thillerman.theblessingway-第2节

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he　Enemy　Dead；　but　close　enough　so　the　Blue　Policeman　wouldn't　think　to　look。
　Horseman　felt　his　knife　in　his　pocket　pressing　painfully　against　his　hip。　He　shifted　his　weight；　took　it　out；　opened　the　long　blade　and　laid　it　across　his　chest。　Soon　the　moon　rose　over　the　plateau；　and　lit　the　figure　of　a　thin　young　man　sleeping；　barefoot；　on　a　hump　of　drifted　sand。
　Horseman　was　at　the　seep　a　little　after　daylight。　He　drank　thirstily　from　the　pool　under　the　rock　and　then　cleaned　the　porcupine　stomach　sac　thoroughly　with　sand；　rinsed　it；　knotted　the　tube　to　the　intestine　and　filled　it　with　water。　It　held　about　two　cups。　The　sweat　bath　would　have　to　wait。　He　couldn't　risk　building　the　sweat　house　here。　And；　if　he　built　it　in　the　protection　of　his　camp；　he　had　nothing　large　enough　to　carry　water　to　pour　on　the　rocks　after　he　had　heated　them。　He　erased　his　tracks　thoroughly　with　a　brush　of　rabbit　brush；　and　kept　to　the　rocks　on　the　long　climb　back　to　the　canyon　rim。
　Four　of　his　deadfalls　had　been　sprung　but　he　found　dead　kangaroo　rats　under　only　two　of　the　stones。　Another　yielded　a　wood　mouse；　which　he　threw　away　in　disgust；　and　the　other　was　empty。　He　glumly　reset　the　traps。　Two　rats　were　not　enough。　There　were　frogs　around　the　seep；　but　killing　frogs　would　make　you　a　cripple。　He　would　try　for　the　prairie　dogs。　A　grown　one　would　make　a　meal。
　The　place　Horseman　had　seen　the　prairie…dog　colony　was　about　a　mile　to　the　east。　He　used　thirty　minutes　covering　the　distance；　remembering　the　sound　of　the　truck　motors　and　moving　cautiously。　Maybe　another　of　those　rockets　had　fallen。　He　remembered　the　first　time　that　had　happened。　It　was　the　year　he　was　initiated　and　there　had　been　Army　all　over。　Trucks　and　jeeps　and　helicopters　flying　around　the　valley；　and　they　had　e　around　to　all　the　hogans　and　said　there　would　be　10；000　paid　to　anyone　who　found　it。　But　nobody　ever　did。　Then　they　cut　that　road　up　Tall　Poles　and　built　the　radar　place　and　when　the　next　rocket　fell　a　year　ago　they　had　found　it　in　two　or　three　days。
　He　stopped　by　a　dead　juniper；　broke　off　a　crooked　limb　and　started　whittling　a　throwing　stick。　He　could　sometimes　hit　a　rabbit　with　one；　but　usually　not　prairie　dogs。　They　were　too　careful。　While　he　shaped　the　stick　he　stared　out　across　the　Kam　Bimghi。　Nothing　at　all　was　moving　now；　and　that　probably　meant　it　wasn't　a　rocket　down。　There　would　be　a　lot　going　on　now　if　it　was　that。　Besides；　they　wouldn't　have　been　hunting　a　rocket　at　night。
　He　didn't　have　a　chance　to　use　the　throwing　stick。　The　burrows　of　the　colony　were　bunched　below　a　hummock　of　pi？on　and　one　of　the　rodents　saw　him　long　before　he　was　in　range。　There　was　a　chittering　outburst　of　warning　calls；　and　in　a　second　the　dogs　were　in　their　holes。
　Horseman　put　the　throwing　stick　in　his　hip　pocket　and　broke　a　smaller　limb　from　a　pi？on。　He　sharpened　one　end；　split　the　other。　Back　at　the　prairie…dog　colony；　Horseman　selected　a　hole　which　faced　the　west。　He　stuck　the　stick　in　the　ground　in　front　of　it；　pulled　a　thin　sheet　of　mica　from　his　medicine　pouch；　and　slipped　it　into　the　split。　He　adjusted　the　mica　carefully　so　that　it　reflected　the　light　from　the　rising　sun　down　the　hole。
　Now　he　could　only　wait。　In　time　the　light　would　attract　one　of　the　curious　prairie　dogs。　It　would　e　out　of　its　hole　blinded　by　the　reflected　sun。　And　he　would　be　close　enough　to　use　the　stick。　He　glanced　around　for　a　place　to　stand。　And　then　he　saw　the　Navajo　Wolf。
　He　had　heard　nothing。　But　the　man　was　standing　not　fifty　feet　away；　watching　him　silently。　He　was　a　big　man　with　his　wolf　skin　draped　across　his　shoulders。　The　forepaws　hung　limply　down　the　front　of　his　black　shirt　and　the　empty　skull　of　the　beast　was　pushed　back　on　his　forehead；　its　snout　pointing　upward。
　The　Wolf　looked　at　Horseman。　And　then　he　smiled。
　〃I　won't　tell；〃　Horseman　said。　His　voice　was　loud；　rising　almost　to　a　scream。　And　then　he　turned　and　ran；　ran　frantically　down　the　dry　wash　which　drained　away　from　the　prairie…dog　colony。　And　behind　him　he　heard　the　Wolf　laughing。
　
　Chapter　2
　
　That　night　the　Wind　People　moved　across　the　Reservation。　On　the　Navajo　calendar　it　was　eight　days　from　the　end　of　the　Season　When　the　Thunder　Sleeps；　the　25th　of　May；　a　night　of　a　late　sliver　of　moon。　The　wind　pushed　out　of　a　high…pressure　system　centered　over　the　Nevada　plateau　and　carved　shapes　in　the　winter　snowpack　on　San　Francisco　peaks；　the　Sacred　Mountain　of　Blue　Flint　Woman。　Below；　at　Flagstaff　airport；　it　registered　gusts　up　to　thirty…two　knots…the　dry；　chilled　wind　of　high…country　spring。
　On　the　west　slope　of　the　Lukachukai　Mountains；　the　Wind　People　whined　past　the　boulder　where　Luis　Horseman　was　huddled；　his　body　darkened　by　ashes　to　blind　the　ghosts。　Horseman　was　calm　now。　He　had　thought　and　he　had　made　his　decision。　The　witch　had　not　followed　him。　The　man　in　the　dog　skin　didn't　know　him；　had　no　reason　to　destroy　him。　And　there　was　no　place　else　to　hide。　Soon　Billy　Nez　would　know　he　was　on　this　plateau　and　would　bring　him　food；　and　then　it　would　be　better。　Here　the　Blue　Policeman　could　never　find　him。　Here　he　must　stay　despite　the　Navajo　Wolf。
　Horseman　opened　his　medicine　pouch　and　inspected　the　contents。　Enough　pollen　but　only　a　small　pinch　of　the　gall　medicine　which　was　the　best　proof　against　the　Navajo　Wolves。　He　removed　the　turquoise　bear　and　set　it　on　his　knee。
　〃Horn　of　the　bica；　protect　me；〃　he　chanted。　〃From　the　Darkness　to　Be　One；　protect　me。〃　He　wished；　as　he　wished　many　times　now　that　he　was　older；　that　he　had　listened　when　his　uncle　had　taught　him　how　to　talk　to　the　Holy　People。
　　　
　A　hundred　miles　south　at　Window　Rock；　the　Wind　People　rattled　at　the　windows　of　the　Law　and　Order　Building；　where　Joe　Leaphorn　was　working　his　way　through　a　week's　stack　of　unfinished　case　files。　The　file　folder　bearing　the　name　of　Luis　Horseman　was　third　from　the　bottom　and　it　was　almost　ten　o'clock　when　Leaphorn　reached　it。　He　read　through　it；　leaned　back　in　his　chair；　lit　the　last　cigarette　in　his　pack；　tapped　his　finger　against　the　edge　of　his　desk　and　thought。　I　know　where　Horseman　is。　I'm　sure　I　know。　But　there　is　no　hurry　about　it。　Horseman　will　keep。　And　then　he　listened　to　the　voices　in　the　wind；　and　thought　of　witches；　and　of　Bergen　McKee；　his　friend　who　studied　them。　He　smiled；　remembering；　but　the　smile　faded。　Bergen；　himself；　was　the　victim　of　a　witch…the　woman　who　had　married　him；　and　damaged　him；　and　left　him　to　heal　if　he　could。　And　apparently　he　couldn't。
　He　considered　the　letter　he　had　received　that　week　from　McKee…talking　of　ing　back　to　the　Reservation　to　continue　his　witchcraft　research。　There　had　been　such　letters　before；　but　McKee　hadn't　e。　And　he　won't　e　this　time；　Leap…horn　thought。　Each　year　he　waits　to　pick　up　his　old　life　it　will　be　harder　for　him。　And　maybe　now　it's　already　too　hard。　And；　thinking　that；　Leaphorn　snapped　off　his　desk　lamp　and　sat　a　moment　in　the　dark　listening　to　the　wind。
　At　Albuquerque；　four　hundred　miles　to　the　east；　the　wind　showed　itself　briefly　in　the　apartment　of　Bergen　McKee；　as　it　shook　the　television　transmission　tower　atop　Sandia　Crest　and　sent　a　brief　flicker　across　the　face　of　the　TV　screen　he　wasn't　watching。　He　had　turned　off　the　sound　an　hour　ago；　intending　to　grade　final…examination　papers。　But　the　wind　made　him　nervous。　He　had　mixed　a　shaker　of　martinis　instead；　and　drank　slowly；　making　them　last　until；　finally；　he　could　sleep。
　Tomorrow；　perhaps；　there　would　be　the　answer　to　his　letter；　and　Joe　Leaphorn　would　tell　him　that　it　was　a　good　season　for　witchcraft　gossip；　or　a　poor　season；　or　a　fair　season。　And　maybe；　if　prospects　were　good；　he　would　go　to　the　Reservation　next　week　and　spend　the　summer　pleting　the　case　studies　he　needed　to　finish　the　book　that　no　longer　mattered　to　him。　Or　maybe　he　wouldn't　go。
　He　snapped　on　the　radio　and　stood　by　the　glass　door　opening　on　his　apartment　balcony。　The　wind　had　raveled　away　the　cloud　cover　over　Sandia　Mountain　and　its　dark　outline　bulked　against　the　stars　on　the　eastern　horizon。
　Ten　stories　below；　the　lights　of　the　city　spread　toward　the　foothills；　a　lake　of　phosphorescence　in　an　infinity　of　night。　Behind　him　the　radio　announced　that　tomorrow　would　be　cooler　with　diminishing　winds。　It　then　produced　a　guitar　and　a　young　man　singing　of　trouble。
　〃But；〃　the　singer　promised；　〃life　goes　on。〃
　〃And　years　roll　by；
　And　time　heals　all；
　And　soon　we're　dead；
　We're　peaceful　dead。〃
　The　sentiment　parodied　McKee's　mood　so　perfectly　that　he　laughed。　He　walked　back　to　his　desk…a　bulky；　big…boned；　tired…faced　man　who　looked　at　once　powerful　and　clumsy。　He　shuffled　the　ungraded　exam　papers　together；　dumped　them　into　his　briefcase；　poured　a　final　martini　from　the　shaker；　and　took　it　into　the　bedroom。　He　looked　at　the　certificate　framed　on　the　wall。　It　needed　dusting。　McKee　brushed　the　glass　with　his　handkerchief。
　〃Whereas；〃　the　proclamation　began；　〃it　is　monly　and　universally　known　by　all　students　of　Anthropology　that　Bergen　Leroy　McKee；　B。A。；　M。A。；　Ph。D。；　is　in　truth　and　in　fact　none　other　than　MONSTER　SLAYER；　otherwise　identified　as　the　Hero　Twin　in　the　Navajo　Origin　Myth；
　
　〃And　Whereas　this　fact　is　attested　and　demonstrated　by　unhealthy　obsession　and　preoccupation　of　said　Professor　McK