The Witch's Tongue

by James D. Doss

  C Moon swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thanks, Oscar. That’s really nice.”

  “There’s more inside. Open it up.”

  The tribal investigator noticed that the sign board was hinged on one end; he pulled on the other. There was more inside. A glistening silver parking meter.

  The flag was showing red.

  Oscar Sweetwater had been waiting for years to line this smart Aleck young buck up in his sights—and pull the trigger. As he saw the look of astonishment spread across his victim’s face, the marksman knew he’d nailed him good. Oscar laughed so hard he had to lean on the parking meter for support.

  Charlie Moon watched the chairman haw-haw and gasp and wheeze. Silly old geezer.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  THE SHAMAN’S NEW FRIEND

  The lean man towered above his aged aunt. The mismatched pair made their way along a deer trail that meandered among boulders, scrub oak, and clumps of yucca spears. Aside from the occasional scuffing sound of boot or shoe, they enjoyed a companionable silence that melded into the vast stillness in Cañon del Espiritu.

  Finally, Daisy Perika decided to speak to her nephew. She watched his long shadow—spoke to it, as if the sliver of darkness were an extension of his soul. “Did you know that some of the People think you was the one who stranded that Apache on the Witch’s Tongue?”

  The talking drums never stopped. “Do they, now?”

  “It is bad manners to answer an elder’s question with another question.”

  Moon allowed himself a smile. “Is it?”

  “Don’t get sassy with me.” Daisy tapped him on the shin with her walking stick. “But whenever I hear that kind of gossip, I set ’em straight. I say, ‘Don’t you go accusing my nephew of doing something like that.’”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your vote of confidence—”

  “It don’t have anything to do with confidence. I know you didn’t do it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Oh, I have my ways.” She smiled. “Sometimes I see what happens with my own eyes. Other times, them that sees things come and tell me.”

  Moon thought he would let that dog sleep.

  The tribal elder stopped to lean on her oak staff. She stared at the shadow’s head. “You want to know who’s been telling me stuff?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether the person in question is still within the reach of the law.”

  She thought about it. “Not the kind of law you’re talking about.”

  I thought so. Charlie Moon put an arm around her shoulders. “I bet I can guess.”

  “Try.”

  “Okay. Jacob Gourd Rattle’s ghost rose up from the grave. He comes and talks with you.”

  She shook her head. “Jacob’s spirit hasn’t been around to see me yet.” A pause. “But another one has.”

  Moon hoped she would not tell him.

  “It was that matukach who worked for our Ute police department.”

  He felt a sting of surprise. “Jim Wolfe?”

  The shaman nodded. “Back in October, he came here with his father and mother.”

  “His parents are dead too?”

  “No. Last time I saw ’em, Tobias and his Okie missus was warm as you or me.”

  “What were they doing here?”

  “They came to thank me for helping put their son’s murderer in the penitentiary.” And to give me something, Some nights I wake up wishing I had took it. “But when his folks went back to Oklahoma, Jim Wolfe stayed here with me. We’re good friends now.”

  Charlie Moon did not want to hear it.

  Daisy was determined to tell him. “Jim has told me lots of things, and some of it’s pretty strange.”

  Her nephew was not surprised.

  “Like about that time when you told him not to let the nickel fall off the whiskey glass, but it happened right after you left the saloon—and he never did get it out of the crack in the floor. Jim said that was when his luck started to go bad.” She watched her nephew’s face. “Does that make any sense?”

  He had no answer to that.

  “All the time, he tells me, ‘I should have listened to Charlie Moon. Charlie always gave me good advice. He is a smart one. But me, I have always been dumb as a stump. Dull-witted as a barnyard turkey, stupid as a—”

  Moon heard the words fall out of his mouth. “Sack of dirt.”

  “He said you’d say that.” She sat down on a ponderosa stump, laid the oak walking stick across her lap. “Anything you’d like to pass on to him?”

  Wishing there was a way to make amends for things done and things left undone, Moon thought about it for a long time. The aged woman could serve as his confessor. “I’m sorry about the way things turned out. And I wish I’d helped him a lot more than I did.” He smiled at his aunt. “You can tell Jim that.”

  She responded with a prideful smugness. “Tell him yourself.”

  The unbeliever felt a clammy coldness creep over his skin. “You’re kidding.”

  “No I’m not.”

  Moon felt extremely foolish, but had to ask. “Where?”

  “He’s been right beside you since we left my trailer.”

  He took a cautious sideways look.

  “No, on your left.”

  He turned his head. “I don’t see anything.”

  “I didn’t expect you to.” She reached into her pocket, found a lemon drop. “For a matukach, Wolfe isn’t all that bad. I sorta like him.”

  “Right.” Moon grinned. “But what do you say when he’s not around?”

  Daisy Perika popped the candy into her mouth. “I’m the only real family you got left.” She looked off into the canyon mists, watched a very old lost soul do a macabre dance before a faded petroglyph of a horned snake. “While I’m still here in Middle World, you should treat me with more respect.”

  “I’m willing to give a try.”

  She gave him a sly look. “Start by telling me about that package in your coat pocket.”

  The Ute produced the paper-wrapped parcel. “This is what’s known in our traditional culture as ‘men’s stuff.’ So, seeing as how you’re a member of the female gender, I should not let you see it. If I break one of the old rules, I might get a headache when the sun goes down.”

  The shaman glared at her nephew. “Let me see it, or I’ll fix you so your brain starts to ache while there’s still daylight.”

  “Let’s make a deal.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “That’s the deal—all you can do is listen. So pay close attention, and tell me what it is.” Behind her back, he wrapped the loose end of the leather cord twice around his palm, let the flat-bone piece attached to the other end fall to his ankle.

  Slowly at first, Charlie Moon began to swing the thing.

  The thin slab of bone began to sing.

  Vooooom.

  Daisy shook her head.

  Louder: Vooooom.

  “No,” she muttered.

  Louder still: Vooooom!

  Moon was enjoying the demonstration. “Jacob Gourd Rattle brought a bullroarer to Snake Canyon; probably to call the spirits of wind and thunder.”

  “Put it away,” the shaman said.

  “It’s just a noise-making toy—”

  Somewhere up there, a heavy rumble of thunder. A damp gust of wind swept down the canyon.

  Charlie Moon ceased his demonstration of the groaning board. But only to make his aunt feel better.

  By cosmic coincidence, silence and stillness returned to Cañon del Espiritu.

  Daisy Perika heaved a sigh of relief.

  Her nephew looked up at the thin slice of clear blue sky. The unseen thunderhead was probably somewhere over the mesa. And unexpected winds were always rolling down these canyons.

  Knowing the gist of his thoughts, Daisy shook her head. Fools never learn.

  Moon seated himself on the ground near his aunt.

  In a vain attempt
to find a more comfortable position, the weary woman shifted her rump on the stump. “I know how you got down onto the Witch’s Tongue.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “And how you got back up again.”

  “I guess Wolfe told you about that too.”

  Daisy shot him a crafty look. “He says you used that electric winch—the one on your fancy new pickup truck.”

  She’s guessing. But a mighty good guess it was.

  “By the way—whatever happened to that big red truck?”

  He felt the merest twinge of guilt. “Somebody else needed it more than I did.” And could afford it more than I could.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  AN OLD, SWEET SONG

  The Catholic priest got out of his worn-out Buick, eyed the Expedition with the Columbine logo painted on the door. So Charlie Moon is visiting his aunt. Father Raes Delfino peered through his bifocals at Daisy Perika’s trailer home. As he climbed the porch steps, the visitor reached for the Logo suspended from his neck on a silver chain. He whispered a prayer for the old woman, another for her nephew.

  He tapped on the door. I will let Daisy know that Charlie has provided me with a quiet place to live. A fine little cabin near a lake. The priest knocked again. I wonder where they could be?

  As was so often the case during the course of these blessed days, the answer came to him immediately. He turned, stared at the yawning mouth of Spirit Canyon. Perhaps I should wait here until they return. Again, the holy man touched the crucifix. But that might be a long time.

  DAISY PERIKA pointed to a place across the canyon where the cliff was honeycombed with pits and caverns. “You know who’s over there.”

  Her nephew did know. Daisy was referring to his mother’s bones. The remains were concealed behind a carefully crafted wall of sandstone. Charlie Moon had put her there, and every year without fail—during the Moon of Dead Leaves Falling—he came to maintain the vault. This mother’s son could not find his voice.

  “That’s where I want you to put me—someplace close to her.” Daisy blinked her tired old eyes. “But seal me in good so the varmints don’t come and chew on my bones.” She gave the young man a sharp look. “You hear what I’m saying?”

  A nod from the nephew.

  “And tell the women that fix me—I want to be put away in my purple dress. The one with the silver threads stitched into the collar.”

  He managed to make some words. “That’ll be some time yet.”

  “And if Father Raes is still alive—I want him here when you put me away. He can say some good words over me, sing a song or two. But if he goes before I do, you bring some other Christian minister out here.” Another steely glare. “I want you to promise me you’ll do what I say.”

  Moon tugged the brim of his Stetson down, hiding his eyes in the shadow. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Good. Then I’m ready to go.” Daisy gripped the walking stick with both hands, got to her feet with a painful grunt. “That feisty little priest is supposed to come by later today, so I guess I’d better be home when he shows up—just so I can twist his tail.” Daisy firmly believed that her fondness for Father Raes was a deep secret.

  But Charlie Moon knew that the old woman loved the priest.

  The angels in heaven knew it.

  “He’s going to retire,” she sighed. “And move away somewhere.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  They resumed a slow pace toward the mouth of the canyon.

  Daisy Perika grimaced at a sharp pain in her hip, stopped to lean on her oak walking stick. “It’s a long way home.”

  Her nephew nodded. “But you’ll soon be there.”

  “I wish I was there already. I am so tired.”

  Charlie Moon looked at the cloudless sky, where something circled. Too big for a raven. He thought it might be a hawk.

  Daisy also looked up, shaded eyes dimmed with age. I am in the shadow of His wings. Feeling stronger, she tugged at Moon’s sleeve. “There’s one more thing.”

  Her nephew was not surprised. There always was.

  “What’s going on between you and that white woman?”

  “Which one?”

  She groaned. “How many are we talking about?”

  “Less than three.”

  “I want to know about the one whose first name you won’t tell me.”

  “Miss James?”

  Daisy nodded.

  “She’s gone.” And won’t be coming back.

  This satisfied the old woman—until she counted to two. “But you have a new girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know if I should tell you.”

  Daisy made a menacing gesture with the oak rod. “If you don’t, I’ll whack you so hard you’ll forget your middle name.” To emphasize this threat, she gave him a gentle tap.

  “I don’t have a middle name.”

  “See, it’s working already!”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  “That’s quite a lot.” He smiled down at black eyes set deep in the wrinkled face. “But I’ll tell you about one fine day on the Columbine—a day I spent with this good-looking woman.”

  She snorted. “Another white woman.”

  He ignored this. “And as we rode along on our nags, me and this pretty lady heard something. It was a man, in the log cabin by the lake. He was singing an old, old song.”

  Daisy trudged along, pegging at the ground with her walking stick. “What man was this?”

  He shook his head. “You are not supposed to ask.”

  Seeing how much fun her nephew was having, Daisy played along. “Can I ask what old song?”

  Moon smiled at the memory of his epiphany on Three Sisters Mesa. “For quite some time, I wasn’t sure myself. But later on, I had an inspiration.”

  “Hah,” she said. “That, I would have liked to see.”

  “Then I will demonstrate.” He closed his eyes, concentrated for a moment, then pointed at a spot just above his hat. “Did you notice that lightbulb right up there—and how it just flashed?”

  She nodded. “It was a tiny one—the kind a sickly firefly has in its tail.”

  “Even so, it was enough.” He raised his arm to salute the Three Sisters. They were sitting as still as stone, hanging on his every word. “At that very moment, I understood Kicks Dogs’ dream about seeing Jacob climbing up a moonbeam.”

  Another snort. “Silly white woman.”

  “But it was not a dream,” Moon said. “And Jacob was not climbing a moonbeam.”

  “I know it wasn’t no moonbeam.” She could not help bragging. “And I know what he was climbing.”

  “I hope you’re not going to tell me Jim Wolfe told you.”

  “I won’t say he did, because he didn’t.” The shaman grinned. “I have other ways of knowing stuff.”

  “I know you do.” The tribal investigator gave her an odd look. “And so do I.”

  His aunt stared straight back at him. “What do you know?”

  “I know about the ladder.”

  Daisy looked away, muttered, “What ladder?”

  “The nylon-rope ladder Felix Navarone and Eddie Ganado tossed over the edge of Three Sisters Mesa, so they could climb down to the Witch’s Tongue and hide the Cassidy loot. But they let it fall all the way to the bottom of Snake Canyon. Which is why Jacob Gourd Rattle was able to climb up and confront that pair of thieves—and get himself killed for his trouble.”

  She shrugged, as if to say, Oh, that ladder.

  Charlie Moon watched her shrink under his gaze. “When Navarone came back to get the Cassidy coins and cameos, he used his rope ladder again. But he was a few days too late; somebody had already been there and took the stuff.” Yellow Jacket allowed himself a satisfied smile. “But that Apache’s bad luck had just got started. While he was down there, looking for the stuff he’d stashed, somebody pulled the ladder up—left him stranded on the Uru-suwã-ci Agõ-pi.”

  It took her a dozen heartb
eats to muster up the courage; what finally passed her lips resembled a mouse’s squeak: “You have any idea who pulled the ladder up?”

  “Yes, I do.” Moon’s eyes twinkled. “Near the edge of the cliff, stuck on a yucca spike, I found a little piece of wool. Yellow wool.” He added, as if it was an afterthought, “Greasewood yellow.”

  Daisy’s greasewood-dyed shawl suddenly weighed her shoulders down. The shaman closed her eyes, looked as if she might slip away from Middle World.

  The sworn officer of the law smiled at the ill-tempered old soul. “A little hank of wool doesn’t prove that a particular person stranded Navarone on the Witch’s Agõ-pi—just that she was in the vicinity.” He patted his aunt on the shoulder. “Anyway, I expect she didn’t intend to leave that Apache out there long enough to die.”

  The Daisy made a grim face. Don’t bet the farm on it.

  “Matter of fact,” he added, “I think she had one of her friends call the SUPD dispatcher about a suspicious truck somebody’d left on Three Sisters Mesa—so the tribal police would rescue Navarone.”

  She opened her eyes, looked longingly toward the mesa, as if memories of happier times might be hidden up there in the mists. “It’s too bad all those people had to die.”

  Moon followed her gaze. “They didn’t have to die—they made wrong choices. Eddie Ganado preferred stealing to living by honest work. Jim Wolfe cared more about getting even with Felix Navarone than staying alive.”

  Charlie always tried to make sense of things, but Daisy saw her chaotic world through a darker lens. “What about Jacob Gourd Rattle—what mistake did he make?”

  “Jacob?” Moon thought about it. “Well, I’d say he picked the wrong ladder to climb.”

  “What do you mean?” She squinted at her enigmatic nephew. “There wasn’t another ladder—was there?”

  “Sure.” Moon’s dark eyes sparkled. “There’s always another ladder.”

  This annoyed the crotchety old woman no end. “That don’t make any sense.”

  “I sense that you are a doubter.” While Father Raes was still far away, Charlie Moon had seen him coming up the canyon. “If you are ready, I will demonstrate my point.”