about the entrance down in the canyon.”
“That’s true,” Chee said. “You couldn’t see it from the bottom. And, of course, we don’t know if the bottom mine connects to the top.”
Bernie laughed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I like to believe in legends. Even if they’re Ute legends.”
“I’ve just been along for the ride,” Chee said. “Just giving my ankle an airing. Now I’m wondering what the plan is. I hope it’s not that we walk up to that mine and order Baker and Ironhand to come out with their hands up.”
“No,” Leaphorn said, and laughed.
“Bernie would have to handle that all by herself.”
Chee said. “You’re a civilian. I’m on sick leave or something. Let’s say I’m back on vacation.”
“But you did bring your pistol, I’ll bet,” Bernie said. “You did, didn’t you.?”
“I think I’ve got it here somewhere. You know the rules. Don’t leave home without it.”
“What I’d like to do is drop in on Mr Timms,” Leaphorn said. “I think we can get him to cooperate. And if he does, and if I’m guessing right, then Officer Manuelito gets on her radio and summons reinforcements.”
“Why couldn’t we call in for a backup and then -' Chee cut off the rest of that. He imagined Leaphorn explaining his theory to Special Agent Cabot - asking backup to check a mine the FBI had already certified free of fugitives. He imagined Cabot’s smirk. He switched to another question.
“Do you know Mr Timms?” he asked. Another stupid question. Of course he did. Leaphorn knew everyone in the Four Corners. At least everyone over sixty.
“Not well,” Leaphorn said. “Haven’t seen him for years. But I think we can get him to cooperate.”
Chee leaned back against the door and watched the desert landscape slide past. He imagined Timms telling them to go to hell. He imagined Timms ordering them off his property.
But then he relaxed. Retired or not, Leaphorn was still the Legendary Lieutenant.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Bernie let Unit 11 roll to a stop just in front of the Timms front porch, and they sat for the few moments required by empty-country courtesy to give the occupant time to get himself decent and prepare to acknowledge visitors. The door opened. A tall, skinny, slightly stooped man stood in the doorway looking out at them.
Leaphorn got out, Bernie followed, and Chee moved his ankle off the pillow and onto the floor. It hurt, but not much.
“Hello, Mr Timms,” Leaphorn said. “I wonder if you remember me.”
Timms stepped out onto the porch, the sunlight reflecting from his spectacles. “Maybe I do,” he said. “Didn’t you used to be Corporal Joe Leaphorn with the Navajo Police? Wasn’t you the one who helped out when that fellow was shooting at my airplane?”
“Yes sir,” Leaphorn said. “That was me. And this young lady is Officer Bernadette Manuelito.”
“Well, come on in out of the sun,” Timms said.
Chee couldn’t stand the thought of missing this. He pushed the car door open with his good foot, got his cane and limped across the yard, eyes on the ground to avoid an accident, noticing that the bedroom slipper he was wearing on his left foot was collecting sandburrs. “And this,” Leaphorn was saying, “is Sergeant Jim Chee. He and I worked together.”
“Yes sir,” Timms said, and held out his hand. The shake was Navajo fashion, less grip and more the gentle touch. An old-timer who knew the culture. And so nervous that the muscles in his cheek were twitching.
“Wasn’t expecting company, so I don’t have anything fixed, but I could offer you something cold to drink,” Timms said, ushering them into a small, dark room cluttered with the sort of old mismatched furniture one collects from Goodwill Industries shops.
“I don’t think we should accept your hospitality, Mr Timms,” Leaphorn said. “We came here on some serious business.”
“On that insurance claim,” Timms said. “I already sent off a letter canceling that. Already did that.”
“I’m afraid it’s a lot more serious than that,” Leaphorn said.
“That’s the trouble with getting old. You get so damned forgetful,” Timms said, talking fast. “I get up to get me a drink of water and by the time I get to the icebox I forget what I’m in the kitchen for. I
