"Colonel, may I?" Chino broke in.
"By all means, please," Henshaw said quickly.
Chino leaned forward. His hand slid along the map, from the reservation area of the Acoma westward. "This is Cibola," he pointed out. "National forest. What's more important is south and west of Cibola. This area," he tapped the map, "is lava flows. Vicious. The stuff is often needlesharp. Eat a man's boots in one day. Now, just beyond that lava flow area you run into the Ramah Navajo Indian Reservation.
The Navajos can be a problem tribe at times. It's the familiar white man and the redskin dancing wildly in the same frying pan. With all that kicking and swinging somebody always takes a shot in the mouth."
Indy laughed. "Best way I've ever heard it said. But you hinted the Navajos weren't a problem."
"Right. It's the Zunis. Normally they're like most of the old tribes out here.
Scratching in the sand to eke out a living.
The farming is lousy, the soil bleached, the drought endless, and there's not enough livestock, mainly sheep and some cattle, to keep the people from being on the edge of starvation. The commercial outfits that came in have done their best to shaft everybody. For a while the Zunis, like most of the tribes, were building up a fairly decent tourist trade, and it looked like we'd get some irrigation. The drought, well, it tore us limb from limb. Selling wool became the salvation for most of the tribes, and the Cubero Trading Company had a death grip on most tribes. We started to break away from Cubero two years ago, but right now we're being strangled by the same economic depression that's ripping through the entire country."
Chino took a deep breath. "Don't mistake what I've just said as a stock speech on behalf of the poor Indians. That wasn't my intent. You see, the people with that airship you're after understand everything I've just told you, and they are playing that scene for everything it's worth."
Henshaw eased back into the issue. "The state marshal
—he's been working with us, his name is Guy Douglas, and he's an old hand out here—has kept us up to the minute.
Look again at the map, the Navajo, Cibola, Zuni and other groups. The Zuni are quite some distance from Acoma, and in the past two days all hell has been breaking loose out on the reservations. It's not a case of the Indians giving us grief.
By us, I mean law enforcement in New Mexico. They've been bought by those people running that airship. In fact, two names we've latched onto are Halvar Griffin and a Wilhelmina Volkman."
A memory stirred. The Natural History Museum . . . Gale Parker spoke up.
"Indy, you get the feeling that Volkman is really Marcia Mason?"
Indy nodded, but turned right back to the issue at hand. "All you've been telling me, the both of you," he indicated Chino and Henshaw, "comes to a point.
What is it?"
"The Navajo went on a rampage two days ago," Chino answered. "But it's been a careful rampage. They stayed within the borders of their own reservation, so there's no doubt in my mind that it's all been staged. It's a farce. They're drunk, they've blocked the main roads going in and out of their area, they're shooting off guns day and night, and they're threatening to shoot anybody who comes into their territory. That's a diversion, of course. And it's working.
The local law enforcement people have been trying to calm things down there.
When they thought they had the situation under control—never aware it was all a setup—the Zuni broke loose from their grounds, and started out to the north with a few hundred painted warriors on horseback, heading for Gallup. That's another staged breakout. But it has succeeded. There's been enough propaganda about these socalled uprisings to send every lawman for a couple of hundred miles around to those areas, especially Gallup. The people there are frightened out of their wits."
"You've told me what you haven't even said yet," Indy said, frowning.
"Tell me," Henshaw responded.
"There's no local law left in the Acoma area," Indy said. "Sheriffs, police, park rangers, state and federal marshals, they're all pouring into the Zuni and Gallup area."
"Which means, my friend, you've got this hornet's nest on your own hands.
That airship is going to be on its way out of Acoma in the next two days. At the most," Chino stressed. "So whatever it is you're going to do, you have to get cracking just about now."
"Colonel Henshaw?" They turned to Gale. "Why can't you send over a few bombers and put that dirigible out of action right away?"
"Because Griffin, or whoever it is running the show, has prepared for this moment," Henshaw replied, "and very carefully. Mr. Chino can tell you why our hands are tied."
Heads turned to the tall Indian. Chino's face was grim. "If the army, or anyone else, attacks the airship while it is concealed, or even close to the deep cavern where it is out of sight from above, you condemn almost all the Acoma.
You see, those people came to us as friends. Our people were desperate for food, water, the necessities of life. A team of strangers came in, both on horseback and with trucks. They had all the right paperwork. They were archeologists and they were surveyors. They were digging out rumored caves which Coronado's invaders had filled with precious artifacts of more ancient times. In return for our cooperation, they promised—and they kept their promises—food, water, electricity for all of Acoma, medical facilities—everything our people needed. I said they had the right paperwork. Licenses, permits, company names. They came in with increasing numbers. There is a huge cavern not visible to the passerby. It is big enough to hold their airship.
"I fear I am wasting time talking, so I will get to the point. The white people who came in cut away a section of cliff.
They did so with our permission. This gave them enough room to settle their airship by descending vertically. It sounds like all the devils of hell when it comes down. Its fumes are choking, but the winds blow them away. As the airship descends, they tether it to cables and engines which reel it in carefully. When it is down, it is secured to the ground and it is safe. Then they bring in provisions and their helium.
In the hill caves atop the mesas they built holding tanks. For helium and their fuel, they told us. What they did not tell us is that they filled many concealed tanks with kerosene and gasoline. They have packed high explosives all through Acoma."
He moved his head slowly to meet the eyes of everyone listening to him. "Do you understand now?" Indy spoke up.
"You're boobytrapped." "Yes. Attack that airship where it is held to the ground, and you will destroy Acoma and kill thousands of our people. Most of them will burn to death in rivers of fire from the fuel tanks which are so set up they will pour their contents into the caverns and caves."
Indy turned to Henshaw. "So we can't go after them where they would otherwise be helpless."
"I have talked with these strangers," Chino said. "I know something of their plans, as I overheard several discussing what they would do. I know little of flying, but I heard clearly that they plan to lift upward from Acoma at night, when they will not be seen and all the law people are occupied with the Zunis and in the Gallup area.
They said they will rise to more than six miles into the sky and then they would go."
He shrugged. "Where, I do not know. All that mattered to me was that they were leaving. Then Colonel Henshaw, here, asked to see me."