Tularosa

Chapter 6

Andy Baca studied the five watercolors that were spread out on his desk.

"I don't know anything about art, but I know what I like. These are good," Andy said. "The question is, will they help you find Sammy?"

"Maybe," Kerney answered. The picture of the ram on the cliff held his attention. Sammy had put three petroglyphs at the base of the cliff that didn't belong there: an Apache devil dancer, a rider on horseback, and a stylized sheep with a heart line. The arrangement of the petroglyphs matched perfectly with the rock art at Indian Wells, a place Kerney knew well. Kerney tapped the picture of the ram on the cliff.

"I've seen this cliff. I just can't pin it down. See the petroglyphs? They don't belong there."

"You're sure?" Sara asked. Kerney nodded.

"The grouping is perfect. That's Indian Wells. Sammy's been there. So have I."

"Where is it?" Andy asked.

"North of Rhodes Pass, in the San Andres."

"That's a start," Andy suggested.

"Not much of one," Kerney countered.

"It's a hell of a long way from the test facility." He returned his gaze to the watercolor.

"Was Big Mesa covered by the search teams?" he asked, looking at Sara.

"No, they stopped at the 7-Bar-K Ranch," Sara replied. "Is Big Mesa where you think the cliff is?"

"It's possible. The land form in the picture fits the area."

"You could spend a month in those mountains and find nothing," Andy speculated.

"I know it," Kerney replied. He waved his hand over the watercolors. "Alonzo Tony said Sammy took him to Big Mesa or Sheep Mesa-he wasn't sure which-and from the looks of it, I'd guess Big Mesa."

"Where do we start?" Sara asked.

"We go where Sammy has been," Kerney proposed. "I've got a fairly good idea of three or four locations."

"Can you get us into that area undetected?" Sara asked.

"You're kidding," Kerney said. "You want to sneak onto the base?"

"That's the idea," she replied.

"Why?" Andy asked.

"I have my reasons."

"Is the Fergurson burglary one of them?" Andy prodded.

"You bet it is," Sara shot back. "Let's leave it at that, okay?"

"I'd rather not," Andy retorted. "Bulldozing me isn't going to get you an answer." Andy waved off the argument and grinned.

"Bulldozing? I'm just testing the waters."

"For?" Sara shot back.

"Your reaction. Is somebody nipping at your heels?"

"I don't know," Sara answered flatly, and turned her gaze to Kerney.

"Well? Will you do it?"

"It may amount to nothing more than a wild goose chase," Kerney replied.

"Yes or no?" Sara demanded.

"Yes."

"Good." She gathered up the paintings from Andy's desk.

"When can you be ready?"

"At first light."

"Where do we meet?"

"Engle," Kerney replied. "Be there at four in the morning. Bring the portfolio with you, wear your riding gear, and pack a change of clothes." She gave him a curt nod and turned back to Andy.

"Can I get a ride home from one of your deputies?"

"Absolutely." He walked to his desk, made a short telephone call, and hung up. "It will be just a few minutes."

"Thanks. I'd like Erma Fergurson to have some protection for the next few days. Can that be arranged?"

"I'll put somebody on it."

"That about covers it for now," Sara said, extending her hand to Andy. "Thanks again, Andy."

Andy covered her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Anytime, Captain." After Sara left, Andy and Kerney sat silently. Kerney seemed lost in thought.

"It looks like you get to go back to your old stomping grounds," Andy finally said.

"I never thought I would." Kerney shook his head. Andy skipped over it.

"Do you think Sara is holding something back?"

"She's got a fire lit under her," Kerney commented.

"That's for sure."

"Do you trust her?"

"I do."

"So do I," Andy agreed with a grin.

"She's a piece of work, isn't she?" Kerney nodded and grinned back.

"We need to get you outfitted," Andy remarked, walking to the office door.

"How long do you plan to be gone?"

"Twenty-four hours. We'll leave from the Rocking J Ranch on the Jomada. Dale Jennings's place. Do you know it?"

"Tell me how to get there and I'll be waiting when you get back." He let Kerney pass in front of him and closed the door.

"You could both get your asses in a sling. You know that, don't you?"

"That's a reassuring thought," Kerney replied. *** Sara rang the bell to the communications center security door. It was after normal working hours, and the headquarters staff was gone for the day. She pushed hard on the buzzer until the door opened.

"PFC Tony?" she asked, her open badge case at eye level for the soldier to see.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you speak to Captain Meehan last night?" Sara had the facts at hand: the surveillance team shadowing Kerney had duly noted the event.

"I've been ordered not to answer any questions," Tony said haltingly.

Sara snapped at the young soldier. "If you don't tell me what I want to know, I'll make sure every damn day you spend in the Army is very unpleasant. Do you understand that, soldier?"

"Yes, ma'am." Tony looked very unhappy.

"Well?" Sara demanded. Tony licked his lips.

"I spoke to the captain."

"Did you tell him that Sammy Yazzi owned a camera?" Sara demanded. Tony nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you mention the jeep trip you took with Sammy to Big Mesa?"

"No, ma'am. He didn't ask me about that. Am I in trouble. Captain?"

Sara's smile was tight-lipped. "Not if you cooperate. What else did you tell him?"

"He asked me if I knew where Sammy stayed when he was in Las Cruces."

"And?"

"I told him I didn't know, but that his sergeant had a phone number for how to reach him."

"Why would Sergeant Steiner have a number for Sammy in Las Cruces?"

"Sammy told me that Steiner chewed him out once when he got back from town. Steiner needed him at the test site and couldn't find him. He made Sammy give him a phone number where he could be reached in case it happened again."

"What else did you tell Captain Meehan?"

"That's it, ma'am."

"Tell no one about this conversation. No one. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain." Sara turned on her heel and walked down the hall, unwilling to let Tony see how angry she felt. In her office, with the phone book open to the listing for Erma Pergurson, she called Sergeant Steiner. He told her Captain Meehan had called and asked for the number. He read it off to her. It matched the number in the book. She waited until Steiner hung up and slammed the phone into the cradle.

Damn Meehan! she thought. If she could ever get him on a level playing field, she would clean his clock. *** A thin ribbon of light flowed over the crest of the mountains, as the night sky began fading into lighter grays. Thick clouds moved rapidly into the mountains, blotting out the color on the ridgeline. Ahead, through the windshield of Kerney's truck, Sara could see the flicker of house lights in the foothills, like a beacon with no reference point. It was the first indication of human habitation in twenty miles. For a very long stretch along the dirt road, the truck headlights revealed nothing but desert; not even fences or utility poles. Kerney had Bach's Brandenburg Concertos playing softly on the cassette deck, a perfect choice against the tapestry of the last gloom of night. They climbed out of the desert, the house lights above them appearing and vanishing as the road twisted gently, following the contours up the slope of a small valley pinched between outcroppings of the San Andres Mountains. The valley narrowed to a canyon that gave way to mountain meadows of grass and thickets of cedar trees.

A band of clouds passed over the mountains as they reached the ranch gate. A weathered board nailed to a fence post by the gate displayed the brand for the Rocking J Ranch. Beyond the gate, in a grove of pine trees, warm light poured from the windows of the ranch house. It was the centerpiece of the surrounding buildings, still hard for Sara to discern in the early light.

Kerney got out and opened the gate. Without giving it a thought, Sara slid behind the wheel, drove through the gate, and stopped. Kerney swung the gate closed, pointed to the corral, and started walking. She drove to the corral and waited for him to catch up. He walked past the truck and leaned on the top rail of the corral, eyeing the four horses inside. Dale had saddled a bay and cinched a pack frame to a slightly sway-back roan. The bay was perfect for Kerney; it had high shoulders, big hips, and a nicely proportioned frame. The horse would move smoothly, with good speed if needed. That left the gelding and the mare for Sara to choose from, Kerney thought. He wondered which one she would select. From the truck, Sara studied the horses carefully.

A mare like that would do nicely when she was ninety years old and needed to ride in a surrey. It had a potbelly and weak hindquarters. The gelding's deep chest, flat back, and thick haunch showed the promise of endurance and quickness. The first moment of true daylight touched the crowns of the pine trees as the sun crested the mountains. The foreman's quarters, within easy hailing distance of the main house, was a small cabin with a narrow porch running the length of the building. A hay shed sat conveniently next to the horse barn and corral. The windmill by the water tank grabbed Sara's attention. Old, squatty, and made of wood, with a small platform beneath the blades, it creaked and hummed in the slight breeze. She loved the sound of it.

A screen door at the ranch house slammed shut, and they both turned toward the sound. Dale Jennings strode toward Kerney, one hand grasping a large coffee thermos and the other hand juggling three mugs. Dale put his load down on the hood of the truck and bear-hugged Kerney.

"I didn't think anything would ever get you back here," he announced, grinning affectionately as he released Kerney from his grasp. Kerney grinned back.

"Strange things can happen. Thanks for doing all this." He gestured at the waiting horses.

"Nothing to it. Coffee?" he asked Sara, as she stepped out of the truck. Kerney broke in.

"I'm forgetting my manners.

Dale Jennings, this is Sara Brannon."

"Ma'am," Jennings acknowledged, picking up a mug and holding it out to her. Dale Jennings was in his forties, maybe an inch under six feet tall, dressed in work boots, a western shirt, a goose-down vest, and faded blue jeans, topped off by a cap with a feed store logo. His eyes were widely spaced under a long forehead. His mouth seemed set in a permanent smile.

"I'd love some coffee, Mr. Jennings," Sara answered, taking the mug.

She watched Dale pour it carefully, so as not to spill a drop, thinking she had been too long away from home and the company of people like Dale Jennings.

"The name's Dale," he said as he finished.

"Call me Sara," she replied, unable to contain a smile. The coffee smelled wonderful. Dale repeated the ritual with Kerney, then poured a mug for himself, and together all three watched the sunlight spread into the canyon, the warm mugs cupped in their hands, the coffee quietly sipped and savored. Kerney broke the pleasant silence.

"Where are Barbara and the girls?"

"In town," Dale responded. "I'm a bachelor during the week. Both girls are in high school now. You know how that goes. They can't stand to miss any of the socializing and such. Barbara's renting an apartment and working part-time at the flower shop." He put his mug on the top of a fence post and leaned against the railing. He caught Sara's eye, then tilted his head at Kerney.

"The only time we see this fellow is when I take my family up to visit. We use him as a tour guide to show us nouveau riche Santa Fe and all those fancy places we can't afford." Kerney, looking up the mountain behind the ranch house, wasn't paying attention.

"Can you get Sara saddled up, Dale?" he asked.

"Sure thing."

"I won't be long," Kerney said, walking in the direction of a glen behind the house. Dale watched Sara's questioning eyes follow Kerney until he disappeared behind the house. He waited for her to speak.

Instead, she gave him an uncertain smile.

"His parents are buried up in the grove," Dale explained. "He's never been back since the funeral. I watched him dig the graves myself. Wouldn't let anybody help him. Took him all day and into the night. He really loved his folks. His grandfather is buried with them, along with my parents."

"I know what happened," Sara said, trying to think of something to add.

Dale saved her from the struggle. "Then you know it was a damn shame. He didn't say a word; didn't cry-nothing. He put his Army medals in the graves before we covered the caskets."

"Why did he do that?" Dale shook his head.

"Can't say for sure. He wrote me a couple of letters from Vietnam. Said the only thing keeping him going was the thought of getting back home. With his parents dead and all, I guess he figured he didn't have a home anymore."

"He couldn't stay?"

"Hell yes, he could stay. I wanted to take him on as a full partner, but he wouldn't hear of it. He left the morning after the funeral. This is the first time he's been back."

"How sad," Sara said. Dale shook his head in agreement and changed the subject.

"Tell me about this trail ride you're taking."

"It's best that I don't," Sara responded. Dale laughed.

"That can only mean one thing. Kerney's taking you onto the missile range."

"Is that so?" she asked, unwilling to admit the truth.

"Hell, it was our favorite sport when we were growing up. I've bragged on it so much over the years, now my girls do it and give me grief when I crab at them to stop. It's gotten to be like a tradition." He pointed up the dirt road running past the ranch to the outline of a white sign by a cedar-post gate.

"There it is. White Sands Missile Range. Halfa mile away. The start of Rhodes Pass. It's our backyard."

"Did you and Kerney ever get caught?" Sara asked.

"Not once. Fifty-three hundred square miles is a lot of territory to protect. You'd have to put the whole damn Army inside the Tularosa to seal it off completely.

"Hell, we even used to try and get ourselves caught. Once in a while we'd let them Army boys catch a glimpse of us just to make the game more exciting, hoping they'd chase after us. I think they knew who we were and decided it wasn't worth the effort. There are ways into the range from here I bet the military have never figured out." He opened the gate, stepped inside the corral, and reached for a saddle blanket.

"I think the mare will do you." The mare stood passively, head lowered, while the gelding skittered away, spooked by Dale's sudden presence.

"What's the terrain like?" Sara inquired, unconvinced. Dale had the blanket in one hand and a saddle in the other, ready to cinch up the mare.

"Rough country. The mare's surefooted. You'll need that, especially in the mountains."

"She's slow, I bet," Sara countered, "and won't keep up with the bay."

She climbed the railing and joined Dale in the corral. She took the bridle off the fence post.

"I'll try the gelding," she announced.

"That's no horse for a lady," Dale said.

"Maybe I'm no lady," Sara said, picking up the bridle. She cornered the gelding and put the bit in his mouth, talking to him softly. When he took the bit, she worked her hand down his neck until he stopped snorting and put his ears forward. Still talking, she reached up for his mane and vaulted easily onto the gelding's back. The gelding trembled, bent his hindquarters almost to the ground, and started a counterclockwise spin. Sara leaned into the movement, her head low against the gelding's neck. After six rotations, the horse stopped twisting and settled into a mild canter around the fence perimeter. It had a comfortable, smooth gait.

"He likes to turn to the left," Dale allowed, pleased at the sight of a good rider. Sara patted the neck of the gelding and slid to the ground.

"He'll match the bay," she predicted.

"That he will," Dale agreed, walking to her with the saddle and blanket.

They saddled the gelding and loaded the gear on the swayback roan. From the looks of it, Kerney had brought all of the essentials for the journey and then some. He rejoined them as they were finishing up.

"The lady can ride," Dale remarked as he opened the gate to let the small caravan out of the corral.

"I'm not surprised," Kerney replied. He lifted his head toward Rhodes Canyon.

"Does the pass get much use?"

"Three vehicles a week is a traffic jam," Dale joked.

"Any regulars?"

"Military police. State Game and Fish. Some Bureau of Land Management types."

"Any one in there now?" Kerney asked, walking his horse to the dirt road. He stopped and mounted the bay. Sara was already astride the gelding. Dale nodded.

"Eppi Gutierrez went in yesterday. Manages the bighorn herd for Game and Fish. Should be back out in a day or two. How are you going in?" Kerney looked down at his boyhood friend and winked.

"Washout Gap, if it's still open."

"The worst trail in," Dale declared. "Why that one?"

"We're going to Indian Wells first," Kerney explained.

"Well, that's the shortest way." His hand ran down the withers of the bay.

"We'll be back no later than tomorrow morning, early," Kerney told his friend.

"I'll be looking for you." Dale moved his hand to the bridle to hold Kerney back. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"I don't know what made you come back, but I'm glad you did."

Kerney felt the horse under him and looked at the expanse of desert and mountains that ran out from the canyon below. The turquoise sky rolled with cumulus clouds, heavy and moist. He smiled at his friend.

"So am I. Thanks for the loan of the horses." Dale smiled back.

"Watch out for rain," he said, looking skyward.

"Yeah." Mountains tinged with red earth, richly forested in the protected canyons, rose to serrated peaks.

Only the clatter of hooves on the rock-strewn trail, the breathing of the horses, and the occasional call of the waking birds in the evergreen forest broke the silence. Kerney led them away from Rhodes Pass, down a gradual limestone staircase into a long, deep ravine that seemed to cut into the heart of the mountains with little chance of an outlet. There was no trail to speak of at the bottom, rather a confusion of loose rock, gravel, sand, and deadwood washed into the draw by countless flash floods. The gelding moved easily through the maze, relaxed under Sara's confident touch. The walls of the canyon were as finely etched as a delicate cameo, with veins of strata running through the rock at sharp angles. They continued down, descending into the shadows of narrow-walled bedrock, sidestepping large boulders polished smooth by torrents of floodwater. She saw absolutely no way out and wondered if Kerney's memory of the trail was flawed. A cluster of boulders, each taller than a man, blocked their passage. Kerney dismounted and motioned for Sara to do the same.

"The horses won't like this," he said to her. There was a faint echo that bounced off the walls.

"I'll walk them through." Sara joined him by the rocks. He pointed to a jagged cutout in the ledge, barely distinguishable in the indigo shadows, exactly the height of the large boulder embedded in the gravel.

The vent showed the crushing impact of the boulder, which had hollowed out a passage before recoiling off the wall. She peered into the opening; a slash of blackness with a gleam of light at the end. It rose precipitously on rough-hewn, chiseled steps, with scarcely enough room for a horse to pass. The packhorse won't make it, she thought, and turned back to see Kerney already busy un cinching the straps to the pack frame. She helped him unload and carry the gear through the opening. She walked in deep gloom for a good twenty paces before she could see her feet. The crevice widened to meet a small ledge on an abrupt precipice that dropped at least a hundred feet straight down.

Looking over the edge, she could see the faint outline of a trail.

"Where are we?" she asked, setting her cargo on the ground.

"Bear Den Canyon is below us. The ledge gives way to a good trail around the corner. Wait for me there. I'll get the horses."

"I'll bring the gelding through," she announced firmly. Kerney began to argue, thought better of it, and said, "If it suits you." The gelding made the journey nervous and snorting. Kerney left Sara holding the bridles and went back for the roan. Remounted and repacked at the trailhead, they rode down to the east, the blockading mountains occasionally dipping to give them a view of the immense Tularosa Valley and White Sands National Monument, sparkling brilliantly in the distance. North of the monument, huge manmade swaths cut into the desert floor defined the space harbor where shuttle pilots practiced landings. At the bottom, Kerney turned them out of the canyon floor and up a dry streambed that snaked back into the high country. Once again on a crest, they stopped to rest the horses.

The morning sun's heat shimmered up from the desert floor in waves. The blackness of the lava flow at the northern end of the basin spread across the valley. The Malpais, the Spanish called it, bad country, where a horse could break a leg and a rider could break a neck. Behind the sharp coils of lava, snow still capped the twin peaks of Sierra Blanca, the centerpiece of the Mescalero Apache Reservation, and in the depressions where the basin dipped, shallow salt lakes held the residual water of winter, not yet evaporated by the furnace of a summer sun. They moved beneath the timberline in old-growth evergreens, breaking into the open only once to cross another knuckled canyon before the final push to Indian Wells.

Sara could see game trails converging at the base of a mountain. There were spoor and sign of coyote, deer, and rabbits along the trail, but no prints of man or domestic animals. The horses smelled water and picked up the pace, breaking into a gentle trot as the hill leveled out to form a saucer at the foot of the mountain. Kerney dismounted and Sara followed suit. He led her through a small grove of cedar trees and into a clearing against the mountainside. Indian Wells, a pool of water in a rock catchment basin at the base of the mountain, seemed to have no source. The water overflowed into a natural causeway and quickly disappeared into a rock crevice. They let the horses drink before tethering them. A search of the pool and surrounding area turned up nothing of interest. They ate a light lunch under the weak shade of a tree.

"How long would it have taken Sammy to hike in?" Sara asked. She had the open portfolio in her lap and was perusing the watercolors.

"Not long, if he drove partway up the last canyon we crossed," Kerney speculated.

"Two hours, maximum, on foot, I guess. The game trails make the hike reasonable."

"I didn't see any tire tracks in the canyon," Sara noted, as she rose and walked to the edge of the pool.

"Washed away," Kerney called after her, chewing on a cracker. "All the canyons carry water east into the basin. There's no other outlet. It's a closed system." He got to his feet gingerly and joined her at the pool. Squatting, Sara inspected the petroglyphs just above the water line.

"Here they are," she said, pointing at the rock face. She looked again, this time more closely, at some scratches in the stone next to the devil dancer.

"Are those your initials?" Kerney grimaced.

"I'm afraid so. I got my fanny warmed for that mischief. I thought this was a magical place when I was a kid."

"It still is," Sara replied. "The pictographs are wonderful. I'd love to know what they mean."

"I'm not real sure anyone knows, except the Apaches. I used to study them and try to figure out the symbolism. I think you have to know the story."

"I would love to," Sara reflected, getting to her feet. "So where's the cliff from here?"

"I have no idea," Kerney said. "Somewhere near Big Mesa, I think."

The clouds had turned the sky a solid gray.

"Time to go. There are two old mines close by at Sweet-water Canyon I want to check out. Sammy may have used those locations in several of his paintings. We'll cut up there and then come down to Big Mesa."

"And after that?" Sara inquired.

"It depends on the weather. We'll stop off at the 7Bar-K."

"What did the family brand stand for?"

"The seven was for luck and the K stood for Kerney. The lucky Kerneys. What a joke that turned out to be." He looked skyward again.

"We need to get moving. I don't want us caught in a gully washer."

Kerney pushed along at a faster pace; he could smell the faint tinge of salt in the air. Gray clouds were foaming into black tiers, building up to an angry squall, and canyon winds were whipping tree branches, whistling through the gullies. The storm could hit at any time or jump right over them.

They moved along the back side of stair-stepped mesas, through troughs that plunged into stands of virgin forest. Climbing again, they reached the first mine site only to be greeted by horizontal lightning in a thick sky, the cracking sound muffled in thunderheads. Kerney knew he was searching for Sammy's body, but it was hard to say so. He appreciated Sara's silence.

A light rain was falling as they finished searching the caved-in mine and moved downslope to the next shaft. The wind pushed the rain against their backs with enough force to soak through to the skin. They stopped briefly below a ridgeline to don rain slicks. The tunnel to the second mine, partially open and buttressed by large beams, had enough space beneath a rockfall for a person to crawl through. Sara dismounted, gave Kerney the reins to the gelding, got the flashlight from the packhorse, and wriggled cautiously into the cave before he could take the lead. She stopped, half in, half out, to sweep the blackness with light, looking for rattlesnakes and rats. A scurrying movement and the flash of red eyes at the edge of a vertical shaft made her freeze. It took all her self-control to keep from flinching while she waited for more movement.

She fanned the light slowly over the floor of the cave. There were no snakes that she could see and no evidence of any two-legged visitors. She wormed completely inside the tunnel, stopping at the sound of scampering beyond her line of sight. The noise ended and the beam other flashlight caught a pack rat frozen in the light. She sighed with relief and switched her attention to the shaft. It was filled in with rubble. Kerney scouted the outside area on foot as the rain came down harder and harder. He smiled when Sara emerged. There was dirt on her chin and the tip of her nose. She shook her head back and forth.

"Nothing?" he asked.

"Just a pack rat."

"Let's move on."

The wind roared up to gale force, pelting them with cold rain as they mounted their horses. Sara shouted over the gale, "We've got to get out of here." Lightning cracked above her. The gelding reared, ears back, rotated in a quick counterclockwise spin, and slammed into the packhorse. The roan back stepped and went down. Sara was out of her saddle, fighting to stay seated. The gelding spun in a tighter circle, whirling into a juniper tree at the fringe of the trail.

The branches whipped Sara's face, and she tumbled off the gelding, trying to take the fall on her shoulders and get away from the horse. She landed hard, the breath jarred out of her. The gelding, snorting with fright, reared above her. She could barely see through the sheet of rain as she rolled to avoid the hoofs. The impact never came. Kerney had the bay between her and the gelding, switching it with his reins. He got it settled down and hitched securely to a tree, tied off the bay and the roan, and ran to her. Sara struggled to sit up.

"Are you all right?" he demanded.

"I caught my foot in the stirrup and twisted my ankle." She held out her hand so he could help her to her feet. "That's all."

"Let me look at it," Kerney ordered, holding her firmly in place. There was a red welt on her forehead.

"It isn't broken."

"Which ankle?"

"The right one." She shook off Kerney's grip, tried to stand on her own, grimaced in pain, and sank back to the ground.

"Stay put. I'll tape it." He got the first-aid kit, took off her boot, and inspected the ankle. It was sprained but unbroken. He wrapped it tightly and got the boot back on before it would no longer fit over the swelling. He supported her as she stood up and took a few tentative, painful steps. Then he laughed.

"What's so damn funny?" Sara demanded.

"You and me," he said, still chuckling, as he walked her to the gelding.

"Now we're a matched pair."

They hurried across Sweetwater Canyon. There was no time to stop. The storm covered the range from north to south. Any runoff would catch them before they could reach the desert. Kerney led the small caravan to the side of a high mesa, into the stinging rain of a low cloud.

There was nothing above them but the blackness of the storm. Big Mesa curved between two canyons, encased in the cloud that spilled over into the basin and blocked the basin floor from view. Fog came at them from every direction and wrapped them up. It was gray and wind-lashed, with fleeting breaks in the cover that brought a glimmer of creamy light into the haze. The horses, jaded from the ridge-running, needed rest. Kerney had pushed hard to leave the low ground. It was none too soon. They could hear the growing roar of the torrent below them, crashing through the rocks, sweeping toward the wide mouth of the canyon. He dismounted and dropped the reins over the head of the bay.

The horse stood still, legs quivering. Hunched over, eyes cast downward, he went looking for the footpath that would get them off the mesa. The trail started at a rock face along a narrow ledge, then made a series of sharp switchbacks. The old ranch road intercepted the trail on the first step up the mesa. They would have to walk the next two miles, leading the horses. Kerney found the trailhead and returned to give Sara the news. She groaned silently at the prospect and dismounted without comment. As she hobbled behind the packhorse she wondered if she would ever get dry and warm again. She assumed Kerney was taking them to shelter, but she had no idea where they were going or how long it would take to get there. She damn sure wasn't going to ask. There was no way Kerney would hear a whine or a whimper from her. The two of them trudged along on gimpy legs, waterlogged, leading miserable, tired animals. There was enough humor in it to make Sara smile every now and then, in spite of the pain shooting up her leg. The switchback trail was barely passable and in places only faintly discernible. Scattered rocks and saturated earth along the way made for tough going. The mud turned to thick slop as the intensity of the rain increased.

The cloud sank lower and the rain turned to hail. Sara's only reference points were the trail at her feet and the backside of the packhorse in front of her. She sighed with relief when Kerney signaled her to stop. He stood between two superficial ruts filled with water, intersecting the path.

It had to be the jeep trail. When he failed to move on she joined him and asked what was wrong. The hood of his rain slick dripped water down the brim of his hat as he bent to study the tire tracks in the mud.

"These are recent," he said.

"It looks like somebody's cut a new route."

"Going where?"

"As far as I know, nowhere. It dead-ends up at the rock face." He pointed up the trail. She might have missed it in the rain. "Drops straight off or goes straight up. There's no way out."

They were quiet for a moment, neither one of them enthusiastic about the obvious need to follow the tracks.

"The storm should break soon," Kerney suggested, wiping his nose with a damp hand.

"Let's go have a look," Sara said, with as much energy as she could muster. The tire tracks gave out in a circle of flattened grass where the vehicle had turned and backed up near two twisted, intertwined cedar trees close to a seamless cliff that cut off forward movement. At the base was a steep plummet to a smaller mesa below. On the canyon floor a bighorn browsed serenely within yards of a cascading flood of water rushing toward the mouth of Sweetwater. Kerney looked at the cliff. It matched perfectly with the bighorn watercolor. They tied the horses to the trees and took a closer look. The lower branches had been cut away to allow passage to the rock face.

A tent-shaped crevice in the granite had been care fully filled in with stones and small boulders. It took only a few minutes to remove the rocks. The air that wafted out of the darkness brought the smell of decaying flesh with it. Standing at the entrance, Sara used her flashlight to illuminate the cave. It was high enough for Kerney to stand upright and deep enough to hold two dozen or more people. The ground was smooth stone, except for a pile of loose shale at the back of the cave. They walked to the mound, and Sara held the flashlight while Kerney removed the shale. Under layers of rock the outline of a body emerged, wrapped in a tarp. Gagging on the stench, Kerney peeled back the sheath. Escaped gases from the decomposed body had blistered Sammy's face so that it looked burned. He was barely recognizable.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Kerney said, spitting the words out. He turned away, gasped for fresh air, and looked at Sammy's face again.

"Let me help," Sara said. Kerney brushed her hand away.

"I'll do it," he said hoarsely. He felt around Sammy's neck until his fingers touched the dog tags, undid the clasp, and carefully pulled loose the chain. The canvas beneath Sammy's head, crusted with dried blood, claimed tufts of hair as Kerney turned the rigid body on its side. The back of Sammy's head was crushed. Kerney's breath whistled out of him through his clenched teeth.

Underneath Sammy's torso was a sketch pad. He handed Sara the pad and the dog tags, fished Sammy's wallet out of his back pocket, and gave it to her.

With her mouth covered to fight off the stench, only Sara's angry eyes showed.

"This sucks," she said. Kerney said nothing. Slowly, he wrapped Sammy in the tarp, his hands tucking the material as though he were putting the boy to bed. Standing, he swallowed hard against the bile in his mouth and the piercing anger in his chest.

"Let's get out of here," he growled, pushing past her and into the moist, fresh air that smelled like earth, pine needles, and cedar.

Sara's flashlight beam caught a dull glitter in the fine dust near the feet of the corpse. She picked it up and held the light close to inspect it. It was an old military insignia, two crossed cavalry sabers with a company letter beneath the sheathed blades. She put it in her pocket and joined Kerney outside. Savagely, Kerney restacked the rocks to seal the entrance. The violence in his movements as he worked warned Sara that no help was wanted. Finished, he walked to the edge of the mesa. The high winds and rain were gone. Dreamlike on the skyline, the Sierra Blancas gathered the last of the clouds to their crowns. The basin, damp in wet tones of brown, green, and gray, glistened in the sunlight. *** Below him on a sprawling foothill, the shape of the 7-Bar-K ranch house jumped out at him. The living windbreak his grandfather had planted on the north side of the house was now a dead row of cottonwood trees. A pile of lumber was all that was left of the horse barn, and a few random fence posts marked the remains of the corral. The stock tank, almost covered by drifting sand, showed a rusted lip to the sky. A truck was parked in front of the log porch. East of the ranch, on the flats in the distance, sunlight bounced off a cluster of metal roofs. It had to be the test site. The sound of Sara's voice startled him.

"Are you all right?"

"Not by a long shot," he answered.

"Kerney… I'm sorry."

"I know." He refused to look at her.

"You'd think this old place had seen enough suffering over the years." He pulled himself together and forced a smile.

"I know it must hurt, but…" His interruption came before she could continue.

"It's okay." Tears made lines in the dirt on his face. He blinked more away.

"Let's dry out, clean up, and get some rest. I don't know about you, but I'm a complete wreck." They rode down toward the ranch in the unusually cool air the storm had left behind, Kerney in the lead. Sara prodded the gelding along until she was even with Kerney's shoulder. He would not look at her.