Part 2 (2/2)

”And he warned his crew?”

”That's right,” Becenti said. ”And when Sena found out about it he just about went crazy. Sena didn't believe in visions. He figured there was some funny business and somebody had killed his brother.”

”Hard to blame him,” Chee said.

”Anyway, Sena had three of the crew locked up at Grants and was looking for the peyote chief. I was, too-for illegal use of a narcotic on the reservation. One of our people found him first and we had him in custody when a deputy sheriff got there to arrest him.” Becenti's wrinkled face folded itself into a grin. ”Big d.a.m.ned argument over who was gonna get him. Whether it was reservation land or county jurisdiction where he lived, and where the oil well was. Looked like we was going to have another Indian war there for a while. But the well wasn't on Navajo land, so I let Sena have him.”

Becenti inhaled a puff of cigaret smoke, breathed it out, and looked at the mountain. Its slopes were rosy now with the sunset. Chee said nothing. In Navajo fas.h.i.+on, when Becenti knew what he wanted to say next he would say it. There was no reason to hurry.

”Nothing ever came of it,” Becenti said. ”Not as far as Sena was concerned. The peyote preacher stuck to his story, and there wasn't any reason in the world to believe anyone would have blown up those men on purpose, and so finally Sena turned him loose. But something came of it for us. The Council wanted the peyote church stopped. So we was trying to arrest anyone with peyote. But word got around about the preacher saving those lives, and the congregation kept growing.”

”And you kept arresting them?”

”Trying to,” Becenti said. ”They kept moving the services around. First one place and then another. Sort of went underground.” Becenti laughed again. ”Got real secret. The leaders took to wearing mole amulets and they called themselves the People of Darkness.” Becenti used the same Navajo word that Mrs. Vines had remembered.

”The peyote chief was a Navajo named Dillon Charley?”

”That's right,” Becenti said. ”He was the peyote chief. He was the one who had the vision.”

”Did B. J. Vines have anything to do with that oil well?”

”No,” Becenti said. ”He didn't come into this country until after all that happened.” Becenti slammed his fist into his palm. ”By G.o.d, though,” he said. ”Vines and Charley got connected later on. Charley worked for him. After that explosion Sena hated Charley and pretty soon Sena was hating Vines, too.” He glanced at Chee. ”How much you know about Vines?”

”Just what I've heard,” Chee said. ”Came in here a poor boy at the very beginning of the uranium discoveries. Made the big uranium find on Section 17 and sold his leases to Anaconda for ten million dollars and a percentage royalty on the ore, and now he gets a little richer every time they drive an ore truck out of the Red Deuce Mine. Got more money than the U.S. government, big-game hunter, flies an airplane, so forth.”

”That's about it,” Becenti said. ”Except early on he and Sena had their troubles. Sena was sheriff by then, and Vines ran some Anglo against him and spent a lot of money and be d.a.m.ned if he didn't beat Sena. And Sena came back two years later and beat the Anglo. Sena's been sheriff of Valencia ever since, and he never did forgive Vines.”

”How did Charley get involved with Vines?” Chee asked.

”Politics. He started working with Vines against Sena-getting out the Navajo vote, and the Lagunas and Acomas. On Vines' payroll, probably. Later on he worked out there at Vines' ranch. Died years ago.”

”What happened to the People of Darkness?”

”Haven't heard of them for years,” Becenti said. ”But the church is still operating. You remember the courts ruled that peyote was a sacrament and they had a right to dope themselves up with it. Charley's son-I think his name was Emerson-he was the preacher after Dillon died. And Emerson's boy, he's a peyote chief since Emerson's sick.”

”Tomas Charley?”

Becenti nodded. ”He's a crazy little son of a b.i.t.c.h,” Becenti said. ”All them Charleys was crazy and this youngest one is the worst. His mother's a Laguna. From what I hear, he's into one of the Laguna kiva societies, and he's the peyote chief in the Native American Church around here, and he does some curing for the People on top of it all.”

”How'd that happen?” Chee asked.

”One of the boy's paternal uncles is a yataalii yataalii,” Becenti said. ”Pretty good old fellow. He taught Tomas the Blessing Way and the kid does it now and then. But most people would rather get someone else.”

”Why do you say he's crazy?”

Becenti laughed and shrugged. ”Chewed too G.o.dd.a.m.n many peyote b.u.t.tons,” he said. ”Got his brains curdled. Sees visions. Thinks he's talking to G.o.d. Silly little b.a.s.t.a.r.d.” Becenti paused, searching for an ill.u.s.tration. ”He come in the office last year and said Jesus had told him there was going to be a terrible drought and we should warn everybody to stock up on food. And then this fall he was in telling us that some witch was making his daddy sick. His daddy, that's Emerson Charley.”

”Well, it's been dry as h.e.l.l,” Chee said, ”and his daddy is dying.”

”It's always dry,” Becenti said. ”And his daddy's got cancer. That's what I heard. I didn't know he was dying.” Becenti thought about it. ”Anyway, he didn't get witched. I think cancer runs in that family, like craziness. I think that's what the grandfather died of, too.”

”Dillon Charley? Yeah. That's what Mrs. Vines said.”

Becenti looked uneasy. He was old enough to have the traditions of the People worn deep into the grain, and one of the traditions was not to speak the name of the dead. The ghost might overhear and be summoned to the speaker.

”Did you know Vines had Dillon Charley buried up at his house?” Chee asked.

”I heard that,” Becenti said. ”White men sure got some weird customs.”

Especially their burial customs, Chee thought. He'd spent years among the whites, first at boarding school, then through enough years at the University of New Mexico to win a degree in anthropology, but he still couldn't fathom the att.i.tude of whites toward the corpse.

”You have any idea why Vines would want to bury Dillon Charley?” Chee asked.

Becenti made a wry face. ”h.e.l.l, no.”

”This Tomas Charley,” Chee said. ”You said he was crazy. Would he be crazy enough to get into Vines' house and steal a lockbox with keepsakes in it?”

Becenti extracted the cigaret from between his lips and looked at Chee. ”Did something like that happen?” he asked. ”Why would he want to steal something like that? Vines and his woman are both big hunters. I understand either one of them would just as soon shoot somebody as not.”

”I heard that Tomas' grandfather thought Vines kept the luck of the Darkness People in that box,” Chee said. ”Maybe Tomas heard about that.”

Becenti nodded. ”Okay, then. I'd say yes. That kid would be about crazy enough to break in to steal himself some luck.”

6.

The spike on his desk the next morning held three pink ”While You Were Out” slips. One told him to call Captain Leaphorn at the Chinle substation. The other two, one left over from yesterday, and one received just before he'd got to work, told him to call B. J. Vines. He put those aside and called the Chinle station. Leaphorn's business involved identifying a middle-aged Navajo killed in a truck-pedestrian accident. The captain wanted him to send someone to Th.o.r.eau to check with a family there. Chee added it to the afternoon a.s.signment of Officer Dodge. Then he picked up the ”Call B. J. Vines” slips, leaned back in his chair and considered them. Both were initialed ”T.D.” Trixie Dodge was at her desk across the room. He glanced at her. She looked grim this morning. Trixie, he suspected, should have written ”Call Mrs. B. J. Vines.” Vines wouldn't be back for weeks.

”Hey, Trixie,” he said. ”You put down 'Call Vines' here. Wasn't the call from Mrs. Vines?”

Trixie didn't look up. ”Vines,” she said.

”Mr. Vines?” Chee insisted.

”It was a man. He said his name was B. J. Vines. He asked for you and then he asked you to call him at that number.” Trixie's voice was patient.

Chee dialed the number. It rang once.

”Yes.” The voice was male.

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