Kiss of the Bees

Those walls of rock are there, even to this day.

Then all the women and children went up on top of the mountain, behind the walls of rock. But the men stayed down to protect the fields.

Soon the Bad People of the South came once again.

The Wasps, the Scorpions, and Snakes were leading them. But Nuhwi —the Buzzards—and Chuk U’uwhig—the Blackbirds—and all the larger birds were on guard. Nuhwi—Buzzard—would catch Ko’owi—Snake—and break his back. Tatdai—Roadrunner—watched for the Scorpions, and Pa- nahl—the Bees—fought Wihpsh—the Wasps.

So at last the Bad People were driven away. The Desert People returned to their village and their fields. They built houses and were very happy. A great many of the Bad People had been killed in this fight, so it was a long time before they felt strong enough to fight again. But after a while they were very hungry. And Wihpsh—the Wasps—carried word to them that the Indian women were once again filling their ollas and grain baskets with corn and beans and honey.

This time PaDaj O’othham waited until it was very dry and hot. Then they started north.

This time Shoh’o—Grasshopper—had listened to the plans of the Bad People. Shoh’o started to jump to reach his friends, the Desert People, and warn them. The harder and faster Grasshopper jumped, the longer grew his hind legs. Still he could not go fast enough. So he took two leaves and fastened them on and flew. Before he arrived, he wore out one pair of leaves and put on another pair. To this day Shoh’o—Grasshopper—still carries one large thin pair of wings, and another thin small green pair.

One minute Deputy Fellows was wide awake, staring at the doors to the ICU waiting room. The next minute, Gabe Ortiz was shaking him awake.

“Brian?”

Brian’s eyes flicked open. It took a moment for the face in front of his to register. “Fat Crack!” he exclaimed. “How the hell are you, and what are you doing here?”

“Delia Cachora, Manny Chavez’s daughter, works with me out on the reservation. When we heard about her father, I offered to drive her into town.”

Brian glanced around the waiting room. No one else was there. “Where is she?” he asked.

“A nurse took Delia in to see him,” Fat Crack said. “How does it look?”

Brian shook his head. “Not good,” he said. “It’s his back. Broken.”

“How did it happen?” Gabe Ortiz asked. “I heard it had something to do with Rattlesnake Skull.”

Brian nodded. “At the charco. It sounds as though he came across someone—an Anglo—digging up bones there by the water hole. We think Mr. Chavez thought the guy was digging up ancient artifacts and tried to stop him. The guy attacked Mr. Chavez with a shovel.”

Fat Crack was shaking his head when an Indian woman in her mid- to late thirties emerged from behind the doors to the ICU. “He’s still unconscious,” she said, addressing Gabe Ortiz. “No one knows when he’ll come out from under the anesthetic. His condition is serious enough that somebody had a priest come around and deliver last rites. The nurse said he was really bent out of shape about that. My father stopped being a Catholic a long time ago.”

Blushing, Brian stood up. “You must be Delia Cachora. I’m Deputy Fellows,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid the priest business is all my fault. When we found your father, he was saying something over and over in Tohono O’othham. I thought he was calling for a priest—pahl. It turns out he was saying pahla.”

“Shovel,” Fat Crack supplied.

Brian Fellows nodded. “That’s right. Shovel. I’m sorry if the priest upset him.”

Delia Chavez Cachora gave him a puzzled glance. “Where did you learn to speak Tohono O’othham?” she asked.

“From a friend of mine,” he answered. “Davy Ladd.”

Delia’s reaction was instantaneous. Without a word, she turned away from both men and stalked from the waiting room. Brian turned to Gabe.

“I’m really sorry about all the confusion. I guess she’s upset. The problem is, I’m supposed to try to talk to her. The detective left me the job of asking her some questions, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to work. Was it the priest stuff?” Brian asked. “Or do you think it was something I said?”

Gabe Ortiz smiled and eased himself into the chair next to the one where Brian had been sitting earlier. He folded his arms across his broad chest and closed his eyes.

“No, Brian,” Gabe replied. “I believe it was something I said. Sit down and take a load off. Delia’s upset at the moment, but if we just sit here and wait, eventually she’ll come around.”

Quentin had told Mitch to wake him up as soon as they got to the turnoff to Coleman Road. It bothered Mitch a little that where they were going was so damned close to where the Bounder was parked. He had chosen that particular spot because there, on the edge of the reservation, was about as far from town as he could get. But it was natural that the edge of the reservation, rather than the middle of it, was where Quentin would have discovered his treasure trove of Native American pots.

Still, as long as Mitch played his cards right, it didn’t matter that much. He glanced toward Lani. Obviously he had measured out a better dosage this time. The amount of drug Mitch had used, combined with his threat to kill Quentin, was working well enough. Lani Walker was docile without being comatose. That might prove beneficial. If the terrain was as rough as Quentin claimed it would be, Mitch would probably need Lani to be able to climb on her own power rather than being carried or dragged.

Quentin himself was Mitch’s biggest concern as they drove west toward the reservation. Would he be able to rouse Quentin enough when the time came to get him to do what was needed? If not, he might have to do an on- the-fly revision of his plan and let the pots go. They had been gravy all along—an extra added attraction. What was