J. JANCE - Hour of the Hunter

“Rita, Davy has always been as much yours as he is mine. You’re the one who’s spent all the time with him, who’s taught him things, and taken care of him. If you’re worried about the Indian baptism, don’t be. Father John told me about it this morning when I saw him at San Xavier.”

“He did?”

Diana nodded. “He explained the whole thing.”

“Good,” Rita said. “You don’t mind?”

“No. How could I mind? When will it happen?”

“Because of the. .”

Rita paused, groping for the proper word. What she felt coming toward them was far more serious than mere danger. Weak as it sounded, that was the only Mil-gahn word she could think of to express the problem. Diana Ladd would not understand the word ohb .

“Because of the danger to us all,” Rita continued, “the baptism ceremony starts tonight. It will continue for four days and nights. Four nights from now, we go to Sells for the last night of singing and for the feast. On that night, the medicine man feeds the child’s parents gruel made from corn and clay.”

Diana made a face. “That sounds even worse than my tortillas, but it won’t kill me, will it?”

Rita smiled. “No, it won’t kill you.”

“What about you?” Diana asked. “You said parents. I’m only one. Will you eat the gruel with me, Rita? The two of us can be Davy’s parents together.”

The offer came from a generous heart and caused a dazzling smile to suffuse Rita’s worn face. She looked twenty years younger. “Yes, nawoj ,” she said softly, “we will eat the gruel together.”

Just then, out in the yard, Bone started up a noisy racket. They heard him scrabbling over the high stone wall just as Davy burst in through the back door.

“A car’s coming,” Davy announced. “Oh’o went after it. I couldn’t stop him.”

Dusting the flour from her hands, Diana hurried to the window and looked out. An unfamiliar late-model Buick was easing into the driveway, while Bone, up to his usual tricks, attacked the front tires for all he was worth. Diana recognized Father John before he rolled down the window. “Oh’o,” she called sharply. “Here.”

With one final offended woof, the dog abandoned his attack and came to the porch, where Diana let him into the house. “It’s Father John,” she told Davy. “Take Bone back outside and keep him there while I bring the company into the house.”

Father John entered the house warily, holding his hat in front of him. “That’s quite some dog you’ve got there,” he said. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Believe me, Bone’s exactly the kind of dog we need at the moment,” Diana returned, “but don’t worry. Davy took him outside. Would you care for something to eat?”

“No, no thank you. I just came to speak to the boy.”

“Something to drink then. Iced tea?”

“Tea would be fine.”

Diana started for the kitchen but paused when she found the kitchen doorway blocked by Rita’s stocky frame. The old woman stood staring at the priest. Eventually, Rita moved aside and let Diana pass, but she did so without taking her eyes away from Father John. For a long moment, the two old people faced one another in awkward silence.

When Father John had invaded the hospital room in Sells, it had been without Rita’s knowledge or permission. The man who came there was the same one who had abandoned her years earlier, the one who had caused her to be sent away in disgrace. But now, by helping with Davy, Father John had redeemed himself somewhat in the old woman’s eyes. She no longer saw him through a cloud of bitterness.

The old woman broke the silence. “Thank you for helping with Davy.”

Father John nodded. “ Nawoj ,” he said. “Friend, it is nothing.” He moved into the room. At once his eyes were drawn to the large basket hanging on the wall over the couch, a plaque actually, two-and-a-half to three feet in diameter. Schooled in the subtle aesthetics of Papago Indian basketry, the priest immediately recognized the superior workmanship in the rare yucca-root basket. The red design, a finely woven rendition of the traditional Papago maze, spread out in the four sacred directions. At the top stood the square-shouldered Man in the Maze.

Father John studied the basket for some time before turning to Rita. “You made this?” he asked. She nodded. “Understanding Woman taught you well,” he continued. “It is very beautiful.”

Back on the rocky mountainside with a Styrofoam meat package full of poisoned hamburger, Andrew Carlisle thanked his lucky stars that he had taken the precaution of climbing up to reconnoiter one last time before approaching the house. While he watched in dismay, the crazy dog set up a frenzied roar of barking and then vaulted over the fence to attack an approaching car. Carlisle couldn’t believe it. The ugly mutt charged the front tires of the still-moving vehicle as if he were going to tear them apart.

Christ! How had the dog done it? That stone wall had to be at least six feet tall, and it hadn’t slowed him down one damn bit. Carlisle knew that if he tried approaching the house on foot, the dog would have him for lunch, so the problem was finding a way to get the poison to the dog without losing either an arm or a leg in the process.

Through binoculars trained on the household below, Carlisle saw the woman hustle the dog inside while a man, who appeared to be a priest, got out of the car and started for the house. The man went in the front door, while the dog and the child came out through the back. The boy left the dog pacing in unhappy circles on the rear patio. Clearly, the dog wanted in. If he was generally an inside dog, it wouldn’t be long before someone relented. Carlisle realized he would have to act quickly.

Carlisle’s first problem was to lure the dog out of the fenced backyard. Having witnessed the frenzied attack on the Buick, that didn’t seem difficult. Carlisle figured just showing his face would be enough to provoke the dog into another battle. The trick was maintaining enough of a safety margin to make escape possible.

Carlisle hiked back down to the Matador and drove as near the house as he dared, stopping just beyond a sharp curve that concealed the car from anyone inside the house. After turning the car around so it faced back in the opposite direction, Carlisle took the slug-bait-laced meat with him and walked to the middle of the roadway. First he dropped chunks of meat in a wide pattern over the pavement; then, lying down flat on the rocky shoulder, he whistled one short, sharp burst.

At once, the dog responded with a fit of barking. Carlisle whistled again, and the dog barked again. Someone came to the back door. Diana herself emerged from the shadow of the patio and surveyed the area, using one hand to shade her eyes from the glare of the setting sun. Carlisle kept his head low to the ground and prayed that no other traffic would appear on the road.

Satisfied there was nothing amiss, Diana spoke to the dog. “Quiet, Bone. It’s all right. Be still.”

Carlisle heard her voice floating up to him from below. The very sound of it was enticing. Hearing her voice, combined with the knowledge that he was almost within touching distance of her, gave him an instant erection and made his breath come in short, harsh gasps. If you only knew, little lady, he thought, stifling an urge to laugh. The dog’s smarter than you are.

Below him, the sliding glass door slammed shut behind her as Diana Ladd returned to the house. For a moment, Carlisle was afraid she might have taken the dog with her. He breathed a sigh of relief when he peered over the bank and saw that the dog was still pacing restlessly in the yard below, still staring up in his direction. He whistled again.