It proved to be surprisingly easy. On the road north toward Bluff, far enough north of Mexican Water so he was sure he'd crossed the Arizona border into Utah, Chee saw Nakai's tent trailer. It was parked maybe a quarter-mile up an old oil field road that wanders off U.S. 191 into the rocky barrens south of Caso del Eco Mesa.
Chee made an abrupt left turn, parked by the trailer, and inspected it. The tie-down ropes were in place, all four tires were aired, everything in perfect order. It had simply been unhooked and abandoned.
Chee jolted down the old road, past a silent oil pump, down into the bare stoniness of Gothic Creek, and out of that into a flatland of scattered sage and dwarf juniper. The road divided into two trails--access routes, Chee guessed, to the only two Navajo families who survived in these barrens. It was almost dark now, the western horizon a glowing, luminous copper. Which route to take? Far down the one that led straight ahead he saw Nakai's car.
He drove the five hundred yards toward it cautiously, feeling uneasy. He'd been joking with the girl at Tsaya when he cast Nakai in the role of gangster. But how did he know? He knew almost nothing. That Nakai had been preaching on the reservation for years. That he encouraged his converts to collect pots for him to sell to help finance his operation. Did he have a pistol? A criminal record? Leaphorn probably knew such things, but he hadn't confided in Chee. He slowed even more, nervous.
Nakai was sitting on the trunk of the massive old Cadillac, legs straight out, leaning against the rear window, watching him, looking utterly harmless. Chee parked behind the car, climbed out, stretched.
'Ya te'eh,' Nakai said. And then he recognized Chee, and looked surprised. 'We meet again--but a long way from Nageezi.'
'Ya te,' Chee said. 'You are hard to find. I heard you were supposed to be'--he gestured southward--'first at Tsaya and then way down beyond the Hopi Country. Down at Lower Greasewood.'
'Ran outta gas,' Nakai said, ignoring the implied question. 'This thing burns gas like a tank.' He jumped down from the trunk, with the small man's natural agility. 'Were you looking for me?'
'More or less,' Chee said. 'What brings you up here into Utah? So far from Lower Greasewood?'
'The Lord's business takes me many places,' Nakai said.
'You planning a revival out here?'
'Sure,' Nakai said. 'When I can arrange it.'
'But you left your tent,' Chee said. And you're lying, he thought. Not enough people out here.
'I was on empty,' Nakai said. 'Thought I could save enough gas to get where I was going. Then come back and get it.' He laughed. 'Waited too long to unhook. Burned too much gasoline.'
'You forget to look at your gauge?'
'It was already broke when I bought this thing.' Nakai laughed again. 'Blessed are the poor,' he said. 'Didn't do no good to look at it. Before I got outta gas, I was outta money.'
Chee didn't comment on that. He thought about how he could learn what Nakai was doing out here. Who he came to warn.
'Have a brother lives down there,' Nakai explained. 'Christian, so he's my brother in the Lord. And he's Paiute. My 'born to' clan. So he's a brother that way, too. I was going to walk. And then I saw you coming.'
'So you just got here?'
'Five minutes, maybe. Look, could you give me a ride? Maybe eight miles or so. I could walk it, but I'm in a hurry.'
Nakai was looking down the trail, westward. Chee studied his face. The copper light gave it the look of sculpture. Metal. But Nakai wasn't metal. He was worried. Chee could think of no clever way to get him to talk about what he was doing here.
'You found out Harrison Houk was killed,' Chee said. 'And you headed out here. Why?'
Nakai turned, his face shadowed now. 'Who's Houk?'
'The man you sold pots to,' Chee said. 'Remember? You told Lieutenant Leaphorn about it.'
'Okay,' Nakai said. 'I know about him.'
'Etcitty dealt with you, and with Houk, and with these pots, and he's dead. And now Houk. Both shot. And Nails, too, for that matter. Did you know him?'
'Just met him,' Nakai said. 'Twice, I think.'
'Look,' Chee said. 'Leaphorn sent me to find you because of something else. He wants to locate this Eleanor Friedman-Bernal woman -- find out what happened to her. He talked to you about her already. But now he wants more information. He wants to know what she said to you about looking for pots right out here in this part of the country. Along the San Juan. Up around Bluff. Around Mexican Hat.'
'Just what I told him. She wanted those smooth polychrome pots. Those pinkish ones with the patterns and the wavy lines and the serration, or whatever you call it. Pots or the broken pieces. Didn't matter. And she told me she was particularly interested in anything that turned up around this part of the reservation.' Nakai shrugged. 'That was it.'
Chee put his hands on hips and bent backward, eliminating a kink in his back. He'd spent ten hours in that pickup today. Maybe more. Too many. 'If Joe Leaphorn were here,' he said, 'he'd say no, that wasn't quite it. She said more than that. You are trying to save time. Summarizing. Tell me everything she said. Let me do the summarizing.'
Nakai looked thoughtful. An ugly little man, Chee decided, but smart.
'You're thinking that I am a cop, and that these pots came off the Navajo Reservation where they are mucho, mucho illegal. Felony stuff. You're thinking you are going to be careful about what you say.' Chee slouched against the pickup door. 'Forget it. We are doing one thing at a time and the one thing is finding this woman. Not figuring out who shot Etcitty. Not catching somebody for looting ruins on Navajo land. Just one single, simple thing. Just find Eleanor Friedman. Leaphorn seems to think she went looking for these pots. At least that's what I think he thinks.
