by Mark Reps
“Yes, of course.”
“I think he was talking about the same thing. I think he was saying the seeds of the small mountain that will grow on top of Mount Graham have already been sewn.”
“I still don’t understand what it means.”
“A seed that is planted can grow into a flower. Another type of seed becomes an idea. Yet another seed becomes new life. Growth of all these things occurs long before it is seen with our eyes. Song Bird was saying the seeds of the small mountain have already been planted. He knows this because a Medicine Man can perceive with his heart long before we can see with our eyes.”
“How can a mountain begin to grow without anyone seeing it?”
“Song Bird said if we pray we will find the answers.”
Kate, warmed by the heat of Eskadi’s body, stared up at the night sky.
“While Song Bird was speaking tonight, I remembered something my dad told me when I was very young,” said Kate.
“What was that?”
“When I was little, he told me the stars were holes in the sky put there by the Gods so they could peek down on the people and animals. The holes allowed the Gods to keep an eye on their creations,” explained Kate.
“My father told me the same story,” said Eskadi. “He told me it was a good thing because it also meant that someone would always be watching over me.”
“Somebody was watching over me tonight. I felt it.”
“You mean with you and the women?” asked Eskadi.
“Yes.”
“It looked to me as though they were welcoming you home.”
“It feels like home.”
“Then you should have an Apache name,” whispered Eskadi.
A comet danced across the silent sky.
“Son-ee-ah-ray. I will call you Son-ee-ah-ray.”
Eskadi ran his hands through her soft hair and hummed softly as the two of them watched the heavens through a single pair of eyes.
“Morning Star is your Apache name.”
Kate was home. Her heart knew it.
Chapter Eleven
Jake sauntered through the front door of the Town Talk just in time to witness Sheriff Hanks pouring coffee for a couple of regulars.
“Hey, Zeb. If the law business doesn’t work out, I’d lay some pretty good odds on Doreen turnin’ you into a first class waiter. I’ve always said what this town needs, even more than a good sheriff, is a top notch waiter.”
“You’re a real hoot, Jake, a real barrel of laughs. Now have a seat before your flapping lips cool down this pot of java.”
“Make mine hot and blacker than midnight on a new moon. As to my jive, well hell, go ahead and shoot me for being happy. I happen to be feeling extra special good today.”
Zeb set the coffee pot down. He gave Jake the once over. This amount of joviality could mean only one of two things. Either Jake was thinking about stargazing, his passion, or crime solving, his true gift.
“Every time you start acting like a young man instead of an older one, I get to feeling something is about to bust loose. Am I right or am I right?”
Before Jake could answer, Doreen Nightingale came swooping down on the men like a hungry hawk on a floundering field mouse.
“If it ain’t the best dang lookin’ men in the southern half of the state of Arizona. Yes siree, two handsome fellers that make it easy on a gal’s eyes. You gentlemen are cuter than little boys could ever hope to be,” exclaimed Doreen, tousling Jake’s hair and kissing the top of Zeb’s head.
“Good afternoon, Doe,” said Jake. ‘Your boyfriend here has been sassing on me. Now I wonder where he learned that kind of back talk?”
“Don’t look at me, bright eyes. Maybe he’s got a little crush on ya’? He has been actin’ a little on the romantic side lately, if ya’ know what I mean.”
Doreen tossed a wink and a smile at the retired sheriff.
“Doreen, quit your teasing. People might get the wrong idea overhearing something like that,” pleaded Zeb.
Doreen reached over and planted a kiss with a loud smack on her boyfriend’s cheek.
“Hell, let ‘em talk. Now can I get you girls somethin’ or are you just in here for coffee klatch?”
“Doreen!”
“Oh, shush. If anyone asks, I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles that I got first-hand knowledge that you ain’t no Nancy boy. Now, what’ll it be, ladies?”
“The coffee’s good enough for me.”
“I’ll take a couple of sugared doughnuts to go with my cup of joe,” said Jake.
“Comin’ right up.”
Doreen sashayed to the counter for the sweets.
“Zeb, you busy today?” asked Jake.
“Not overly. Mostly routine. Why?”
“Got a few extra hours you can spare?”
“Maybe. Depends on what you have in mind?”
“I spent yesterday at the courthouse looking up some plat marks. I found the exact location of the land the Catholic Church and its partners are looking to take over up on top of Mount Graham.”
“This is about that planning commission meeting you dragged me to, isn’t it? AIMGO? That was the corporation, wasn’t it?”
“Yup and yup”
“I might have guessed.”
“Now just hear me out.”
“As I’m still working on my first cup of coffee, I don’t know if I have any choice in the matter.”
“I plotted it out on a map, but bear in mind that I’m no cartographer.”
“No what?”
“Cartographer. A map maker. I think I’ve got that parcel of land pinpointed.”
“So? It’s land, it’s on the mountain. What difference does it make other than Farrell’s got his undies in a bunch about it?”
“Depending on precisely where it is it might make a significant difference to a lot of people.”
“How so?”
“If I’m right, and I’m damn near certain I am, and if the Catholic Church and the AIMGO Corporation end up with that property, you are going to have one hell of a mess on your hands.”
“That is a lot of ifs and ands.”
“Didn’t say I knew for certain.”
“Okay. What kind of a mess?”
“Listen up and you’ll find out. After I looked up the location from the maps down at the courthouse, I visited with Song Bird.”
“Would you quit beating around the bush and start making sense?”
“The reason I went out and had a little chat with Song Bird is because he and I have spent a night or two together up on top of Mount Graham. I taught him about looking at the constellations through the telescope and shared the stories my grandfather taught me with him. Song Bird taught me the Apache legends and myths related to the mountain spirits. The first time we went up there, Song Bird and I looked at the stars from this secret spot my grandfather showed me years ago. Second time we went up there together we went back to the very same place.”
Over the years Zeb had listened to Jake’s stories so many times he could tell them as his own. But this was a tale he was not familiar with.
“Then some time passed, maybe five or six years, maybe more, before Song Bird and I went back up there together. During that time we got to know each other real well. We came to trust each other in a way most people never do, much less an Apache and a White law man. We went back up there again, a third time to the same spot. When I took the telescope out, Song Bird stopped me. He said we should go to another place. He called it an ancient place. We walked a short distance, and this is going to sound crazy, but it felt like we were at the highest point on the whole planet. It’s like we were only one step away from a gateway to another world, maybe even heaven.”
Jake closed his eyes as he unfolded the story. Zeb listened so as not to miss a word.
“Song Bird told me it was the most sacred spot on the mountain. I’m telling you, never before or since have I seen the sky with such perfection. I felt as though I were floating through
space right up to heaven.”
“That’s a fine story, Jake, but something about it doesn’t make sense. Why would Song Bird show that place to you? Sacred Apache spots aren’t for White people.”
“You’re right. That’s normally true. I had the same question. I asked Song Bird why he was showing it to me.”
“And?”
“He acted mysterious and answered me in a riddle. He said I already knew the answer. He said that answer would be revealed to me when the time was right.”
“Do you think the time is now?” asked Zeb.
“Yes, I do. I think the sacred spot Song Bird showed me is the land the Catholic Church and AIMGO own,” said Jake.
“Well, if the Church owns it, there isn’t a lot anyone can do, is there? I mean legally that is.”
Jake leaned forward and stared into Zeb’s eyes. The look he gave him brought an instant chill to Zeb and prickled the hair on his neck.
“You know this to be true, Zeb. Some things are outside the law.”
Zeb’s mind went directly to Red Parrish and Red Junior.
“Jesus, Jake. Keep your voice down. Listen to what you’re saying. If people hear you talking, I am gonna have big trouble.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying. Remember when you, me and Song Bird sat out at his place around the campfire, and he was telling us Apache legends of Geronimo and Cochise.”
“Well, hell yes, of course. How could I forget a night like that? He taught me more Apache history in one night than I’ve learned in the rest of my life.”
“Remember when he was telling us there were only a few things that would make the Apaches declare out and out war on the United States again?”
“I remember thinking he was crazy when he said it. I mean the very idea of a tribe attacking the United States of America.”
“One thing that would get the entire Apache Nation united and riled up to do something that drastic would be someone trying to take away their Holy Place on Mount Graham,” said Jake.
“You’re right. That’s exactly what he said.”
“I think the Catholic Church and the AIMGO Corporation have got designs on doing precisely that. If they get away with it, we’re all going to have one hell of a mess on our hands.”
“You may have a hell of a mess on your hands, but it ain’t gonna be as much a one as these gooey pastries I make,” said Doreen as she interrupted their conversation by placing a plateful of freshly baked goods in front of the men. “Now what the heck is this? Some kind of map?”
Doreen reached to the floor and picked up a piece of folded paper.
“Official United States Forest Service Topographic Map of Mount Graham. Well, I’ll be a monkey’s aunt.”
“Here, that’s mine,” garbled Jake through a mouthful of jelly donut. “It must have fallen out of my pocket.”
“Now ain’t that what you’d call a major league coincidence?”
The men munched on the fresh goodies. Doreen opened up the map and spread it out on the table.
“I’m not much of one for readin’ maps. I can look at a road map okay to get where I’m goin’, but these here fancy maps, I hardly ever waste time lookin’ at the dang things. And then, whadda’ ya’ know? Just like that, twice in one day I bend over and pick up an official forest service map of Mount Graham. Right here in the Town Talk. Now don’t that beat all?”
Jake and Zeb exchanged clueless glances.
“You two look dumber than a pair of jackasses in a stare down contest at a county fair.”
“What are you talking about, Doe?” asked Zeb.
“Why, just this mornin’ in the front corner booth over by the window someone plumb left a briefcase behind. Now right away you’d think I woulda’ known whose it was. After all, how many people carry around a briefcase? Huh?”
Doreen paused, waiting for an answer.
“Not many,” answered Zeb.
“That’s right, honey. Dang few folks around these parts got the need. Just a couple of lawyers and maybe a real estate agent or two. So I went backwards in my mind to see who sat in that booth this morning. I came up blank. Nobody sat there this morning. So I got to thinkin’. The whole thing seemed like it was right out of a spy movie. Like a Matt Helm flick or somethin’. Didn’t you just love Dean Martin in those movies?”
“Sure did,” said Jake.
“Me, too,” said Doreen. “So I got to askin’ myself, did someone plant it there for someone else to find? Maybe inside was diamonds or gold or money. Maybe even secret plans.”
“I think you may be watching too many spy movies, Doe,” said Zeb.
“Hush up, handsome. If I could make up stories that easy in my head, well, I’d have a full time job at the Inquirer or in Hollywood. So back to what I was sayin’ to begin with before old bright eyes here started yappin’. I thought back to last night and sure enough I figured out right away whose it was. Zeb, you remember that little skinny doctor with the girly hands that we ran into up on the Mount?”
“Dr. Bede?”
“Yeah, that’s the guy.”
“I guess we all know him,” added Jake.
“That’s right. You met him at the county planning commission meeting.”
“I ran into him out at the San Carlos, too,” added Jake. “He came out to hear Song Bird’s story of Mount Graham.”
“You two ladies gonna’ quit your gossipin’ and let me finish my story?”
“Sorry, Doe, go on.”
“Anyway, just to make sure it wasn’t a spy’s briefcase I opened it up to see if I could find some ID. You know, so I could return it to its rightful owner. Well, soon as I open it up, a map of Mount Graham, just like the one you got there, Jake, falls out onto the floor.”
“I suppose you searched the spy case thoroughly?” asked Zeb.
“Sugar plum, I hope you don’t think I’m the kind of gal who snoops through other people’s personal belongins? I know you think better of me than that. Besides, I didn’t have to dig too deep. Right there was a letter addressed to Dr. Venerable Bede. That was that. I didn’t need to look no further. Then I remembered he was sittin’ in that front booth all by his lonesome. I felt sorry for the little guy, so I gave him a piece of homemade apple pie on the house. Now I just gotta wait for him to come back in and pick up the briefcase.”
“Wait no longer,” said Jake. “You’re looking at Dr. Bede’s personal delivery service. It just so happens Zeb and I are headed up that way right now.”
“I suppose if I can’t trust a couple of lawmen with the goods, who can I trust? Let me run and grab it for you. You sure you two ain’t headed up to Riggs Lake to do some fishin’, now are ya’?”
“No, Doreen, its official business,” assured Jake.
The sheriff shot an inquisitive leer in the former sheriff’s direction.
“Well, let me put it differently,” said Jake. “It might become official business.”
Zeb finished his coffee, leaving his usual oversized gratuity for Doreen. Jake grabbed a donut for the road. Within minutes the men were heading west on Route 366. As they passed the Graham County Market, three old men sitting on the porch waved. Jake returned their salute.
“Doc Yackley gave me all the details about the death of Father McNamara.”
“There were hardly any secrets there,” replied Zeb, “just a very dramatic and strange case of suicide.”
“I mean about the ring he was wearing.”
“All priests wear a church ring. It’s part of the Roman Catholic thing. It shows what Order they belong to. Why, what did Doc say about the ring?”
“Not much. He just described it to me,” replied Jake.
“What are you getting at, Jake?”
“Nothing really. Just a feeling I’ve got.”
“Let’s hear it. I know you’re itching to say something.”
“My grandpa used to say, ‘If you got an itch, scratch it cause it’s your insides trying to speak out.’ I think about that little ad
age every time I get a notion.”
“What are you thinking, Jake? Damn, I never heard you hedge a bet so much in all the years I’ve known you.”
“It’s not that I’m being evasive. Both you and I know just how easy it is when you beat around the bush to scare up something other than what you’re looking for. I’m trying to avoid just that.”
“Spit it out, Jake.”
“Just set back for a second and put this together in your head. One, a dead Catholic priest wearing a ring with some writing about the Vatican Astronomical Observatory on it. Two, mix that in with this business about the Catholic Church quietly buying up a lot of property up on the mountain, maybe the best star gazing spot on damn near the whole planet. Put one and one together and you might just have something.”
“You might have what?”
“Now hold your horses. Then you throw in the fact the Apaches would practically be willing to go to war over the spot because it’s sacred and…”
“There’s more? I’m not so sure I want to hear anything else!”
“John Farrell, using the planning commission and his real estate office, just may have a little dirt on his hands. It just seems like too many forces coming together all at once to mean anything except trouble brewing on the horizon.”
“Damn it, Jake, you know full good and well from all your years as sheriff it could be nothing more than coincidence, too. It’s a big damn world out there. There’s always all sorts of shit happening.”
Jake looked straight ahead through the car window. In the distance below, snuggled against the desert floor, sat the city of Safford. Jake once again drummed his fingers against the top of the steering wheel. He spoke so quietly Zeb strained his ears to hear.
“But it isn’t, Zeb. It’s no coincidence. And, I can see that you feel it too.”
Chapter Twelve
Zeb watched his reflection roll across the car windshield with each switchback on the twisted, winding road that led to the Riggs Lake campground atop Mount Graham. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes seemed more sharply defined than ever. There was no denying his job was taking a physical toll on his body. A single glance toward Jake warned him precisely how the law business could consume a man if he wasn’t careful.
