p&c.thunderhead-第14部分

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itated。　〃I　just　have　to　keep　a　low　profile　for　the　next　day　or　two。　I　can　take　care　of　myself。　Once　I'm　out　of　Santa　Fe；　there　won't　be　any　more　problems。　But；　Skip；　promise　me　you'll　be　very　careful　while　I'm　gone。　I'll　leave　Dad's　gun　in　the　bedside　table　drawer　in　my　apartment。　I　want　you　to　have　it　after　I　leave。　And　don't　go　by　the　old　place；　okay？〃　
　〃You　afraid　the　Creature　from　the　Black　Lagoon　will　get　me？〃　
　Nora　rose　quickly。　〃That's　not　funny；　and　you　know　it。〃　
　〃All　right；　all　right。　I　never　visit　that　broken…down　old　shack　anyway。　Besides；　after　what　happened；　I'll　bet　Teresa's　watching　that　place　like　a　hawk；　finger　on　the　trigger。〃　
　Nora　sighed。　〃Maybe　you're　right。〃　
　〃I　am　right。　You　wait　and　see。　Black　Lagoon；　zero。　Winchester；　one。〃　
　
　
11
　
　CALAVERAS　MESA　LAY　SLUMBERING　UNDER　the　midnight　sky；　a　shadowy　island　rising　out　of　an　ocean　of　broken　rock…the　vast　El　Malpaís　lava　flow　of　central　New　Mexico。　A　screen　of　clouds　had　moved　over　the　stars；　and　the　mesa　lay　still　underneath：　silent；　dark；　uninhabited。　The　nearest　settlement　was　Quemado；　fifty　miles　away。　
　Calaveras　Mesa　had　not　always　been　uninhabited。　In　the　fourteenth　century；　Anasazi　Indians　had　moved　into　its　south…facing　cliffs　and　hollowed　out　caves　in　the　soft　volcanic　tuff。　But　the　site　had　proved　uncongenial；　and　the　caves　had　been　abandoned　for　half　a　millennium。　In　this　distant　part　of　El　Malpaís；　there　were　no　roads　and　no　trails；　the　caves　remained　undisturbed　and　unexcavated。　
　Two　dark　forms　moved　among　the　silent　broken　rafts　and　blocks　of　frozen　lava　that　lapped　the　sides　of　the　mesa。　They　were　covered　with　thick　pelts　of　fur；　and　their　movements　had　the　bined　swiftness　and　caution　of　a　wolf。　Both　figures　wore　heavy　silver　jewelry：　concho　belts；　squash　blossom　necklaces；　turquoise　disks；　and　old　sand…cast　bow　guards。　Beneath　the　heavy　pelts；　naked　skin　was　daubed　with　thick　paint。　
　They　reached　the　talus　slope　below　the　caves　and　began　to　ascend；　picking　their　way　among　boulders　and　rockfalls。　At　the　bottom　of　the　cliff　itself　they　rapidly　ascended　a　hand…and…toe　trail　and　disappeared　into　the　dark　mouth　of　a　cave。　
　Inside　the　cave；　they　paused。　One　figure　remained　at　the　mouth　while　the　second　moved　swiftly　to　the　back　of　the　cave。　He　pushed　aside　a　rock；　revealing　a　narrow　passage；　and　wriggled　through　into　a　smaller　room。　There　was　a　faint　scratching　sound　and　the　wavering　light　of　a　burning　splinter　revealed　that　this　room　was　not　empty：　it　was　a　small　Anasazi　burial　chamber。　In　niches　carved　in　the　far　wall　lay　three　mummified　corpses；　a　few　pathetic　broken　pots　left　beside　them　as　offerings。　The　figure　placed　a　ball　of　wax　with　a　bit　of　straw　stuck　into　it　on　a　high　ledge；　lighting　it　with　an　uncertain　glow。　
　Then　he　moved　to　the　central　corpse：　a　gray；　delicate　form　wrapped　in　a　rotting　buffalo　hide。　Its　mummified　lips　had　drawn　back　from　its　teeth　and　its　mouth　was　open　in　a　monstrous　grimace　of　hilarity。　The　legs　of　the　corpse　were　drawn　up　to　the　chest　and　the　knees　had　been　wrapped　with　woven　cords；　its　eyes　were　two　holes；　webbed　with　shreds　of　tissue；　its　hands　were　balled　up　into　shriveled　fists；　the　fingernails　hanging　and　broken；　gnawed　by　rats。　
　The　figure　reached　in　and　cradled　the　mummy　with　infinite　gentleness；　removed　it　from　the　niche；　and　laid　it　down　in　the　thick　layer　of　dust　on　the　cave　floor。　Reaching　into　the　pelt；　he　removed　a　small　woven　basket　and　a　medicine　bundle。　Tugging　open　the　bundle；　he　extracted　something　and　held　it　up　to　the　uncertain　light：　a　pair　of　delicate　bronze　hairs。　
　The　figure　turned　back　to　the　mummy。　Slowly；　he　placed　the　hairs　in　the　mouth　of　the　mummy；　pushing　them　deep　into　the　mummy's　throat。　There　was　a　dry　crackling　noise。　Then　the　figure　leaned　back；　the　candle　snuffed　out；　and　absolute　darkness　fell　once　again。　There　was　a　low　sound；　a　mutter；　then　a　name；　intoned　again　and　again　in　a　slow；　even　voice：　〃Kelly　。　。　。　Kelly　。　。　。　Kelly　。　。　。〃　
　A　long　time　passed。　There　was　another　scratch　of　a　match；　and　the　wax　was　relit。　The　figure　reached　into　the　basket；　then　bent　over　the　corpse。　A　razor…sharp　obsidian　knife　gleamed　in　the　faint　light。　There　was　a　faint；　rhythmic　scraping　noise：　the　sound　of　stone　cutting　through　crisp；　dry　flesh。　The　figure　soon　straightened　up；　holding　a　small　round　disk　of　scalp；　dotted　with　the　whorl　of　hair　from　the　back　of　the　mummy's　head。　The　figure　placed　it　reverently　in　the　basket。　
　The　figure　bent　once　more。　There　was　now　a　louder；　digging　noise。　After　a　few　minutes；　there　was　a　sharp　rap。　The　figure　held　up　a　disk　of　skullbone；　examined　it；　then　placed　it　in　the　basket　beside　the　scalp。　Next；　he　moved　the　knife　down　the　mummy　until　it　reached　the　clenched；　withered　fists。　He　gently　pulled　aside　the　rotted　tatters　of　buffalo　hide　from　the　hands；　caressing　them　in　his　own。　Then　he　worked　the　knife　between　the　fingers；　methodically　prying　them　loose　and　breaking　them　off　one　at　a　time。　Cupping　each　finger；　he　cut　off　the　whorl　of　fingerprint　and　placed　the　desiccated　chips　of　flesh　into　the　basket。　Then　the　figure　moved　down　to　the　toes；　breaking　them　off　the　body　like　breadsticks　and　quickly　carving　off　the　toe　prints。　Small　showers　of　dust　rained　onto　the　cave　floor。　
　The　little　basket　filled　with　pieces　of　the　corpse　as　the　makeshift　candle　guttered。　The　figure　quickly　rewrapped　the　mummy　and　lifted　it　back　into　its　niche　in　the　wall　as　the　light　winked　out。　Picking　up　the　basket；　he　left　the　chamber　and　rolled　the　rock　back　into　place。　Gingerly；　he　pulled　a　buckskin　bag　from　the　pelt；　unwound　the　tight　knot　of　leather　that　sealed　it　shut；　and　teased　the　bag　open。　Holding　it　away　from　himself；　he　carefully　sprinkled　a　thin　trail　of　some　powdery　substance　along　the　base　of　the　rock。　Then　he　carefully　sealed　up　the　bag　and　rejoined　his　panion　at　the　cave　entrance。　Swiftly　and　silently；　they　descended　the　cliff　face　and　were　once　again　swallowed　up　in　the　darkness　of　the　great　lava　flow　of　El　Malpaís。　
　
　
12
　
　THE　HEADLIGHTS　OF　NORA'S　TRUCK　SWUNG　across　the　predawn　dark；　scissoring　through　clouds　of　dust　rising　from　the　corrals；　highlighting　the　wooden　gates　of　the　dude　ranch。　She　came　to　a　stop　in　a　rutted　parking　area　and　killed　the　motor。　Nearby；　she　could　see　two　dark…colored　vehicles；　a　pickup　and　a　van；　each　bearing　the　Institute's　seal。　Two　slant…load　horse　trailers　had　been　backed　up　to　nearby　horse　pens；　and　ranch　hands　were　loading　horses　into　them　under　electric　lights。　
　Nora　stepped　out　into　the　coolness　of　the　early　morning　air　and　looked　around。　The　sky　would　not　begin　to　lighten　for　another　half　hour　or　so；　but　already　Venus　was　rising；　a　sharp　fleck　of　light　against　the　velvet　sky。　The　Institute　vehicles　were　empty；　and　Nora　knew　everyone　must　already　be　at　the　fire　circle；　where　Goddard　planned　to　introduce　the　expedition　to　one　another　and　say　a　brief　farewell。　In　an　hour；　they　would　begin　the　long　drive　to　Page；　Arizona；　at　the　end　of　Lake　Powell。　It　was　time　she　met　the　others。　
　But　she　lingered　a　moment。　The　air　was　filled　with　the　sounds　of　her　childhood：　the　slap　of　latigo；　the　whistles　and　shouts　of　the　cowboys；　the　boom　of　prancing　hooves　in　the　trailers；　the　clang　of　stock　gates。　As　the　aroma　of　pi？on　smoke；　horses；　and　dust　drifted　near；　a　tight　knot　that　had　been　growing　within　her　began　to　relax。　Over　the　last　three　days　she　had　been　supremely　cautious；　supremely　vigilant；　and　yet　she　had　seen　nothing　more　to　alarm　her。　The　expedition　had　e　together　with　remarkable　speed　and　smoothness。　Not　a　word　had　leaked　out。　And　here；　away　from　Santa　Fe；　Nora　found　some　of　the　tension　that　had　kept　her　so　painfully　on　edge　begin　to　ebb。　The　mystery　of　who　had　mailed　her　father's　letter　was　never　far　from　her　thoughts。　But　at　least；　once　they　were　on　the　trail；　she　would　leave　her　strange　pursuers　far　behind。　
　A　cowboy　in　a　battered　hat　strode　out　of　the　corral；　leading　a　horse　in　each　hand。　Nora　turned　to　look　at　him。　The　man　was　barely　five　feet　tall；　skinny；　barrel…chested　and　bandy…legged。　He　turned　and　shouted　to　some　hands　deeper　in　the　dusty　darkness；　bracketing　the　orders　with　four　letter　words。　That　must　be　Roscoe　Swire；　she　thought：　the　wrangler　Goddard　had　hired。　He　seemed　a　sure　enough　hand；　but　as　her　father　had　always　said；　he　ain't　a　cowboy　til　you　see　him　ride。　She　again　felt　a　momentary　annoyance　at　how　the　Institute's　chairman　had　taken　over　the　hiring　of　all　personnel；　even　the　wrangler。　But　Goddard　was　paying　the　bills。　
　She　pulled　her　saddle　out　of　the　back　of　her　truck　and　stepped　around。　〃Roscoe　Swire？〃　she　asked。　
　He　turned　and　removed　his　hat　in　a　gesture　that　managed　to　be　both　courtly　and　ironic。　〃At　your　service；〃　he　said　in　a　surprisingly　deep　voice。　He　had　a　great　overhanging　mustache；　droopy　lips；　and　large；　cow…sad　eyes。　But　there　was　a　certain　scrappiness；　even　truculence；　about　his　manner。　
　〃I'm　Nora　Kelly；〃　she　said；　shaking　the　small　hand。　It　was　so　rough　and　scabby；　it　was　like　grasping　a　burr。　
　〃So　you're　the　boss；〃　said　Swire　with　a　grin。　〃Pleased。〃　He　glanced　at　the　saddle。　〃What　you　got　there？〃　
　〃It's　my　own。　I　figured　you'd　want　to　load　it　with　the　rest　in　the　front　of　the　trailer。〃　
　He　slowly　placed　his　hat　back　on　his　head。　〃Looks　like　it's　been　drug　around　a　bit。〃　
　〃I've　had　it　since　I　was　sixteen。〃　
　Swire　broke　into　another　smile。　〃An　archaeologist　who　can　ride。〃　
　〃I　can　pack　a　set　of　panniers　and　throw　a　pretty　good　diamond　hitch；　too；〃　said　Nora。　
　At　this；　Swire　took　a　small　box　of　gingersnaps　out　of　his　pocket；　placed　one　underneath　his　mustache；　and　began　to　chew。　〃Well；　now；〃　he　said；　when　his　mouth　was　full；　〃you　ain't　shy　about　your　acplishments。〃　He　took　a　closer　look　at　her　gear。　〃Valle　Grande　Saddlery；　three…quarter…rigged　with　the　Cheyenne　roll。　You　ever　want　to　sell　this；　you　let　me　know。〃　
　Nora　laughed。　
　〃Look；　the　others　just　went　up　to　the　circle。　What　can　you　tell　me　about　them？　Buncha　New　Yorkers　on　vacation；　or　what？〃　
　Nora　found　herself　liking　Swire　and　his　sardonic　tone。　〃Most　of　them　I　haven't　met。　It's　a　mixed　group。　People　seem　to　think　all　archaeologists　are　like　Indiana　Jones；　but　I've　met　plenty　who　couldn't　ride　to　save　their　lives；　or　who'd　never　ventured　beyond　th