Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

"Where were you?"

"Camped out up on Sheep Mesa, identifying animals for a relocation project. I was stopped and questioned by a patrol when I got back down here, the day after the search started." Gutierrez chuckled. "They even searched my truck."

"Did you ever have any unexpected visitors at Sheep Mesa?" Gutierrez shook his head.

"I would have remembered something like that. The areas I work in are mostly off-limits. The only people I see are military police and other wildlife officers."

"Thanks. Would it be all right if I used your radio?"

"Go ahead." Gutierrez started to move away, then stopped.

"I guess you haven't found that soldier yet."

"No, we haven't."

"Well, good luck with it. There's fresh coffee on the stove. Help yourself."

"I'll do that." She waited until Gutierrez left, keyed the hand mike to the radio, called the base dispatcher, and left a message to be passed on to Andy Baca that they would be late returning.

Inside the house, Eppi looked up from the desk, closed his notebook, and put down his pen.

"That was fast," he said conversationally.

"How long will you be on the range?" Sara asked. Gutierrez gave a harried sigh.

"You'll have the place to yourselves in the morning. I'm heading back to Santa Fe. We've got a drawing for bighorn hunting licenses this week." His expression brightened. "I could get you a V.I. P permit, if you like."

"I'll pass, but thanks just the same." He shrugged.

"If you change your mind, let me know." Kerney emerged from the back of the house into the kitchen, scrubbed and clean, wet hair plastered to his forehead, carrying his boots in one hand and his still-damp cowboy hat in the other. Sara was drinking coffee at the table.

"I couldn't go back to sleep," he admitted, sitting down. He shaped the hat to get the right crease back in the brim and placed it on the table. "Andy's going to start looking for us in the morning unless I give him a call."

"I took care of it," Sara said.

"Good." He started pulling on his boots.

"Did Gutierrez have anything interesting to say?"

"Let's talk outside," Sara suggested, nodding at Gutierrez through the open kitchen door. Kerney grabbed a small kit from the pack, and they left the house, walking toward the horses. The bay lifted his head as they approached. Kerney brushed him down with a curry comb and checked his legs for soreness.

"Well?" he asked. "What did Gutierrez have to say?" He handed Sara the comb.

"Not much," she answered, brushing the gelding while Kerney rubbed some antibacterial ointment into a small scrape on the animal's neck.

"I asked if he knew Sammy, and he said he didn't. But he was on the base when Sammy turned up missing." Kerney worked on the gelding's hoofs, brushing a dressing under the hair and into the band.

"Was he questioned?"

"Stopped, questioned, and searched," Sara answered.

"Nothing suspicious was uncovered." The packhorse rolled in a patch of wet grass. Sara got the animal to its feet, and while Kerney treated a sore rubbed raw by the pack frame, she gave the roan a fast brushing.

"We know Sammy was in the area, and Gutierrez sleeps at the ranch when he's on the base," Kerney commented as he repacked the kit. "Should we question him some more?"

"He seems straight enough."

"It's your call," Kerney noted.

"I'd rather wait and do it later, when we're back at the main post."

They left the horses and walked to a sheared-off dead cottonwood that had been struck by lightning. One thick branch remained on the tall stump; it bowed and touched the ground. It had the shape of a wizened woman bending over, extending a long hand to the earth. It was the witch tree of Kerney's childhood, a favorite hangout where he would perch with a book and read until sunset.

Sara reached in her pocket for the cavalry insignia and held it in her open palm. "Any ideas about this? I found it in the cave." Kerney took it, turned it over several times, and shook his head in wonderment.

"Right in my backyard."

"What?"

"Apache plunder. Mexican silver. The Lost Bowie Mine. The treasure at Victorio Peak. I used to sit on the witch tree, read Frank Dobie books, and dream of finding riches." He tossed the pin in the air and caught it.

"Dale and I would spend days on end searching. We never found a damn thing." He handed the insignia to Sara.

"Amazing."

"This type of insignia hasn't been used since the nineteenth century," Sara said.

"Did you find anything else?"

"No. We'll see what the crime scene unit uncovers."

"Let me guess," Kerney speculated. "We'll wait to send them out until after we get back." Sara laughed.

"That's an excellent idea." *** After Kerney and Sara Brannon were asleep, Gutierrez crept quietly out of the house. He took an alternate route to the cave, picking his way carefully to avoid leaving footprints. The nearly full moon gave him enough light to confirm his fears. The two cops had been nosing around. He stepped cautiously from rock to rock until he reached the cave entrance. The stones were not in the same order he had put them in. It made him sick with worry. He knew the law. He could be charged with murder. He was as guilty as the man who had killed Yazzi. No one was supposed to get hurt. It wasn't his goddamn fault the soldier had showed up at exactly the wrong time. Hiking in the boondocks with a sketchbook, for chrissake. Nosing around where he had no business being. Walking into the cave with a wide-eyed, shit-eating grin. Asking questions. Gutierrez retraced his steps until he dropped below the rim of the mesa and sat on a rock, looking at the ranch below. What the fuck was he going to do? The story about a pleasure trip was pure bullshit. He might have bought it if Brannon hadn't asked all those questions about Yazzi. He'd almost shit a brick when she brought the subject up. Damn it! If they had only listened to him and let him move the rest of the stuff right away. That was the smart thing to do. No, no, too risky, too soon, let it quiet down, they said. Shit! In too deep to back out, he almost wished he'd never found the cave. Can't cry over spilt milk. The last load was behind the seat of his truck. Two thousand gold and silver coins and a leather dispatch case filled with historical military letters. Worth plenty. Fuck the others! He didn't need them. He'd sell it himself in Mexico and just disappear. As far as he could tell, he wasn't under suspicion, but that could change. He looked down at his shaking hands and clasped them together to stop the trembling. He needed a plan. Something he could pull off. There was no way in hell he was going to prison.

"I've got to improvise," he whispered to himself. It was still dark. The bare ceiling light cast a harsh glow throughout the kitchen, and the aroma from a wood fire in the cook stove filled the room. Sara, drying two plates at the sink, turned and looked at Kerney as he came in.

"Is Gutierrez gone?" Kerney asked. There was a pot of coffee and pan of scrambled eggs on the top of the cast-iron stove. He was stiff from head to toe, but rested.

"Before I got up," Sara reported, putting the plates on the table.

"Coffee?"

"Please."

"How long will it take to get back to the Rocking J?" She asked, putting a mug of coffee in front of him.

"We can make good time if we run the ridges over Rhodes Canyon."

"That may not be wise," Sara said. Kerney sipped his coffee and laughed.

"Trust me, your people won't even see us coming. I watched the Army build that concealed outpost in the canyon when I was a kid."

"You're not supposed to know about that," Sara chided, half-jokingly.

"I won't tell a soul."

They ate breakfast, enjoying each other's company, cleaned up the dishes together, and headed out to saddle the horses. Gutierrez watched the three horses and two riders leave the ranch veering south and west. At first light he had picked a vantage point that would keep them in view for some time. His plans depended on the route they took. He would use his knowledge of the terrain and his speed to his advantage. He knew the mountains and could outrun them easily in the truck. Yesterday's storm had brought a blessing. The usual telltale funnel of dust thrown up by the tires would be missing. He followed them with his binoculars.