The Night Visitor (32 page)

And prayed he wouldn't have to use it.

And that if he did, he could hit what he aimed at.

He reviewed the few facts at hand. Daniel had thought he saw someone run across the pasture, and into the tent. So whoever it was should still be in here. But when Moon had identified himself, there had been no answer. There had to be a reason. Might be that the fellow didn't want to be bothered by an officer of the law. Furthermore, he might be armed… and nervous. Not a reassuring thought. There was another possibility. Maybe there was nobody hiding inside the tent. Maybe Daniel Bignight had imagined the whole thing.
My own fault for spooking him with the banshee story.
The policeman got to his feet. He held his left hand as far away from his body as possible, and flicked on the flashlight. The narrow beam stabbed a long white dagger into the belly of the darkness.

Three things happened simultaneously.

Another beam of light stabbed right back at him.

The silhouette of another man appeared directly in front of Moon. The apparition had a flashlight in one hand. A revolver in the other.

Moon's finger tightened on the trigger.

A split second before he fired, the meaning of this apparition became all too apparent. The image of this adversary was a familiar one. He'd seen his own reflection. Ugly brute. Enough to scare a fellow half to death. The Ute policeman grinned sheepishly at the tripod-mounted aluminum reflector and lowered the barrel of his weapon. “Damn near took a potshot at myself,” he muttered. That would have given Daniel Bignight something to snicker about.

Moon swept the beam over the paleontologist's musty inner sanctum. He could see three stout tent posts. Jimson Beugmann's wheelbarrow. The card table, one broken leg bandaged with duct tape. The beam glanced at an oblique angle off another of the tripod-mounted reflectors. A dusty camera case. A roll of yellow nylon rope. The motor-driven sifter. Three very neat piles of gray sand.

But no human being.

On the farthest post, closest to the entrance, there was an electric light switch.

He began to move toward the switch. He was passing the deepest part of the excavation when he saw the man. Instinctively, Moon raised the barrel of the .357.

The face was Nathan McFain's. Staring back at the policeman through goggled eyes, one gnarled hand reaching out… grasping at nothingness. He looked like… What was the old expression? Like somebody who'd seen a ghost. His blue-lipped mouth was gaped open in a silent scream.

But Nathan was deathly quiet now.

Moon holstered the heavy revolver.

Daniel Bignight—as wide awake as he'd been in his entire life—paced nervously on the bluff. When the small radio crackled in his hand, he jumped.

Moon's voice was deadly calm. “Daniel?”

“Yeah, Charlie?”

“Put a call in to the station. Tell the dispatcher to send the state police to the McFain ranch, then contact the Archuleta County sheriff's office.” The sheriff wouldn't be overjoyed, being pried out of his warm bed on a cold morning. But police business is often brisk in the small hours. “After you make the calls, come on down here and keep an eye on the ent.”

“Charlie—what's going on?”

“It's Nathan McFain. He's… had an accident.”

“I'll call in an ambulance from Pagosa.”

“Don't bother. He won't need the paramedics.”

“Oh.” That was clear enough. “How'd it happen, Charlie?”

There was a long pause. “Daniel, this thing isn't in Southern Ute jurisdiction. We'll leave it to the state cops. And the county sheriff.”

Bignight understood. This wasn't SUPD business. So it wasn't any of
his
business. “But it's an accident?”

“Right.” Charlie Moon had studied the rancher's footprints. And he'd found McFain's cigarette lighter near one of the tripod-mounted reflectors. Looked like Nathan had thumbed
his lighter, seen his face in the polished aluminum sheet. Must've been startled… and took a couple of steps backward.

And tumbled into the excavation pit.

Like a man who had aged decades in one night, Charlie Moon walked ever so slowly across the pasture. Toward the unfinished stock pond… the barn… the McFain ranch house. It was all uphill. But every painful step must be taken. Someone had to tell Vanessa McFain that her father was dead.

It was understandable that the policeman was in no great hurry to perform this melancholy duty. Indeed, Moon should have been pleased to be delayed… to be hailed down by the outstretched hand.

He was not.

Vanessa had made up her mind. She'd go outside and look for him. The young woman was reaching for the doorknob when she was startled by the heavy knock. Daddy must be back from his night wanderings—but why would he knock on his own door? It wasn't locked. She flung the front door open.

The man on the porch was Charlie Moon.

The Ute policeman stood there, twisting the broad-brimmed black hat in his hands. Not looking directly at her.

Vanessa tried to think of something clever to say. “I'm always glad to see you, Charlie. But you could give a girl some warning before you come calling …” She noticed that someone else was standing two paces behind Charlie Moon. A woman. It was the archaeologist, Delia Silver.

“It's late,” Moon said in a monotone. “I figured you'd be in bed …” Vanessa was wearing a long woolen overcoat.

“I woke up when Daddy went outside. I was just going to check on him when I heard your knock.”

“Why'd he go outside in the middle of the night?”

She shrugged. “To check the stock, I guess. Last Sunday, he found some cougar tracks by the barn. I've been up waiting for him.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “What brings you by at such an ungodly hour?”

The Ute policeman opened his mouth. Tried to say the words.

“Charlie,” she said in an urgent whisper, “what is it?” “It's… your father.”

She backed away. “Oh God, Charlie… don't just stand there… tell me what's happened!”

His throat felt like sandpaper. “I'm sorry, Vanessa. Nathan's had an accident.”

Her hand went to her mouth. “Accident… Is he hurt bad?”

Moon couldn't find his voice. But his face spoke for him.

“Oh my God. He's… he's dead?”

He nodded.

She stood there, staring blankly at this pair of intruders. Absurd thoughts buzzed through her head.
I
must be asleep… this is an awful nightmare. I'll wake up in a moment. It'll all go away …

Moon took her hand in his.

But Charlie Moon is so warm… and solid. So this is real. Daddy is dead. Laying out there somewhere. But how did this Ute policeman know about it so quickly?
“Charlie… where is he?”

He ground his teeth. No way was he going to tell her. There were some things that weren't fit for a woman to see. Or a man, for that matter.

“Vanessa… the state police should be here in a little while. I'll have to… ahh… help them some. Delia will stay with you.”

How strange. Charlie and Delia were moving away so rapidly… she saw them receding at the end of a long tunnel. And felt her legs going limp, buckling at the knees.

As Vanessa fell, Moon scooped her up in his arms. And carried her up the stairs to the warm, pink bedroom.

Moses Silver—who occupied the cabin next door to his daughter's—had heard the voices when Charlie Moon came for Delia. He'd gone outside to see what was amiss, and heard enough to understand that Nathan McFain was in the excavation tent. Moses wasn't sure whether the rancher was dead or seriously injured. The Ute policeman had given the elderly paleontologist strict orders to stay away from the excavation,
at least until the state cops or the county sheriff showed up.

As soon as Moon had left with Delia, Moses banged on two more cabin doors. Robert Newton and Cordell York must be told. The three scientists conferred upon the issue, and all were agreed. There was only one thing to do. They headed for the excavation site.

Daniel Bignight, who had his orders from Charlie Moon, refused to allow the scientists inside the tent.

Cordell York glared at the amiable policeman. “Officer, there is an injured man in there. And I am a physician.”

Bignight glanced toward the tent door. “He ain't just injured. I think he's kinda… well… dead.”

York's tone was acidic. “You
think?
Have you examined the victim for a pulse?”

“No, I ain't even seen him, but Charlie Moon told me …”

The physician recalled rumors about the boundary dispute. “Tell me—do you Indian police have jurisdiction on this property?”

“Well, no, but …”

“Then stand aside, young man. I must determine whether the victim requires medical intervention. If you prevent us from entering the tent, you may very well have a man's death on your conscience.”

Bignight was wavering. Charlie
had
said McFain was dead, hadn't he? Well, in a way he had. In so many words …

York played his hole card. “I feel compelled to warn you—should the victim die because you have denied him medical attention, there are legal ramifications. Both criminal and civil.”

The police officer felt a cold knot tighten in his gut. “Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt none to have a doctor take a quick look at 'im.” Bignight eyed the pair of paleontologists. “But who are these guys?”

York nodded to indicate his companions. “Dr. Silver and Dr. Newton are my… uh… assistants.”

“One does feel honored,” Newton whispered sarcastically to Moses Silver, who snorted.

With some misgivings, Bignight finally relented. While the
SUPD officer kept his post, the scientists entered the tent. Turned on the lights. And approached the excavation with all the eager curiosity of children.

There he was, Nathan McFain. That curmudgeonly old man who had given them so much trouble. In the main trench. Spread-eagle on his back. His plaid shirt stained with a great blackish smear of coagulated blood, sightless eyes gaping, bewhiskered mouth wide open. Like a man who had suffered an astonishing, final surprise.

The broken-off mastodon tusk protruded neatly through the center of his chest.

“Rather a lurid scene,” Dr. York observed.

“Ghastly,” Moses Silver agreed.

Robert Newton nodded grimly. “One is shocked quite beyond words.”

Moses shook his head. “This is a terrible, terrible calamity.”

Dr. York squatted, and cocked his head thoughtfully. “Looks bad, certainly. But hardly what I'd call a
calamity.”

“How can you be so glib?” Moses shot back. “This is just awful.”

The surgeon's tone had a calmness bordering on arrogance. “My esteemed colleague, you are overreacting. The injury is not all that serious. With proper attention, he can be mended good as new.”

Professor Newton was speechless.

Moses Silver was wide-eyed with astonishment. “Surely you don't mean… not even you could …”

“Certainly. I can and shall.” The surgeon squatted and pointed. “Look there… you see? Repair will be straightforward. We'll have the old fellow back to normal in no time.”

His elderly comrades also squatted. And craned their necks to see better.

“Ahh,” Moses Silver said with frank admiration, “you're right, by gum.” Yes indeed. The mammoth tusk
had
fractured quite cleanly. A little cement, and it'd be right as rain.

Robert Newton breathed a grateful sigh. “Oh yes. Well, then… one is quite relieved.”

The investigation, headed by the Archuleta County sheriff's office, was thorough and competent. Every soul on the ranch was questioned. Moon and Bignight were significant witnesses, and told what they knew about the rancher's unfortunate demise.

Most of what they knew.

Daniel Bignight didn't see any compelling reason to mention the awful shriek of the “bant-shee” calling his name.

What were they doing in the neighborhood?

Moon's explanation that they just happened to be patrolling the reservation boundary at 3
A.M
. didn't sit too well with the Archuleta County sheriff, but the Ute policeman stuck to his story.

The state police provided valuable technical assistance. The verdict was never in doubt. Death by accidental cause.

Three days later, after the coroner was finished with it, McFain's body was released to the family.

Moon pulled the SUPD Blazer in front of the small cabin called Calamity Jane. Moses Silver, dressed in an ill-fitting black suit, was standing near the Land Rover. Waiting for his daughter, the policeman assumed. The paleontologist gave the freshly washed patrol car a brief look, the Ute policeman a polite nod.

Cordell York and Robert Newton were thirty yards away at another cabin, leaning against the physician's rented Lincoln.

Moon turned at the sound of an engine cranking. He watched Vanessa McFain turn the Chevy van and head up the tail of Buffalo Saddle Ridge, trailing twin billows of bone-dry yellow dust.