she loaded the baby into her daughter's burden basket and went through the village, this way and that, so people would think she was gathering wood. Then, when she was out of sight, she started back north.
Once more the Little People came to help her, but the next morning she could hear that a band of His kim warriors were following her trail.
When they were almost upon her, she called out to Titoi for help. He sent a huge flock of shashani, blackbirds, who flew around and around the Yaqui warriors' eyes until they could see nothing. Meanwhile, Titoi led Old White- Haired Woman and her grandson into a wash that became a canyon. In this way, they went north toward the land of the Tohono O'othham.
But Old White-Haired Woman was very tired after her long journey.
Finally, one day, she could go no farther.
'I must stop here,' she said. So Titoi took the boy the rest of the way home. When he came back, he found that the old woman's feet had grown underground and all that was sticking up were two sticks of arms.
'You are a good grandmother,' Titoi said. 'You may stay here and rest forever, but once a year , you will be the , most beautiful flower on the earth.' He touched the sticks.
Wherever & he put his fingers, beautiful white flowers grew.
'Once each year, ' Titoi said, 'during the night, Wind Man will be heavy with your perfume, but when the sun comes up in the morning, you will be gone.'
And that, nawoj, is the story of Old White-Haired Woman and the beautiful flower that the Mil-gahn call the night bloomin cereus. The Desert People call it kok'oi 'uw, which means ghost smell, or ho'ok-wah'o, which means witch's tongs.
Brandon Walker never clocked in, but he worked all afternoon Sunday just the same. Trying to get a lead on Andrew Carlisle, he finally was put in touch with Ron Mallory, at home, taking the frustrated assistant superintendent away from his typewriter.
'My name is Brandon Walker,' he said by way of introduction. 'I'm a homicide detective with Pima County.'
'What can I do for you, Detective Walker?' Mallory asked cordially enough, but all the while he was wondering who the hell had given this joker his home telephone number.
'I'm trying to locate Andrew Carlisle. Your records department couldn't give me a current address.'
Carlisle! Mallory thought, alarm bells chiming in his bureaucratic, cover-thine-ass mentality. Carlisle had only got out on Friday, and somebody was already looking for him?
'He's in Tucson somewhere,' Mallory answered. 'I can probably have an address for you next week. What's this all about?'
The slight hesitation in Walker's answer alerted Mallory that everything wasn't entirely as it should have been.
'I was the arresting officer on that case years ago,' Walker said.
'I'm concerned about him being released into the same area where some of the witnesses still live.
He may go after them.
Mallory took a deep breath and used his shirtsleeve to wipe the beads of sweat that suddenly dotted his forehead.
'Look, Detective Walker,' he said, all trace of cordiality disappearing.
'Andrew Carlisle was an exemplary prisoner.
He never made a bit of trouble. He was released after paying his debt to society for that particular crime. It sounds to me as though you're out to harass the poor guy.'
'Harassment's got nothing to do with it,' Brandon Walker countered.
'I'm not the only one who'll be looking for him.'
'What do you mean?'
'When they come asking,' Brandon added, 'I'd have that address handy.'
He put down the phone and then sat there looking at it. He had wanted to have some solid information before he called Pinal County. He wondered how his information would be received once the homicide detectives knew it had been gleaned from some aging Indian medicine man over a ceremonial smoke of native tobacco.
Brandon had already looked up the phone number and even partially dialed it twice, hanging up each time before the connection was made.
This time, he dialed and let it ring. When the call was answered, he asked to speak to the detective in charge of the Picacho Peak case. It was Sunday.
Walker guessed correctly that the detective assigned to that case would be hard at work.
'Detective Farrell,' a voice said gruffly into the phone.
'My name's Walker,' Brandon told him. 'Detective Walker from Pima County, just down the road apiece.'
'What can I do for you?'
'I'm calling about your Picacho Peak case. I may have some relevant information.'
'Shoot.'
'I was the arresting officer years ago on a homicide that happened out near the reservation, the Papago. A young Indian woman was murdered.
