«Where?» Reno asked.
«At the base of the cliff, just to the left of the notch.»
Silence, then Reno whistled softly and said, «Ruins.»
Air rushed out of Eve’s lungs. «Can we get over there?»
«We’re sure going to try. Where there are ruins, there’s usually water somewhere nearby.»
He glanced sideways at her and added, «But don’t count on it. Some of the Indians depended on cisterns that have long since cracked and let out all the water.»
Despite Reno’s warning, it was hard for Eve not to show her disappointment when they finally worked their way through the pinon and juniper to the rubble-strewn base of the cliff and found no sign of permanent water.
As the sun descended beyond the rim of the canyon, she sat on her tired mustang and looked at the broken walls, oddly shaped windows, and walled-up rooms of the ruins. The silence in the canyon was complete, as though even the animals avoided the broken reminders of people who had come and gone like rain over the face of the land.
«Maybe that’s what happened to them,» Eve said. «No water.»
«Maybe,» Reno said. «And maybe they lost too many battles to hold on to what they had.»
Half an hour after the sun slid behind stone ramparts, the sky overhead was still bright with afternoon light. Gradually the breeze shifted, coming from a different quarter. One after another, the mustangs threw up their heads, pricked their ears, and sniffed the wind.
Reno’s six-gun appeared in his hand with startling speed, but he didn’t fire.
Gooseflesh prickled over Eve as she saw an Indian walking toward them from the direction of the ruins.
«I thought Indians avoided places like this,» she said softly.
«They do. But sometimes a very brave shaman will go to the old places on a medicine quest. From the looks of his silver hair, I’d guess he’s come to ask his last questions of his gods.»
Reno’s six-gun went back into its holster as soon as the Indian was close enough for Reno to see that he was painted for making medicine rather than war. The once colorful paint was cracked and dusty, as though the shaman had been a long, long time in his quest. Reno reached back into a saddlebag for the small sack of trade goods he always kept, pulled out a pouch of tobacco, and dismounted.
«Stay put,» he said. «Don’t speak to him unless he speaks to you first.»
Eve watched curiously as Reno and the shaman silently exchanged greetings. The sign language they used was oddly graceful, as fluid as water. After a time, the pouch of tobacco was offered and accepted. Privately Eve thought that food would have been a better gift; the shaman looked drawn and worn, as lean as a mustang that had never known the touch of a man.
And like a mustang, the shaman was alert, aloof, fierce in his freedom. When he turned and looked directly at Eve, she felt the force of his presence as clearly as she had felt Reno’s when they held the Spanish needles.
It seemed like a long time before the shaman looked away, freeing her from his clear, uncanny eyes.
When the old man faced Reno once more, the Indian’s arms and hands described graceful arcs, quick lines, flashing motions that Eve could barely follow. Reno watched intently. His very stillness told Eve that something unexpected was happening.
Without warning the Indian turned and walked away. He didn’t look back.
Reno turned and looked at Eve strangely.
«Is something wrong?» she asked.
He shook his head slowly. «No.»
«What did he say?»
«Near as I can tell, he came here to see the past and instead saw the future. Us. He didn’t like it, but the gods had answered his quest, and that was that.»
Eve frowned. «How odd.»
«Shamans usually are,» Reno said dryly. «The really curious thing was his medicine paint. I’ve never seen an Indian use the old signs from the rock walls.»
Reno looked over his shoulder. The shaman was gone. Frowning, he looked back to Eve.
«He told me there was water ahead.»
«Good.»
«Then he told me the gold I was seeking was already in my hand,» Reno continued.
«What?»
«Then he told me I couldn’t see the gold, so he would tell me how to get to the Spanish mine.»
«He knew?» she asked.
«Seemed to. The landmarks match.»
«And he just told you?»
Reno nodded.
«Why?» Eve asked.
«I asked the same thing. He said it was his revenge for seeing a future he didn’t want to see. Then he walked off.»
Reno reclaimed the blue roan’s reins and mounted in a muscular surge.
«Revenge. Dear God.»
«Let’s see if he was right about the water,» Reno said. «Otherwise we may not live to worry about the revenge.»
He turned Darlin’ toward the long shadows flowing out from the base of the cliffs.
«Deer sign,» Reno said after ten minutes.
Eve looked, but could make out nothing in the dusk.
«No sign of wild horses,» he continued. «Strange. Damn few water holes that a mustang can’t find.»
As the sky and clouds overhead became touched with scarlet sunset, a narrow side canyon opened in the stone cliffs. Reno turned the blue roan in to it. Within minutes the side canyon narrowed so much that they had to go in single file. After a few yards of sand, the floor of the channel became smooth, water-polished stone. A shallow pool shimmered in the failing light.
Darlin’ tugged at the bit eagerly.
«Slow down, knothead,» Reno muttered. «Let me check it out first.»
While Eve held the horses, Reno read the sign left in the very fine silt that bordered the shrinking pool. He came back to the horses, stripped off canteens, and began filling them. When he was finished, he stepped back.
«Let them in one at a time,» Reno said.
While Darlin’ drank, he watched the level of the pool intently.
«All right, girl. That’s enough. Let the dun have a turn.»
Under Reno’s quick eyes, the four horses were allowed to drink their fill. When they were finished, little remained but a churned, silty puddle barely a quarter the size that the shallow pool had been before the horses arrived.
«Will it fill again?» Eve asked.
Reno shook his head. «Not until the next rain.»
«When will that be?»
«Could be tomorrow. Could be next month.»
He looked beyond the puddle to the place where the stone walls pinched in.
«Look!» Eve said.
Reno turned to her. Silently she pointed to the wall behind him. There, on the rusty face of the rock, someone had chipped out a symbol. It was the same as one of the symbols in the Spanish journal.
«Permanent water,» Eve translated.
Reno looked at the puddle and then at the dry, unpromising slot that was so narrow he would have to enter it sideways.
«Take the horses back to grass and hobble them,» Reno said. «Sleep if you can.»
«Where are you going?»
«To look for water.»
THE following Reno slept until a rising tide of sunlight crested the high canyon walls and flowed through the hidden valley. He awoke as he always did, all at once, with no fuzzy twilight between sleep and full alertness. He rolled on his side and looked across the ashes of the small campfire at the girl who slept on her side with her hair a tawny glory spilling across the blankets.
Desire tightened Reno’s body in a rush as silent and deep as the sunlight filling the valley. With a whispered curse, he rolled out of bed.
The crackle of the campfire startled Eve. She awoke in a rush, sitting up so suddenly that blankets scattered.
«Easy, gata. It’s just me.»
Blinking, Eve looked around. «I fell asleep.»
«That you did. About fourteen hours ago.» Reno looked up from the fire. «You woke up when I came in.»
«I don’t remember.»
Reno did. When he had covered her, she sleepily kissed his hand and then snuggled deeper into the blankets, for the nights were always crisp.