“Stories of the supernatural had been much in vogue during Melisande’s grandfather’s time. It was the period when Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein. There was Irving’s Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and the many stories by Poe and others of the kind.
“Melisande grew up with such tales and others told by her grandfather. He, as a matter of fact, outlived his son, her father. Realizing she would soon be alone, he explained what she must do.
“There was, he assured her, most certainly a way back. She had only to discover it and return to her own people. He had come upon some evidence to help her.
“He explained that while he did not pretend to understand the phenomena that caused the interchanges, he had learned something of the conditions surrounding them. From the instant of the arrival of the Iron Mountain in this world, he had, because of the tales he had heard, understood what must have happened. Instead of bemoaning his ill fortune he began to ask himself how it happened and how it could be reversed.
“From her earliest childhood he had instructed Melisande in what life on the Other Side was like and what she must do. She must watch for the unexpected, for unnatural phenomena, and he had found three places which he suspected were important.
“Each day he set aside time for observation or exploration, and during the periods of observation he began to notice a reflection from one spot in the rugged country that did not appear to be from a rock or from water. When he went into the desert he found the reflection came from a mesa, a mesa that proved to be the secret hideout of He Who Had Magic. The reflection was from a piece of metallic equipment.”
“Melisande told you this?”
“We were prisoners together, and I promised if I escaped I would take her back with me. But she escaped first. I do not know how.” He paused. “I think Zipacna freed her.”
“Zipacna?”
“He’s an opportunist, and she was his opportunity. The Varanel had her, but he wanted credit for the capture. He wanted to deliver her himself to The Hand. I believe he felt sure he could take her again, when he wished, and when it would serve his purpose.”
There was a scurry of movement and Johnny came around sharply, his pistol lifting.
Mike stepped into the shadows, his own gun drawn.
It was Kawasi, and with her another girl, a tall, blond girl, lithe and lovely.
“Now!” Kawasi said. “We have far to go before it is light. Quickly!”
CHAPTER 43
Mike built up the fire, adding fuel and clearing debris from around it so the flames could not spread, and then they went away into the night.
They went away along the side of the ridge by a trail almost too narrow to see. Only their feet found the way, and they went into the hills.
The night was cool and there was no wind, nor were there stars or any light at all but a vague, somewhere moon.
Melisande took the lead and Mike followed third behind Kawasi, then Erik and Johnny, his rifle reloaded and ready.
It was so dark, Mike could not see Kawasi only a few feet ahead of him. Sandhills rose around them and, in the distance, the sheer walls of a mesa, and there were scattered towers of rock like fingers upheld in warning.
It was a fit night for ghosts, too dark for shadows, too black for anything but thought to penetrate. Like ghosts they moved, with only a whispering as their feet touched the ground and lifted. They wove among rocks, their moving bodies like needles in a tapestry of darkness. Melisande led the way and they followed on faith, trusting to her and to their feeling feet, searching out the way with each step along the ground.
They were mounting higher—this their legs told them, and their breathing, for Melisande moved swiftly, wasting no time. Finally, topping out on a ledge, she stopped and they gathered about her.
Mike had a bad feeling about the night. Something within him warned of trouble coming and he peered about, irritated that he could not see and that he must trust to another, not knowing where they went.
Johnny was beside him. “I think we’re headed for that red cross on the map,” he said. “I know some of this country.”
“It’s more than I do. I’ve no idea where we’re going.”
“Don’t worry about it. That girl’s lived her life here, knows it all better than me or any of them out there. She’d be a real catch for The Hand. I suspect he’s had wind o’ them for years, knowing they were somewhere out there.
“Her grandpa must have been some shakes of a man, carryin’ on like he done, always figurin’ to find a way out for her.”
“What I’m worried about is that spacequake or whatever it is. We’re overdue.”
“Nobody ever said those things was on schedule. They happen when they happen. All a body can do is hope. An’, Mister, I’m hopin’—an’ doin’ a little prayin’ on the side.”
Kawasi came back to them. “We will go on now, but stay close to the wall. On your right it drops away for several hundred feet.”
“Should be daylight soon.”
Mike moved over to Johnny. “Want me to bring up the rear? I can handle it.”
“No doubt you could, but you ain’t carryin’ a long rifle. I don’t want to be proddin’ anybody on a cliff trail.”
“Do you know where we are?”
“Guessin’ is all I can do. She’s been windin’ around some.” He paused. “Raglan? You get set for a scrap. There’s somebody comin’ up behind us.”
It was no more than he had expected. Mike Raglan turned in behind Kawasi. Erik had moved up behind Melisande, so Mike was now fourth in line.
There were flakes of fallen rock under their feet now and once in a while one would get pushed off into the vast depths on their right. They could hear a rock falling, striking something below, then falling again.
They were climbing now. Starting out, they had gone down for several hundred yards. Then the trail became steep and they were climbing up. He kept his shoulder against the wall, and occasionally had to use handholds. Yet it was growing lighter, only vaguely but enough so he could now see the path on which they climbed.
Again they paused. Erik or Melisande was moving a rock from their path. He heard it fall, a small cascade of rocks following it. “Where are we going?” Mike asked Kawasi.
“It is said to be an opening. An always place. He Who Had Magic had a look-through glass pointed at it. He was watching to see who came and went, or maybe how it happened—I do not know.”
They went on again, climbing more steeply. Mike was an agile and athletic man, but the climbing was not easy. He turned to look back. Johnny was very old, yet he seemed to be making out all right.
They emerged suddenly into daylight, or what passed for it in this strange, yellow world.
The plateau about them was scattered with juniper, none over a dozen feet tall, most much shorter. There were a few scattered rock formations, a little grass, some scattered pools of water caught from recent rains or melted snow, none more than two inches deep.
On their right was a huge red scar, scoured out from the top of the mesa. In the distance he could see a vast spread of canyons, mesas, and volcanic necks, all blue with morning light.
“Come,” Melisande said. “It is only a little way now.”
“You’ve been here before?”
She looked at him. “You are Mike? It is you he hoped would come. He said if anyone could get him out, you could.”
“Without you we’d be nowhere.”
She shrugged. “There are other places. This is the only one of which we can be sure.”
She started away and he caught her arm. “Wait!” he whispered. “And look!”
About fifty yards away, Volkmeer was standing, a rifle in his hands.
“Who is he?” Kawasi asked. “Is it—”
“Volkmeer. He’s supposed to be a friend of mine but he’s taken money
from them.
“Melisande? Where is the opening? I don’t see—”
“You can’t see. It is near that rock. The big one that looks like a dinosaur? Keep to the left and keep your eyes on the horizon. Look at the rounded mountain. Do not take your eyes from it. The opening is small, almost a window. When you are there you will see.”
“Don’t look like they’re goin’ to let us,” Johnny said. “Do I start shootin’?”
“Wait,” Erik said. “It is only one man.”
Mike moved ahead. “Hi, Volk! Didn’t know you ever came over to this side.”
“Time or two.” His rifle tilted. “Can’t let you go no farther, Mike.”
“So you’ve turned against us, Volk? I didn’t expect it of you.”
“Didn’t expect it of me neither. Then I got to thinkin’. I ain’t a young man no more an’ I been livin’ soft on their money. You done me a turn one time, an’ I’m obliged, but that don’t cut no ice now.”
“You’ve still got a chance, Volk. Remember? You said once that one time I could do it all. I still can, Volk, and I’ve learned a lot since then.”
“Maybe, but I ain’t alone.”
“Kawasi? Melisande? When the shooting starts, run! Get through that opening, no matter how! Take Erik with you, even if you have to drag him. He’s not armed, and we are.”
Melisande hesitated. “The tubes they have are weapons. They must be within sixty feet to be effective.”
“Get going,” he said.
Volkmeer moved to stop them and Mike called out: “The last time, Volk! Get out of this!”
“Like hell! I—”
He swung his rifle as Raglan moved, and fired. He saw Volk’s knees buckle and the man collapsed into a sitting position, his rifle falling across his ankles.
Behind him Mike heard Johnny’s gun boom, and turned in time to see a row of Varanel rising from the ground, already nearly within range.
Johnny dropped his rifle and drew his six-shooter and fired rapidly. Mike joined in, and the line fell back. The girls were almost at the rock and he yelled at Johnny, “Let’s go, John! Back off and run!”
Johnny started backing toward them. Then, glancing around, he yelled, “Mike! Look out!”
Raglan turned swiftly, but not swiftly enough. A blow struck his gun hand and he dropped his pistol.
Zipacna was facing him, smiling. “Now, you will begin to learn! And when we have put you away we shall teach you more!”
His right wrist was numb with pain, and Zipacna was closing in, his stick lifted to strike. He struck and Mike ducked under the blow and in close, not as Zipacna expected. Stooping low to avoid the blow, Mike swung a kick with his left foot, catching Zipacna on the knee. The larger man’s leg folded and he fell forward. Mike hit him as he was falling.
Yet Zipacna rolled over and came up swiftly, favoring his leg but able to move. Now he was wary, but moving in, sure of himself.
Johnny was firing again. The Varanel were circling, holding back, but surrounding them on all sides. A quick glance showed Mike the girls and Erik were gone.
There was no time now. Zipacna was closing in, wary, but smiling and confident. Every people had some system of self-defense. What was his?
Johnny had found a place in the rocks and was reloading his rifle and replacing the empty cylinder of his pistol with another. That was the old way, for when loading took time, a man who needed a gun often carried fully loaded cylinders that could be quickly put in place.
“Johnny.” Mike spoke loudly but he was watching Zipacna. “Get through the hole. You’ve no time.”
“I ain’t leavin’ you.”
“You’ve got to. When I get a chance I’ll make my break.”
“You have no chance,” Zipacna said. “Now I kill you!”
He took a quick, fencer’s lunge with his left fingers stiffly extended, stabbing for Mike’s eye. Mike ducked in time and the stabbing hand skidded around his skull. But those extended fingers were like steel.
Mike feinted, then smashed a left to the body and missed a crossing right to the chin. Zipacna stepped back, then another of those stabbing lunges. The stiff fingers hit Mike just above the eye and cut deep, showering him with blood. Zipacna sprang close and tried to throw him with a rolling hip lock.
Mike stabbed his own fingers down into a spot just above the hipbone, and Zipacna’s knees buckled. He fell and Mike fell with him. They both lunged to their feet, and Mike took a quick glance toward the place of the opening.
Zipacna struck again with the stabbing fingers, and again they cut deep. Blood streaming down his face, Mike dodged another stabbing blow and slipped inside, smashing both fists to the body, then whipping a right hook over Zipacna’s shoulder that split his cheekbone.
Zipacna staggered and Mike moved in, smashing another hook to the body, and then a left that crunched Zipacna’s nose. Zipacna staggered, then fell. Scrambling to his feet, he fought like a madman, clawing at Mike’s face with steellike fingers.
Mike slammed another blow to the body, but it was corded with muscle. Nevertheless, Zipacna winced at the blow, and Mike put everything he had into a right uppercut, turning his body with the weight behind it.
The fist collided with Zipacna’s chin. His feet left the ground and he came down hard.
Turning swiftly, Mike lunged for the opening he hoped was there.
In that flashing instant he saw that Johnny was gone, but just as he reached the spot, something thrown hard from behind struck him behind the ear.
He felt himself falling, and in that last instant of consciousness he lunged forward, then fell, face down. Something seized him violently by the collar and he was jerked along the ground. Desperately, only half-conscious, he tried to struggle, but the vicious grip on his collar would not yield. He was dragged roughly along the ground, and in that instant his last grip on consciousness failed.
* * *
—
Blood.
There was blood on the ground where he lay. The side of his face was against the earth and his eyes were open and he was staring at blood on the grass, blood on the sand.
It was his blood. His mind told him that, although he could not have explained how he knew. He moved a hand, wanting to touch his face.
“Hey! He’s comin’ out of it! He isn’t dead yet.”
“Hard man to kill,” somebody said.
Somebody knelt beside him and gentle fingers touched his face. “He’s cut on the forehead,” somebody said, and then a woman’s voice said, “It was Zipacna.”
The voice was that of Kawasi.
“I’m all right.” He spoke aloud. “Somebody threw something, hit me on the back of the head.”
“You were hit, all right.” That was Gallagher speaking. “You’ve got a welt back there as big as both my fists.”
Struggling, Mike sat up. “I’m all right,” he repeated. “Something grabbed me back there.”
“It was Chief,” Gallagher said. “He pulled you through.”
“He what?”
“Grabbed you by the collar and pulled you through—just in time.”
Carefully, Raglan got to his feet. He swayed for an instant, then steadied himself. “Did anything else come through?” He looked at Kawasi. “I mean, except our crowd?”
“Nobody. Nothing.”
“Mike?” It was Erik Hokart. “Thanks. Thanks for both of us.”
“It was nothing,” he lied, “simply nothing at all.”
He looked around. “Where are we?”
Gallagher hooked his thumbs behind his belt. “On top of No Man’s, waiting for a helicopter to take us off.”
“Isn’t there a trail? There was supposed to be a trail.”
“There is one,” Gallagher said, “but we haven’t found it yet. You come over with
me next week and I’ll hike it with you.”
His head throbbed with a dull, heavy ache. Tentatively, he touched his brow. It was caked with dried blood now. He had been cut to the bone at least twice.
He wanted to get cleaned up, and then he wanted to lie down. He just wanted to rest, to sleep. He wanted to sleep for a week. He said as much.
“Not yet,” Gallagher said, “I’ve got something to show you.”
He would not explain.
The helicopter took them back to the Haunted Mesa.
At the ruin, Erik began gathering his belongings, and Mike picked up his backpack. He could see his car, not too far away. “We’ll go back to Tamarron,” he said to Kawasi. “Erik, you’d better bring Melisande and come with me. You, too, Johnny. There’s plenty of room.”
“Mike?” Gallagher said. “Got something you should see. That there spacequake or whatever it was happened last night. Happened just after Chief pulled you through the hole. Seems like ever’body wasn’t so lucky.”
“What do you mean?”
Gallagher had been leading him toward the kiva. Now he lifted a hand and pointed.
Where the window had been there were some fallen stones, and behind them an intact stone wall. Intact but for one thing.
A human body cannot pass through a solid. Or can it? The brick wall was there, and in the middle of it was Volkmeer’s head, a shoulder, and one arm with a grasping hand.
The stones of the ancient wall, apparently undisturbed for centuries, were built around him, perhaps even through him. Somewhere on the other side was the rest of him, the part that did not make it through.
Volkmeer was dead. To all intents and purposes he might have been dead, almost mummified, for centuries.
“Try explaining that,” Gallagher said. “Just try.”
“You explain it,” Raglan said. “I’m a stranger here myself.”
They stood silent for a minute, and then Gallagher said, “Eden’s gone. Deeded the place to Mary and just pulled out.”
The Haunted Mesa (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 33
