Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

"Too much of a good thing can be dangerous," she said.

"That's almost funny." Sara coughed and rubbed the tip of her nose.

"It's the best I can do under the circumstances. Gutierrez?"

"Dead," Kerney answered.

"We lost the roan." She was covered in limestone dust from head to foot.

"I know." The landslide completely blocked the road.

"I can't get the gelding across," she said.

"Cut him loose. He'll find his way home." She removed the bridle and wrapped it around the pommel. Unrestrained, the gelding wheeled and trotted up the pass. Tentatively, she walked to the edge of the road and looked down. Seventy-five feet below, the dead roan was wedged between the base of two pine trees, surrounded by supplies from the shattered pack. She stepped away from the edge and looked at Kerney. He had lost his cowboy hat, and his hair, flattened by the hatband, curled up into wings above his ears. He was covered from head to foot with fine limestone dust.

"You look like shit," Sara commented, the fluttery feeling in her stomach subsiding.

"I suspect you're right," he answered, brushing off the front of his shirt. Puffs of limestone dust floated into the air.

"Seems like we upset Gutierrez. Let's see if we can find out why." They cleared away enough rubble from the truck to uncover and pry open the passenger door. The seat, thrown off its tracks by the impact, pinned Gutierrez to the steering column. His shattered skull dripped blood and brains, soaking his clothes and the floorboard. Behind the seat were ten packages, wrapped and taped shut. Kerney reached in and handed them to Sara one at a time. He was searching the glove compartment when, with an incredulous whistle, Sara made him stop.

"Look at this," she said, holding out an open package filled with gold coins.

"The mint dates are all from the eighteen hundreds. Do you know what these are worth?"

"I don't want to think about it," Kerney said sourly. He opened a flat, rectangular box that had slid under the seat. It contained a military dispatch case, the leather desiccated and veined with cracks, filled with faded documents. Sara moved next to him.

"What is that?" Kerney shrugged and closed the flap.

"Just some old letters."

"Don't tease," she chided, pulling the case out of his hands. She sat on the ground and skimmed through the documents. Gingerly, she detached a letter and read it with growing amazement. She studied two more papers before speaking.

"Incredible. These are letters written by General William Tecumseh Sherman and President Ulysses S. Grant." She patted the case. "This has to be General Howard's official document file."

"Who?" Kerney inquired. Sara replaced the letters, closed the pouch, stood up, and brushed off the seat of her pants with a hand.

"The letters are addressed to 0. 0. Howard. He was a Civil War general. Grant sent him west during the Indian Wars. He negotiated a treaty with Cochise. These letters are historical treasures."

"It looks like Gutierrez found the mother lode. Isn't that the luck of the Irish?"

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Do you think Gutierrez killed Sammy?"

"It's possible," Kerney allowed, "but not likely. I don't think murder was Gutierrez's strong suit."

"Sammy found the coins and documents and recruited Gutierrez to help him," Sara proposed.

"Instead, Gutierrez decided he wanted it all for himself." The theory didn't sit well with Kerney.

"Why would Gutierrez wait almost two months after he killed Sammy to move the merchandise?"

"Caution?" Sara suggested.

"He wanted things to cool down."

"This case cooled down a month ago. If you had a clear shot at making tens of thousands-maybe hundreds of thousands-of dollars, would you wait any longer than absolutely necessary? Especially if you had a dead body concealed with the goodies? Wouldn't that make you anxious?" Sara nibbled her lower lip.

"Maybe Gutierrez was forced to wait until he found someone to handle the transaction. It can't be easy to convert this stuff into cash without raising a lot of eyebrows."

"Which means somebody may be expecting a delivery and might get worried if it's late."

"Exactly." Sara grinned. "Do you want to play it out?"

"Why not?"

She flicked a glance at the truck.

"What we have here is a tragic accident. Not quite what Gutierrez had in mind. Let's put it back the way we found it and see what happens."

"Including the coins and letters?" Kerney inquired. Sara paused to think about it.

"We'll give those to Andy for safekeeping."

"Let's do it and get the hell out of here." Together they restacked rocks around the truck. Kerney wrapped the treasure in his rain jacket and tied it to the saddle on the bay. They walked down the road, the bay favoring a bruised hind leg, until the grade dipped enough to let them cut back in the direction of the dead roan. They dug a shallow trench in the soft earth under a stand of trees that blocked any view to the road above, gathered up the debris, and dumped it in. Sammy's portfolio was intact and the watercolors undamaged. Kerney hitched a rope to the bay, tied it off on the dead animal, and had to quirt the bay to drag the carcass to the trench. They covered the roan with dirt and rocks to keep the coyotes away and retraced their route to the road.

"I'm taking the portfolio to Sammy's parents," he announced, looking at Sara for a reaction. She sensed his decision was not negotiable.

"When?"

"Today."

"What do you plan to tell them?"

"I'll think of something."

"When will you be back?"

"Tomorrow."

"Good."

"I'll ask Andy to get a search warrant for Gutierrez's house." Sara nodded her approval. They lapsed into silence. The bay snorted in discomfort, and Kerney stopped to give him a rest, stroking him gently on the forehead.

"Dale isn't going to like the way we've treated his horses."

"The Army will pay full damages," Sara promised.

"That'll be a first," he said, as he got the animal moving again.

"I expect you're right." They walked down one last sharp series of turns before entering the rolling hills of the western slope. The Jomada fanned out in front of them. Kerney hobbled and Sara limped along. The bay favored his bruised leg, snorting in annoyance. Still crusted and streaked with rock dust, they looked like pale apparitions. Dale's ranch came into view. He was at the fence line with Andy, both scanning the pass with binoculars. Dale saw them first and waved.

"What a sight we must be." Sara began to laugh, and before he knew it, Kerney was laughing with her.

The only sound on the deserted plaza was the idling engine of Kerney's truck. The tourists were gone for the day and the pueblo was quiet. Kerney stopped at the end of the dirt lane that bisected the plaza. Across the empty square was the tribal administration building where Terry had his office. A long, squat structure with a series of narrow doors and small windows, it looked like an unfriendly sanctuary built to keep out intruders. At one end of the building, three squad cars were parked in front of the police station door. Kerney turned his head and looked over the line of adobe houses that bordered a section of the plaza. Against the western mountains, the setting sun seemed cold in the pink light. He tried not to think about the pain that faced Terry and Maria. His own sadness felt like a sharp wound cutting through him. How much worse it would be for Terry and Maria he could only imagine. He touched the portfolio on the seat next to him.

The five thousand dollars was safely tucked inside. He put the truck in gear and coasted to a stop in front of the building. From the moment Kerney stepped through the door of the one-room office carrying the portfolio, Terry knew his son was dead. A phone call would tell him Sammy was alive, but only his death would bring Kerney to his door with that grim look. His heart sank and he stood up slowly, testing the steadiness of his legs.