Novel 1987 - The Haunted Mesa (v5.0) (8 page)

“You may believe I'm nuts but I think we're walking on the thin edge of something. I wouldn't want a lot of people down there, disturbing things. If you decide to go down there, take somebody who can keep his mouth shut and somebody who knows this country.”

Gallagher sat back and stared at Mike. Then he half-turned. “Marie? Bring me a cheeseburger. On rye. And bring us some more coffee.”

He glanced out of the window, following Raglan's eyes. “You expecting somebody?”

“Yes, and no. Nor was I last night when that man came into my condo. I am watching for a white van.”

“There's been one around. I've seen one twice in the past couple of days.” Gallagher glanced back. “What made Hokart decide to build down there? Of all places?”

“He'd flown over this country going and coming, and fell in love with the beauty of it. He decided he wanted a home atop a mesa, some place where he could sit and think. He planned to build it himself, out of native rock. He was handy with tools, and he was in no hurry.”

“That's the last place in the world I'd choose.”

Their eyes were on Gallagher, waiting. “Used to be some Paiutes lived down there. All gone now. Nobody seems to know where. There were a couple of mining ventures, too, but they didn't last long.” He looked directly at Raglan. “Kind of creepy, they said.”

Gallagher nursed his cup in both hands. He was studying Raglan. “I'm beginning to place you now. You're a writer, you say. Are you the Raglan who debunks mysteries? Haunted houses and the like?”

“Yes, but let's just say that I investigate mysteries. I'm not debunking anything, really. Just looking for the truth.”

“That why Hokart got you out here?”

“Yes.”

“I guess you've seen a lot of odd things. I heard about you being in Haiti, Tibet, and down there in the jungle country of Peru.”

“I've been around, and yes, I've seen some strange things, and I've a hunch, Gallagher, that you know something of what we're up against.”

The man did not reply for several minutes. “No,” he said slowly, “I don't. That country down there isn't in my bailiwick and I stay out of it. Most of us do, and that goes for the Indians, too. They don't like it much.”

His cheeseburger came, and when he had taken a bite, chewed, and swallowed, he looked at Raglan again. “But that man you were talking about was no ghost. And that fire—”

“Kawasi said one of the men threw some discs and when they broke, there was flame.”

Gallagher looked over at her. “How big were the discs?”

She indicated the top of his coffee cup. “That big, maybe a little larger.”

“Gallagher, at the risk of you thinking me crazy, I want to leave a thought with you. The Hopis say, and apparently the Anasazi believed it, that this is the Fourth World.”

“Everybody around here knows that story.”

“And that they left the Third World because it was evil.”

“That's the story. What's on your mind?”

“Suppose when the drought came, and the warring Indians from the North, that some of them went back into that Third World, where it was evil? Suppose some of them knew how to go back and forth?”

Gallagher did not look at Raglan. He looked out of the window and chewed on his cheeseburger. “You're asking me to believe quite a lot,” he said thoughtfully. “But what about the van?”

“They'd have to have a working base over here. A place to keep the van and whatever else they need. They would want a useful place that wasn't too obvious.”

He was silent again. People were coming into the restaurant and from time to time somebody spoke, glancing curiously at Raglan and Kawasi.

“If I suggested such a thing they'd say I had a screw loose. Not that a lot of people around here don't believe in Navajo witchcraft.” Gallagher glanced at Raglan again. “What about you? Are you going to be around?”

“Hokart has disappeared. I am going to look for him. I may get my tail in a crack.”

“You're likely to, if what you say is true. I'll see if I can locate that van.”

“Gallagher? If you find it you'd better have a man or two as a backup. I mean it. They will play for keeps, and if what I'm thinking is right they can escape beyond your jurisdiction.”

Gallagher finished his cheeseburger. “Sometimes my jurisdiction is what I want it to be.”

He looked at Kawasi. “Where will you be?”

“With me,” Mike said, “when it's possible. Tonight she will be in the motel next door. If your people could keep an eye on it…”

“We can and we will. I've got some good boys here.” He touched the napkin to his mouth. “That Third World now…?”

“I may have to go there.”

Gallagher took a long look at Raglan. “You really believe all this? I mean—well, I've talked to the Indians, and once in a while one of them, when he's alone and not with any of the others, he'll come up with some mighty strange tales. But still…” He shook his head.

“At this moment Gallagher, I've no other way to go. I have some evidence which I cannot share with you now. It does not belong to me. I believe it is either solid evidence or an example of a weird kind of insanity. In any case, you had a restaurant destroyed in a flash fire. That's evidence. Erik Hokart has vanished, and that's a fact. We may find him and we may not.

“Erik had some weird experiences. He has told me of them. He has met at least one very beautiful woman from the Other Side—”

“Are you kidding?”

“I am serious. And a warning, Officer. If you meet her, leave her alone or you will die.”

“She is a Poison Woman,” Kawasi said. “I believe there are six now.”

“A Poison Woman?”

“The story seems to be that such women are impregnated with poison to which they are immune, but which will kill any man who touches them. Sexually, I mean. I've heard such stories in the Middle East and India.”

“Kind of takes the fun out of things, doesn't it?” Gallagher glanced at Kawasi. “Do you believe that?”

“I do.”

He shook his head. “Well, you've got her convinced, anyway.”

“I told him,” Kawasi said. “I warned him as I warn you. She belongs to The Hand.”

“The ‘Hand'?”

“He who rules is called The Hand.”

Gallagher stared at her. “I don't know what to believe. I started out buying part of this, anyway, but now…well, I don't know.”

“It is true,” Kawasi said.

“You believe in this Third World?” Gallagher asked skeptically. “You really believe in it?”

She was very cool, and very beautiful. “I believe in it. I have to believe in it. I have lived there all my life until now.”

Chapter 9

G
ALLAGHER STARED AT her for a moment. Then his attention shifted to Raglan. “I'd better deal with something I'm fitted for.

“That man, now? The one who came into your condo? You got anything more than his height and weight? And that he was a ‘professional'—whatever that means?”

“You're a professional, Gallagher, in your way. He was a professional, too. As to description: He had a scar, maybe two inches long, on his right jawbone. His ears were flat and close-set, not much in the way of lobes. His hairline was low—if it wasn't a hairpiece, and I doubt it was. His skin color was a little darker than Kawasi's and his eyes were smaller—a strong-boned, rather hard face, fleshy over the cheekbones.”

“You're pretty good,” Gallagher said. He made some notes, then glanced up at Raglan. “If you figure on going out to that mesa where Hokart was building, be careful. When you turn off the highway you'll be on your own.”

He turned to Kawasi. “I'm not buyin' what you say, meaning no disrespect. It's pretty far-out, you've got to admit that, but let's suppose what you say is true. What's it like over there?”

“Like here, but different. The sun is…is not the same. It is like sun shining through mist. There are many green fields, many meadows, all watered by ditches.”

Gallagher got up. “You going down there? To where Hokart was building?”

“I think so.”

“Where else?”

“I'll be there, here, at Tamarron, or en route, but I'm not looking for trouble. I do want to find him and get him out of any trouble he might be in.”

“Be careful.” Gallagher started away. “Poison Woman? Boy, that's a new one!”

“Very old, actually. The story was that if a king wanted to get rid of a rival he just made him a present of such a girl. After that, no trouble.”

Gallagher shrugged. “Well, if you got to go…”

When he was gone, Kawasi looked at Mike. “Who he is?”

“The law. He's an officer. Investigates crimes, things like the fire. Don't underrate him. I think he's a very smart, very cagey young man.”

“He is good?”

“I think so. And capable.”

“He did not believe me.”

Raglan waved his hand around. “None of them would, not entirely. Don't tell anybody anything. They would think you lied. Just tell them your folks used to live around here, that you are part Indian.”

“I am all what you call ‘Indian,' I think.”

They were silent, and Mike Raglan watched the street. If “they” had gone so far as to come into his condo in the night and to set fire to the café to destroy Erik and Kawasi, they would not hesitate to eliminate him. Dared he take her with him? But where could he leave her? The police had other duties, but this was a small town and they would not miss very much, if anything.

“I must go back to the mesa. I must be sure Erik is not there.”

“I go with you.”

“This cowboy you know? The old man?”

“Johnny?”

“How did he get over to…to the ‘Other Side'? The kiva was not open then?”

“There are sometime ways. It is a thing…I do not understand. Sometimes open, sometimes closed. It has no what you call…pattern? He tell me he chasing wild cow. What he speaks is ‘maverick.' It run away, he chase it, go ver' fast down hillside with his rope swinging. The cow disappear, and then he charge after.…He is on Other Side. It just happen, and he cannot find the way back. Maybe it is closed. I do not know. He does not know. He never find way back.”

“What happened then?”

“They know someone come. They come look. He hide. They no find.” She raised her eyes to Raglan's. “The land much wild where he is. Wild cow, sometime wild horse. He was young cowboy then. He old cowboy now. They never find him to live.”

“He killed some of them?”

“I think maybe. He does not say, but I hear talk that men look for him, men die. Now nobody look. He has been there long time and nothing happen bad for them, so they no longer care. I think.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Oh, yes! He friendly to us. He
is
friendly to us.”

They were silent again and he considered the situation. He had an idea that Gallagher was doing the logical thing. He would be looking for the white van. It was the one bit of hard evidence he had, and it was something tangible that Gallagher himself had seen.

Certainly, if “they” were to operate on this side they must have a base, a place to sleep, to keep the van when it was not in use—a place not too far from their way back, if they had to go back.

He was dealing with something of which he knew nothing at all, nor did he know with whom he was dealing. For all he knew, some of them had been living under cover on this side for years. There might even be one of them in this very restaurant. It would be a logical listening post. If they had a base on this side it might have been established many years ago. He would have to be very, very careful.

Where did they get the van, for example? And it must have a license. The driver must have a driver's license. That implied a connection.

Did they have more than one vehicle?

“Kawasi? Would you recognize one of the people from the Other Side if you saw one? I mean, there may be many over here.”

“I think…maybe. I do not be sure. I think sometimes I know.”

He got up. “Let's go.” At the cash register he paid his check, and she watched carefully.

Outside the restaurant he stopped, looking around. The street was empty. A pickup drove by, with two Navajos in front. He crossed the street to his car, glancing back as he opened the door. Nobody seemed to pay any attention.

Most of these people were Mormons and they knew each other. That might help Gallagher.

He drove to the nearest gas station and filled his tank. Thoughtfully, he watched the filling-station attendant. Another good place for a listening post; but the boy was paying no attention.

As they turned into the road, Raglan saw a car parked alongside the highway a good mile ahead. It was Gallagher's car. As he neared it a hand reached out, flagging him down.

Gallagher was alone. “You got a gun?”

Raglan hesitated briefly. “Yes. I always carry one when I go into the mountains.”

“Keep it handy.”

Raglan mentioned his speculation about the possibilities of a longstanding base, and Gallagher nodded. “I been thinking the same thing. Been running people through my mind, wondering who and where.”

He sat silent, staring down the road. Then he glanced over at Raglan. “Kinda spooky,” he said. “I can't deal with it. Not yet, anyway.” He paused again. “I've been reading an article about you.” He held up the magazine. “You're used to this sort of thing.”

“You never get used to it,” Raglan said. “The frauds are easy. Almost any halfway decent magician can beat them at their own game. Most of the tricks they use were old-hat fifty years ago. People believe because they wish to believe and they don't want the frauds exposed.

“If someone expects miracles they will see miracles.”