Читать книгу The Sandy Steele Mystery MEGAPACK®: 6 Young Adult Novels (Complete Series) - Roger Barlow - Страница 17

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cavanaugh Makes a Mistake

Hall had completely recovered his good spirits by the time that Ralph brought Kitty to camp at dawn. Just as the sun rose the little party set out for Window Rock in a holiday mood. Hall made one stop for a brief conference with Donovan. Then he drove on to his base camp, arriving in time for breakfast.

Sandy could hardly recognize the place where he had worked such a short time before. Number Two well had been opened and connected to the feeder pipeline through a Christmas tree, while its derrick had been moved to a new location. Three big new Midray rigs were being erected at other spots on the property. Still more derricks were going up on surrounding leases. This was rapidly becoming an important field.

Hall had a short talk with the Midray superintendent, a big man who reminded Sandy of Cavanaugh and who acted as if he owned the place. Then they were on their way again.

“The lease looks like Times Square,” Hall grunted as he headed the jeep toward Shiprock. “Makes me uncomfortable. I like to work where there’s plenty of room to swing a wildcat.”

“I bet you still prefer to use a burro when you go prospecting, you old sourdough,” Kitty teased him.

“Well, a burro never runs out of gas or breaks a spring, and it has a better horn than a jeep,” Hall said, grinning. “When a burro brays, even the mountains have to listen. That’s why he’s called a Rocky Mountain canary, I suppose.” They reached Route 666 in good time, turned south between Shiprock Peak and Hogback Mountain, and sailed down through the picturesque Chuskas past road signs that beckoned toward far-off, mysterious places like Toadlena, Beautiful Mountain, Coyote Wash, Nakaibito, Pueblo Bonito (Lovely Village) and Ojo Caliente (Hot Eye).

Kitty made the time pass quickly by singing the praises of the desert, 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 paloverde 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 red-haired 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!”