But he hadn’t seen it hit the bottom. It was alive, crippled, dragging itself inexorably after Leaphorns scent. For a second, reason reasserted itself in Leaphorns logical mind. The dog couldn’t have fallen three hundred feet down the face of that cliff and survived. But then the sound came again, closer now, only a few yards away from his feet, and Leaphorn was again in a nightmare world in which men became witches, and turned themselves into wolves; in which wolves didn’t fall, but flew. He pointed the flashlight at the sound, like a gun, and pushed the button.
There was, for a moment, nothing but a blaze of blinding light. Then Leaphorns dilated pupils adjusted and the shape illuminated in the flashlight beam became Father Benjamin Tso. The priests eyes were squeezed shut against the light, his face jerked away from the beam. He was sitting on the calcite floor, his feet stretched in front of him, his arms behind him. His ankles were fastened with what appeared to be a strip of nylon.
Now Tso squinted up into the flashlight beam.
All right, he said. If you’ll untie my ankles, Ill walk back.
Leaphorn said nothing.
No harm trying, the priest said. He laughed. Maybe I could have got away.
Who in the hell are you? Leaphorn asked. He could hardly get the words out.
The priest frowned into the light, his face puzzled. What do you mean? he asked. Then he frowned again, trying to see Leaphorns face through the flashlight beam. I’m Benjamin Tso, he said. Father Benjamin Tso. He paused. But aren’t you . . . ?
I’m Leaphorn. The Navajo cop.
Thank God, Father Tso said. Thank God for that. He swung his head to the side. The others are back there. Theyre all right. How did you . . . ?
Keep your voice down, Leaphorn said. He snapped off the light and listened. In the cave now there was only a heavy, ear-ringing total silence.
Can you untie my hands? Father Tso whispered. They’ve been numb for a long time.
Leaphorn switched on the flash again, holding his hand over the lens to release only the dimmest illumination. He studied the priests face. It was a lot like the face of the man he had seen with Tull and the dog, the face of the man who had tried to burn him to death in the canyon.
Father Benjamin Tso glanced up at Leaphorn, and then away. Even in the dim light Leaphorn could see the face change. It became tired and older.
I guess you’ve met my brother, he said.
Is that it? Leaphorn asked. Yes, it must be. He looks something like you.
A year older, Father Tso said. We weren’t raised together. He glanced up at Leaphorn.
He’s in the Buffalo Society. My returning didn’t help his plans.
But what made you . . . how did you get here? Leaphorn asked. I mean, to your grandfathers hogan?
It was a long trip. I flew back from Rome, and then to Phoenix. And then I took a bus to Flagstaff and then to Kayenta, and then I caught a ride.
And where’s the Adams girl?
He came to the hogan and got us, Tso said. My brother and that dog he has. Father Tso stopped. That dog. He’s around here and hell find us. Are there other police with you?
Have you arrested them?
The dogs dead. Just tell me what happened, Leaphorn said.
My brother came to the hogan and brought us to this cave, Father Tso said. He said wed have to stay until some sort of operation was over. Then later . . . He shrugged and looked apologetic. I don’t know how much later. Its hard to keep track of time in here and I cant see my wrist watch. Anyway, later, my brother and a man called Tull and three other men brought a bunch of Boy Scouts and put them in with us. I don’t understand it. What do you know about it?
Just what I heard on the radio, Leaphorn said. He knelt behind Tso and examined the bindings on his wrists. Keep talking, Leaphorn said. And keep it at a whisper. He fished out his pocket knife and sawed through the strips, a type of disposable handcuff developed for use by police in making mass arrests. The BIA police had bought some during the early stages of the American Indian Movement troubles, but they’d been junked because if the subject struggled, they tightened and cut off circulation. Tsos hands were ice cold and bloodless. It would be a while before he could use them.
I just know what I heard, too, Father Tso was saying. And what the Scout leader told us. I guess were involved in some sort of symbolic kidnapping.
Leaphorn had the strips cut from Tsos ankles now. Tso tried to massage them, but his numb hands dangled almost uselessly from his wrists.
It takes a while for the circulation to come back, Leaphorn said. When it does, it hurts.
Can you tell me more?
Tso began rubbing his hands briskly against his chest. Every couple of hours or so Tull or my brother comes back and they have two questions they ask the Scout leader or one of the boys. Its to prove everyone is still alive or something. It seems they told the police they have to stay completely out of this part of the reservation. I think the deal is if they see any police they say they’ll kill the hostages. Otherwise the police get to broadcast questions every couple of hours, and he
Questions? What sort of questions?
Oh, one was where did the Scout leader meet his wife. And one was why he was late for a trip, and where was the telephone in his home. Trivial stuff that no one else could know.
Father Tso grimaced suddenly and inspected his hands. I see what you mean about hurting.
