J. JANCE - Hour of the Hunter

Looking away from their captor, Rita stared over her shoulder at the basket maze hanging on the wall behind her. She remembered the ancient yucca she had harvested to find the root fiber to make it. Howi , a yucca, an old cactus, had willingly sacrificed itself that Diana Ladd might own this basket.

And, suddenly, Rita knew that I’itoi had heard her song and sent her a message even without the use of Looks At Nothing’s sacred smoke. She would be like the plant that had given up its life so I’itoi’s design could spread out from the center of the basket. Davy Ladd had become the center of Rita Antone’s basket. She would be his red yucca root.

“Whatever you’re going to do,” she said softly, “the boy should not see.”

Andrew Carlisle seemed startled, as though she had peered into his brain and read the secret plans written there. “Do you have a better idea?”

Rita nodded. “There’s a root cellar,” she said. “Off the kitchen. Put the boy in there. I will stay with him.”

“A root cellar?”

Carlisle sounded almost disbelieving. He had been worried about how to handle the growing number of hostages in case the priest showed up as well, but now here was the old lady helping out, solving the problem for him. Carlisle knew all about root cellars. There had been one in his grandmother’s home, a place where he’d been left on occasion for disciplinary purposes. A root cellar would do nicely.

He rushed into the kitchen to see for himself, worried now that Diana might return before he was ready. And the old lady was absolutely right. Except for a stack of musty old boxes and a few canned goods, there was nothing else there.

Back in the living room, he grabbed the boy and carried him into the root cellar. Then he hauled the old woman to her feet and helped her shuffle along. With both prisoners safely stashed inside the room, he slammed the door shut and locked it with the old-fashioned skeleton key that was right there in the lock. For safekeeping, he put the key in his boot along with his hunting knife. Smiling to himself, Carlisle hurried back to the living room and stationed himself out of sight behind the door.

Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of having those first few minutes with Diana all by himself-just the two of them, one on one, sort of a honeymoon. He pulled a whetstone from his pocket and began to sharpen the blade of the hunting knife. It wasn’t necessary-the blade was already sharp enough, but it gave him something to do with his hands while he waited.

The dog had already had two accidents in the priest’s car between Dr. Johnston’s office and the driveway. Diana was embarrassed. The vet had been right all along. She should have left Bone there overnight to recuperate.

“I’m sorry about your car, Father,” she apologized.

“Don’t worry about it,” Father John said, driving into the yard and stopping in front of the house. “These things happen. Would you like him inside?”

Diana shook her head. “I don’t think so. There’s no sense taking him inside and having him be sick in there as well. If you can, take him on out to the back patio, while I work on cleaning up this mess. Ask Davy to fill his water dish with fresh water and take it out there for him.”

The vet had sent the ailing Bone home on a borrowed leash. Using this, Father John coaxed the now-docile dog through a gate at the side of the house and into the backyard. Meanwhile, Diana dealt with the lingering physical evidence of the dog’s illness, removing soiled blankets from the priest’s car and draping them over the wall for a quick hosedown.

She was surprised that Davy wasn’t waiting on the porch to greet them, but she was so busy cleaning up after the dog that the idea never quite surfaced as a conscious thought. Leaving the windows open to let the car air out, she started into the house.

With his heart hammering in his chest, Carlisle watched the car pull into the driveway. Damn! The priest was there. What the hell should he do now?

The man and woman in the car spoke briefly, then the priest got out, opened the door, and bent into the backseat. What was he doing? Getting the dog? Goddamn! The dog was back, too? What the hell kind of constitution did that dog have?

For a moment, Carlisle vacillated between following the man and staying to keep an eye on Diana Ladd. At first he couldn’t understand what was going on, but then, when she pulled the blankets out of the car and turned on the hose, he realized he was getting another chance. There was time to do both. He headed for the kitchen at a dead run.

Father John left the dog resting on the dusky patio and rose to go into the house. Seeing no sign of Rita or Davy, he stepped up to the sliding patio door, which had been left slightly ajar.

“Hello,” he called. “Anybody home?”

Hearing no answer, he crossed the threshold and turned to close the door behind him just as something heavy crashed into the back of his skull.

The root-cellar door flew open. From the darkened kitchen, something heavy was thrown in with them before the door slammed shut again. Davy felt with his feet and realized it was a person lying flat on the floor, someone who didn’t move when Davy touched him. At first the child was afraid it might be his mother, but finally he realized the still body belonged to Father John.

“It’s the priest,” he whispered to Rita.

Before locking them in, Carlisle had warned they would die if they made noise, so Davy and Nana Dahd spoke in subdued whispers.

“Try to wake him up,” Rita said.

Davy moved closer to the man and nudged him, but the priest didn’t stir. His labored breathing told them he wasn’t dead. “He won’t wake up,” Davy said.

“Keep trying,” Rita told him.

Diana stepped onto the porch and turned the doorknob. Suddenly, with no warning, the door gave way beneath her hand, yanking Diana into the house.

Before she could make a sound, before she could reach for the handle of the.45, iron fingers clamped down over her face and mouth. The razor-sharp blade of a hunting knife pressed hard against the taut skin of her throat.

“Welcome home, honey,” Andrew Carlisle said. “You’re late. It’s not nice to keep a man with a hard-on waiting.”

Diana shook her head wildly, struggling to escape, but he ground his punishing fingers deep into the tender flesh of her face. “Oh, no, you don’t lady. Make one sound, and everybody dies. Starting with you.”

S o I’itoi went to see Gopher Boys, who guard the gates of those who live below. “I need people to come help me,” I’itoi said. “I have people from the East and the West, from the North and the South, who will help me fight Evil Siwani. Are there any people here who will help me fight my enemy?”

“First,” said Gopher Boys, “you must sing for four days to weaken your enemy. After that, come again, and we will open the gates.”

Meanwhile, Evil Siwani worried about how many warriors I’itoi would bring with him, so he sent Coyote to see. Coyote ran to the top of Baboquivari and looked down just as Gopher Boys opened the gates. The people who would help I’itoi started coming out, more and more of them all the time.

It is said that long ago, if Coyote didn’t like something, he could laugh and change it. So Coyote laughed and said, “Will these people never stop coming?” Right then the hole in the earth slammed shut, and no more people came out.

Coyote ran back to tell Evil Siwani that I’itoi was on his way with many warriors. Wherever there were people who heard about the coming battle, they were happy to join forces with I’itoi. Finally, I’itoi’s warriors camped for the night just a little way from Evil Siwani’s village. I’itoi called his people together.