thillerman.theblessingway-第16部分

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　The　high　slopes　of　the　Lukachukais　were　obscured　now　by　the　darkness　of　the　cloud。　Light　from　the　setting　sun　glittered　from　the　strata　of　ice　crystals　forming　in　the　thin；　frigid　air　at　its　upper　levels。　Deep　within　it；　the　structure　of　the　cloud　was　lit　by　a　sudden　flare　of　sheet　lightning。　And　then　there　was　a　single　lightning　bolt；　an　abrupt　vivid　streak　of　white　light　pulsing　an　electric　moment　against　the　black　of　the　rain；　connecting　cloud　and　mountain　slope。
　If　the　witch　was　there；　he's　dead　enough；　Leaphorn　thought。　And　he　couldn't　blame　himself　for　that。　Not　the　way　he　would　blame　himself　if　The　People　found　the　Wolf　before　he　did　and　executed　this　sentence　of　death。
　
　Chapter　11
　
　There　had　been　intermittent　thunder　for　several　minutes。　But；　even　so　prepared；　McKee　had　been　startled　by　the　sudden　brighter…than…day　flash　of　the　lightning　bolt。　The　explosion　of　thunder　had　followed　it　almost　instantly；　setting　off　a　racketing　barrage　of　echoes　cannonading　from　the　canyon　cliffs。　The　light　breeze；　shifting　suddenly　down　canyon；　carried　the　faintly　acrid　smell　of　ozone　released　by　the　electrical　charge　and　the　perfume　of　dampened　dust　and　rain…struck　grass。
　It　filled　McKee's　nostrils　with　nostalgia。　There　was　none　of　the　odor　of　steaming　asphalt；　dissolving　dirt；　and　exhaust　fumes　trapped　in　humidity　which　marked　an　urban　rain。　It　was　the　smell　of　a　country　childhood；　all　the　more　evocative　because　it　had　been　forgotten。　And　for　the　moment　McKee　dismissed　the　irritation　of　J。　R。　Canfield　and　reveled　mentally　in　happy　recollections　of　Nebraska；　of　cornfields；　and　of　days　when　dreams　still　seemed　real　and　plausible。　Then　a　splatter　of　rain　hit；　big；　cold；　high…velocity　drops　sent　him　running　to　the　tent　for　his　raincoat　and　back　out　into　the　sudden　shower　to　rescue　the　eggs　frying　on　the　butane　stove　and　the　bedrolls　spread　out　on　the　sand　beside　a　jumble　of　boulders。
　When　he　reached　them　the　rain　stopped　as　abruptly　as　it　had　begun。　McKee　dropped　Canfield's　blankets　and　cautiously　inspected　the　slice　of　sky　visible　above　the　canyon。　Up　canyon　it　was　blue…black；　with　a　continuing　intermittent　rumble　of　thunder。　Directly　overhead；　the　clouds　were　a　mixture　of　gray　and　white。　Down　canyon　to　the　south　and　east　there　was　the　dark　blue　of　open　sky　and；　nearer　the　horizon；　the　violent　reds　and　yellows　of　the　setting　sun。　The　breeze　had　shifted　back　to　the　southwest　now　and　he　saw　the　rain　was　drifting　across　the　canyon　higher　in　the　mountains。　Only　the　trailing　edge　of　it　had　touched　here。
　McKee　decided　it　would　be　safe　to　leave　the　bedrolls　out。　He　walked　back　to　the　butane　cooker；　forked　an　egg　onto　a　piece　of　bread　and　folded　it　into　a　sandwich。　The　sunset　now　was　flooding　the　canyon　with　eerie　rose　light；　which　made　the　eroded　sandstone　and　granite　of　the　cliff　seem　to　glow。　McKee　heard　the　water　then；　a　small　sound；　moving　down　the　canyon　floor　below　him。　The　rain　had　been　little　more　than　a　heavy　sprinkle　here　but　northwestward　on　the　mesa　it　had　been　heavy　enough　to　send　runoff　down　the　network　of　washes　which　fed　Many　Ruins　Canyon。　It　would　have　to　rise　into　a　torrent　eight　or　ten　feet　deep　before　it　topped　the　high　mound　of　talus　where　the　camp　was　and　McKee　estimated　the　stream；　now　spreading　across　the　flat　sand　on　the　canyon　bed　below　him；　was　no　more　than　six　inches　deep。　It　was　muddy；　carrying　a　burden　of　sticks；　pine　needles；　and　assorted　debris；　but　it　wouldn't　get　much　deeper　unless　the　rain　upstream　turned　into　something　like　a　cloudburst。　If　that　happened；　it　might　be　a　little　tough　driving　on　the　canyon　bottom　tomorrow。　That　turned　McKee's　thoughts　again　to　Canfield。
　Ever　since　his　return　to　the　camp　he　had　alternated　between　uneasy　worry　that　some　inconceivable　something　had　led　Canfield　to　sign　a　false　name　to　his　note；　irritation　at　himself　for　such　foolishness；　and　then　irritation　at　Canfield　for　causing　this　uneasiness。　He　was　all　the　more　irked　by　the　thought　that；　when　Canfield　returned　and　explained　the　signature　had　been　inspired　by　some　ridiculous　Canfieldian　whim；　the　whole　affair　would　seem　too　asinine　and　trivial　for　plaint。
　〃Silly　bastard；〃　McKee　muttered。　He　folded　the　third　egg　into　a　sandwich；　poured　himself　a　mug　of　coffee；　and　scrubbed　out　the　frying　pan　with　sand。　By　now　the　light　in　the　canyon　had　faded　from　rose　to　dusky　red　and　McKee's　mood　had　shifted　with　it；　back　to　irritation　with　himself　for　being　nervous。
　It　was　about　ten　when　he　finished　going　through　his　accumulation　of　notes　in　the　tent　and　planning　his　activities　for　the　next　day。　He　would　have　to　stay　in　camp　at　least　until　Canfield　returned　because　tomorrow　Miss　Leon　was　supposed　to　arrive。　If　Canfield　was　finding　anything　interesting　in　his　digging；　he　wouldn't　want　to　stop…and　someone　should　take　the　girl　up　into　the　labyrinth　of　canyons　to　try　to　locate　the　van　truck。　It　might；　or　might　not；　belong　to　her　electrical　engineer；　but　it　shouldn't　be　too　hard　to　find。　Not　if　it　was　still　parked　in　Hard　Goods　Canyon；　and　not　if；　as　Old　Woman　Gray　Rocks　had　said；　the　canyon　ran　into　Many　Ruins　nine　miles　up　from　the　mouth。　That　would　make　it　only　about　four　miles　up　from　their　camp。
　He　turned　off　the　butane　lantern　and　stood　at　the　tent　flap　a　moment；　letting　his　eyes　adjust　to　the　night　before　walking　back　to　the　bedrolls。　He　felt　tired　now；　ready　for　sleep。　He　left　his　boots　beside　the　bedding；　rolled　his　shirt　in　his　trousers　for　a　pillow　and　slid　into　the　blankets。　The　storm　cloud　had　drifted　away　and　he　heard；　far　to　the　northeast；　the　faint　suggestion　of　thunder。　His　side　of　the　canyon　was　in　total　darkness　but　the　top　of　the　sheer　cliff　on　the　west　side　was　tinged　now　by　the　dim　yellow　light　of　the　rising　moon。　It　would　be　about　three…quarters　full　tonight；　McKee　thought；　and　he　felt　a　sudden　inexpressible　loneliness；　a　loneliness　almost　as　intense　as　in　a　dream　he　sometimes　had。　In　the　dream　he　floated　in　a　great　airy　blackness；　wanting　to　shout；　but　remembering…dream　fashion…that　he　had　shouted　before　and　his　voice　had　been　lost　in　an　infinite　echoless　distance。　Remembering　this　would　sadden　him　because　it　told　him　there　was　no　one　anywhere　but　him。　When　he　had　this　dream；　sometimes　when　he　was　overtired　and　depressed；　it　would　awaken　him　and　he　would　sit　on　the　side　of　his　bed　and　smoke　a　cigarette；　and　sometimes　two　or　three。
　A　whippoorwill　sounded　its　whistling　call　far　down　the　canyon　and　was　answered　by　an　echo。　And　then　it　was　eerily　silent。
　Directly　overhead　McKee　picked　out　the　stars　of　the　Pleiades…six　in　two　parallel　rows　and　the　seventh　trailing　to　close　the　double　line。　From　these；　McKee　remembered；　the　seven　Hard　Flint　Boys　of　the　Navajo　myth　had　descended　to　follow　Monster　Slayer　on　his　heroic　odyssey　among　the　evil　things。　And　to　spread　their　own　mischief　among　the　Dinee。　And　to　receive　ceremonial　offerings　of　cornmeal　every　spring　from　a　thousand　sheepherders　in　a　thousand　little　sacred　shrines　on　a　thousand　mesas　and　mountains　across　the　Reservation。　McKee　located　two　stars；　each　surrounded　by　the　hazy　light　of　a　nebula；　which　represented　the　Hard　Flint　Woman　and　a　contestant　in　the　Bounding　Stick　Game。　He　couldn't　dredge　up　the　name　of　the　other　Holy　Person　but　he　vaguely　remembered　that　in　the　myth　there　was　an　argument　over　the　oute　and　a　solution　based　on　the　trickery　so　inevitable　in　both　Greek　and　Navajo　myth。　Far　up　the　west　rim　of　the　canyon；　a　coyote　yipped　twice；　and　then　poured　out　its　soul　in　a　full…throated　bay。　The　sound　seemed　to　float　down　from　the　stars；　the　voice　of　some　primeval　hound　drifting　infinite　sorrow　across　the　sky。
　It　might　be　my　coyote；　McKee　thought；　the　one　that　got　into　Yazzie's　ram　pen。　He　would　go　back　tomorrow　to　find　out　how；　if　his　guide　duties　with　Miss　Leon　allowed。　He　shifted　his　weight　on　the　packed　sand　and　felt　suddenly　less　sure　that　he　would　find　any　way　a　coyote　could　have　invaded　that　tight　little　enclosure。　In　this　silent　darkness　mystery　seemed　suddenly　natural；　almost　rational。　Down　the　canyon　the　whippoorwill　called　again　and　then　there　was　the　odd；　rasping　cry　of　a　saw…whet　owl；　sounding；　McKee　thought；　like　an　ogre　filing　off　his　chains。　He　reached　for　his　cigarette　pack；　decided　against　it；　and　thought　again　of