pointing out spots of historic interest, and telling them Navajo
legends.
“The Wind People, who ride the lightning, own all of these box canyons
and hilltops,” she said half seriously. “No Navajo will build his hogan
near such places, or where lightning has struck. If he did, he thinks
the Wind People would give him bad headaches.”
“It gives me a bad headache trying to understand why your Navajos love a
godforsaken place like this,” Ralph said.
“Your Utes live here too!” Kitty’s eyes flashed.
“Only because white men drove us off our good land farther north,” Ralph
snapped. “We put up a good fight before they expelled us, too. My
grandfather was one of Chief Douglas’ warriors, back in 1879, when the
Utes surrounded and almost destroyed an entire U.S. Army detachment that
invaded our White River reservation.”
“The Navajos got _their_ reservation back,” Kitty pointed out.
“Don’t squabble, children,” Hall said and added, to break the tension,
“I heard a rumor that you’re going to the Squaw Dance together next
week. Is that right?”
Kitty blushed and Ralph nodded.
“That’s the same as becoming engaged, isn’t it?”
“If our uncles approve,” Kitty admitted.
“Well, here’s a tip from an old bachelor: Don’t bicker about things that
happened long ago, and don’t hold grudges. We’re all Americans today, no
matter how our skins are colored.”
“I’ll be good,” Kitty promised. “And that reminds me. Will you all be
good and come to dinner with Mother and me tonight?”
When they pulled up to the motel at Window Rock, an Indian wearing a
Hopi hairband rose from where he had been squatting near the entrance
and handed Ralph a message. The driller read it and turned to the others
with a frown.
“It’s from Chief Ponytooth,” he explained. “He says the Hopis and
Navajos are having a session at the Council Hall tonight and he wants me
there as a representative of the Utes. Looks as if I’ll have to eat and
run.”
“Dinner will be early,” Kitty promised.
“Wait here till I make a quick visit to the Indian Agency,” Hall said.
“Then we’ll walk over to your house. I’m tired of riding.”
Sandy had expected that Kitty might live in an eight-sided wooden hogan
such as he had seen in other parts of the reservation. Instead, she took
them to a neat white cottage surrounded by palo-verde trees.
Mrs. Gonzales was an attractive widow who might have passed for Kitty’s
older sister, except that she was somewhat heavier and her skin was much
darker. She greeted the two older men as if they were members of the
family and made Sandy feel at home immediately. First, she showed them
around the tiny forge and workshop where she apparently earned a good
living by making lovely silver buckles and heavy medallions called
conchas which she sold to tourists. Then, after learning that Ralph had
to leave soon, she rushed dinner to the table. It featured several
highly spiced Mexican and Indian dishes and was delicious.
After coffee, they stood under the stars for a few minutes on a patio
looking toward the great black hole in Window Rock.
“What is the light that twinkles on the cliff these days?” Mrs. Gonzales
asked as she pointed upward with pursed lips.
“Bad man!” she sniffed after Hall explained that it was Cavanaugh’s
light beam.
“What do you know about him, Mother?” Ralph asked.
“Nothing good.” She crossed her arms in the wide sleeves of her
embroidered blouse to keep the evening chill away. “He came here in the
early ’50s, looking for uranium. Pablo, my poor husband, was a
prospector too in those days, and knew every foot of this reservation.
Cavanaugh went into partnership with him, but somehow, he never got
round to signing a contract.
“They made a strike too—one of the biggest. Cavanaugh sold the claim for
much money, just before the government stopped buying ore. He forgot all
his promises then, and went away. Pablo’s heart broke when the man he
thought was his friend betrayed him.” She sighed deeply.
“Now Cavanaugh has returned,” she went on at last, “like the Spaniards
who used to descend on us Indians like locusts when they needed more
money. He is not good for this country.”
“He certainly is riding a high horse today,” Hall agreed. “When I was at
the Agency he came stalking in with Pepper behind him, leading two of
his big dogs on leashes. He looked just like the cat that ate the canary
as he submitted a pile of sealed bids a foot high. I sure do wish I knew
what he was up to.”
“If I didn’t have to attend the Council meeting,” Ralph said
regretfully, “I could take the ‘ear’ up to his camp and find out,
maybe.”
Kitty insisted on walking them back to town. She and Ralph went
arm-in-arm until Hall met another oilman, got into a business
discussion, and called his driller back to take part in it. Sandy and
the girl continued on together.
Cavanaugh came out of the motel as they approached. Quite evidently, the
redhaired man had had a few drinks.
“Well!” he said as he recognized them. “If it isn’t the squaw who kicked
me out of school, with her little squaw man!” He stood in their path,
swaying ever so slightly.
“Get out of our way, please,” Sandy said, fighting down his fury at the
words.
For answer, Cavanaugh swung a brawny arm and struck the boy across the
mouth with the back of a hairy hand.
Sandy staggered from the unexpected blow, then charged, fists flying. He
connected several times, but he might as well have hit a brick wall. His
155 pounds made no impression on Cavanaugh’s 200-plus.
“So you think you can fight the man who made three touchdowns against
California,” Cavanaugh bawled drunkenly. “Well, take this for being an
Injun lover!” He swung a short right to the jaw that snapped Sandy’s
head back. “And this for your Injun-loving boss!” He followed with a
stunning left. “And this for your snooty Ute!” He swung a haymaker that
smashed through the boy’s weakened guard and hit his solar plexus like a
bolt of lightning.
As he lay in the gutter, gasping desperately for breath, Sandy thought
he heard the sound of running feet.
“And this,” Cavanaugh said deliberately, “is just part of what I owe
Donovan for calling me a liar. Won’t he look like a fool tomorrow if my
high sign comes through?”
Through bleared eyes, Sandy saw his enemy push Kitty aside and swing a
heavy boot at his ribs.
At that moment, Ralph plunged into the little circle of lamplight. The
Indian gripped Cavanaugh by one beefy shoulder and spun him around.
“This,” he raged, “is for a skunk who picks on people half his size and
kicks them when they’re down!”
He dealt the bully a smashing blow under the ear.
“Fight! Fight!” somebody in the motel yelled. In an instant the building
poured forth a mob of oilmen. They gathered in a circle around the
combatants and shouted encouragement. A few of them egged Cavanaugh on,
but the majority were rooting for his opponent.
Sandy sat up groggily, dabbed at his bleeding lips, and watched the
battle with growing excitement. Ralph was many pounds lighter than the
redhead, but he made up for that by being fast as a rattler. He avoided
the big man’s efforts to go into a clinch that would give him time to
clear his head of that first murderous punch. He danced about as his
ancestors must have done at their buffalo ceremonials. He struck again
and again—short, stabbing blows that soon cut Cavanaugh’s face to
ribbons and closed his right eye.
The bully was no coward though, Sandy was surprised to discover. He
fought doggedly, and managed to get in some damaging blows to the body
that made his supporters cheer. But Ralph’s long reach held him too far
away. He could not use his great strength to advantage. And it was plain
that he was badly out of condition. Before three minutes had passed he
was becoming winded.
“Kill the big bum, Fisheater,” a Navajo whooped from the edge of the
crowd. “He asked for it. Kill ’im.”
“With pleasure,” Ralph answered. “Watch this, benighted Navajo. I
learned it in Uncle Sam’s Navy.”
He started a right, almost from the pavement. Up and up it came,
completely under Cavanaugh’s guard. It landed on the point of his chin
with a crack like that of a whip!
The big man threw out his arms wildly, rocked back on his heels, and
came crashing down, as a tree falls, into the gutter beside Sandy. He
scrabbled about there for a moment, managed to get halfway to his knees,
then slid forward on his face. Out!
The Navajo threw his big black cowboy hat on the street, jumped up and
down on it in utter joy, and sent warwhoop after warwhoop echoing
through the little town.
“Hand me my coat, John,” Ralph said to the producer, who had been
coaching him from the sidelines. “If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late for
that meeting.”
Kitty, who had stood close beside Sandy throughout the battle,
alternately wringing her hands and jumping up and down with excitement
as Ralph seemed to be getting the worst or best of it, now ran forward.
As the crowd cheered again, she hugged her man until he had to beg her
to spare his bruised ribs.
“Kitty,” said Hall, when Ralph had been carried away on the shoulders of
admiring Navajos and Hopis who had run over from the Council Hall to
witness the fracas, “will you take Sandy home and patch him up? He has a
pretty deep cut on his cheekbone. Better drive him over in the jeep, if
he feels like he looks.
“I’ve got to talk to Ken White about Cavanaugh. This situation is
getting out of hand. I’ll come over as soon as I can.”
Half an hour later, Sandy pushed aside the cold compresses that Mrs.
Gonzales had been applying to his face and sat bolt upright on the couch
where he had been lying.
“Kitty,” he gasped. “I just thought! What was it Cavanaugh said about a
high sign or something?”
“When he was getting ready to kick you, you mean?” she frowned.
“Yes. It had to do with Donovan, I think. I was pretty groggy at the
time.”
“Oh! He said something like ‘Won’t Donovan feel like a fool tomorrow if
my high sign comes through!’”
“That’s it! That’s it!” Sandy yelled as he pushed Mrs. Gonzales’
fluttering hands away and scrambled to his feet. “It could only mean
that he’s expecting some sort of message tonight over his light beam.
Ralph’s tied up, so I’ve got to go up there and try to find out what it
is.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Kitty. “You’ve taken a bad beating. You’re in no
condition to go anywhere.”
“But I’ve got to go,” he pleaded. “This may mean everything to John, and
Don, and, yes, to you and Ralph too. I’m the only one who knows how to
operate the ‘ear.’ I’m going right now. And you’re going to help me!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Think Like a Dog
“But _how_ do I go about feeling like a dog?” Sandy groaned after he had
explained his plan of action.
“You shouldn’t have any trouble about that.” Kitty smiled tenderly as
she patted the last strip of bandage in place on his cheek. “You must
feel awful.”
“That’s not what I mean. When Ralph went into Cavanaugh’s camp at Elbow
Rock he wore a dog skin and made himself smell like a dog. But he said
that wasn’t enough. He also had to feel and think like one. There’s a
skin in the jeep. And you must know a kennel where I can roll around and
get the smell. But how about the rest of it?
“Of course I’ve read _The Call of the Wild_, but that’s only Jack
London’s _idea_ of how dogs think. What I’ve got to find out quick is
how they really feel.”
“I am an Indian,” Mrs. Gonzales spoke up suddenly. “Indians are wise in
the ways of animals. You have heard that Indians of the old days were
the world’s best horsemen, although they used no saddles, and sometimes
no bridles. Why? I say it was because they could talk with their horses.
Yes, and they honored their mounts as no other people have ever done by
printing what was called a pat hand on the rumps of those who helped
them win battles.” She held up the palm of her hand to show what she
meant.
“Then there are our totems. Animals, all of them. To be a member of the
buffalo clan, a young brave had to study the wild herds until he knew
their every thought—what frightened them, what pastures they preferred,
their mating habits. All that.
“What of the great cattle and sheep herds in which modern Navajos take
such pride? They thrive where it seems only jack rabbits could live
because their herdsmen understand their every need, care for them as if
they were children, and weep, as for children, when they are injured or
die.
“And consider the Hopi snake dances. Why should the rattlers not bite
the dancers, except that they are friends? You do not believe me,
Sandy?”
“Well,” he gulped, “it’s just that I am not an Indian....”
“But white men have been the friends of dogs since time began. You can
learn to remember how a cave man felt when he and his dog slept back to
back to protect themselves against the howling things outside in the
night. You want to be among dogs, Sandy? Very well, I will call them
here.”
She closed her black eyes and sat swaying slowly from side to side,
making an almost inaudible whining, snuffling noise through her nose.
A dog barked questioningly in the distance. Another answered, nearer.
Within minutes, three scrawny mutts were scratching at the screen door
of the cottage.
“You must remember that dogs are always hungry,” Mrs. Gonzales said as
she let the animals in and went to the kitchen to find scraps for them,
“so you must think of food at all times. You must remember that they are
loyal, even though their master beats them, so you must not let your
hatred or distrust of Cavanaugh into your mind when you approach his
camp. You must be sleepy ... oh so sleepy ... so that you do not wake
them from their dreams of chasing rabbits, or bigger game.
“Also,” she said thoughtfully, “it would be wise to remove all your
clothing except the dog skin before you approach. There will not be so
much man smell to overcome. Now play with these dogs for a time to get
their scent on you. Then Kitty will drive you as near the camp as she
dares. And may the blessings of the good Jesus and Mary, and the water
and wind people, ride with you.”
Kitty was at the wheel as the jeep skirted the town and headed up a
steep trail that had been chopped through the mesquite for the benefit
of tourists who liked to snap their everlasting cameras from the top of
the Rock. It was much too late for tourists to be out, however, so they
had the road to themselves. This was a good thing, since they dared not
use the car lights and had to depend on what little illumination was
provided by a half-moon.
Sandy sat fingering Maisie’s hide nervously and holding the “ear” on his
lap to protect it from bumps. From time to time, as they twisted and
turned, he got glimpses of Cavanaugh’s beam far above. It twinkled
without interruption and was hard to distinguish among the stars.
“Pepper must be playing music,” he said softly at last. “Ralph says the
beam fades up and down when a two-way conversation is going on. We’re
still in time.”
“Are you sure you ought to be doing this?” Kitty asked unhappily. “John
wouldn’t have let you go if he had known about it, I’m certain.”
“That’s why I was in such a hurry to start before he returned from the
Agency. Ralph isn’t here, so I’m the only person who knows how to
operate this gadget. I have to go through with it.”
“But why do you have to?” she demanded. “Why not leave it up to the
Agency and the Navajo police?”
“Because I have only a hunch to go on—the kind of hunch that Mother says
Kit Carson used to have. I haven’t any proof that Cavanaugh is planning
to play some sort of dirty trick on the Indians tomorrow, or that his
plans may depend on what comes over the beam. The police would laugh at
me. I’ve _got_ to do it my way.”
“I guess you do,” the girl agreed. “You’ll have to walk the rest of the
way,” she added, driving the car off the trail and into a thicket as the
lights shining from Cavanaugh’s trailer showed up on the skyline ahead.
When Sandy climbed out, strapped the “ear” to his chest and started
away, she called him back sharply.
“Take your clothes off here and put them in the back of the jeep,” she
commanded. “You’d never find them on the trail.”
“But....”
“Do as I say, silly. And hurry. I’m scared.”
“I’m scareder than you are, I’ll bet,” Sandy said grumpily as he obeyed.
The cold night wind hit his bare skin and he started shivering.
Well, he thought as he started away through the darkness, that was all
to the good. Dogs shivered all the time, didn’t they? And the hide
offered some protection.
It seemed to take him an age to reach the vicinity of the trailer. Once
he stubbed his toe badly, and once he cut his foot on a sharp rock.
Confound that Kitty! He needed his shoes. Still, shoes did smell pretty
strong sometimes. He grinned in spite of himself.
A hundred yards from the trailer he got down on hands and knees, started
to crawl forward, then stopped with a jerk.
Dogs usually didn’t take kindly to strangers of their own kind! How many
times had he seen them set upon an outsider and send him yipping for his
life. Maybe the foreigner had come looking for a fight, though! He,
Sandy, would be the friendliest doggy in seven states! He did his best
to imitate the low whimpering that Mrs. Gonzales had used as he crept
forward. If Ralph could get away with this, there was no reason why
Sandy Carson Steele couldn’t!
He was only a few feet from the trailer when three big brutes, who had
been sleeping under its wheels, rose and advanced toward him,
stiff-legged. This was it!
Desperately, Sandy tried to project the idea through his soft whining
that he was hungry, and cold, and wet with dew, and only wanted a quiet
place where he could spend the night under the protection of those
splendid humans, Cavanaugh and Pepper March.
For a moment, he thought he had got the idea across. The dogs hesitated.
They seemed to confer among themselves. But they were not quite
satisfied. The lead animal bared his long white teeth and barked a
tentative challenge. The others followed his example as they sidled
toward this strange creature who certainly smelled like a dog but who
looked—well, looked somewhat queer, to say the least.
A quotation his father once had repeated flashed through Sandy’s mind:
_The minds of dogs do not benefit by being treated as though they were
the minds of men._ As the barking grew louder, he gathered himself and
prepared to go away from that place as fast as his bare feet could carry
him.
The trailer door banged open. A shaft of light illuminated the yard but
mercifully did not reach to the spot where Sandy crouched.
“Shut up, you idiotic mutts!” Cavanaugh yelled. Then to Pepper, who
appeared in the doorway behind him, “Can’t you make those confounded
dogs keep quiet? They’re driving me insane.”
“I’m sorry, Red,” Pepper answered. “You brought the dogs here to guard
the trailer.”
“‘Red. Red. Red,’” snarled the big man, who plainly was feeling the
effects of the beating Ralph had given him. “I’m sick of your crawling
and fawning. Why weren’t you at Window Rock tonight when the whole town
ganged up on me?”
“When Andy quit today, you told me to stay here and take care of the
beam, Red,” Pepper answered patiently. “I’m sorry, Red.”
“From now on, call me Mister Cavanaugh,” his boss raged.
“Yes, _Mister_ Cavanaugh ... sir.” Pepper’s voice still was soft but
Sandy could see his fists clench.
“And stop that confounded record. Highbrow music gives me the willies.
Always has! Call Elbow Rock and see if the message has come through.”
“Yes, sir. At once, sir.” The door slammed and the voices became a
mumble.
Sandy tried to still the beating of his heart as he whined canine terror
at this outburst. The “other” dogs whimpered uncertainly. Finally they
crept back to their sleeping places. Evidently their master didn’t
approve of their warning. In that case.... Sandy could almost feel them
relax as they turned round and round in their nests, trying to find the
most comfortable spots for slumber.
Carefully he edged forward until he was lying among them. Then he turned
the switch that fed power from a series of flashlight batteries into the
transistors mounted on the “ear,” adjusted the headphones, and listened.
“Calling Elbow Rock. Calling Elbow Rock. Over,” he heard Pepper say.
There was no answer.
“Calling Elbow Rock. Window Rock calling Elbow Rock. Over,” Pepper
repeated.
Still no answer.
“Come in, Elbow Rock!” Cavanaugh’s voice barked through the phones. “Why
don’t you answer, Elbow Rock?”
“I read you, Window Rock,” a faraway voice answered at last.
“Something’s coming in from Gallup. Stand by.”
“This is it!” Cavanaugh’s yell almost split Sandy’s ears. “Get out of
the way, can’t you, Pepper? I’ll take this. Go to bed or something. It
makes me sick just to look at your silly face.... All right, Elbow Rock.
I’m ready when you are.”
The minutes slid by while only the mutter of static filled Sandy’s
earphones. Beside him, he felt the Dobermans flinch and shiver in their
restless sleep. The cold night wind seeped under the bottom of the
trailer and set his teeth to chattering uncontrollably. Now he knew what
the phrase “a dog’s life” really meant.
“Elbow Rock calling Window Rock.” The phones clattered into life.
“Over.”
“I read you loud and clear, Elbow Rock,” Cavanaugh’s voice replied.
“What is the message from Gallup?”
“You want it coded, like it was relayed from Washington, or straight?”
the distant voice inquired.
“Straight, you fool. Nobody listens in on a light beam.”
“You never know,” said the man at Elbow Rock. “Well, here’s your
message, as well as I can dope it out. It’s from your ‘keyhole man,’ Mr.
—”
“Never mind his name,” Cavanaugh snapped. “Just give me the message.”
“O.K.! O.K.! Take it easy, will you, boss? Here ’tis: Quote: Have picked
up leak from strictly official source. Next month U.S. government starts
buying uranium ore from all comers again. Expanding space ship and power
reactor program has increased demand for atomic fuels to such an extent
that existing mills no longer can supply it—Are you reading me all
right, boss?”
“Clear as a bell,” Cavanaugh crooned. “This is wonderful. Go on. Go on.”
“Here’s the rest of it: Quote: Announcement of policy change withheld
until middle of next month so it won’t upset bids to be opened tomorrow
at Window Rock and similar places. Happy hunting. Unquote. Over.”
“Whoopee!” Cavanaugh yelled the word into the microphone so loudly that
Sandy’s earphones rattled. “Boy! This came through just in time.
Otherwise, I’d have had to cancel all of those high bids I made today or
go bankrupt tomorrow. Now I’ll be in clover with most of the good leases
sewed up at rock-bottom prices before the boom starts. Thank you, Elbow
Rock. There’s a bonus for you in this. Over and out.”
“Roger!” came the delighted answer.
“Did you hear all of that, Pepper?” Cavanaugh asked.
“Was I supposed to, Mister Cavanaugh ... sir?” Pepper answered off-mike.
His voice was bitter.
“Oh, don’t be sore, boy.” Cavanaugh roared with laughter. “If you’d
taken the beating I took tonight from Hall’s gang of toughs, you’d have
been grouchy, too. And no more of that ‘Mister Cavanaugh’ stuff. Just
call me ‘Red.’ We’re pals.”
“Are we?”
“Sure we are. We’ll both get rich out of this. And even better, we’ll do
the Indian Agency and the whole Navajo nation in the eye. If they accept
my bids—and they’ll have to, because they’re higher than those of anyone
else—we’ll get those leases for a half, or even a third, of what’d
they’d sell for next month when the policy change is announced.”
In his hiding place under the trailer floor, Sandy was boiling with
fury. Momentarily he had forgotten all about being a dog. The Dobermans
sensed the difference instantly. Perhaps they caught a subtle change in
his body odor. His anger was making him perspire despite the cold.
The lead dog barked sharply and scrambled to its feet. The others
followed suit. Sandy tried to croon reassurance to them, but failed.
They were becoming thoroughly aroused and making an awful racket. He had
to get out of there—and quickly—before Cavanaugh came to investigate.
He scrambled from under the trailer and sprinted for the jeep. The dogs
broke into full cry now, and streaked after him. This was a human! And
an enemy human too! They were out to make him pay dearly for his deceit.
The trailer door banged open as the bedlam rose. Moments later, a
spotlight picked up the running boy and the dogs that leaped and snapped
at his bare heels.
“Stop, thief!” Cavanaugh yelled. “Stop or I’ll fire!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Showdown