Novel 1987 - The Haunted Mesa (v5.0) (40 page)

He began slowly to turn over in his mind, as he prowled among the ruins, just what he knew or thought he knew. Mentally he drew a map, starting with the window in the kiva where there was an opening—an “always” opening, it was said. Possibly two miles west was the opening through which he had come with Kawasi, an opening also used by Tazzoc. The Saqua had disappeared at No Man's Mesa across the river and about equidistant from the kiva or Tazzoc's opening. This seemed to be the focal point, if such there was, of the anomalous area. It was too dark to make a search, even if he had had more to work with. Disappointed, he returned to the fire and got out his old canvas map. It had been copied from the map on gold, yet there were differences, added by the old man himself.

The one thing that disturbed him was the unexplained red cross marked on the map.

Obviously important, yet he could not at the moment recall anything the old man had said about it. For that matter, he had never explained the map itself.

“Johnny? You've prowled around this country. What do you make of that?”

After a quick glance around, Johnny leaned over his shoulder. “Ain't far from here, not as far as a body might figure,” he muttered. “Can't say I've ever been yonder.” He stepped back and looked around at the sky-lined ridges. “Used to have a time with cows,” he said. “Come winter-time, they'd try to find a place out of the wind. With snow all over everything they'd sometimes half-slide down into some canyon, and come summer, with the snow gone, they couldn't get out.

“I've found beef cattle ten, twelve year old that never seen a man, seemed like. Holed up in those canyons with no way out. If lucky they got into one where, come spring, there'd be grass as well as water.

“Left to theirselves, cows can wander a far piece, an' that's how come I found the Hole. I was huntin' strays and here an' yonder I'd rounded up a good many. I rode up to the north end of the Hole and seen all that green. I just knowed cows would find a way down. When I rode back to the outfit I told them what I'd found an' they laughed at me.

“‘Trees, grass, an' water? You're havin' a pipe dream, Johnny.' That's what they said. We boys was always yarnin', o' course, so's there was some reason for them to be doubtful.”

He took another long look at the map. He put a finger on a spot near the red cross. “Now that there. Looks like somethin'—”

“What I can't understand is that we were told the opening was controlled. That it wasn't safe, yet when Chief—that's my dog—when he went through, he seemed to be running off into the distance, barking after something. So how could it be so controlled?”

“The Hand has ways, maybe some electronic contrivance, that lets him know when anybody comes through. Or maybe it's some natural effect they've come to understand. Anyway, he does know.”

They fell silent, studying the canvas map. Erik got up and came over to them. “Sorry I've been so much trouble. I was weak as a cat.”

“Shouldn't wonder,” Johnny said. “Don't give it a thought. When that there Kawasi gets back, we got to make our try.”

Mike Raglan looked away, then back at the map, narrowing his vision in hopes something would take shape that he had not seen. He was frightened, and admitted it to himself. He wanted to get out, and he had promised he would lead them. Vaguely, there seemed to be a trail of sorts to that red cross. Why had the old cowboy put it there? Or had he? Perhaps…

No, it had to have been the cowboy. There was some significance to that cross, nothing else like it on the map.

Where
was
Kawasi?

“This Melisande, Erik? You've actually seen her? Do you know her?”

“I'm in love with her. First time in my life, Mike, if you can picture that. We met and…Well, I don't know what to say. We started to talk. She's the last of them, Mike, the last of that crowd on the steamboat.”

“Erik, the
Iron Mountain
vanished in 1872!”

“Her grandfather was aboard, carrying a lot of trade goods to establish a post in Montana, on the Upper Missouri. When the transfer came, nobody knew what to do, but after a few days he accepted it as something he did not comprehend but must live with. He and six others left the boat. The others were clinging to the one thing they understood, to their one grasp of reality.

“Her grandfather scouted the country, found a little valley watered by springs, built a cabin, and moved in with all that belonged to him. There was another couple with some youngsters who came with them. Her grand-father had a son, who became the father of Melisande. Simple as that. Now she's the only one left and she can't handle the gardening as well as the guarding.

“Her grandfather, when he had time to think, began sorting it out.” Erik paused. “He must have been a remarkable man, with imagination beyond the ordinary. In his youth his father had kept an inn and he had grown up hearing much speculation by intelligent travelers who stopped by.

“One man who stayed for several weeks was a doctor who had formerly had charge of a hospital for the insane, and one man brought to him had been found wandering in the woods by a farmer.

“The man was dressed oddly and seemed to speak no known language, and had been put down as mildly insane. After a few conversations the doctor thought otherwise and began to spend time with the man. Then he discovered the man possessed a remarkable skill at drawing.

“Supplied with materials, the man drew an accurate pen-and-ink sketch of the farm where he had been found. Then he drew a vertical line, and on the other side drew a picture of a totally different world. In that world he drew a figure of a man. He touched that figure with his finger, then himself, indicating the man in the drawing was himself.

“Then he had drawn a second figure of himself showing him passing through the line, and then a third picture showing him standing where he was found by the farmer.

“It was obviously an attempt by the man to explain what had happened, but others ridiculed the whole idea. However, nobody objected when the doctor had the man placed in his custody. He then learned English, adapted himself to life in his new country, patented a few minor inventions (or were they memories?) and settled easily into the life.

“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

M
IKE 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!”