p&c.thunderhead-第57部分

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　Despite　the　carefully　sealed　coverings；　the　tent　reeked　of　betadine；　alcohol；　and　something　worse。　Smithback　leaned　away；　breathing　through　his　mouth。　〃I'm　not　sure　I　can　do　this；〃　he　said。　
　〃Let's　just　get　it　over　with；〃　Swire　replied；　picking　up　a　pole　and　ducking　into　the　tent。　
　No　book　advance　is　worth　this；　Smithback　thought。　Reaching　into　his　pocket　for　his　red　bandanna；　he　tied　it　carefully　over　his　mouth。　Then　he　tugged　a　pair　of　work　gloves　over　the　rubber　gloves　Aragon　had　given　him；　picked　up　a　coil　of　rope；　and　followed　Swire　into　the　tent。　
　Wordlessly；　Swire　laid　the　pole　alongside　the　bagged　corpse。　Then；　as　quickly　as　possible；　the　two　men　lashed　it　to　the　pole；　winding　the　rope　around　and　around　until　it　was　secure。　Swire　tied　off　the　ends　with　half…hitches。　Then；　grasping　each　end；　they　hefted　the　body　out　of　the　tent。　
　Holroyd　had　a　slight　frame；　and　Smithback　raised　one　end　of　the　pole　onto　his　shoulder　with　relative　ease。　I'll　bet　he　weighs　one　fifty；　one　sixty；　max；　he　thought。　That　means　eighty　pounds　for　each　of　us。　Strange　how；　at　times　of　severe　stress；　the　mind　tended　to　dwell　on　the　most　trivial；　the　most　quotidian　details。　Smithback　felt　a　pang　of　sympathy　for　the　friendly；　unassuming　young　man。　Just　three　nights　before；　under　Smithback's　journalistic　probing　by　the　campfire；　Holroyd　had　opened　up　at　last　and　talked；　at　unexpected　length；　about　his　deep　and　abiding　love　for　motorcycles。　As　he'd　talked；　the　shyness　had　left　him；　and　his　limbs　had　filled　with　animation。　Now　those　limbs　were　still。　All　too　still；　in　fact；　Smithback　did　not　like　the　stiff；　unyielding　way　Holroyd's　bagged　feet　jostled　up　against　his　shoulder　as　they　proceeded　toward　the　slot　canyon。　
　He　thought　back　to　the　discussion　about　what　to　do　with　the　body。　It　had　to　be　placed　somewhere　secure；　away　from　camp；　elements；　and　predators；　until　it　could　be　retrieved　at　a　later　time。　They　couldn't　bury　it　in　the　ground；　Nora　had　said；　coyotes　would　dig　it　up。　They　talked　about　hanging　it　in　a　tree；　but　most　of　the　trees　were　inaccessible；　their　lower　branches　stripped　away　in　flash　floods。　Anyway；　Aragon　said　it　was　important　to　get　the　body　as　far　from　camp　as　possible。　Then　Nora　remembered　the　small　rock　shelter　about　a　quarter　of　the　way　through　the　slot　canyon；　above　the　high…water　mark　and　accessible　via　a　stepped　ledge。　It　was　a　perfect　place　to　store　the　body。　The　place　was　impossible　to　miss：　the　shelter　was　twenty　feet　off　the　canyon　bottom；　just　above　the　trunk　of　a　massive　cottonwood　that　had　been　wedged　between　the　walls　by　some　earlier　flood。　The　threat　of　rain　had　passed…Black　had　checked　the　weather　report　from　the　canyon　rim…and　the　slot　canyon　would　be　safe　for　the　time　being。　。　。　。　
　Smithback　brought　himself　back　to　the　present。　There　was　a　reason　his　mind　was　wandering。　He　knew　himself　well　enough　to　understand　what　was　happening：　he　was　thinking　about　something；　anything；　to　keep　his　mind　off　the　job　at　hand。　Deep　down；　for　some　reason　he　didn't　fully　understand；　Smithback　realized　he　was　profoundly　frightened。　He'd　been　in　more　than　his　share　of　life…threatening　situations　before：　struggling　against　a　killer　in　a　vast　museum；　and　later；　caught　fighting　for　his　life　in　a　warren　of　tunnels　far　beneath　New　York　City。　And　yet　here；　in　the　pleasant　afternoon　light；　he　felt　as　threatened　as　he　ever　had　in　his　life。　There　was　something　about　the　diffuse；　vague　nature　of　the　evil　in　this　valley　that　unsettled　him　most　of　all。　
　Once　again；　Holroyd's　rigid　foot　pressed　sharply　into　Smithback's　shoulder。　Ahead；　Swire　had　stopped　and　was　glancing　upward　toward　the　mouth　of　the　slot　canyon。　Smithback　followed　his　gaze　into　the　narrow；　scarred　opening。　Clearing　skies；　Black　had　said；　Smithback　hoped　to　hell　the　weather　report　was　right。　
　Once　in　the　slot；　they　were　able　to　float　the　wrapped　body；　buoyed　by　the　drysack；　across　the　stretches　of　slack　water。　At　the　base　of　each　pourover；　however；　Holroyd's　corpse　had　to　be　half　pushed；　half　dragged　up　to　the　next　pool。　After　twenty　minutes　of　pushing；　wading；　swimming；　and　dragging；　the　two　men　stopped　to　catch　their　breath。　Farther　up　the　winding　passage；　Smithback　could　make　out　the　massive　cottonwood　trunk　that　marked　the　location　of　the　rock　shelter。　He　moved　a　few　feet　away　from　the　drysack；　untied　the　bandanna　from　his　mouth；　shook　it　out；　and　stuffed　it　into　his　shirt　pocket。　
　〃So　you　think　that　Indian　you　saw　had　nothing　to　do　with　killing　my　horses；〃　Swire　said。　They　were　the　first　words　he'd　spoken　since　they　left　Holroyd's　tent。　
　〃Absolutely　not；〃　Smithback　replied。　〃Especially　since　the　people　who　killed　your　horses　must　have　been　the　ones　who　wrecked　our　munications　gear。　And　we　were　with　the　shepherd　when　that　happened。〃　
　Swire　nodded。　〃That's　what　I've　been　thinking。〃　
　Smithback　saw　that　Swire　was　still　staring　at　him。　The　brown　eyes　had　long　ago　lost　the　humorous　squint　Smithback　remembered　from　the　first　days　of　their　ride。　In　Swire's　sunken　cheeks；　bony　face；　and　tight　jaw；　Smithback　could　see　a　great　sorrow。　〃Holroyd　was　a　good　kid；〃　he　said　simply。　
　Smithback　nodded。　
　Swire　spoke　in　a　low　voice。　〃It's　one　thing　to　get　in　trouble　back　there〃…he　jerked　his　head　in　the　hypothetical　direction　of　civilization…〃but　it's　a　whole　other　deal　to　run　into　trouble　out　here。〃　
　Smithback　looked　from　Swire　to　Holroyd's　body；　then　back　to　Swire。　〃That's　why　Nora's　doing　the　right　thing；〃　he　said。　〃Getting　us　out　as　quickly　as　possible。〃　
　Swire　spat　a　line　of　tobacco　across　a　nearby　rock。　〃She's　a　brave　woman；　I'll　give　her　that；〃　he　said。　〃Volunteering　to　track　those　horse　killers　on　her　own　。　。　。　that　took　guts。　But　guts　alone　ain't　enough。　I've　seen　even　the　smallest　problem　end　up　killing　people　in　a　place　like　this。　And　you　know　what？　Our　problems　ain't　small。〃　
　Smithback　didn't　answer。　His　thoughts　were　still　on　Nora：　her　quick　tongue；　appraising　eyes；　resourceful　pluck…her　courage　and　determination。　And　he　realized；　with　a　sense　of　astonishment；　that　he　was　scared；　not　so　much　for　himself　but　for　her。　
　Swire　appraised　him；　eyes　glittering。　Then　he　stood　up　and　grabbed　the　lead　end　of　the　pole。　Smithback　rose；　snugged　the　bandanna　once　again　around　his　mouth；　and　scrambled　toward　the　corpse。　They　climbed　the　rest　of　the　way　to　the　rock　shelter　in　silence。　
　
　
41
　
　AARON　BLACK　STOOD　IN　THE　DAPPLED　shadows　of　the　westernmost　tower；　surveying　his　test　trenches　and　portable　lab　setups　with　a　practiced　eye。　The　soil　profiles　were　perfect；　naturally：　a　textbook　model　of　the　latest　in　stratigraphic　analysis。　And　the　labs　were；　as　always；　a　picture　of　economy；　efficiency；　and　accuracy。　
　As　he　stared；　the　satisfaction　he　usually　felt　when　admiring　his　work　was　eclipsed　by　a　stab　of　disappointment。　Muttering　under　his　breath；　he　drew　a　large　tarp　over　the　test　trench　and　staked　it　down；　pinning　the　sides　with　rocks。　It　was　a　wholly　unsatisfactory　way　to　preserve　his　acplishments；　but　at　least　it　was　better　than　backfilling。　Here　he　was；　about　to　run　away　from　the　site　that；　by　all　rights；　should　be　the　crowning　glory　of　his　career。　God　knows　what　they　would　find　when　they　returned。　If　they　returned　at　all。　
　He　shook　his　head　in　disgust　and　pulled　a　tarp　over　the　second　trench。　Still；　he　wasn't　entirely　sorry　to　be　leaving。　His　usual　assistant；　Smithback；　was　off　burying　Holroyd；　and　as　Black　worked　he　managed　to　feel　deeply　thankful　that　particular　task　had　not　fallen　to　him。　It　didn't　really　matter　whether　poison　or　disease　had　killed　the　technician。　Either　one　was　dangerous。　A　part　of　Black　hungered　for　civilization…telephones；　fine　restaurants；　hot　showers；　and　toilets　that　flushed…a　world　hundreds　of　miles　away　from　Quivira。　Of　course；　he'd　never　admit　this　to　Sloane；　who　had　moved　off　in　stony　silence　to　take　the　final　photographic　records　of　the　site。　
　As　his　thoughts　turned　to　Sloane；　he　felt　a　hot　flush　begin　to　spread　out　from　his　vitals。　Memories　of　the　night　before　gave　way　to　hopes　and　fantasies　for　the　night　to　e。　Black　had　never　had　much　luck　with　women；　and　Sloane　was　a　woman；　all　right；　a　woman　who　。　。　。　
　Tearing　himself　from　these　thoughts　with　difficulty；　he　turned　to　the　flotation　lab。　Unhooking　the　jug　of　distilled　water　from　the　apparatus；　he　dumped　the　water　pan　over　the　edge　of　the　cliff。　Then；　with　a　sigh；　he　began　unscrewing　the　equipment；　draining　the　hoses；　and　packing　everything　into　two　metal　suitcases　filled　with　custom…cut　foam。　It　was　a　job　he　had　done　many　times　before；　and　despite　everything　he　prided　himself　on　his　tidiness。　Snapping　the　suitcases　closed；　he　set　them　aside　and　began　breaking　down　the　paper　chromatography　setup。　
　He　paused　in　the　act　of　stacking　the　unused　papers　into　plastic　folders。　By　rights；　they　would　have　all　been　used　over　the　ing　weeks；　forming　the　foundation　for　half　a　year　of　analysis　back　in　his　fortable　lab。　He　stared　at　them；　all　the　brilliant　articles　he　planned　to　write　for　the　most　prestigious　scientific　journals　going　up　in　smoke　inside　his　head。　
　Suddenly；　a　gust　of　wind　caught　a　pack　of　the　chromatography　papers；　blowing　them　toward　the　back　of　the　cave。　He　watched　as　they　scattered　and　disappeared　into　the　darkness。　
　Black　swore　out　loud。　The　papers　were　ruined…contaminated…but　he　couldn't　just　leave　them。　He'd　publicly　humiliated　more　than　one　archaeologist　for　leaving　trash　in　a　ruin。　
　He　finished　packing　the　chromatography　setup　and　buckled　the　case　shut。　Then　he　stood　up　and　walked　toward　the　back　of　the　cave；　eyes　to　the　ground。　The　papers　had　scattered　along　the　very　back　of　the　midden　heap；　he　could　see　some　still　blowing　about　in　the　random　eddies　of　wind。　Muttering　again；　he　walked　past　the　first　granary　along　the　rear　wall　of　the　ruin；　trapping　the　papers　with　his　foot　as　he　went；　picking　them　up　and　shoving　them　into　a　pocket。　Soon　he　had　counted　eleven。　The　papers　came　twelve　in　a　pack；　he　knew；　where　the　hell　was　the　last　one？　
　Ahead　of　him　lay　the　narrow　opening　to　the　Crawlspace；　and　he　moved　toward　it；　bending　low　under　the　rock　roof。　It　was　too　dark　to　see；　and　he　fumbled　in　his　pocket　for　a　penlight。　Its　feeble　gleam　struggled　to　pierce　the　darkness；　illuminating　dust；　scattered　bones；　and…about　ten　yards　away…the　last