Lone Wolf laughed, turning back to the others. "Look around you!" he shouted. "Behold the majesty of the Tohono O'otam!"
There was laughter.
Lone Wolf turned his attention back to Le-Cato.
"Never mind, old man," he said, tempering his voice. "In your heart, I imagine you were a great chief to send your people away. In your heart, I suppose you saved your people. Since they are women and children, all of them, I suppose it was wise."
Suddenly his anger flared, and he did strike out, knocking the old man from his horse.
There was more laughter as Le-Cato fell to the dust, his granddaughter jumping from her horse to help him up.
Lone Wolf jumped from his mount and pulled the trembling old man from his granddaughter's grasp. "Listen to me," he said, "and listen well."
Le-Cato looked away, until Lone Wolf grasped his chin, and pulled his eyes around to look into his own.
"There is one more thing for you to do, and then you can run off to hide with the other women and children. I will deal with your tribe later. But now, you will do the one thing we came here to do."
Le-Cato lowered his eyes.
"Do you understand me?" Lone Wolf shouted, pulling his blade from its sheath and holding it under the old man's throat. "Answer me with your mouth, or I'll cut your head off like a chicken's."
Le-Cato said, "Yes."
"Good." Lone Wolf let the old man go. He pointed up at Kitt Peak. "Now go into your sacred mountain, and meet your eagle." Suddenly he smiled, and motioned toward LeCato's granddaughter. "And, as a final offering to the eagle, take the squaw with you."
It was night-time when Le-Cato and his granddaughter reached the first plateau. The desert was already cold, and the old man shivered, as much with his mission as with the weather. Above him, the craggy mountain cut a line across the sky, slicing at the stars. Le-Cato shivered and walked on.
At the second plateau, an hour later, they heard a sound. Stopping, Le-Cato looked up fearfully, expecting the eagle to rise up above him and fall upon him. Silently he prayed that the eagle was not here, that it was flying high above the mountain and would not come down to him. For in what lay ahead he saw only disaster. Shivering, afraid, he climbed on.
Twenty minutes later, he paused. This time, he heard the sound he had feared, the rustling of feathers. Le-Cato was on the path leading to the next plateau. Tall above him, the mountain loomed like God himself.
"Eagle, are you there?" Le-Cato called out fearfully.
There was silence, and Le-Cato was about to walk on when a tall figure stepped out onto the path before him.
Le-Cato fell to his knees at the sight of the eagle. The wings fluttered high, and for a moment Le-Cato thought he saw the flash of a talon dropping toward him. Le-Cato saw darkness.
When he awoke, his granddaughter was gone, and there, at his foot, was a long wooden box.
"Is this the object I am to take to Lone Wolf?" Le-Cato shouted into the night.
Sadly, his heart sinking, he picked up the long box, turned, and made his slow way back down the mountain path.
Dawn had nearly come when the old man returned. Curling Smoke alone was awake, watching over the camp they had made. When he saw the old man stumbling toward him he ran to wake Lone Wolf, who lay sleeping in the shadow of his horse.
Lone Wolf hurried to meet the old man.
"So," he said, taking the long wooden box from Le-Cato's hands. "You have done something right, after all. Perhaps there is a spark of warrior left in your people yet."
Lone Wolf called to the others, who were now rising with the commotion.
"Come! Look at your future!"
Soon there was a gathering of braves around him. Lone Wolf fingered the wooden box lovingly before opening it. When he did pull the box's hinged lid back, he was overcome, and let out a whoop which was echoed by those around him.
He reached in gingerly to pull out the object within, cradling it in his arms.
"This," he said, "will change our nation of women into a nation of men."
Unable to control himself, he whooped again, holding the long, elegant, accurate stock of the Walthers repeating rifle with telescopic sight, the most accurate in the world, over-head.
"Go, my brothers," he shouted to the braves surrounding him. "Rise like the wind and bring word to all your tribes! Tell them to rise, and take their weapons with them! Before this day is done, the terrible blow will be struck!"
As the braves rode off to the four points, whooping wildly, leaving only a few be-hind, Lone Wolf turned to Le-Cato and said, "So, old man, let me tell you what I am going to do, and you can tell me now if you are truly my brother or not."
Chapter Twenty-three
Lincoln Reeves's leg told him not to move, but he didn't listen to it. At first, coming out of sleep, he thought he was at home, in his own bed, and that his leg had somehow fallen asleep. Then, beginning to come awake, he remembered where he was and thought he must be in the desert, and that a night of sleep on the hard ground had rendered his leg numb.
He tried to pull the leg back to him, and cried out in pain, coming fully awake, as his broken limb shifted in its cast.
"Lord, almighty — " a female voice said.
He remembered where he was now, and how he had gotten here — the fight, the painful ride back to Tucson, the painful setting of the leg, the fever .. .
A stern female face glared down at him.
"Sorry, Mrs. Murphy," Lincoln said meekly. "Guess I forgot my leg was broken for a moment."
"And that'll be the last time you forget!" Mrs. Murphy scolded. "I treasure your company, and your taking over my couch, but I won't have you reinjuring yourself, just because you like my cooking so much!" Lincoln smiled sheepishly.
"You heard what the doctor said — another day or two before you even move. Then another week of taking it easy after that." She pointed to the pair of crutches leaning against the couch. "You'll be up and using those before you know it."
"My wife "
"Your wife was telegraphed yesterday." Mrs. Murphy fished into the front of her housedress, producing an envelope. "We got this last evening, after you were already asleep." She opened it, read: "Thank God the fool is not hurt more badly. I pray this will be the end of his adventures with that dangerous friend of his, Lieutenant Mullin. God bless you for your help. Please tell Lincoln his little boy misses him terribly."
Mrs. Murphy fixed Lincoln with a level stare. "I think someone else there misses you terribly, too."
"Yes, ma'am."
Mrs. Murphy handed him the telegram. "Now rest, and rest only."
As Mary Murphy was leaving the room, the Marshal entered, belting on his gun. He looked briefly at Lincoln, then at his wife.
"Mullin is gone."
"What?" Mrs. Murphy said.
"Must have rode out overnight. I swore the way he was beat up, he wouldn't be going anywhere for days."
"Don't be mad at yourself," his wife said.
Murphy's face was red. He said to Lincoln, "You think he was fool enough to ride up into that mountain alone?"
Lincoln hesitated, then said, "Yes."
"Glory be! What in damnation is wrong with that man?"
Lincoln said, "If you have the time, I'm sure my wife could tell you."
Murphy didn't laugh. "Well, I hate to say it, but he's on his own. I've got every man I can spare and more busy today with the President's visit." He looked hard at Lincoln. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry too much about the Lieutenant," Lincoln said. "He knows how to handle himself."
Murphy snorted, and stomped away to the front door, opening it as one of his deputies was about to knock.
"Need you over at the office, Marshal. President's train is due in eight hours, and we're already swamped. Telegram from the Secret Service is there, they want things ready to go when Roosevelt gets in."
Murphy looked back at Lincoln briefly, snorted again, and stomped out.
Mary Murphy had retreated to the ki
tchen; now she returned with a tray and with her son in tow. The tray she set down on the table in front of the couch.
"There's breakfast," she said, "and plenty of it, so eat. You told me yesterday how much you like my cooking. And, since I promised to take care of you, just so you don't get any foolish ideas about your friend, I've deputized little Joshua here to watch you."
The little boy glared hard at Lincoln. On his shirt had been pinned crookedly a small tin marshal's badge.
"He won't go nowhere, Ma," Joshua said.
"He won't go anywhere," his mother corrected.
"Well, he won't," Joshua promised, continuing to glare.
The day wore on toward afternoon. Joshua kept his word, sitting on the edge of the couch, turning to stare hard at Lincoln every time he so much as twitched.
"Anyone tell you you look just like your dad?" Lincoln said.
"No talking," Joshua ordered.
After lunch, which they both ate off a tray, Mary Murphy got ready to go out. She came into the living room bearing a huge basket.
"I'm going over to your father's office," she said to Joshua. "Got to bring the men there something to eat. Then I've got a little marketing to do. Now I'm trusting you, Joshua. I'll be back in an hour at most."
Joshua saluted. "I'm on the job, Ma." Mary looked at Lincoln, who pretended to sleep, then back at Joshua. "Good."
She went out.
"Got a checkerboard, Joshua?" Lincoln asked, sitting up. "Want to play checkers?" "No talking," Joshua ordered.
Ten minutes later Joshua's friend, Nick, came by, banging through the front door, breathless.
"Josh, quick, come over t' my place! Willie's found a lizard, and he's getting it to change colors!"
Lincoln lay back, yawned, closed his eyes. "Can't," Josh said.
"Are you crazy? It's a color changing lizard!"
"Got to watch the prisoner."
Lincoln feigned snoring.
"He's asleep!" Nick said. "My Mom said she'd watch you, if that's what you're worried about!" He studied Lincoln's prone form. "He'll be asleep for hours!"
"Well..."
"Come on!" Nick said, and ran out the door, banging it behind him.
In a moment, Joshua had followed.
Lincoln opened his eyes. Carefully, wincing at the movement, he sat up on the couch. He reached over, took the crutches from their nesting place, put them under his arms, and tried to rise.
The first time he had to stifle a shout of pain as he put pressure on the broken leg, but the second time he had managed to stand, angling the leg back and putting pressure on the other leg.
He made his way to the door, opened it, and hobbled outside.
Cursing lightly, he stopped his progress, hobbled back into the house, searched the kitchen until he found a piece of paper and a pencil. He wrote a note to Mary Murphy, telling her where Joshua could be found, and left it on the couch. Again he hobbled to the door and went outside.
Around the side of the house was his horse. After what seemed an eternity, during which he was sure either Mrs. Murphy or Joshua would return, he managed to mount the saddle, tying the crutches down.
Keeping all pressure off the leg, he turned the horse and slowly headed out.
He was an hour out of Tucson, feeling weak but proud of himself, when Marshal Murphy caught up with him. Red-faced, the marshal said nothing, but took the reins from Lincoln's hands, tied the horse to his own, and turned back around toward the city.
"Sorry for the trouble, Marshal," Lincoln said, and after a long while, Murphy said, "Don't be. I understand."
When they got back into town Murphy passed his own house, pausing as Mary Murphy and Josh came out. Mrs. Murphy said resignedly, "Thank you for the note, Trooper," while Joshua hung his head in shame. They rode on to the Marshal's office, where a deputy came out to help Lincoln down off his horse.
"Put him in the first holding cell," Murphy said, and the deputy answered, "Yes, sir." "Lock it, and make sure it's locked." The deputy nodded.
"Bring me the key."
"Yes, sir."
"And put his crutches where he can't find them."
"Yes, sir," the deputy said again. "Marshal — " Lincoln said.
"Don't say anything. Just go."
Looking chagrined, trying to keep his weight off the leg, Lincoln went into the jail.
Chapter Twenty-four
Vaguely, as if from far away, Thomas felt someone putting something into his mouth. He felt his head being lifted, then felt the coolness of water running around his lips.
"Drink," someone, very far away, said. "Swallow."
He moved his lips, felt water run into his throat, and something hard riding it down into his gullet.
"Good."
His head was laid back down.
He opened his eyes, but they wouldn't work on their own. They seemed to swivel this way and that, and when he tried to focus them, they slid off independently. Finally, he gave up trying to control them, and they reached a kind of stasis on their own. Suddenly they did focus, directly overhead, and he saw burning bright pinpoints of light, stars that seemed to burn through the night.
"You're going to dream, Lieutenant Mullin," the faraway voice said. "You're going to dream like my people have dreamed for a thousand years."
The voice was soothing, not menacing at all.
Again he felt his head lifted, felt something cradled beneath his neck. His bedroll? He was flat on the ground now, his head supported so that he could see in front of him.
Sherlock Holmes.
That was it. He felt like Sherlock Holmes, after the famous detective had taken cocaine. Was this what cocaine felt like? He didn't know. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, though, he knew that he must stay alert, must analyze. Was that why Sherlock Homes took cocaine, to analyze?
No, it was because of ennui, because his mind was not being challenged.
Was Thomas's mind being challenged? Yes, it was. He had come up here to solve a mystery.
"Adams.. ." he said, his own voice sounding very far away, as at the far end of a tunnel. "Don't speak. Listen. Watch."
Suddenly his mind went flat. "Yes ..
In front of him, on the crested plain of Kitt Peak, he saw the feathered figure of a human being, outlined by night, rocks, and stars. The figure began to dance, and sing.
"Many suns ago, our forefathers soared like the birds," the figure said, and suddenly Thomas was transported, through the singing and dancing, to another world. He saw a proud people on a desert plain, dancing under the sun in the wide shadow of a sacred mountain; they wore feathered headdresses and on their hands and feet were the claws of eagles. And these dancers now rose up off the ground, spreading their wings wide, and flew up into the very air, and began to soar. They became one with the clouds, making rings around the sacred mountain, and then up to the sun
The figure before Thomas danced and sang, and Thomas saw the proud people, the Tohono O'otam, fall back to earth. Some of them died, and others were stripped of their wings and talons as they stuck the earth. They were left naked, and ran from the sun, hiding in the cracks and caves of the mountains, sneaking out to plant beans before the sun rose high
The winged figure danced before Thomas, the song becoming choked with sadness. Other tribes swooped down upon the Tohono O'otam, and ravaged them, and stole their goods. Then a blue-suited swarm of white men came, and herded them like cattle, pushing them up against the sacred mountain until they were pressed tight into its cracks and fissures. And soon, very soon, they began to grow old and die. . . .
"I hated my father for what he was," the voice said, becoming suddenly very close and loud. Thomas saw the beaked mask of the eagle close by his own face. "Growing up, I lived with the people the white men called the Papagos, the bean people, and I saw what it had done to them. What it had done to my mother. I saw both worlds, and I liked the world of the Tohono O'otam better, even though the other squaws called me half-breed.
; "It was a world of dreams, of the past, but these were people of God. They came from the earth, and the sky, and they were destroyed when their dream world was destroyed. I wanted to bring that dream world back to them."
The masked face was very close. In Thomas's mind, it filled the whole of the earth, stretching from horizon to horizon, from earth to the stars.
"Do you understand what I'm saying, Lieutenant Mullin? I think you do. I hated my father, yet I loved him. He spoke very highly of you, and I think you know what I'm talking about. The Tohono O'otam will be a great tribe again. They will fly with the eagles again. I think you know what it's like to be an outsider, to want to soar, but be tied to the earth by the white man. The white man doesn't matter, the Apache doesn't matter. After what happens tomorrow, the foolish Apache will be hunted from the earth. The white men will never let Lone Wolf get away with what he will do. In Lone Wolfs mind he is a great chief, but he is only foolish. When he is gone, this land will be free for my people again, and we will return to the land of dreams."
"You're . . . mad," Thomas heard himself saying, from a great distance away. "You killed those young women out of revenge for how they treated you when you were young. The arsenic has made you . . . mad."
"You're wrong," the masked face said. "The arsenic has made me powerful. It made me see who I am. Do you know where I read about it? In the white man's school. I found it in a book. The Arsenic Eaters in the mountains of Austria have taken it for centuries, and it has made them strong."
"You're . . . insane. . . ."
The huge masked face pulled back a little. Again Thomas felt his mouth being opened, something forced in, followed by the wetness of water from his canteen. The masked face pulled all the way back.
"Dream your own dreams, Thomas Mullin," the eagle said. "I have given you only peyote. I will return with something for you to see, before you must die."
The eagle raised its wings; Thomas closed his eyes, and when he opened them the eagle was gone.
And Thomas dreamed. He saw many things in his dream. In it, he was Sherlock Holmes, in deerstalker cap, pacing through a room that looked like both his aunt's house in Boston and 221B Baker Street. A pile of magazines lay on a table; when he approached, he saw that they were Strand magazines, with his own face on the cover, holding a magnifying glass. A banner across the top of the magazine read, "New Thomas Mullin mystery inside!" On the mantle of the fireplace was a Persian slipper holding tobacco; he filled his calabash pipe and lit it. His violin lay cradled on his favorite chair. He picked it up, put it under his chin, and began to play. . . .
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