Under Desert Sand

by R Lawson Gamble

  Eagle Feather glanced at it. "Why shoot our tires, and not Tav's?"

  "Maybe because we're the strangers," Susan said.

  Zack gazed up the slope. "If the shooter left prints, they'll up there. Let's take a look."

  Zack and Eagle Feather started up the wash.

  "Hey! What about me?" Susan called.

  "Wait in the Jeep," Zack said over his shoulder. "I wouldn't worry, though. The shooter is long gone."

  "But what if he isn't?"

  "If he's still here, he'll shoot Zack or me first," Eagle Feather said."

  "Well, that's alright then." Susan climbed into the back of the Jeep.

  The first thick brush that could serve as cover was two hundred yards up the wash at a place where the sandy bed narrowed and turned toward the right. At the dogleg someone could cross the wash and still remain out of sight.

  Eagle Feather got there first, inspected the ground. Zack came over.

  "There are his prints. He crossed the wash twice." Eagle Feather's eyes followed the impressions. "He shot first from this side, behind that creosote bush, then crossed over to that side, shot again, came back when he was finished and went across the slope that way." He nodded his head in a westerly direction.

  Zack stood in the center of the wash where he could see the Jeep. "That's not all that far for a marksman, but still good shooting."

  "Yah, I would not want to be in his sights."

  Zack knelt next to one of the prints. "This is a rather small foot, looked larger because of the loose sand. It's at least a couple of inches shorter than my foot."

  Eagle Feather measured the shooter's stride with his own. "Short steps, too." He glanced at Zack, eyebrow raised.

  "He's a she," Zack said, speaking both their thoughts. "I admit I had Bronc in my head. I guess I'll have to put that notion aside."

  "He stays on my list," Eagle Feather said. "I will not forget he tried to ambush us. Maybe this woman is with him."

  Zack scratched his head. "How many people here resent our presence enough to shoot up our equipment, do you suppose?"

  Eagle Feather shrugged. "I have been places where every stranger is treated like this."

  Zack studied the site where the sniper fired the first shot. The marks in the sand told the story. The shooter had stretched full out on her stomach, steadied the barrel with one arm supported by an elbow, taking her time.

  "She picked up her spent shells," Eagle Feather said.

  Zack nodded. "Professional, or at least smart."

  They followed her tracks to where she'd left a horse tied to a juniper branch. The hoof prints led on downslope, off into the barren desert.

  Zack gave his head a shake. "People appear out of nowhere around here."

  After a final glance around, the colleagues climbed back down the wash to the Jeep.

  Susan climbed out. "What did you find?"

  Zack was about to respond when Eagle Feather said, "Someone is coming."

  They all looked. A dust cloud moved along the road toward them.

  Zack reached into the back of the Jeep, brought out the rifle. "I'm a little tired of feeling like prey," he said. He stood next to the front of the Jeep, planted his feet, leaned over the fender with the rifle barrel resting across the hood, and waited.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The boys happily accepted Frank's offer, seconded by Debby Darnell, to stay on in the bunkhouse. It was a smart decision, as it turned out. Frank Darnell knew a lot about livestock, horses and riding, working dogs, and just about everything else they needed to know once they were on their own. He had a way about him, teaching without appearing to do so, with a quiet comment here, a thoughtful suggestion there. The boys learned fast. In return, they helped Frank finish projects he had put aside until he could afford to hire a hand.

  Part of the payback for the boys was the down-home cooking Debby served up at meals. Julio was to be cook in sheep camp; he had some experience at his uncle's camps. Col had none and preferred to leave it that way. Their meals would be basic. One glance at the stack of tins of pork and beans and spam lining the storage shed, purchased by Frank on Uncle Roberto's authority, was sufficient to encourage them to delay their departure and continue to enjoy Debby's cooking. They lingered on.

  Col was especially happy to stay, for Kella's charms attracted him more each day. She was natural in her ways, always herself, ready to leap into the saddle or wrestle down a calf without a moment's hesitation, yet all with unconscious grace. She seemed to enjoy the company of the two boys, treated them like brothers, but Col's growing feelings for her were not those of a sibling.

  Kella seemed unaware of Col's adoration, although to everyone else it was obvious, and so a misunderstanding grew between the two. If she asked Col to help mend a fence, or ride out to locate a missing calf, he took it as her desire to be with him, a reciprocation of his feelings. When she asked the same of Julio, Col was immediately consumed with jealousy.

  Julio was aware of Col's feelings toward Kella and found the situation amusing. He took particular joy in accepting Kella's invitations purely to watch his friend's face. For Col, those times were agony. Neither boy ever spoke aloud about it, and so Col's suspicion and distrust festered.

  Several weeks passed. The sheep fattened on grasses greened by late spring rains, and the boys did the same on Debby's cooking.

  One night Frank's eye rested on Julio across the dinner table. "I hate to see you boys go, but I believe it is about time we moved your sheep. It's best they change feeding ground while there is still good grazing up on the mountain. What say we take them over tomorrow?"

  There were immediate sounds of disappointment around the table.

  "Must the boys leave so soon?" Debby asked. "Why, they've become members of our family."

  Kella said nothing, but unhappiness was written all over her face.

  Col felt as if someone had stabbed him to the heart.

  Frank gave a sympathetic chuckle at their reactions. "I know, I know, but its not as if they're moving to Timbuktu. We'll see them often enough." He smiled at Debby. "If I know my wife, we'll be traveling over to the mountain frequently with baskets of food." He gazed at his daughter. "Kella, you can ride over to see them any time."

  Somewhat mollified by this, the family and Julio began to plan the order of things for the next day. Col simply sat and stared, stunned.

  They stayed up late that night, enjoying one another's company one last time. Morning came early; the boys clawed out of bed and rode sleepily to the far pasture to round up the sheep. Frank drove the vintage cattle truck. Kella and Debby remained at the ranch house to prepare food for the trip and a bit more for the boys' first night out alone.

  Col used his new skills to set the dogs to gathering the sheep. With the truck backed up to the corral and ramped, the dogs funneled the woolly, complaining creatures up and in until no more would fit. They left the balance of the animals secure in the corral for the next trip. Frank drove the truck back to the house, the boys followed on horseback. There they all had breakfast. After the meal, Frank presented his plan.

  "I'll drive the truck with Julio," he said. "Debby will follow in the Subaru with Col and Kella. Everyone ready?"

  Kella and Col packed the ancient Subaru's rear hatchway with packages of food and thermoses of drinks while the dogs joined Frank and Julio in the cab of the truck. The caravan started down the long dusty drive to an intersection with a dirt road. Here the truck turned south through a narrow canyon. They passed the Vulcan Mine with it's scattered, deteriorating outbuildings. The ride was long and dusty.

  They reached a second slightly better maintained road and turned east. More traveled, it had fewer ruts, permitting greater speed. But it wasn't until they reached the paved roads of the National Preserve that they actually made good time. Black Canyon Road took them north beyond Hole-in-the-Wall. It was much hotter here than the canyon where the Darnell's lived.

  They came to the old Mojave Road, turne
d east past Rock Spring; there they took another unimproved road south.

  In the Subaru, Kella pointed toward a high ridgeline. "That's Hackberry Mountain. Hackberry Spring is on the eastern slope. That's where we're taking the sheep."

  "This all looks very dry," Col said, staring out the dusty window.

  "It won't be like it was at our ranch," Debby said over her shoulder, keeping her eyes on the road. "We're at a higher elevation, it's not so hot and there's a bit more rain. You'll find plenty of forage for the sheep here on Hackberry Mountain, though."

  Now the road bent east and followed the contour of the mountain. It was another half hour before the truck came to a stop. Julio, Frank and the dogs climbed out. Kella and Col walked over to join them.

  Frank pointed toward a rock strewn sandy wash scarring the mountainside. "The cook wagon is up at the head of that wash. After we've transported all the sheep, we'll stock it and go through the equipment, check everything out. Roberto said to go ahead and replace anything we need."

  "I'll stay here with the sheep and the dogs," Julio told Col. "You can go back with Frank to get the rest of the sheep and the food supplies."

  "I'll stay here with Julio and show him the cook wagon," Kella said.

  Frank nodded. "That's a good idea. Show him around." He smiled at Col. "Col and I can get the job done at the ranch."

  Col forced a smile to hide his unhappiness with the plan.

  It took the remainder of the day to collect the rest of the sheep, load the food and camp supplies, and drive back to the campsite. Debby said her good-byes at the ranch; there'd be no need for her to drive back again. Col felt as if he was leaving his own mother behind.

  When the truck returned to Hackberry Mountain, Julio appeared with the dogs. They all worked together to off-load the remaining sheep, letting Shep and Junior round them up and move them up the draw to join the rest of the flock. The men began the laborious task of hauling cartons of food and equipment up to the campsite.

  Col found Kella sitting at a large camp stove, both burners flaming, heating pots of water and homemade stew.

  She smiled up at Col. "Dad and I will join you for dinner before we go home."

  Dusk had already begun to mute their surroundings.

  "Won't it be dangerous to drive back in the dark?"

  Kella laughed. "Not really. Those roads are like an extension of our driveway; we use them all the time anywhere we go." She waved a hand toward the two tents set up near the cook wagon. "Besides, there isn't room for all of us to spend the night."

  A plan for accommodating everyone flashed into Col's mind, but he kept it to himself.

  The stew was delicious, washed down with several cups of hot chocolate, but already Col missed the cheery warmth of the Darnell dining room. Julio had a fire going nearby and Col contented himself with storing away passing glimpses of Kella.

  "Watch out for snakes," Frank said. "The Mojave rattlesnake inhabits this area. It's most active at night; it's very aggressive and one of the most venomous snakes in the area. There's not much else to worry about in the way of dangerous animals. The few mountain lions stay at the higher elevations up among the pinyon pine."

  "What about the sheep?" Julio asked.

  "The rams help guard against snakes, they kill them with their hooves, although you may lose some lambs before they are old enough to learn to look out for them. There are coyotes around, of course, but the dogs keep them at bay. A mountain lion might wander down, attracted by the sheep, but you'll know 'cause the dogs and the sheep will set up an unearthly racket." Frank eyed the boys. "You've got powerful torches in your gear with plenty of batteries, and you've got rifles. Just firing in the air should be enough to scare away most predators."

  Frank paused, grew thoughtful. "Old Juan, the last shepherd Roberto hired claimed he had some night visitors. He never saw 'em, never knew who they were. They did no harm, but you should know some people around here still have hard feelings about sheep." He shook his head sadly. "In the end, the most dangerous predator is man."

  "What happened to the last shepherd?" Col asked.

  "Old Juan? Nobody seems to know. He just up and disappeared one day, took off, left the sheep and dogs on their own. He was a quirky old guy. Probably just got it in his head he wanted to be somewhere else, that's all."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "Well, I don't believe it." Susan stood hands on hips and stared in disbelief. "Look at that."

  They watched the large flatbed truck with its shiny white cab and great red letters AAA on the door pull up behind the Jeep. A man in a greasy service uniform climbed out.

  "You folks need some help?" he said.

  Zack lowered his rifle. "Where the hell did you come from?"

  The man looked at his notes. "A man named Tav Davidson called this in, set it up with his membership. He said you'd need a lift to Needles. I happened to be over on the Fairfield Road, got here pretty quick." He looked at their amazed faces. "We perform assistance pretty much anywhere, you know."

  "I'm joining AAA tomorrow," Susan said.

  The man looked at Zack. "First time I've been greeted with a rifle, though."

  "Oh, sorry about that. We were expecting less friendly visitors."

  The serviceman reversed his truck, backed it up to the Jeep. The powerful winch pulled the deflated vehicle up onto the truck bed, where the man chained it down. Everyone piled into the large cab. Blue stayed in the Jeep, stretched out on the seat, quite content.

  The ride to Needles took less than an hour using the Fairfield Road to access Route 40. While the service station went about locating and mounting four new Jeep tires, Zack called Butch Short and arranged a meeting. Eagle Feather and Susan opted to catch a ride back to the motel. They agreed they'd all meet at the Wagon Wheel Restaurant for dinner.

  When Zack walked into the BLM office the agent was shuffling papers around on his desk.

  Short looked up. "Come in, grab a chair."

  "I thought I'd report on our progress."

  Butch pushed the papers aside, nodded. "Shoot."

  Zack winced. "I wish people wouldn't use that expression."

  The agent gave a lop-sided grin. "Sorry."

  "Someone is disturbed by our presence here, it seems," Zack said. He went on to list the incidents as they had occurred; the menacing call to Susan, Bronc's apparent attempt to ambush them, the discovery of the boys' bullets, the destruction and apparent search of the shepherd camp, and the shot up Jeep tires.

  "Jesus!" Butch said, when Zack had finished. "You've had a helluva day."

  Zack grimaced, nodded.

  Butch was full of questions. "You think the location where you found the two .45 caliber bullets means the boys were shooting at someone or something else, not each other? Who do you think shot up the Jeep tires––Bronc? You think we're after murderers now, rather than some suicide pact?"

  Zack held up a palm. "Whoa, slow down. We've got a lot of stuff to sift through. You now know what I know. I'm meeting with my team later and we'll go through it, bit-by-bit, step-by-step. You should close the loop with the other investigators, see where it leaves you." He looked at his watch. "It's after three right now. I'm meeting my friends for dinner. I'll give you a call after that."

  "I may not get hold of everybody by then, but I'll call and let you know what I've got." Butch laid a hand on the stack of papers. "I've got enough to keep me chained to my desk all afternoon anyway."

  Zack was about to climb into the loaner car when his phone buzzed. It was the garage saying the Jeep was all set and asking where to charge it. Zack gave them the number of the FBI vehicle pool manager in Las Vegas. Susan's right, he thought to himself, the Agency will never issue me another vehicle again.

  Zack stepped out of the car in front of his motel and dug for his key card. The door of a big black Buick in the next space swung open on the driver's side. A very large man climbed out. He spoke across the roof to Zack.

  "Say, may I have a wor
d?"

  The man looked close to 300 pounds. His large head was perched directly on his torso without benefit of a neck. A good-humored smile stretched the fat cheeks of his fleshy face, but dark penetrating eyes above it hinted at purposeful intent.

  "About what?"

  The man moved around the front of the car to Zack with surprising dexterity. "About your case, Mr. FBI Agent."

  Zack closed his car door, faced the man. "What case is that?"

  The man's grin broadened, as if they shared a great joke. He waggled his finger at Zack. "How many cases have you taken on in this little town, FBI man?"

  "I guess my affairs are none of your business." Zack tried to move past him.

  The man stood firm. "Oh, but they are, sir, they are."

  "Mister, I don't know who you are, or what you want. I've had a long day, and––"

  "You don't really think two nice young men simply decided to kill each other one fine day, do you?"

  Zack stopped, stared.

  The stranger smiled back, waited as if for a child.

  "Who the hell are you?"

  "Well now, that's precisely why I'm here, to tell you that very thing. If we could just step inside your room out of public view for a moment, I will do just that."

  "You'll tell me here and now, or this conversation is done."

  "That would be a shame. What I have to say will truly interest you, I believe." He didn't move, still blocking Zack's path. "There's a lot more to this than a couple of dead boys."

  Zack gave in. "Okay, I'll walk over to the McDonalds with you. I'll give you the time it takes to drink a cup of coffee, Mr.––"

  "Jones. Bob Jones."

  Zack had turned to lead the way, stopped. "Not good enough."

  The fat man sighed, dug into an inner pocket. "I don't mind telling you my name, what I mind is having to haul all this crap out every time to prove it."

  Zack watched the man struggle to reach a hand across his massive chest into the inner pocket of his jacket. The silk lining was torn at the pocket edge suggesting this struggle occurred frequently. He extracted a wallet, opened it, found a card encased in plastic, and held it out to Zack. It was the official I.D. of a private investigator, credentialed and authorized in the state of California. The fat man's photograph was there; the name given was Robert Ezekiah Jones.