Canyons (12 page)

Letters. The copies were all the same size but it was easy to see that they had all been written on different sizes of paper, at different times and by different people.

He riffled through them, wondering if he had time to read them. He almost put them aside but remembered Homesley’s friend Rainger had worked hard to organize everything. The letters must mean something or they wouldn’t be there.

He rubbed his eyes again. Two hours before he had to go to work.

He read the first letter.

“To the commanding officers of Fort Bliss.

“Hoping to find you in good health I take up my pen in a matter most urgent.

“Here at the Quaker school and home we meet often with both young and old Apaches. As you know we are in God’s work to help these people and bring them to grace.

“These are violent times and require more open methods than in more civilized eras and so I shall come to the point.

“Thursday last I was approached by an older Indian woman from the Horse Mesa band of Apaches. I had not seen any member of that band in some time and could only hope that they were off hunting.

“But she informed me that such was not the case and her band had made a raid to steal horses in Mexico.

“On the raid two young boys were killed. One boy was named Magpie and your soldiers apparently shot him while riding and his body was recovered.

“The second boy was seen to enter a canyon with some troopers chasing him.

“This second boy was named Coyote Runs and the old woman was either his mother or his maternal grandmother. These relationships are sometimes hard to understand but I think she was the boy’s mother.

“She said since they cannot find a body would I use my good offices to ask the army if they truly killed her son and if so, would they tell her (me) where the body is so she may retrieve it and give it a proper burial.

“I remain your respected servant,

“(Mrs.) Amelia Gebhart.”

Coyote Runs, Brennan thought—his name, the skull’s name, was, is, Coyote Runs.

“Coyote Runs.” He said it aloud. A boy my age named Coyote Runs ran into the canyons with four soldiers after him. Firing at him.

I fear.

I fear for you now, Coyote Runs, I fear for you.

He put the letter down, picked up the next, which proved to be an answer.

“Dear Mrs. Gebhart.

“Having received yours of last month I take leave to reply.

“Regarding your request concerning the action of a patrol in the area of the canyons adjacent to Dog Canyon, I fear I have not much help for you.

“I have spoken personally with the officer in charge of the patrol and subsequently the four troopers who were personally involved in the aforementioned action.

“Their report assures me that while they did dispatch two hostiles in a running fight the second Indian was also killed in the running fight. Due to the heat and the remaining time of the patrol there was no attempt to recover the bodies of either man.

“It is to be expected that in the heat and with the number of coyotes this year nature may have taken its course, not to put too delicate a turn to it.

“I am sorry to have been of so little help.

“Your respectful servant,

“Col. John McIntire (Comd.)”

He’s lying, Brennan thought. Whether he knows it or not, he’s not telling her the truth. I found the skull up in the canyon, way at the back. With a hole in the forehead. There is no way he could have moved after being hit that way.

What was it Tibbets had said?

Oh yeah, instantaneous death.

Coyote Runs had come into the canyon. They had chased him.

He must have been hurt. Maybe his horse fell or something. Maybe they wounded him.

He had run from them but they had cornered him under the rock and shot him in the head.

Wait.

More—there was something more. There, yes, there it was—Tibbets had said the muzzle of the weapon had been held right against the boy’s head.

They hadn’t killed him.

They had executed him.

Run to earth like an animal, run to a hole like some frightened animal and they had found him and leaned down and put the barrel of the rifle to his forehead, put it right there and pulled the trigger.

“Oh.”

Brennan blinked, put a finger to his forehead. There.

There.

And Coyote Runs and all the things he would ever be ended then, in that instant.

Brennan put the papers on the table and leaned back. Tears moved slowly down his cheeks.

To know him—to know his name and how he must have died and lived.

No. That was wrong.

He knew his name now and how he died but he knew nothing of how Coyote Runs must have lived.

The door opened slowly and Homesley was standing there. He was holding a steaming cup.

“It’s time to get up,” he said. “I brought you some herbal tea …” His voice trailed off. “You’ve been up all night.”

Brennan wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and took the tea. He held it with both hands and smelled the strong herb steam. “Thank you.”

“You found out something.” Homesley said it not as a question but as a statement of fact. “Something about the skull.”

Brennan sipped the tea. “His name was Coyote Runs and four soldiers executed him.”

Homesley sighed. “Things never change.”

“I want to know more,” Brennan said. “I want to know all about him, how he lived, how it was for him to be.”

Homesley nodded. “I understand.”

“There is a thing I must do—I know what it is now.”

Homesley said nothing, waited.

“A thing I am supposed to do.”

Still Homesley waited.

“I have to take him back.”

“Back where?”

“Back to where he is supposed to be.”

“Where is that?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. Somewhere up in the canyons. He’ll … tell me when it’s right.”

“He’ll
tell
you?”

“I know how that sounds—crazy. And maybe I am. But it has to be—this has to be done.”

“I understand.”

And Brennan could see that he meant it. “I’ll go get the skull—go get Coyote Runs. Do you suppose you could take me up to the canyons and drop me for a couple of days? I’ll tell Mother I’m going camping.…”

“Sure. No sweat. I’ll take a sleeping bag and go with you.”

“We’ll take our time and see the country up there.…”

And Brennan was only half right. He would certainly see the country—but it wouldn’t be leisurely, and it wouldn’t be with anybody.

Bill’s car was parked out front and Brennan could sense something as soon as he entered the house—in the air. A tightening tension.

“Is that you, Brennan?” His mother heard the door open and close. “Come into the kitchen, please.”

Her voice was flat, but not angry.

Brennan went into the kitchen.

The scene seemed frozen.

Bill sat on one side of the table and his mother sat on the other. Bill’s eyes were wide, curious; his mother had some of the same look to her face mixed with concern.

Between them, on the table, sitting on a towel was the skull.

The skull.

Ahh, he thought. Ahh—there it is.

“Do you have an explanation for this—this hunk of bone?”

Yes, Mother, I do, he thought. His name is Coyote Runs and he died when an American soldier put the muzzle of a rifle to his forehead and blew his brains out. But his mouth didn’t say the words. Instead his lips opened and he said, “I found it when we were camping.”

“And brought it home without telling me?”

Brennan shrugged. “There were all those kids with us and I didn’t want to make a mess.…” It sounded lame and he knew it, let it trail off.

“That was National Forest land,” Bill said, his voice prim. “You’re not supposed to remove things from National Forest land.…”

“Coyote Runs.”

“What?” Bill asked.

“Not ‘things,’ not ‘hunk of bone.’ His name was Coyote Runs. He was a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old Apache boy killed by the army.”

“How could you know all that?” Bill asked.

“Research. We … I’ve been doing some research.” He thought it best not to mention Homesley.

“See?” His mother put her hand on Bill’s arm. “I told you we didn’t have to call the police.”

“You were going to call the police?” Brennan asked.

“We already did,” his mother said. “They should be here any minute.”

“Ahh, Mom …”

And he could see it all then—everything. He could see the police coming in and the questions they would ask and what they would have to do—take the skull. They would have to confiscate the skull and it would go back to the National Forest, back to the government and they would put it on display in a museum somewhere, stick it in a glass case with a little plaque saying what it was and he could see it.

See it all.

And as he saw that he also knew what he had to do; what he had to do immediately.

He must take Coyote Runs back. He must follow the dreams, the instructions in the dreams. Now it was all there, all clear; he knew what would happen and knew what he must do.

He must take Coyote Runs home.

He grabbed the skull from the table, made for the back door.

“Brennan.” His mother’s voice stopped him. “What are you doing?”

“Mother …” There was nothing he could say to make it right for her; no words to explain what he had to do. “Mother—I have to leave for a few days.”

“Why?” She stood. “What are you talking about?”

“He … needs me to do something.”

Outside he heard a car pull up in the driveway. The police were arriving. Great, he thought—just great. Now I’m running from the police. I haven’t done anything wrong and I’m running from the police.

“Who?” his mother asked. “
Who
needs you to do something?”

Brennan raised the skull. “Him.”

“The
skull
?”

“Coyote Runs. He needs me to—well, just needs me.”

“But Brennan …”

“I’ll be back in two or three days. I have to do this.…”

“But …”

“Mother. Please.”

“But …”

And she either nodded or he thought she nodded.

Either way it no longer mattered. Time was gone.

Brennan moved through the back door and was gone.

The darkness seemed complete, thick, black, close around him, and he took it as a friend. There was a time when he was afraid of darkness and it surprised him faintly that he had changed.

Changed so much.

He had set an easy pace north. For all of the day, through the morning and into the afternoon he jogged lightly through the city and out past the suburbs and Fort Bliss and into the desert.

Fifty, sixty miles.

It was between fifty and sixty miles to the canyon country where he had found the skull. He remembered that from the camping trip.

He had never run or walked any distance like sixty miles—across a desert—yet he did not doubt he could do it.

The skull—Coyote Runs—would help him. He did not know how, or why, or where he was going but he knew he was not alone.

Take me, spirit …