The nurse was back in the room. She put a tray on the table beside his bed—a white towel, a syringe, other paraphernalia. 'You need some of this by now,' she said, glancing at her watch.
'First I need to do some things, know some things,' Chee said. 'Are there any policemen here?'
'I don't think so,' the nurse said. 'Quiet morning.'
'Then I need to make a call,' Chee said.
She didn't bother to look at him. 'Fat chance,' she said.
'Then I need somebody to make a call for me. Call the tribal police headquarters at Window Rock and get a message to a Lieutenant Leaphorn.'
'He's one of them who brought you in. With the ambulance,' she said. 'If you want to tell him who shot you, I'll bet that can wait until you're feeling a little better.'
'Is Yellowhorse here? Dr. Yellowhorse?'
'He's in Flag,' the nurse said. 'Some sort of meeting at the Flagstaff hospital.'
Chee felt dizzy, and a little nauseated, and vastly relieved. He didn't understand why Yellowhorse wanted to kill him—not exactly, anyway. But he knew he didn't want to be sleeping in his hospital when Yellowhorse was here.
'Look,' he said. Trying to sound like a policeman when your head and your arm and shoulder and side were encased in bandages and you were flat on your back wasn't easy. 'This is important. I have to tell Leaphorn some things or a murderer might get away. Might kill somebody again.'
'You're serious?' the nurse asked, still doubting it.
'Dead serious.'
'What's the number?'
Chee gave her the number at Window Rock. 'And if he's not in, call the substation at Pinon. Tell 'em I said we need a policeman out here right away.' Chee tried to think of who was stationed at Pinon now, and drew a blank. He was conscious only that his eyes were buzzing and that his head hurt in at least seven places.
'You know that number?'
Chee shook his head.
The nurse went out the door, leaving the tray. 'Here he comes now,' she said.
Leaphorn, Chee thought. Great!
Dr. Yellowhorse came through the door, moving fast.
Chee opened his mouth, began a yell, and found Yellowhorse's hand clamped across his jaws, cutting off all sound.
'Keep quiet,' Yellowhorse said. With his other hand he was pressing something hard against Chee's throat. It was another source of pain—but no competition for the back of his head.
'Struggle and I cut your throat,' Yellowhorse said.
Chee tried to relax. Impossible.
Yellowhorse's hand came off his mouth. Chee heard it fumbling in the tray.
'I don't want to kill you,' Yellowhorse said. 'I'm going to give you this shot so you'll get some sleep. And remember, you can't yell with your windpipe cut.'
Chee tried to think. Whatever was pressing against his throat was pressing too hard to make yelling practical. Almost instantly he added the feel of the needle going into his shoulder to the battery of other pains. And then Yellowhorse's hand was over his mouth again.
'I hate to do this,' Yellowhorse said, and his expression said he meant it. 'It was that damned Onesalt woman. But in the long run, it more than balances out.'
Chee's expression, as much as Yellowhorse could see of it around his smothering hand, must have seemed skeptical.
'It balances way out in favor of saving the clinic,' Yellowhorse said, voice insistent. 'Four lives. Three of them were men past their prime and one of them was dying fast anyway. And on the balance against that, I know for sure we've saved dozens of lives already, and we'll save dozens more. And better than that, we're stopping birth defects, and catching diabetes cases early.' Yellowhorse paused, looking into Chee's eyes.
'And glaucoma,' he said. 'I know we've caught a dozen cases of that early enough to save good vision. That Onesalt bitch was going to put an end to all that.'
Chee, who was in no position to talk, didn't.
'You feeling sleepy?' Yellowhorse said. 'You should be by now.'
Chee was feeling—despite an intense effort of will—very sleepy. There was no question at all that Yellowhorse was going to kill him. If there were any other possibility, Yellowhorse would not be telling him all this, making this apology. Chee tried to gather his strength, tense his muscles for a lunge against the knife. All he had to muster was a terrible weakness. Yellowhorse felt even that and tightened his grip.
'Don't try it,' he said. 'It won't work.'
It wouldn't. Chee admitted it to himself. Time was his only hope, if he had a hope. Stay awake. He made a questioning sound against Yellowhorse's palm. He would ask him why Onesalt and the rest had to be killed. It was to cover up something at the clinic, clearly, but what?
Yellowhorse eased the grip on Chee's mouth.
