“You were right about one thing. All three of you are up against pretty serious charges.”
“I guess sometimes you can’t go by that,” Sanada said ruefully. After that no one talked for quite a while.
Watchman looked at Rufus Limita’s granulated features and the medicine man returned his scrutiny without guile. The three of them sat cross-legged in a loose circle around Watchman; none of them seemed especially perturbed but that was the role they were playing—patience was one of the oldest traditions.
The time ticked by.
8.
They held him more than three hours. At the end of it Danny Sanada nodded and Will Luxan picked up the .30-30 and Watchman’s pistol and they all got in the Pontiac with Sanada beside Watchman in the back seat holding the shotgun cocked across his lap.
They dropped Watchman at the roadside by his Volvo. Sanada unloaded the pistol and gave it back to him. “You gonna be coming after us?”
“Maybe.”
“Well when it comes to these two here, I’d kind of like for you to remember it wasn’t neither of them that held no gun on you.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You do that,” Sanada said. His gaze was intent but there was no heat in it. Luxan and Rufus Limita hadn’t got out of the car; they sat in the front seat watching through the windshield. Sanada eased the two shotgun hammers down to safety-cock and slid the gun into the car through the open back window. “I guess you’ll know where to find me. I ain’t going nowhere.”
He watched Sanada get into the car. It went away toward Whiteriver and he walked over to the Volvo.
The left rear tire was flat. There didn’t seem to be any puncture. They had opened the valve with a toothpick and let the air out of it. The spare in the trunk hadn’t been fooled with. This time they hadn’t meant to set him afoot, just delay him a little more. That other time he was pretty sure now that it had been Jimmy Oto who’d shot out the four tires of his HP cruiser. Jimmy had been sitting on the tailgate of his old grey pickup at the horse ranch, swigging beer, and Jimmy must have followed Watchman up to where Watchman cut the sign of Joe’s horses. That had been Jimmy’s style. Sanada was a little less crude than that.
He changed the tire and his clothes were drenched by the time he finished; July was getting vicious, even up here in the high hills.
He got the box of shells out of the glove compartment and filled the magazine of the pistol and snugged it back into the Myers holster; he had a look under the hood, even examined the tie-rods and brake hoses underneath but nothing had been tampered with. The shock absorber was broken at its upper end and that was why it set up such an infernal banging against the resonating metal of the car’s body.
When he tried the key it started up right away and he went bashing up the road at sixty-five, which was a little too fast for the curves. But the Volvo held it in spite of the broken suspension and he kept the pedal down hard.
The wind sawed across his face, so hot that it did not cool him once the sweat had evaporated. He went north on State 73 into the piney woods until the high dark forest crowded close against both sides of the road. Along here the shade gave relief. He was headed away from White-river, away from Sanada and all the rest of them because the nearest telephone was at Indian Pine on the northern border of the Reservation.
9.
There was no number listed for Tom Victorio; he called Kendrick’s office and the secretary put him through to Victorio.
“Where the hell were you last night?”
“It’s a long story,” Watchman said. “Is my partner in town, do you know?”
“He’s sitting right here in the office with me. We were thinking about calling out the United States Cavalry.”
“What did you find last night?”
“Nothing.” Victorio continued quickly: “I’d rather not talk about it right now but the answer’s nothing. Pure nothing.”
“Maybe he keeps the stuff at home.”
“Let’s just drop it,” Victorio said and Watchman knew it was because he had no way of being sure who might be listening on the line: Kendrick, the secretary.
Watchman said, “Did Danny Sanada drive into town a little while ago?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not a traffic cop.”
“Put Buck Stevens on, will you?”
Stevens came on the line. “Jesus we were worried about you.”
“Things are breaking,” Watchman told him. “We’ve got to move in a little bit of a hurry.”
“You want to fill me in?”
“I will when I get the time. Right now find out where you can locate a man named Harlan Natagee. Ask Victorio about him. When you find Harlan tell him we think Joe may be gunning for him. Don’t let him get near any open windows—Joe’s still got that magnum rifle.”
“Do I put him under arrest? Protective custody?”
“You put him under arrest for suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder.”
“Jesus.”
“Suspicion of conspiracy, remember it. We don’t want a false-arrest suit later. We may end up with no proof he’s done a thing. But I want him under wraps.”
“Who’s he supposed to have conspired to kill?”
“Don’t tell him anything. Recite him his rights. Tell him it’s mainly for his own protection.”
“Sam, have we got a warrant?”
“No. I have grounds for presumption that a crime’s in progress.”
“What crime?”
“Joe’s out there with a loaded big-game rifle. Isn’t that enough? Let’s worry about the formalities later. Now listen, this is important. When you arrest Harlan it’s got to be public, very public. When you put him in your car I want everybody to know you’re taking him with you up to Charles Rand’s ranch. Got that? Victorio can tell you where it is. I’ll meet you there.”
“You want the whole town to know about it?”
“I want the whole damn Reservation to know about it. Now have you got it straight?”
“Yeah. I find him, I arrest him real loud and we go to Rand’s place and meet you there.”
“Bring Victorio if he wants to come.”
“I’ll ask him.”
“Harlan’s got a right to legal counsel.”
“Yeah.”
“See you,” Watchman said.
There was no listing for Charles Rand but he found Rand Enterprises and dialed and listened to it ring.
A woman chirped at him. “Rand Enterprises, may I help you?”
“I’d like to talk to Rand, please.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rand is on a long-distance call at the moment. Could I take a message?”
“You’ll have to bust in on him.”
“Well it’s a very important call, really. I’m sure he wouldn’t like it if I——”
“It’s an emergency,” Watchman said. His teeth were beginning to grind. “Get him on the phone, will you?”
She chilled. “Very well, I’ll try. Hold on please.”
Finally a baritone twanged at him. “Charles Rand. What’s all this about an emergency?”
“This is Trooper Watchman, Mr. Rand. I’m in Indian Pine right now. I’d like to come over and——”
“I’m pretty busy right now, Trooper. Can’t we make an appointment?”
“There’s a man gunning for you with a three-seventy-five magnum rifle right now, Mr. Rand. He might be focusing his crosshairs on your window while we’re talking. I’d like to come over there and make some arrangements to prevent you from getting your head blown off. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
He hung up, maliciously pleased with himself: he’d planted the seed of terror in Rand and broken the connection before Rand could think of the right questions to ask. It was going to be a bad half hour for Charlie Rand.
CHAPTER SEVEN
1.
WATCHMAN had a plan now but it was distinguished less by artfulness than by desperation and he didn’t hold out great hope for its success.