按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
he had this dream； sometimes when he was overtired and depressed； it would awaken him and he would sit on the side of his bed and smoke a cigarette； and sometimes two or three。
A whippoorwill sounded its whistling call far down the canyon and was answered by an echo。 And then it was eerily silent。
Directly overhead McKee picked out the stars of the Pleiades…six in two parallel rows and the seventh trailing to close the double line。 From these； McKee remembered； the seven Hard Flint Boys of the Navajo myth had descended to follow Monster Slayer on his heroic odyssey among the evil things。 And to spread their own mischief among the Dinee。 And to receive ceremonial offerings of cornmeal every spring from a thousand sheepherders in a thousand little sacred shrines on a thousand mesas and mountains across the Reservation。 McKee located two stars； each surrounded by the hazy light of a nebula； which represented the Hard Flint Woman and a contestant in the Bounding Stick Game。 He couldn't dredge up the name of the other Holy Person but he vaguely remembered that in the myth there was an argument over the oute and a solution based on the trickery so inevitable in both Greek and Navajo myth。 Far up the west rim of the canyon； a coyote yipped twice； and then poured out its soul in a full…throated bay。 The sound seemed to float down from the stars； the voice of some primeval hound drifting infinite sorrow across the sky。
It might be my coyote； McKee thought； the one that got into Yazzie's ram pen。 He would go back tomorrow to find out how； if his guide duties with Miss Leon allowed。 He shifted his weight on the packed sand and felt suddenly less sure that he would find any way a coyote could have invaded that tight little enclosure。 In this silent darkness mystery seemed suddenly natural； almost rational。 Down the canyon the whippoorwill called again and then there was the odd； rasping cry of a saw…whet owl； sounding； McKee thought； like an ogre filing off his chains。 He reached for his cigarette pack； decided against it； and thought again of the note Canfield had left； and why Jeremy Robert Canfield； whose first name was part of a private anthropology faculty joke； would sign 〃John〃 to this note。 He drifted uneasily on the margin of sleep。
The sound jerked him abruptly up from the blankets； wide awake； staring across the canyon。 It had been the clatter of a falling pebble； bouncing down the eroded cliff and dislodging a small shower of other pebbles。 The residue of faint echoes lingered a second in the stillness and then faded。 McKee sat stock…still； listening； feeling the tenseness of muscle fiber flooded with adrenalin and the taste of primitive fear in his mouth。 He slid his legs out of the bedroll and slipped them into his trousers； put on his boots； picked up his shirt； and stood。 The moon had risen halfway up the sky and the west wall of the canyon was flooded now with pale light。 McKee stood in a rigid crouch； listening； studying the worn outcroppings of sandstone from which the sound had e。 There was nothing but the silence。 A sinister shape half hidden by juniper at the foot of the outcrop became； as McKee's eyes better adjusted to the half light； an oddly eroded boulder。 McKee relaxed slightly； feeling the panic leaving him。 It could have been an animal。 And； as he thought this； it seemed ridiculous to think it could be anything but an animal…perhaps a night…prowling porcupine。 He stood there； feeling suddenly slightly weak and very foolish。 But still there was something primitive within his mind signaling danger and urging caution。 Five black rams with bloody throats and the wrong name signed to a simple note。 A burrowing owl glided slowly down the moonlit side of the canyon floor； scouting for night…feeding kangaroo rats。 It swerved suddenly away from the outcrop； flapped its wings wildly； and disappeared in the darkness down canyon from McKee。 And； as it disappeared； his fear returned。 Something had startled the owl。 It would not have been frightened by anything small。
He moved cautiously away from the bedroll； farther back into the darkness up the talus slope toward the east cliff； taking each step carefully； climbing slowly over the smaller boulders； carefully skirting the larger ones。 In a pocket of water…cut rock directly under the overhanging cliff he stopped and turned back to look behind him； surprised that he was panting from the brief exertion and fighting to keep his breathing silent。
The light of the climbing moon had moved halfway across the canyon floor。 Nothing stirred。 The canyon was a crevice of immense； motionless； brooding quiet。 McKee studied the outcropping carefully； shifted his eyes slowly down canyon； examining every shape under the flat； yellow light； and then examining every shadow。 He felt the rough surface of the rock cutting into his knees and started to shift his weight； but again there was the primal urging to caution。 It was then he caught the motion。
Something in the black shadow behind the outcrop had moved slightly。 McKee stared until his eyes burned； rubbed them； and then stared again。 And he saw the dog's head。 It inched slowly out of the shadow into the moonlight。 First a muzzle and then the head； its ears upright and…McKee strained his eyes until he was sure…its mouth hanging unnaturally open。 The head remained there； motionless。 McKee stared； every muscle rigid。 The dog's head seemed unnaturally high…unless； McKee thought； it was standing on some sort of ledge behind the outcropping。 And then there was motion again。
The dog became a man。 A large man with the skin of a wolf over his shoulders； its empty skull atop his own head。 He moved across a patch of moonlight and disappeared behind a growth of bushes at a foot of the west cliff talus。 When the shape reappeared a moment later； McKee thought for a split second that his eyes had been deceiving him…that it actually was a wolf。 But it was a man； running in a crouch across the damp sand of the canyon bottom； running with silent swiftness directly toward McKee's tent。 The man held something in his right hand； something perhaps a foot long； metal which reflected the moonlight。 It was a long…barreled pistol； with an ammunition clip jutting down in front of the trigger。 A machine pistol。
The shape disappeared again； out of sight behind the talus slope on McKee's side of the canyon。 McKee bent and felt around his feet for a rock； selected one about the size of a softball。 When he raised his head； the figure was back in view…in the shadow but silhouetted now against the moonlit cliff。 McKee gripped the stone and watched。 The panic was gone now； replaced by a kind of grim anger。 The figure was at the tent； standing motionless。 Listening； McKee thought。 Listening and not hearing a damned thing and wondering about it。 Then the shape was gone； out of sight behind the tent。 McKee had almost decided the man had somehow slipped away when he saw him again； by the bedrolls now； but brush and boulders obscured the area and he couldn't see what the man was doing。 He studied the cliff wall on both sides of his pocket。 He could climb out of this sheltered place by working his way past a huge block of sandstone just beside him。 He could probably make his way down canyon without being in view from the camp。
But if he es this way； McKee thought； this might be the best place to face him。 I could probably knock him down with my rock before he saw me。 Unless he has a flashlight as well as the gun。 Then there wouldn't be much chance。
And； while he thought this； the utter irrationality of it all occurred to him。 It was unreal。 Like some crazy childhood nightmare。
But the man was there； real enough； back by the tent now and no longer seeming to make any effort at concealment。 He raised the hood of McKee's truck and McKee had a sudden wild hope that he would start it； climb in； and race away； nothing more than a thief。 Instead； he closed the hood and walked back and into the tent。 A moment later a spot of light showed through the canvas。 The flashlight beam shifted； held steady； shifted again； and then stopped。 He's looking through my papers； McKee thought。 He wondered what the man would make of his notes on the witchcraft interviews。 And he had a sudden impulse to walk into the tent； confront the man； and demand to know what the devil he was doing。 Then the light snapped off and the man appeared again in front of the tent； staring almost directly toward McKee's hiding place。 McKee felt the impulse die。
〃Doctor McKee？〃
The man called in an even； sonorous voice； not much above a conversational tone。 But in the stillness the sound seemed obscenely loud。 And the canyon walls said 〃Kee…Kee…Kee〃 in a receding echo of his name。
〃Bergen McKee；〃 the voice repeated。 〃I need to。。。〃 The echoes drowned the rest of it。 〃I need to talk to you about Doctor Canfield；〃 the voice said。 And the man stood silent until the echoes died again。 Who is he？ McKee wondered。 The Navajo bitten by the snake？ Or was this man a Navajo？ He couldn't tell anything from the voice。 There was no trace of accent。 But then educated Navajos rarely had accents； except for sometimes dropping the 〃th〃 sound。
The man stood silent a long moment； staring up； and then down； th