Under Desert Sand

by R Lawson Gamble

Susan leaned forward. "What did you do with the map?"

  "Nothin'. It's in my safe." He smiled. "Not that I think it's got value, I just don't want it floating around."

  "Sounds like you don't trust someone around here." Zack watched his face for a reaction, got none.

  Hatchett kept on. "After my wife passed away, there was just me and my foreman Bronc, plus any cowboys we hired that particular year. The cowboys don't generally come into the house––they stay in the bunkhouse. But you never know, one of 'em could drift through when I'm out on the range." He shrugged his shoulders. "Not that it matters."

  Zack became aware of someone in the doorway. He glanced over, saw it was Bronc. Zack wondered how long he'd been listening.

  Bronc came on into the room. Zack watched him move. If he had any kind of wound, he gave no sign of it.

  "I thought I heard my name mentioned," Bronc said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Late that afternoon Col and Julio rode down the slope to the floor of the wash to the flatland. Joshua trees projected grotesque shadows. The sun above the flat summit of Table Top Mountain hung precariously, vanishing then reappearing when they passed beyond the mountain's vast bulk and descended into Round Valley. Here a touch of the sun still burned on their skin, the intense glow of the orb low in the west came directly in their eyes like a train headlight.

  Julio reigned in, waited for Col to come alongside. "Let's give it a minute or two before we ride out into the open ground."

  The boys sat quiet on their mounts, each with his thoughts, the tension already in them for the night to come. The tools for their task were bundled behind them or slung from their saddles; two shovels this time, the probing wands, headlamps, two large canvas bags to transport treasure back to camp, should fortune smile. Their revolvers were belted to their waists.

  As Col looked out over the raw beauty of the sun-dappled desert, he was overcome by a premonition of loss; a wave of sadness swept over him.

  The sun edged lower, shadows crept longer, finally merged. Without a word, Julio urged his horse forward, Col fell in behind. They moved snail-like with no unnecessary motions, hoping to blend as black silhouettes with the pinyon pine and tall yucca.

  At the spring, they tied their horses to the rail fence and unpacked their tools. The cottonwood tree and windmill were married together in shadow, discernable only against the lighter night sky. The boys spoke in low whispers, kept their headlamps off. They stole toward the tree and huddled at the base of the windmill.

  "Don't turn on your light. I remember the directions and the number of steps," Julio said in a whisper.

  The compass hands glowed blue phosphorescence. Julio moved off through the blackbush, stepping deliberately with a consistent stride length, Col just behind. At the end of the first leg Col waited while Julio turned, lined the glowing compass hand once again, and stepped down the slope through the undergrowth, then onto level sand. At the end of his count he stopped, faced right, aligned the compass again. Col came up beside him. They stood for a moment without speaking.

  "Stay here." Julio's voice came low. "I'll move ahead, probe at each step. When I'm done, I'll turn to face you. You probe along a path parallel to mine and I'll return by a yet another. We'll cover as much ground as possible. If we don't find something after that, there's nothing to find."

  "Okay," Col whispered. He watched Julio take a stride, stop, plunge his wand into the sand two or three times, take another step and repeat the motion, slow and methodical.

  Col waited. The temperature dropped rapidly with the sun now buried behind the horizon, a trickle of sweat along his spine felt cold. It was difficult to see Julio at a distance in the growing dusk; he sensed his friend had stopped. Col waited for him to turn and face him, the signal him to advance. He didn't turn.

  A strong beam of light came full in Col's face, blinded him. He heard Julio's voice, urgent, panicked, yelling, "Col! Shoot!" The light moved from Col and lit up Julio. Blinded, Col saw only a halo of light glowing around the dark outline of his friend, like an aura. There was motion. A line of fire spewed from Julio toward the windmill, a long red flame came back toward him. The percussive slap of almost simultaneous gunfire roared in Col's ears.

  Col's pulse raced, his temple throbbed, his hand groped for the handle of his revolver, tugged the awkward heavy weapon from its holster, the entire movement much too slow, like a film shown frame by frame. The pistol came free; the light came into his eyes again. His revolver jerked in his hand, he felt punched backward, the bright light faded––blackness took its place.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  "Hey Bronc, glad you're here," Hatchett said. "You remember Dr. Apgar, and Agent Tolliver. I've been giving them a history lesson about my grandpa and the old days. I don't want them to think I had anything to do with the death of those two boys."

  Hatchett swung his eyes away from Bronc back to Zack and Susan. "You may not know this, but cattle ranching out here dies along with me. We're just goin' through the motions these days. The government is moving all the cattle and sheep out once the current grandfathered leases expire. They want the land to revert to how it was before people came to live here––sort of a time in a bottle kind of thing."

  "So the Kellogg Ranch..." Susan asked.

  "Gone, all gone. Three generations of Hatchett family ranching in this territory, all gone. You'll be reading about us in the Park brochures."

  "Do you have a plan for your family?"

  Hatchett shrugged. "I'm the only one left. The Hatchetts, like the Kellogg Ranch, are destined to fade into obscurity."

  "How about you, Bronc?" Zack asked. "Will you fade into obscurity?"

  Bronc's eyes were expressionless. "Don't you worry, I'll be around."

  Zack shifted the topic. "I recently spoke with the chief of the Chemehuevi Band of Indians, man named Dan Singletree. You know him?"

  Both men shook their heads.

  "He told me about sightings of a strange creature at Hidden Springs, made it sound like some sort of supernatural being. You ever hear anything about that?"

  Bronc snorted. "There's always been tales of mythical creatures around that spring. Used to be a good way to keep enemies away, back when the Indians infested the area."

  "He spoke of a sighting just a month or two ago."

  Hatchett stared at Zack. "A month or two?"

  Zack nodded. He relayed the story Singletree told him.

  Bronc laughed. "A super sized Indian. Perfect."

  "He didn't say Indian," Zack said quietly.

  "All those old stories talk about a monster with a tail."

  "Why would you bring that up, Agent Tolliver?" Hatchett asked. "Do you connect the sighting with the boys' death in some way?"

  "I found it curious, is all. Like Bronc here says, it's a good way to keep folks away from Hidden Springs, especially after dark."

  Kellogg looked pensive. "You think someone is trying to hide something at the spring? You think there might be another motive?"

  Zack shrugged. "We have to look at every possibility."

  Bronc snorted loudly. "There's nothing there but desert. Even the buildings are gone."

  Zack gave Bronc a thoughtful look. "Someone took exception to those boys for some reason. Someone's taking exception to us as well."

  "How is someone taking exception to you?" Hatchett's eyebrows were raised in surprise.

  "Someone shot out my Jeep tires while we were investigating the shepherd camp. I saw that as a warning." Zack glanced at Bronc.

  Bronc gave Zack a hard look. "If you got something to say, say it."

  Zack raised his palms, denying. "You know the people around here. Maybe you know why someone might have done that."

  "Lots of folks don't like outsiders snooping around."

  Zack stood. He turned to Hatchett. "I'm grateful for your hospitality and willingness to answer my questions. You can reach me anytime through Butch Short." He glanced at Bronc. "If you think of anything,
give me a call."

  "I'll be sure to do that."

  A few minutes later, as they climbed into the Jeep, Susan said, "There's a very angry, troubled man."

  Zack nodded, backed the Jeep around. He glanced at Susan. "He's got something to hide, for sure. But I saw no sign of a wound."

  "I didn't either, and I was watching his movements very closely." She gave a disparaging laugh. "I would've anyway, he's like a coiled snake."

  Zack thought about Hatchett, the calm reasoned way he spoke, his willingness to speak freely. "I don't think Hatchett is involved. He rang true to me."

  "What I don't get is how he can get along with Bronc, they seem so different."

  "Maybe he wasn't always that way––Bronc, I mean."

  "Hard to imagine," Susan grumbled.

  Zack opened his mouth to comment, his phone rang. He stopped the Jeep, glanced at it, picked it up. "Hey, Butch."

  "Hi, Zack, where are you?"

  "Susan and I are just leaving the Kellogg Ranch, headed to Needles."

  "Do me a favor and stop by my office when you get in. The boy's uncle is here, he'd like to talk to you."

  It was an hour before Zack climbed up the steps to the BLM office. He had dropped Susan at the motel, was now conscious of his own dusty, sweaty clothing. It couldn't be helped.

  Julio's uncle Roberto turned out to be a small man, short, slender, athletic looking. He was richly yet tastefully dressed in creased black trousers, white shirt with silver eagle bolo tie, black short-waist vest. His boots, exposed by crossed legs, were glistening black leather with gold embroidered stitching. He jumped to his feet when Zack entered, extended his hand.

  "Agent Tolliver, thank you for meeting with me," he said, without a trace of an accent. "I am very anxious to know the progress of the investigation into the death of my brother's boy."

  Although Castro appeared composed, Zack saw the glimmer in his eye and felt the underlying emotion.

  Zack nodded to Butch, sat down. "I wish I could tell you something definitive. We're still trying to identify a suspect."

  "You have no doubt it was murder."

  "None whatsoever."

  "Have you uncovered a motive?"

  "Not yet."

  "None at all?"

  Zack sighed. "There are a number of possibilities, ranging from water rights to hidden gold, but nothing definitive."

  "Why hidden gold?"

  Zack shifted in his chair, crossed his legs. "Well, there is talk, there are legends, all that. The boys were young, curious, would have been drawn to the idea of hidden treasure. We found evidence pointing to the existence of an old map, handed down from early days. That's about it, really."

  Roberto considered this, looked thoughtful. He reached into his vest pocket, removed an envelope. He held it up. "I received this letter from Julio a few weeks ago. Can you read Spanish?"

  "Not very well."

  "Permit me." Roberto lowered the envelope, extracted a letter. It was two pages, crumpled from frequent reading. "I'll read only the parts that seem relevant." He slid the back page to the front, cleared his throat.

  "We have some new excitement to occupy our minds beyond the sheep (although that responsibility is foremost, of course). We had a visit from a local man who was eager to find some papers he claimed Juan left for him. We knew nothing about that, but the man seemed to suspect that we did. His manner was quite rough. After he left, we talked about what might have happened to Juan. I feel uneasy about his disappearance after meeting this other man. We wondered whether Juan might have happened upon something the other man wanted."

  Roberto folded up the letter, replaced it in the envelope. "That's all there is, I'm afraid. Do you suppose this man might have had a part in the murders? Is there a way to identify him, do you think?"

  Zack thought about it. "That certainly is interesting. It does raise some possibilities in my mind, maybe adds to some suspicions, but not enough to even mention what they are, I'm afraid."

  "Perhaps it goes toward motive," Roberto said. "I know Julio enough to suspect he understated the discomfort of that meeting, the roughness of the man. Perhaps they went on to discover what it was the man hoped to find."

  Roberto's gaze grew intense. Zack began to sense the powerful personality of the man.

  "There is also the question of Juan's disappearance," Roberto said. "I thought little of it before, shepherds tend to be itinerant. But now?"

  Butch coughed, nodded. "I think Mr. Castro has a good point, Zack. I'll make it a priority to learn what happened to Juan."

  Roberto stood. "Thank you for your efforts, Agent Tolliver, and you, Mr. Short. I intend to take possession of my sheep tomorrow. It will take several days to gather them and arrange transport. I intend to take them back to Mexico." He gave Zack a sad look. "There is nothing left up here for me." At the door, he turned. "I'll be staying at the Sheraton the next several days. Please, spare no expense, and keep me informed."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The Wagon Wheel Restaurant throbbed with the hum of low voices, stirring hunger cravings with a light smoky scent of burger and bacon. Zack had showered, put on fresh clothing. He even had time to speak on the phone to little Bernie following a good conversation with Libby. He felt on top of the world.

  He leaned back in his chair, beer in hand, and described his meeting with Roberto Castro to Susan and Eagle Feather.

  "Roberto strikes me as the kind of man who makes things happen. Here's a guy just lost his nephew, the only son of his dead brother, yet somehow he's got everything moving forward: the sheep transport arranged, all his bills and obligations settled, even added some ideas to our investigation."

  "It sounds like he's pulling out for good, poor man," Susan said.

  "So he said."

  "What ideas did he offered?" Eagle Feather asked.

  Zack set down his beer. "It wasn't much, just a paragraph he read from one of his nephew's letters. The boy described a visit to their camp, a local man, as he described him, who was looking for some sort of papers left by Old Juan. Julio felt the man suspected they had these papers, but in actuality they didn't know what he was talking about. Apparently the fellow was none too subtle; Julio described his manner as rough. After that visit, the boys began to wonder what really happened to Juan."

  Eagle Feather lifted an eyebrow. "That adds fuel to my suspicions."

  "It sure sounds like Bronc," Susan said.

  "We can't leap to conclusions, naturally, but I'd have to agree with both of you. Unfortunately, suspicions don't advance our investigation."

  The waitress arrived with their meals. The next quarter hour was spent managing overflowing burgers and filling taco shells.

  With a happy sigh, Zack wiped his mouth with his napkin. He steered their thoughts back to the case. "Let's take another hard look at motive. The only real reason we have found for someone to kill the two boys is to prevent them finding buried gold, a motive based entirely on a string of coincidental circumstances uncovered by Susan. We have found a map that seems to point to Hidden Springs, where the boys' bodies were found."

  "We have not seen the original map," Eagle Feather observed, dipping a French fry into a pool of ketchup.

  Zack gave a slow nod. "Very true. Everyone has spoken of it, but we've never actually seen it. We can't even tie the etching on the stone directly to the Hatchett map."

  "We should have asked to see it when we interviewed Hatchett," Susan said.

  "I notice he didn't volunteer it." Zack glanced at his watch. "I'm meeting with Butch Short in an hour to go over our progress. I'll ask him to arrange for us to see it."

  "Do you see any other motive to kill the boys?" Susan asked.

  Zack looked from Susan to Eagle Feather. "I suspect we all agree the boys were killed because they were getting too close to something. Susan's research suggests gold. But what if they were getting too close to something else?"

  "Like what?" Eagle Feather asked.

  "L
ike Juan's body," Zack said. "Think about it. If the killer thought the boys were close to finding the treasure, wouldn't he kill them after they had found it for him? On the other hand, if they were close to finding a murdered body, he'd kill them before they found it, so it would not be exposed."

  Susan shivered. "You think Juan has been under the sand all this time?"

  "It's possible."

  "When can we access the crime scene to look for ourselves?"

  "That's another good question for Butch," Zack said. "Now let's talk about suspects. I think our top suspect is Bronc. Whether the motivation to kill was buried treasure or Juan's hidden body, Bronc is connected to both situations. Agreed?"

  "Bronc was at the crime scene practically every time we went there. He seemed to be trying to keep us out. He likely knew about the map. Finally, Bronc could come and go from the shepherd camp anytime he wanted. He has access to all those areas." Susan crossed her arms, tilted her head for emphasis.

  "More so than Hatchett?" Eagle Feather asked.

  Susan glanced at him, frowned. "Well, maybe not."

  Zack raised his hand for the check. "On the face of it, we really can't eliminate anyone as a suspect. It could have been some tramp just wandering through."

  "We do need solid evidence. All we have now is a web of theories," Eagle Feather said.

  "I plan to spend tomorrow morning at the library again, this time on genealogical research." Susan glanced at Zack. "We know Hatchett's ancestry, he told us about it. I wonder if anyone else is around here we don't know about who has connections to the 1905 gunfight."

  Zack stood. "Good idea. I've got to go meet Short. I'll try to get an okay to dig up the crime site. If Short agrees, and the sheriff is all done with it, Eagle Feather and I can take shovels out there tomorrow."

  When he peeked his head around the door, Zack found Butch Short buried in a file folder with several more stacked near him.

  "You don't get out much, do you?"

  Butch gave a weak smile. "Not nearly as much as I'd like." He sighed, closed the file. "But it's feast or famine, you know? Either I'm out in the hot sun so much I wish I was back here, or I'm here so much I wish I could be back in the field. Never satisfied, I suppose." He motioned Zack to a chair. "What've you got, anything new?"