thillerman.theblessingway-第15节

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　he　had　this　dream；　sometimes　when　he　was　overtired　and　depressed；　it　would　awaken　him　and　he　would　sit　on　the　side　of　his　bed　and　smoke　a　cigarette；　and　sometimes　two　or　three。
　A　whippoorwill　sounded　its　whistling　call　far　down　the　canyon　and　was　answered　by　an　echo。　And　then　it　was　eerily　silent。
　Directly　overhead　McKee　picked　out　the　stars　of　the　Pleiades…six　in　two　parallel　rows　and　the　seventh　trailing　to　close　the　double　line。　From　these；　McKee　remembered；　the　seven　Hard　Flint　Boys　of　the　Navajo　myth　had　descended　to　follow　Monster　Slayer　on　his　heroic　odyssey　among　the　evil　things。　And　to　spread　their　own　mischief　among　the　Dinee。　And　to　receive　ceremonial　offerings　of　cornmeal　every　spring　from　a　thousand　sheepherders　in　a　thousand　little　sacred　shrines　on　a　thousand　mesas　and　mountains　across　the　Reservation。　McKee　located　two　stars；　each　surrounded　by　the　hazy　light　of　a　nebula；　which　represented　the　Hard　Flint　Woman　and　a　contestant　in　the　Bounding　Stick　Game。　He　couldn't　dredge　up　the　name　of　the　other　Holy　Person　but　he　vaguely　remembered　that　in　the　myth　there　was　an　argument　over　the　oute　and　a　solution　based　on　the　trickery　so　inevitable　in　both　Greek　and　Navajo　myth。　Far　up　the　west　rim　of　the　canyon；　a　coyote　yipped　twice；　and　then　poured　out　its　soul　in　a　full…throated　bay。　The　sound　seemed　to　float　down　from　the　stars；　the　voice　of　some　primeval　hound　drifting　infinite　sorrow　across　the　sky。
　It　might　be　my　coyote；　McKee　thought；　the　one　that　got　into　Yazzie's　ram　pen。　He　would　go　back　tomorrow　to　find　out　how；　if　his　guide　duties　with　Miss　Leon　allowed。　He　shifted　his　weight　on　the　packed　sand　and　felt　suddenly　less　sure　that　he　would　find　any　way　a　coyote　could　have　invaded　that　tight　little　enclosure。　In　this　silent　darkness　mystery　seemed　suddenly　natural；　almost　rational。　Down　the　canyon　the　whippoorwill　called　again　and　then　there　was　the　odd；　rasping　cry　of　a　saw…whet　owl；　sounding；　McKee　thought；　like　an　ogre　filing　off　his　chains。　He　reached　for　his　cigarette　pack；　decided　against　it；　and　thought　again　of　the　note　Canfield　had　left；　and　why　Jeremy　Robert　Canfield；　whose　first　name　was　part　of　a　private　anthropology　faculty　joke；　would　sign　〃John〃　to　this　note。　He　drifted　uneasily　on　the　margin　of　sleep。
　The　sound　jerked　him　abruptly　up　from　the　blankets；　wide　awake；　staring　across　the　canyon。　It　had　been　the　clatter　of　a　falling　pebble；　bouncing　down　the　eroded　cliff　and　dislodging　a　small　shower　of　other　pebbles。　The　residue　of　faint　echoes　lingered　a　second　in　the　stillness　and　then　faded。　McKee　sat　stock…still；　listening；　feeling　the　tenseness　of　muscle　fiber　flooded　with　adrenalin　and　the　taste　of　primitive　fear　in　his　mouth。　He　slid　his　legs　out　of　the　bedroll　and　slipped　them　into　his　trousers；　put　on　his　boots；　picked　up　his　shirt；　and　stood。　The　moon　had　risen　halfway　up　the　sky　and　the　west　wall　of　the　canyon　was　flooded　now　with　pale　light。　McKee　stood　in　a　rigid　crouch；　listening；　studying　the　worn　outcroppings　of　sandstone　from　which　the　sound　had　e。　There　was　nothing　but　the　silence。　A　sinister　shape　half　hidden　by　juniper　at　the　foot　of　the　outcrop　became；　as　McKee's　eyes　better　adjusted　to　the　half　light；　an　oddly　eroded　boulder。　McKee　relaxed　slightly；　feeling　the　panic　leaving　him。　It　could　have　been　an　animal。　And；　as　he　thought　this；　it　seemed　ridiculous　to　think　it　could　be　anything　but　an　animal…perhaps　a　night…prowling　porcupine。　He　stood　there；　feeling　suddenly　slightly　weak　and　very　foolish。　But　still　there　was　something　primitive　within　his　mind　signaling　danger　and　urging　caution。　Five　black　rams　with　bloody　throats　and　the　wrong　name　signed　to　a　simple　note。　A　burrowing　owl　glided　slowly　down　the　moonlit　side　of　the　canyon　floor；　scouting　for　night…feeding　kangaroo　rats。　It　swerved　suddenly　away　from　the　outcrop；　flapped　its　wings　wildly；　and　disappeared　in　the　darkness　down　canyon　from　McKee。　And；　as　it　disappeared；　his　fear　returned。　Something　had　startled　the　owl。　It　would　not　have　been　frightened　by　anything　small。
　He　moved　cautiously　away　from　the　bedroll；　farther　back　into　the　darkness　up　the　talus　slope　toward　the　east　cliff；　taking　each　step　carefully；　climbing　slowly　over　the　smaller　boulders；　carefully　skirting　the　larger　ones。　In　a　pocket　of　water…cut　rock　directly　under　the　overhanging　cliff　he　stopped　and　turned　back　to　look　behind　him；　surprised　that　he　was　panting　from　the　brief　exertion　and　fighting　to　keep　his　breathing　silent。
　The　light　of　the　climbing　moon　had　moved　halfway　across　the　canyon　floor。　Nothing　stirred。　The　canyon　was　a　crevice　of　immense；　motionless；　brooding　quiet。　McKee　studied　the　outcropping　carefully；　shifted　his　eyes　slowly　down　canyon；　examining　every　shape　under　the　flat；　yellow　light；　and　then　examining　every　shadow。　He　felt　the　rough　surface　of　the　rock　cutting　into　his　knees　and　started　to　shift　his　weight；　but　again　there　was　the　primal　urging　to　caution。　It　was　then　he　caught　the　motion。
　Something　in　the　black　shadow　behind　the　outcrop　had　moved　slightly。　McKee　stared　until　his　eyes　burned；　rubbed　them；　and　then　stared　again。　And　he　saw　the　dog's　head。　It　inched　slowly　out　of　the　shadow　into　the　moonlight。　First　a　muzzle　and　then　the　head；　its　ears　upright　and…McKee　strained　his　eyes　until　he　was　sure…its　mouth　hanging　unnaturally　open。　The　head　remained　there；　motionless。　McKee　stared；　every　muscle　rigid。　The　dog's　head　seemed　unnaturally　high…unless；　McKee　thought；　it　was　standing　on　some　sort　of　ledge　behind　the　outcropping。　And　then　there　was　motion　again。
　The　dog　became　a　man。　A　large　man　with　the　skin　of　a　wolf　over　his　shoulders；　its　empty　skull　atop　his　own　head。　He　moved　across　a　patch　of　moonlight　and　disappeared　behind　a　growth　of　bushes　at　a　foot　of　the　west　cliff　talus。　When　the　shape　reappeared　a　moment　later；　McKee　thought　for　a　split　second　that　his　eyes　had　been　deceiving　him…that　it　actually　was　a　wolf。　But　it　was　a　man；　running　in　a　crouch　across　the　damp　sand　of　the　canyon　bottom；　running　with　silent　swiftness　directly　toward　McKee's　tent。　The　man　held　something　in　his　right　hand；　something　perhaps　a　foot　long；　metal　which　reflected　the　moonlight。　It　was　a　long…barreled　pistol；　with　an　ammunition　clip　jutting　down　in　front　of　the　trigger。　A　machine　pistol。
　The　shape　disappeared　again；　out　of　sight　behind　the　talus　slope　on　McKee's　side　of　the　canyon。　McKee　bent　and　felt　around　his　feet　for　a　rock；　selected　one　about　the　size　of　a　softball。　When　he　raised　his　head；　the　figure　was　back　in　view…in　the　shadow　but　silhouetted　now　against　the　moonlit　cliff。　McKee　gripped　the　stone　and　watched。　The　panic　was　gone　now；　replaced　by　a　kind　of　grim　anger。　The　figure　was　at　the　tent；　standing　motionless。　Listening；　McKee　thought。　Listening　and　not　hearing　a　damned　thing　and　wondering　about　it。　Then　the　shape　was　gone；　out　of　sight　behind　the　tent。　McKee　had　almost　decided　the　man　had　somehow　slipped　away　when　he　saw　him　again；　by　the　bedrolls　now；　but　brush　and　boulders　obscured　the　area　and　he　couldn't　see　what　the　man　was　doing。　He　studied　the　cliff　wall　on　both　sides　of　his　pocket。　He　could　climb　out　of　this　sheltered　place　by　working　his　way　past　a　huge　block　of　sandstone　just　beside　him。　He　could　probably　make　his　way　down　canyon　without　being　in　view　from　the　camp。
　But　if　he　es　this　way；　McKee　thought；　this　might　be　the　best　place　to　face　him。　I　could　probably　knock　him　down　with　my　rock　before　he　saw　me。　Unless　he　has　a　flashlight　as　well　as　the　gun。　Then　there　wouldn't　be　much　chance。
　And；　while　he　thought　this；　the　utter　irrationality　of　it　all　occurred　to　him。　It　was　unreal。　Like　some　crazy　childhood　nightmare。
　But　the　man　was　there；　real　enough；　back　by　the　tent　now　and　no　longer　seeming　to　make　any　effort　at　concealment。　He　raised　the　hood　of　McKee's　truck　and　McKee　had　a　sudden　wild　hope　that　he　would　start　it；　climb　in；　and　race　away；　nothing　more　than　a　thief。　Instead；　he　closed　the　hood　and　walked　back　and　into　the　tent。　A　moment　later　a　spot　of　light　showed　through　the　canvas。　The　flashlight　beam　shifted；　held　steady；　shifted　again；　and　then　stopped。　He's　looking　through　my　papers；　McKee　thought。　He　wondered　what　the　man　would　make　of　his　notes　on　the　witchcraft　interviews。　And　he　had　a　sudden　impulse　to　walk　into　the　tent；　confront　the　man；　and　demand　to　know　what　the　devil　he　was　doing。　Then　the　light　snapped　off　and　the　man　appeared　again　in　front　of　the　tent；　staring　almost　directly　toward　McKee's　hiding　place。　McKee　felt　the　impulse　die。
　〃Doctor　McKee？〃
　The　man　called　in　an　even；　sonorous　voice；　not　much　above　a　conversational　tone。　But　in　the　stillness　the　sound　seemed　obscenely　loud。　And　the　canyon　walls　said　〃Kee…Kee…Kee〃　in　a　receding　echo　of　his　name。
　〃Bergen　McKee；〃　the　voice　repeated。　〃I　need　to。。。〃　The　echoes　drowned　the　rest　of　it。　〃I　need　to　talk　to　you　about　Doctor　Canfield；〃　the　voice　said。　And　the　man　stood　silent　until　the　echoes　died　again。　Who　is　he？　McKee　wondered。　The　Navajo　bitten　by　the　snake？　Or　was　this　man　a　Navajo？　He　couldn't　tell　anything　from　the　voice。　There　was　no　trace　of　accent。　But　then　educated　Navajos　rarely　had　accents；　except　for　sometimes　dropping　the　〃th〃　sound。
　The　man　stood　silent　a　long　moment；　staring　up；　and　then　down；　th