet　were　at　the　south　end。　His　body　was　four　alternating　lines　of　red　and　yellow　sand；　and　at　the　opening　Sandoval　had　drawn　the　elaborate　figure　of　Thunder；　wearing　the　three　crooked　arrows　in　his　headdress　and　carrying　the　crooked　arrows　under　his　wings。
　〃Put　Thunder　there　when　you　sing　for　a　witching；〃　his　father　had　told　him。　〃His　lightning　kills　the　witches。〃
　Sandoval　repaired　the　Corn　Beetle　deftly；　sifting　colored　sand　through　his　fingers　to　reform　the　lines　where　Tsosie's　hands　and　knees　had　pressed。　He　added　a　tiny　sprinkle　of　black　sand　to　the　single　feather　in　the　headdress　of　Big　Fly。
　Sandoval　stood　up　then　and　looked　into　the　pot　where　he　had　brewed　the　medicine。　The　water　was　still　steaming　and　the　juniper　leaves　he　had　mixed　into　it　had　turned　the　solution　milky。　It　looked　about　right　but　Sandoval　thought　it　would　have　been　better　if　he　had　had　a　waterproof　basket　so　it　could　have　been　done　the　old　way。　The　People　are　losing　too　many　of　the　old　ways；　Sandoval　thought；　and　he　thought　it　again　when　he　had　to　tell　Tsosie　how　to　sit　on　the　feet　of　Big　Fly；　and　even　had　to　remind　him　to　face　the　east。　When　Sandoval　was　a　boy　learning　the　ways　from　his　father；　his　father　had　not　had　to　tell　people　how　to　sit。　They　knew。
　Sandoval　sang　then　the　chant　of　the　Big　Fly；　and　how　he　had　e　to　The　People　to　tell　them　that　Black　God　and　the　warriors　were　returning　victorious　from　their　war　against　the　Taos　Pueblo　and　how　the　two　girls　had　been　sent　by　the　people　to　carry　food　to　the　war　band。　This　was　the　last　chant　before　the　vomiting　and　Sandoval　was　glad　of　that。　It　was　the　second　day　of　the　Enemy　Way。　His　voice　was　hoarse　and　he　was　tired　and　there　was　still　much　to　be　done；　much　ritual　to　be　pleted　before　this　man　was　free　of　the　witch　trouble。　His　daughter　had　been　right　and　he　should　have　listened　to　her。　He　was　eighty…one　（or　eighty…two　by　the　white　man's　way　of　counting）　and　loaded　with　too　many　years　to　conduct　a　three…day　Sing　like　an　Enemy　Way。
　Sandoval　dipped　the　ceremonial　gourd　into　the　pot；　filling　it　with　the　hot；　milky　fluid；　and　handed　the　gourd　to　Tsosie。
　〃Drink　all　of　it；〃　he　ordered；　thinking　you　shouldn't　have　to　tell　a　man　that。　And；　while　Tsosie　drank；　he　sang　the　last　two　chants。　He　refilled　the　gourd　and　handed　it　to　Agnes　Tsosie　and　then　to　the　two　sons。　Let　the　others　get　their　own；　Sandoval　thought；　and　he　ducked　past　the　double　curtains　hung　over　the　hogan　doorway　to　see　if　the　time　was　right。
　Outside　the　air　was　cool；　almost　cold　after　the　closeness　of　the　hogan。　The　eastern　horizon　was　turning　from　red　to　yellow　and　Sandoval　saw　it　was　about　the　right　time。　He　pulled　back　the　curtains　and　called　to　Tsosie。
　〃Go　out　there　behind　the　brush　shelter；〃　he　ordered；　〃and　remember　that　to　make　it　right　you　want　to　vomit　out　the　witching　just　as　you　can　see　the　top　rim　of　the　sun　ing　up。〃　When　Tsosie　came　past　the　curtain；　Sandoval　handed　him　a　chicken　feather。
　〃Just　when　the　sun　is　first　ing　up；〃　Sandoval　reminded　him。　〃If　the　medicine　isn't　working；　stick　that　feather　down　your　throat。〃
　Sandoval　sat　on　the　ground　and　leaned　back　on　the　wall　of　the　hogan；　relishing　the　coolness。　He　would　have　about　thirty　minutes　before　the　vomiting　was　finished　and　then　one　more　chant　to　sing　while　Tsosie　and　his　family　were　rubbing　the　juniper　stew　on　their　bodies。　Then　it　would　be　time　for　the　people　from　the　Stick　Receivers　to　arrive。　Sandoval　yawned　and　stretched　and　looked　out　across　the　brush　flats　where　the　visitors　were　camping。　Probably　four　or　five　hundred；　he　thought；　and　there　would　be　more　arriving　today；　mostly　women　bringing　their　girls　to　look　for　husbands　at　the　Girl　Dance　tonight；　and　young　men　looking　for　girls；　and　gambling；　and　drinking；　and　trouble。　Sandoval　had　meant　to　think　about　the　ceremonial；　to　think　just　good　thoughts　and　keep　in　harmony　with　the　event。　But　he　couldn't　help　thinking　how　times　were　changing。　Mostly　they　came　in　their　pickups　and　cars　now。　There　were　dozens　of　them　parked　out　there　and　just　a　few　wagons。　And　that　was　part　of　it。　The　white　man's　machines　made　it　easy　to　travel　about　and　people　came　just　to　visit　and　fool　around。　In　the　old　days　there　wouldn'