Obligingly, Looks At Nothing had told them.
“There are four of us,” the shaman had continued. “All things in nature go in fours. Why could we not agree to be father to this fatherless boy, all four of us together? We each have things to teach, and we all have things to learn.”
Brandon recalled the supreme confidence with which the medicine man had stated this position. Out of politeness, it was framed as a question, but it was nonetheless a pronouncement. No one gathered around the truck that warm summer’s night in the still-eddying smoke from the old man’s cigarette had nerve enough to say otherwise.
Twenty-one years had passed between then and now. Two of Davy Ladd’s four fathers were dead—Father John for twenty years and Looks At Nothing for three years less than that. One of the two mothers, Rita Antone, was gone as well.
Of the six people charged by the medicine man with Davy Ladd’s care and keeping, only three remained— Diana Ladd Walker, Fat Crack Ortiz, and Brandon Walker.
“That’s the pouch that belonged to the old blind medicine man, isn’t it?” Brandon asked.
Fat Crack, nodding, passed the cigarette to Brandon. “
At Diana’s insistence, Brandon Walker had quit smoking completely years ago. When he took that first drag on the ceremonial tobacco, the sharp smoke of the desert tobacco burned his throat and chest. He winced but managed to suppress a cough.
“
For a time after that, the two men smoked in utter silence. Only when Brandon with typical Anglo impatience was convinced that Fat Crack had forgotten how to speak, did Gabe Ortiz open his mouth.
“I finished reading Diana’s book last night,” he said at last. “It gave me a bad feeling. Finally I took the book outside and sang a
“A what?” Brandon asked.
“
Brandon frowned. “Even though he’s dead.”
Fat Crack nodded. “I can’t see the danger, I just know it’s coming.”
Brandon shook his head. There was no point in arguing. “What are we supposed to do about it?” he asked.
“That’s what you and I must decide.”
Brandon Walker sighed. Abruptly he stood up and walked back to the counter to fetch the pitcher of tea. In the process, he seemed to shake off the effects of the smoke and all it implied.
“What do you suggest?” he asked irritably. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the sheriff anymore. I’m not even a deputy. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing I’m
Realizing that Brandon Walker was no longer in touch with the spiritual danger, Gabe attempted to respond to the physical concerns. “Maybe you could ask the sheriff to send more patrols out this way,” he suggested.
“Why? To protect us from a dead man?” Brandon Walker demanded. “Are you kidding? If I weren’t a laughingstock already, I sure as hell would be once word about that leaked out. I appreciate your concern, Gabe. And I thank you for going to all the trouble of stopping by to warn us, but believe me, you’re wrong. Andrew Carlisle is dead. He can’t hurt anybody anymore.”
“I’d better be going, then,” Gabe Ortiz said.
“Don’t you want to stay and see Diana? She should be home before long.”
Fat Crack shook his head. If Brandon wouldn’t listen to him, that meant that the evil here in the kitchen would grow stronger still. He didn’t want to sit there and feel it gaining strength around him.
“I’ll be late for dinner,” he said. “It’ll make Wanda mad.”
When he stood up, his legs groaned beneath him. His joints felt stiff and old as his whole body protested the hours he had spent the night before seated in that uncomfortable molded plastic chair. Wanda had picked up a whole set of those chairs on sale from Walgreen’s at the end of the previous summer. Now Gabe understood why they had been so cheap.
“Do me a favor,
“You’re not so old,” Brandon Walker objected. “But what favor?”
“Think about what I said,” Gabe told him, slipping the deerskin pouch back into his pocket.. “And even if you don’t believe what I said, act as though you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Be careful,” Gabe answered. “You and Diana both.”
Brandon nodded. “Sure,” he said, not knowing if he meant it or not.
Outside, Gabe Ortiz paused with his hand touching the door handle on the Crown Victoria. “What are you going to do with all that wood out there?” he asked.
“Oh, that.” Brandon shrugged. “Right now I’m just cutting it, I guess,” he said. “I haven’t given much thought to what we’ll do with it. Burn some of it over the winter, I suppose. Why, do you know someone who needs wood?”
“The ladies up at San Xavier sure could use it,” Gabe answered. “The ones who cook the popovers and chili. Most of the wood is gone from right around there. They have to haul it in. And the chips would help on the playfield