Martin Smith - Stallion Gate

"According to the Army."

"You don't like the Army."

"I don't know anyone sane who likes the Army."

"That's not a direct answer. Captain Augustino seems to like the Army."

"Stay away from Captain Augustino."

"You told him about Harvey?"

"Nothing to tell."

She had a light step; she was more athletic than he'd thought.

"Tell me about Mrs Augustino," she said.

"Mrs Augustino left the Hill months ago."

"In a hurry, people say."

They came to a stop. She seemed to be studying him as if he were stuck with a pin against the sky.

"What else do people say?" Joe asked.

"They say you have a weakness for officers' wives."

"For women."

"You think I'm rude, Sergeant?"

"No, I think you're interested."

Wind lifted a wing of her collar and rubbed it against her hair.

"Perhaps we'd better look for Dr Fuchs," she said.

The path descended into a spring-fed canyon where water had cut through tiers of pumice, pink sandstone, limestone. Box elders grew at the canyon floor, ponderosas up the sides. Much of the Jemez pines had been cut for timber. Not this canyon. These ponderosas were deep orange, diamond-plated, over a hundred years old. In the soft stone walls over the tree tops, jays and dippers made their nests. In the highest and least accessible reaches of the walls were the pockmarks of handholds and the shadows of rock shelves. "This is where Fuchs went climbing?" Joe asked. Anna nodded. "It was very dull."

Joe picked a crow's feather off a twig and the feather left a gray smudge on his fingers. "Could be fun by now."

At the base of the wall behind a screen of pines was a rough ladder with more feathers. Joe told Anna Weiss to stay on the ground. He scaled the ladder and was climbing the niches in the stone when he heard her following. "Why should I miss the fun?" she asked. The pines as they swayed brushed his back. Sixty feet up, Joe climbed above the tree tops and reached a rock ledge about ten feet wide and fifteen feet deep carved out of soft tufa. The low roof and floor were blackened with soot mixed with feathers. Klaus Fuchs, his shirt torn and dirty, sat facing Roberto, the blind man from Taos.

" Gott sei Dank, du bist hier ," Fuchs said when he saw Anna. "It's me, Joe Pena," Joe told Roberto. "I heard you coming," Roberto said. "Come in." Roberto's hair was long and unbraided. He had his blanket over his shoulders and it wasn't until Joe helped Anna up that he noticed that Roberto was holding a Marlin double-gauge shotgun with its muzzle nestled firmly in Fuchs' crotch. "We're not disturbing anything, are we?' Joe asked. "Not you, no," Roberto assured him. "I am a guest of the American government, on American government land, with American government protection, is this not so?"

Fuchs' neck was covered with finger smudges, so there'd been a scuffle. His hair stood up with fright. There was about a three-foot-long wooden idol wrapped up in red feathers and painted leather in a corner of the shelf. Cut in the rock under the layer of soot were ghost figures, snakes like hoops, lightning drawn as sticks.

"There are parts of this area, this canyon especially, that are set aside for local people so they can carry on their religion," Joe said,

"You mean Indians," Fuchs said. "Those are the local people," Joe said. "You mean -" Fuchs began.

"Enough," Roberto said and jabbed the barrel, not savagely, just enough to make Fuchs lean forward tenderly. "He was up here when we got here, Joe."

Joe could imagine the scene. Fuchs discovered by probably a dozen priests, most likely including Ben Reyes. It was unusual for someone from Taos to take part in a Santiago ceremony, but not unknown. A lot of men were in the service. Priests went back and forth between pueblos just to keep the old rituals rolling. The shelf must have stored altars, which Ben and the others had carried away. Ben would be back. Certainly Roberto and Fuchs weren't going anywhere. Joe had to stoop under the low ceiling. If Roberto fired the shotgun anywhere it was going to get messy. Smart of a blind man to choose a weapon with two barrels.

"Why don't we let the lady go back down?" Joe suggested.

"And run for help?" Roberto said. "May I sit?" Anna Weiss asked.

"Yes." Roberto was pleased. He switched the shotgun from one arm to the other and held out his blanket.

"Thank you." She spread the blanket on the rock and sat.

"You too, Joe," Roberto said. "Thanks." Joe took the hint.

"Like a picnic." Roberto tilted his face in Anna's direction. He was wearing white shirt and work trousers, the shirt buttoned at the neck and cuffs, barely showing gray body paint inside. His closed eyes were slightly sunken, otherwise he made a more handsome man than Joe had first supposed. Joe's .45 was om a smap holster. He wodered how good Roberto's hearing was.

"Warm." Joe noticed that the safety on the shotgun was off.

"Going to be a dry summer," Roberto agreed.

"I still have a share in a bean field down in the pueblo. How do you think beans will do?"

"Bad year for rain," Roberto said. "Good year for lightning."

"He's blind," Fuchs whispered.

"What's that got to do with the weather?" Joe asked. Through his glasses Fuchs' pale eyes were fixed on the gun on Joe's belt. Joe reached for cigarettes. "Smoke? I owe you one."

Roberto nodded.

"He's a madman," Fuchs hissed.

"He's a spy," Roberto told Joe.

Joe tapped the last cigarettes from his pack.

"Sorry, only three," he told Fuchs. He lit all three at once and passed two to Anna, she passed one to Roberto's lips.

Roberto inhaled and smiled. "I can tell she's pretty. There's a feeling around pretty women."

"He doesn't sound crazy," Anna told Fuchs.

"It's not funny." Fuchs looked at the muzzle between his legs.

"You're German, too?" Roberto asked Anna. "I like your accent."

"I'd rather lose it," she said.

"Study Billie Holiday. Get her records," Joe told her. He told Fuchs, "A little Fats Waller would do you a world of good. You were spying?"

"He tried," Roberto said.

"I wasn't spying, I just happened to be here."

"Did you apologize?" Joe asked.

Fuchs snorted.

Most of the priests were old men and they would have to spirit away altars, prayer sticks, stones, fetishes, a lot to carry off a cliff. Joe put in some silence for respect before saying,

"Well, this is a very ignorant person, Roberto. What do you want to do with him?"

"Shoot him."

"Dear God," Fuchs muttered.

"That's an idea," Joe granted.

"Dear God," Fuchs muttered again.

"Are you religious?" Roberto asked him.

"His father is a minister," Anna answered.

"Mormon?" Roberto asked. "We have a lot of Mormons here."

"Lutheran," Fuchs said.

"That's interesting. Don't you think that's interesting, Roberto?" Joe inquired.

"If he's a missionary, that's worse," Roberto said.

"That's right," Joe conceded.

"I am a scientist," Fuchs pleaded. "I don't believe in God."

"You'll have to admit there is some contradiction in what you say one moment and what you say the next," Joe told Fuchs. "It's too bad that you don't believe in God, because there is another way out, aside from being shot. You could become a member."

"A member?" Fuchs asked.

"That's how a lot of priests join," Joe said. "If they happen to stumble on a ceremony, they have to join. That way they never reveal the secrets."

"Like the Communist Party," Anna said.

"The Party cannot be compared to Indian medicine men howling on a cliff," Fuchs answered.

"Where does the Party howl?" Joe asked.

"It is not relevant."

"Touchy, touchy."

"Why spy on Indians?" Anna asked.

"Why are you siding with these ignorants? Why are you with the Indians? Why are you all against me?" Fuchs demanded. Spittle jumped from him to Roberto. "You stupid, little blind man, you wouldn't dare pull that trigger."