Charlie Yazzie was not as worried about losing custody of Eileen May as he was about Harley Ponyboy, and the danger he was exposed to now, having taken up with the woman. Charlie felt responsible for the escape; though he couldn’t imagine what he might have done to avoid it. He felt obligated to volunteer for the not inconsiderable hike to the cache of ignition parts and firearms Harley Ponyboy promised he would leave behind. Thomas Begay would stay there to assess which of the remaining vehicles would best suit their purpose. Thomas was already at it as Charlie started down the road; Billy Red Clay busied himself trying to get through to the command center on his radio.
After giving it a quick once over, Thomas ruled out the Etcitty’s truck, certain the front suspension had been tweaked to the point of rendering it useless without major repair. He thought it pretty much the same story for Billy Red Clay’s patrol unit––probably a waste of time. This left only Harley Ponyboy’s old truck: a vehicle he knew to be unreliable at best. Regardless of which unit was chosen, gas from the others would have to be siphoned out. This was not going to be a quick getaway.
Willie’s old father, Grover Etcitty, came out of the hogan eating a pudding cup and stood to one side, in quiet contemplation. “You can use my truck.” This, with the secret hope of a repair he now suspected might be beyond his ability.
Thomas eyed the old man and shook his head.
Billy Red Clay slammed the door on his tribal unit and said something unintelligible under his breath. “The radio won’t get out; I think I might have run the battery down.”
Thomas nodded. “Figures,” was all he said. “It looks like it’s going to be Harley’s truck or nothing if we want to get after them in time to do any good. They already have a pretty good jump on us.”
Billy sighed and nodded. “How far do you think Charlie had to go to get our stuff?” It had been dark when Billy drove in that morning and he hadn’t noticed the rock overhang Harley referred to.
“Not that far, as I recall. Seems to me Harley maybe wanted us to catch up to them. He might have a few doubts about Eileen himself.”
Billy gave his uncle a disdainful smile. “Do ya think?”
Thomas Begay only shrugged his shoulders and sniffed. “Harley’s pretty far gone on that woman, but he’s not an idiot. He might well be coming around.”
“I hope so Uncle…but its probable I’ll have to arrest him along with her anyway…assuming we catch them.” He waved a hand across the canyon. “I know she took him at gunpoint, but to me, he seemed more than willing to go along with her.” Billy pondered this further and then went on. “He knows this country better than we do and I suspect he can lose us…should he take a notion. At some point, the FBI are more than likely going to consider him complicit in this thing.”
“Harley’s a little hardheaded, for sure, but when the chips are down he’ll be with us. He was only trying to protect his Aunt Willie.” Thomas was not as convinced of this as he sounded, and wished more than ever that Charlie would hurry up with those distributer caps.
Old man Etcitty offered to loan them the battery out of his truck, but neither of the other two responded nor looked his way. Finally, the old man shook his head in disgust and turned back to the hogan. “Willie should have something to eat shortly.” He said this more to himself than the other two.”
When Willie Etcitty did come to the door and motion them up to the hogan, Thomas was shading his eyes with one hand, watching Charlie Yazzie trudge up the road with a burlap bag in one hand and the two pistols stuck in his belt. Though the morning was still young, and with a decidedly cool breeze from the north, the Legal Services investigator was breathing hard and sweating.
Billy Red Clay moved to his uncle’s side and chuckled. “He made pretty good time.”
“It wasn’t that far…and Charlie does not waste time once he sets his head on a thing.”
As Willie passed around a quick breakfast of fried spam on white bread washed down with a large pot of coffee, Thomas Begay got Harley’s truck running and Billy filled it with the gas he and Charlie were siphoning from the other trucks.
~~~~~~
Thomas rubbed his jaw and passed Charlie an old set of binoculars he’d found under the truck seat. To the south, a tangle of canyons and ridges ran to the horizon; it wouldn’t take much, he thought, to lose a pickup truck in such country.
Charlie readjusted the focus and blinked a couple of times to clear his vision. “You could hide a herd of elephants down there,” he said, as he scanned a small segment just to the east of the greater basin, then zeroed in on something moving along the edge of an arroyo. He watched as a coyote lifted his nose and tested the breeze.
“See something?” Thomas followed the direction Charlie was looking. “I don’t see anything.”
Billy Red Clay, too, was watching, and even from this distance, his younger eyes told him it was Old Man Coyote attracting the investigator’s interest.
Charlie leaned forward, as though a few inches might make a difference, finally deciding Coyote was only conducting business as usual and showed no particular sense of anxiety. That was good enough for him and he moved his search area farther toward the horizon. It was impossible to discern much, in the way of details, at that distance but he immediately picked up a trail of dust against the clear blue of the morning sky. He was unable to make much of it, but from experience, figured it for a fast moving vehicle, meaning it was likely on a service road possibly one pushed back in to a distant well-head. He passed the glasses to Billy Red Clay.
“See if you can figure out what’s making that dust… the other side of the basin…just there, on the horizon.” Charlie pointed toward the smudge as best he could, but without the glasses, quickly lost track.
Billy, readjusting the focus, shook his head, unable to identify the source of the wavering plume of dust.
Thomas Begay strained his eyes in that direction as well, but was unable to see anything of the sort.
When Billy did finally locate the telltale dust, he murmured, “Someone seems to be in a pretty big hurry to get somewhere…or maybe just anywhere.” He said this last with a glance at his uncle, but implying nothing beyond the stated fact.
Thomas cleared his throat, “Well, it’s a long way off and would take a while for us to get over there––if it’s even possible to get over there from here.” He snorted. “You’d a thought one of us would have remembered to bring a topo map of this country.”
Charlie rubbed his eyes where the binoculars had left dark circles from the black rubber eyecups. “I did bring a topo map––it’s in my truck––Harley has it now.”
“That’s just great; the one man who doesn’t need a topo out here is the only man that has one.” This made Thomas smile in spite of himself. The other two looked at one another for a moment and then all three were smiling. The Dinés’ keen sense of self-deprecating humor kicked in. Their people had always taken a certain pleasure in jokes…even if they were on themselves.
“One thing’s for certain, sooner or later, Harley and the woman have to show up. The FBI casts a big net when they get serious…and I think they are serious now.” Charlie was fairly certain of this. He was already thinking there was air surveillance on the way.
“Well, you’d guess so wouldn’t you?” Thomas wasn’t so certain as his friend.
Billy Red Clay, who was still looking through the glasses, suddenly said, “Uh oh.”
Thomas came to attention and looked in the same direction. “What?” he leaned forward, almost touching the windshield.
Billy didn’t say anything for a moment but when Charlie nudged him he turned and said, “I think maybe that vehicle is slowing down.” The policeman grew even more intent. “He’s pulled into a clump of cedars.” Billy was excited now. “I wouldn’t have seen him at all if the light hadn’t been just right.”
Thomas narrowed an eye in that direction. “There are people living out here you know, not many, but a few. It could be a woodcutter or�
��who the hell knows who it could be.” Thomas held out his hand for his nephew to pass the binoculars. Readjusting the focus he nodded slowly as he picked up the vehicle. “It’s not Charlie’s Chevy, that’s for sure. It’s a dark color… dark gray, maybe. Too far to see if anyone’s around…I don’t see anything moving now.” He fiddled with the focus, “I could be wrong, but it looks to me like it could be the truck that was following us last night.”
Nothing they saw could be considered out of the ordinary yet the men were immediately on their mettle. No one said anything for several minutes as each privately considered what options were left.
Thomas trained the binoculars slightly more to the east and played them over the lower, more gentle terrain in the direction of the highway. “You know…there seems to be some kind of stock drive or the like…and not too far from here. Looks like it might eventually take a person over into the basin.” He paused and studied the area more closely before putting the binoculars down. “You never know though…it wouldn’t take much to get rimmed up in this country.” He then, as best he could, committed the location of the now abandoned gray pickup to memory.
Charlie Yazzie started the truck and pointed it east, thinking, The only chance of finding Harley Ponyboy out here…is if he wants to be found.
~~~~~~
Harley Ponyboy woke with a start, snorted and sniffed; the breeze through the window was starting to cool and the cab of the truck, now covered in brush, had fallen under the lazy aura of late afternoon. Eileen, when he looked over, also appeared to be asleep but with the slitted eyes of someone only dozing, still aware, on some level, of her surroundings. The fingers of one hand lie across the automatic pistol at her side––the side opposite Harley—and he cringed to see the weapon perched so precariously at the edge of the seat. He stared at the red dot below the slide, indicating it was ready to fire. It might take only the twitch of a finger or the slight jolt of a fall to bring it to life.
Eileen May opened one eye a little wider, slowly turned to look at him, and stretched one shoulder, then the other, before taking a firmer grip on the pistol. “I could use a little drink of whiskey.”
Harley sighed, and then nodded, finally. “Me too.” He rubbed his jaw. “It’s probably a good thing we don’t have one.” When he heard no confirmation, he looked directly at her. “Are you sure you want to ride this thing out right here?”
Eileen looked out the window and didn’t say anything. There is nothing to see…and nothing to say.
At his open window, Harley, listened to a dozen little sounds; some of which his mind automatically recognized and dismissed…but not all. Twice now he thought he’d heard a truck far in the distance. Sound in this country tends to travels a long way under the right conditions, he thought. But even if this was what he heard, it was not close enough to be considered a problem––too far off and in the wrong direction to concern them for now. The other sound, and this did bother him, was the muffled roll of distant thunder––very far away—and probably too much to the north, he thought, to pose any great threat to their little hideout. Thunder can be deceiving, especially in canyon country, where it should never be ignored. A typical summer downpour anywhere in the vast drainage above them, might send a wall of water crashing their way in less time than can be imagined. Flash floods are a danger to be guarded against in that, sometimes chancy and always unpredictable, land.
Eileen, too, sat still, listening, hearing nothing she recognized as threatening. Turning to him, she asked. “Are you hungry, again? This might be a good time to have a little more to eat.” She said this while eyeing Willie Etcitty’s food basket for the second time since they’d left camp.
“Eileen, did you have anything to do with killing that old man?” Harley could not bear the burden of it any longer and did not know how else to say it.
She pursed her lips and looked long and hard at the little man: then waving a hand in dismissal she asked. “What do you think, Harley…do you think I killed him?” She smiled, a winsome little smile that gave little hint of an answer.
“Why did you decide to make a run for it…if you didn’t have a hand in it?”
“That Tribal cop, Billy Red Clay, was convinced I was part of it. I could hear it in his voice. He would have arrested me in a heartbeat. Once they had me, they would never let me off. They would pin it on me no matter what. I couldn’t take that chance. If they were unable to catch Claude, they would set me up for it, that’s a given…and even if they do catch him, he would be first to throw me under the bus. I do know that about him.” She shook her head. “No…I’ll take my chances out here; you’ll come up with something.”
“So, what did happen?” Harley wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but the uncertainty was killing him.
Eileen turned away and stared out through the brush piled on the hood. A small bird came to light on a twig above them and looked in, directly at her, one bright little eye cocked, as though he, too, was waiting to hear. In an instant, he was gone. Free, she thought…as only a little bird can be.
“I was ahead of Claude that night, but not by much, and when my last ride let me off…somewhere across the New Mexico state line…I was left with my thumb out again.
What with the rain and all, I couldn’t see who was driving the old truck when it stopped. I was nearly halfway in before he turned and I saw it was Claude. He grabbed my arm and I fought him, but he held tight till he thought we were moving too fast for me to jump out. I knew, then, I couldn’t get away without being killed. Either way, I was going to be dead. Oh, I knew he intended killing me all right. I had almost decided I would rather jump when he ordered me to look in the glove box and see if there was a road map or something to tell us where we were and how far to the next town.”
Eileen took a deep breath, holding it an interminable minute, before finally exhaling. “I guess the mind welcomes any sort of distraction when hope is gone. There wasn’t any map…only a paper bag, and behind that this pistol.” She caressed the little automatic as she said this, and lifted it to the light to better admire her salvation. “I pulled it out and stuck it in his face; it almost caused a wreck he was so surprised. I didn’t know if it was loaded or not, but saw pretty quick that he thought it was, and that’s when I knew I had him. We were coming up on a wide spot and I told him to pull over. Then I said, ‘Get out of the truck or die where you set!’ He knew I meant it, too, and obviously preferred getting out. The last I saw of him, he was standing in the rain with a weird little smile on his face. He shook his finger at me a time or two and I knew then, he would come after me. I should have shot him when I had the chance…and would have…if I had been certain the gun would fire.”
When she stopped to catch her breath, Harley reached over and patted her shoulder. “That must have been terrible. Eileen. I cannot imagine how you got through it.” He meant it, too, and was left even more in awe of the woman.
“Well, anyway, I blew straight through Shiprock, and when I got to Farmington, I took to the side streets to find a place to leave the truck.” She shuddered. “I didn’t know at the time that Claude had killed the old man, but I had a pretty good idea he hadn’t come by that truck in any good way. I just knew I didn’t want to be caught with it…and I damn sure didn’t want to stick around Farmington where he could find me.” Eileen nervously licked her lips, and not thinking, laid the gun down between them; so intent was she on how Harley was taking her story.
“I found a vacant lot and parked the truck, cleaning off my prints as best I could. I knew better than leave anything that could tie me to a stolen vehicle. It was then I remembered the paper bag I’d seen in the glove-box; something told me I should have a look. When I pulled it out it didn’t take long to see it was money. I still have almost all of it…several thousand dollars, I guess.” Here she stopped to see if Harley had anything to say about the money.
He didn’t. In fact, it hardly registered at all; his mind was racing far ahead of her story.
Eileen, encouraged by his silence, went on. “I assumed, later, when we heard about the killing on the radio, that Claude had only taken what the old man had in his pocket. He was probably so fixed on getting away he hadn’t taken time to search the truck. I’d only walked a few blocks down the street when I saw a man getting out of his pickup to stretch, and then take a drink from a bottle. I could see he had spent the night in the truck. As I passed him, I stopped to ask if he was headed out of town. He said, yes. He had been drinking most of the night and was heading home. That man was Alfred Nakii; he had a gentle voice…it was his bad luck to offer me a ride.” Eileen’s voice trailed off…she looked at Harley Ponyboy in such a way he could almost hear her say… “You know the rest.”
The two, eyes locked, and intent only on what the other might be thinking, were still immersed in the story, and didn’t notice the figure at the window. Harley saw Eileen’s eyes widen just as he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. He instinctively grabbed the gun from the seat and was bringing it to bear on the intruder when he heard Thomas’s voice—calm and low.
“Just be glad it’s me and not Claude Bell.”
When he realized who it was, Harley was indeed glad, but couldn’t help saying, “…and you better be glad I didn’t shoot you!” He turned to look at his friend and then glanced in the side mirror to see Billy Red Clay, with his gun drawn and leveled, and Charlie Yazzie, standing askance, staring at the damage to the paint on his truck. Charlie’s .38 hung loose at his side, and it occurred to Harley he might yet have a shot or two flung at him. Harley reached for Eileen, taking her wrist to prevent any instinctive move toward making a run for it and possibly catching a bullet in the process. Officer Red Clay was not of a nature to set aside protocol. It was…who he was.
~~~~~~
Harley faced his captors and was adamant he didn’t want his truck left behind.
“Someone might steal it,” the little man cautioned, looking suspiciously in every direction.
The Bible Seller: A Navajo Nation Mystery (Navajo Nation Mysteries Book 7) Page 17
