'No political agenda?' Kerney prodded.
'Of course they have an agenda. Some time back they circulated-what do you call it? — a manifesto.
They want the feds out of Catron County and the land returned to the people.'
'Sounds like a good place to start,' Kerney suggested.
Gatewood's eyes narrowed.
'You just love to tell me how to do my job, don't you? For your information, I know every mother's son in the organization, and I've been talking to them on the telephone all day long. Nobody knows nothing.'
'Seems like you've covered all the bases,' Kerney said as he left Gatewood.
Alan Begay was in his motel room when Kerney knocked.
'You didn't get a key?' he asked, when he opened the door.
'No. I'm not staying. I just stopped by to thank you for your offer.'
'No sweat, man. Come in, if you can stand the mess.'
The room had camping equipment strewn all over it. There were half a dozen large ice chests stacked in a corner along with boxes filled with bottles of nitric acid, filters, and unused plastic sample jars. A portable water pump and battery sat on the desk next to an assortment of meters and probes. The bed was strewn with maps, cameras, and lab report forms. At the foot of the bed were a pair of wading boots, a face shield, a lab coat, and lab gloves.
'Tools of the trade,' Begay said, as Kerney looked around. He cleared some papers off a chair and perched on the end of the bed.
'Have a seat.'
Kerney sat.
'You've got some questions you want to ask me?'
'Why do you think I have questions?'
'Because it was pretty dumb of me to be showing off this morning,' Begay replied.
'Made me look suspicious. I figured you'd want to at least check me out.'
'I already have checked you out. I called your boss in Gallup.'
'And?'
'You're a choirboy, according to your boss.'
Begay laughed, his eyes twinkling.
'Sure, he said that. If I'm such an upstanding citizen, what are you doing here?'
'You spend a lot of time in the backcountry.
Maybe you've seen something.'
'A lot of beautiful country and a few pissed-off ranchers is about all I see.'
'What about official personnel?'
'Who do you have in mind?'
'Steve Lujan.'
Begay nodded.
'I know him. He works with Amador Ortiz. But I don't see him when I'm in the mountains.'
'Anybody on an ATV?'
'Nope.'
'Who have you seen on this trip?'
'Just one guy I never met before. I was working on the Negrito Creek last week, checking for mercury and zinc seepage from an old silver mine. He was at one of the private ranches in the Gila.'
'Doing?'
'He didn't say. He flew in. The owner has a landing strip. I was half a mile downstream when the plane came over, so I hiked in to see what was up.'
'It wasn't the owner?'
'No. This guy was much younger. In his thirties.
The owner is an insurance millionaire from Detroit.
Older man. Fifty-something, at least.'
'You've met the owner?'
'Yeah, once, when he was out for an elk hunt.'
'Tell me about the stranger.'
'Like I said, midthirties, six feet, maybe a hundred and eighty. Blond hair with no sideburns. Pale complexion. The guy didn't look like he spent much time outdoors. Didn't say much. Talked with a real thick southern accent.'
'Did you get a name?'
'No, I didn't. He was kinda hurry about me being there. I had to show him my ID.'
'Thanks, Alan. You'd make a good police officer.'
Begay grinned.
'Think so?'
'Yes, I do.'
Alan shook his head.
'I'll stick to protecting natural resources. From what I saw of your trailer, it's a lot safer then being a cop.'
Kerney laughed.
'How about helping a cop for a few minutes?'
'What do you need?'
'How well do you know Steve Lujan?'
'Not very well.'
'Would he recognize your voice on the telephone?'
'I doubt it.'
'Good. Thirty minutes after I leave I want you to call him and say that you saw someone breaking into the shed behind his house this afternoon.
Keep it simple. Give him the message and hang up. Will you do that for me?'
'You want me to tell him what?' Begay asked, giving Kerney a quizzical look that didn't completely mask a half-formed smile.
Kerney carefully repeated the message he wanted delivered.
'Did the break-in really happen?' Alan asked.
'Yes.'
'Okay, I'll do it, but where will you be when I call him?'
'I'll be watching to see what Steve does.'
'That's sneaky.'
'That's police work,' Kerney corrected.
Dusk came, and Kerney wondered if he had completely missed the boat about Steve Lujan. From a fire road in the hills behind the valley he watched Lujan's house through binoculars, waiting for Steve to make a move.
There were a few kids still riding bikes up and down the lane, popping wheelies in the dirt and practicing stunts, and Lujan's nearest neighbor had a barbecue grill going, but that was the extent of activity in the small collection of homes sprinkled in the valley west of the river.
At the Lujan residence, the Pontiac and Ford Bronco were parked inside the open gate. Lights burned inside the house. Loco was on his chain in the front yard, and there were occasional shadowy movements in the windows as people moved about.
Finally, the kitchen went dark, a sure sign dinner was over. Ten minutes later, Lujan hurried out the front door, got into the Bronco, and drove away.
Kerney followed, staying a quarter mile back.
Lujan traveled through Reserve to the state road that ran down to Glenwood and on to Silver City.
Kerney kept an eye out for a tail behind him, but the road was dark and empty.
Lujan passed through Glenwood and didn't slow down again until he reached the turnoff for the Leopold Vista Historical Monument, a wayside rest stop on the highway dedicated to the man who had established the Gila
