The Witch's Tongue (6 page)

THE MORE
crafty motorists used this unexpected opportunity to slip through the abandoned roadblock. A few more curious souls parked on the shoulder to watch the circus. Unnoticed by the police, one of these was focusing a brand-new video camera.

JIM WOLFE
cleared his throat.

All eyes turned to the SUPD officer.

Wolfe pointed at the escapee on the tree limb. “That fella is an Indian. An Apache.”

An old trooper grinned, flashing a gold tooth. “Good. Then you can climb up there and get him.”

Wolfe studied the cottonwood, suddenly wished he had taken Charlie Moon’s sage advice. He tried to think fast, and did. “The suspect is north of the highway, which is not within the boundaries of the Southern Ute reservation, so he is not in my jurisdiction. But when you take him into custody, he must be transferred to the tribal jail at Ignacio.”

This produced a round of chuckles among the state troopers.

“Hey!”

The shout came from above the lawmen’s heads. They looked up at the object of their pursuit.

Officer Staples took off his shades, focused his hard eyes on the Apache. “You ready to come down?”

Felix Navarone shook his head. “Not so long as any of you white cops are under the tree.”

Staples grinned. “You prejudiced against Anglos?”

“You was gonna shoot me,” Navarone said. “That’s why I ran.”

“That’s a crock,” the trooper barked.

The man out on a limb pointed at Jim Wolfe. “You state cops back off, leave the Indian cop here. I’ll negotiate with him.”

This produced appreciative laughter. Someone pointed out the fact that Officer Wolfe was not “a genuine Indian.” He was merely a white man who worked for the Southern Ute PD. It was also noted that a real Indian was present. Maybe the man in the tree would like to have a powwow with Charlie Moon.

Navarone took a wary look at the seven-foot Ute. “I’ll talk to Officer Wolfe.”

The state troopers convened a quick conference. In the huddle, there was unanimous agreement that if they gave this Apache slicker half a chance, he’d hit the ground and run like an antelope. As he was apparently not armed, shooting him in front of several witnesses was out of the question. If the fleet-footed son of a gun made it into the underbrush, it was a three-to-one shot they would not catch him before dark; it would be necessary to bring in the dogs. And so they agreed on a plan. Leaving Wolfe under the tree, the half-dozen lawmen drifted away—forming a wide, loose circle around the cottonwood. It was unlikely now that the tree climber would be able to make an escape. But on the slim chance that he did, they could blame the White-Indian policeman. All was well.

Or so it seemed.

Wolfe looked up at the treed Indian. “Well?”

“I got something I want to tell you,” Navarone said. “And I don’t want them state cops to hear.” The Apache took one hand off the cottonwood limb, gestured that the SUPD policeman should come closer.

Jim Wolfe stepped directly under the limb. “What’s on your mind?”

Felix Navarone grinned. “Did you know that I can soar like the crow?” He raised both arms as if he might be about to fly away.

Wolfe tensed.
What’s he up to now?

Standing well outside the circle of state troopers, Charlie Moon watched it happen. The Apache dropped off the branch onto Jim Wolfe, flattening the SUPD officer onto his back. The men rolled in the dust, grabbing, gouging, grunting. There were shouted curses from the covey of state cops who were dancing around the entangled pair of men. At first, Jim Wolfe, who’d had the wind knocked out of him, was getting the worst of it. But after the SUPD officer sucked in some oxygen, he began to hold his own and more. When Wolfe bit him on the nose, Felix Navarone yelled for help. The state policemen took their time, but eventually the white cop was plucked off the Apache.

Felix Navarone had a hideously bloody nose.

Jim Wolfe suffered more from injured pride than from his minor physical injuries. Snarling, he made a lunge at Navarone, which was blocked by a pair of beefy state troopers. Denied his vengeance, the white man bellowed, “Next time I get my hands on you, Navarone—you are a
dead
man.”

There was no doubt of the soul-felt sincerity of this threat.

Moon shook his head.
Jim, Jim—you should have listened to me
.

Having concluded that Officer Jim Wolfe was in no condition to drive, Charlie Moon had commandeered Wolfe’s SUPD Blazer. Since leaving the scene of the melee, neither man had uttered a word. The tribal investigator was maneuvering the vehicle around the worst of the potholes that blighted the muddy road to his aunt’s remote home.

Filled to the gills with regret, Wolfe cleared his throat. “I have to say it.”

Moon kept his eye on the crooked lane.

“Back there at the roadblock—I should’ve listened to you. Let those state cops take care of that Apache.”

The Ute gritted his teeth as the right front wheel slammed into a foot-deep pit concealed by the snow.

Wolfe’s voice was full of self-pity: “I’ve always been dumb.”

Charlie Moon wondered whether that last pothole had terminated a shock.

“Dumb as a stump,” Wolfe muttered. “Dull-witted as a barnyard turkey, stupid as a…a…” He strained with concentration, then looked at the driver. “You can jump right in whenever you’re ready.”

“Sack of dirt?” Moon offered this in a helpful tone.

“You misunderstand.” Wolfe managed a smile, which sent a sharp pain through his swollen lip. “This is where you’re supposed to give me a pep talk. Tell me how I’m not half as dumb as I feel right now.”

“Nah. It’d be wasted on a stubborn fella like you.” Moon braked when a coyote darted across the lane in front of the Blazer. He tried to think of something to raise his comrade’s spirits. “Felix Navarone got the worst of it. In fact, I think you almost bit that ’Pache’s nose off.”

“I bit his
nose
?” Wolfe made a horrible grimace.

“I thought it’d cheer you up—knowing you caused him seriously bodily harm.”

Officer Wolfe felt like gagging. “I had that guy’s
nose
in my
mouth
?”

“’Fraid so, Jim-boy. Your regular rough-and-tumble rhubarb ain’t a pretty thing to see. Eyes get gouged out, ears and noses chewed off. But I doubt Navarone carried any more germs than your average run-of-the-mill, lice-infested, drug-popping bum who don’t take a bath except when he passes out and falls in the gutter.” He shifted to low gear. “All the same, I hope you’ve had all your shots.”

“Excuse me for not laughing, but that ain’t very funny.”

Moon pulled into the yard by his aunt’s trailer house, parked Wolfe’s SUPD Blazer beside his Expedition, the flagship of the Columbine Ranch. A new set of tire tracks in the snow was evidence that Danny Bignight had already been here and gone—which meant that Kicks Dogs was on her way back to Ignacio. He turned off the ignition, turned to have a look at his passenger. “Jim, your lower lip has swole up like an inner tube. You’d better come inside, let my aunt check you out.”

Wolfe gave the shaman’s trailer a long, doubtful look. “Ah…thanks but I don’t guess I should. She might think it was an imposition.”

“I’ll go talk to her.” Moon got out of the Blazer, headed for the trailer porch.

Wolfe opened the passenger door, shouted. “Hey!”

Moon turned to see what the matter was.

“You took my car keys.”

The tribal investigator pulled the Blazer keys from his pocket. Stared at them.
Funny how we get into habits
. He pitched the keys back to the SUPD cop.

Daisy met her nephew at the door, squinted at the SUPD police unit, asked who was in the car.

Moon told her.

She knew about the white man. “Oh, him.”

“Didn’t think I ought to invite him in.” He lowered his voice: “Jim Wolfe is acting kinda peculiar today.”

Daisy gave her nephew a wide-eyed look.

“Not an hour ago, and for no good reason I could see—he went out of his way to bite a man.”

The Ute elder scowled at the report of such barbarism. “He
what?
”

“Well, I guess it’d be more accurate to say he
gnawed
on a man. But no matter how you put it, it amounts to the same thing—Jim Wolfe chomped right down on the poor Apache’s nose—”

“He bit an
Apache
?”

Moon nodded. “Officer Wolfe recognizes the cultural diversity of our society. When it comes to gouging and biting and kicking, he don’t show no favorites.”

She squinted up at her nephew. “Charlie Moon, are you lying to me?”

“Cross my heart and hope to ride a spotted pony all the way to Steamboat Springs and back—Jim chomped down on that ’Pache’s nose like he was bobbin’ for a crab apple. Dang near took it off, too.”

The Ute elder stuck her tongue out. “Ugh.”

He felt the sudden need to exaggerate. “I expect it’ll take twenty-six stitches to fasten the snout back betwixt Felix’s eyeballs.”

The shaman grimaced. “Felix Navarone?”

“The very same.” Moon frowned at his aunt. “You acquainted with the man?”

She nodded her gray head. “I know all about him and his big brother, Ned. There’s some disagreement about which one is the meanest, but Felix is the smartest of the two.” Daisy assumed a tolerant look. “I don’t have nothing against Apaches. I figure the best of ’em are almost as good as a Ute. But Felix and Ned—those two are bad all the way down to the marrow.” She squinted at her nephew. “Did you know their own mother threw ’em both out of her house last year—told ’em to never come back?”

Moon admitted that he had not heard about this.

Daisy looked to the south, from where the Navarones had come. “I’d have felt better if the both of those yahoos had stayed down in New Mexico, but from what I hear nobody wanted ’em on the reservation. So they come up to Colorado, rented a place over by Pagosa.” There was no point in telling her nephew that Felix dabbled in bad magic, because Charlie Moon did not believe in such things. And some of the reports were hard for even the shaman to swallow. Felix had made his brag around Ignacio that neither knives nor bullets could kill him. And if that were not enough, the Apache also claimed he could fly! Such foolishness. Daisy took another look at Jim Wolfe in the SUPD Blazer. She supposed that those sickly-pale
matukach
folk must have their ups and downs, just like regular people. “Did he get hurt any by the Apache?”

Moon had been waiting for this. “He got bunged up a bit.”

Daisy Perika raised an eyebrow. “How bad?”

“Don’t let it worry you. It’s not like he’d expect
you
could do anything for him.” She did not take the bait. “What Jim needs is to see a
real
doctor—”

“You go get him,” she snapped. “Bring him in here.”

OFFICER WOLFE
shook his head. “I don’t think I should.”

“It’s up to you,” Charlie Moon said.

“I wouldn’t want to put the old lady to any trouble.”

The Ute gave him a knowing look. “If you’re afraid of Aunt Daisy, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Jim Wolfe glared at the smug-looking Indian. “Charlie, I know you don’t believe in any of that witchin’ stuff.” He nodded to agree with some unspoken conviction. “But I know of them that’ve been hexed, and them that’ve been cured by counterhexes. More than once down in Navajo country, I have seen it done with my own eyes.” The SUPD officer touched a fingertip to his swollen lip, stared at the shaman’s trailer home as a terminally ill man might regard an open grave.

Moon leaned closer to his victim, dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. “You don’t have to go inside, I could ask her to put some of her homemade medications in a plain brown envelope, then I could bring it out here, just drop it on the seat beside you, and—”

“Go ahead, Charlie—make fun of a brother lawman.”

“Okay, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Anyway, the old lady’s probably just being polite.”

Moon grinned. “I think we can safely rule that out. But if you don’t let her have a look at you, it’ll hurt her feelings.”

This seemed to alarm the prospective patient. “Well, I wouldn’t want your aunt to think I was an ingrate.”

HAVING INTRODUCED
Jim Wolfe to his aunt, Charlie Moon stood just inside the kitchen door—waiting for the fun to begin.

Wolfe meekly obeyed the old woman’s snappish order to sit down at the dining table. Unconsciously, he clasped his knobby hands in prayerful fashion. “Ma’am, it is real nice of you to help me like this. You are a real Good Samaritan.”

There was no response from the feisty old Philistine.

The SUPD officer licked at his bulbous lip, which pained like it had been stung by a dozen wasps. He was certain it was infected with billions and billions of the Apache’s virulent nose-germs. “If you don’t have the right medicine on hand, that’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

Daisy turned to stare at the white man, as if she wondered how such a pitiful specimen had gotten into her kitchen.

Wolfe tried to avoid the peculiar old woman’s eyes, but was unable to resist the hypnotic gaze.

Daisy turned to Charlie Moon. She pointed at the door. “Out.”

For Wolfe’s sake, Moon assumed a worried look. “Maybe Jim would feel better if I hung around and made sure you don’t use the wrong potion—”

Daisy pointed the finger harder. “Out
now
!”

Wolfe stared imploringly at the tribal investigator.
Charlie, please please please don’t leave me here with her…
.

The tribal investigator understood the silent communication perfectly. He put on his hat. “See you later, Jim.” And so it was that Charlie Moon took his leave.
This will be a great experience for Jim Wolfe. Give him some good stories to tell
.