Novel 1987 - The Haunted Mesa (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page A

Kawasi said. “But even if it was”—she shook her head—“we would not think of keeping a beast.” She puckered her brow. “Why is this? Why you like him?”
    â€œHe’s my friend,” Mike replied. “The dog was the first animal domesticated by man, and they’ve been companions these thousands of years. I expect the first dogs were captured wolf puppies that were raised for food, and they became such good companions the people decided not to eat them. Men and dogs began hunting together and that settled it, I guess.”
    â€œWe do not keep beasts except for food and for skins,” she said primly.
    â€œYou miss a lot,” he said. “Of course, there are people among us who do not keep dogs for pets.” He paused. “I think it is more a custom among Europeans and Americans than others, with the exception of some nomadic peoples.”
    â€œâ€˜Nomadic’? I do not know what it is.”
    â€œPeople who wander from place to place, often driving cattle or sheep to fresh grazing lands. Do you not have people of that kind?”
    She frowned again. “I do not know. There is great desert. I do not believe anybody goes past it, ever. There are miles of plantings, although not so much as long ago. All is controlled by the Lords of Shibalba.”
    â€œShibalba?”
    â€œIt is the name of where I live.”
    â€œThe Maya have a legend of an underground place where live the enemies of men. It is called Xibalba.”
    â€œIt is the same, I think.”
    He added fuel to the fire, and a few sparks flew up. “Once when we talked you said you saw something familiar in the mesa over there? Do you remember?”
    She looked over her shoulder, then shifted position so the mesa was no longer behind her. “It is like a place I know on the Other Side. It cannot be, yet…”
    â€œYou think it is the same?”
    â€œIt cannot be, and yet I think…it is like, but different somehow. I do not like it,” she added. “I do not even like to think about it.”
    Chief lay close to them, his head on his paws. Mike looked out across the mesa, his eyes straying beyond to the silver of the river. The stars were very bright, the night dark. Somewhere, far off, a coyote howled. Chief lifted his big head, listening.
    Kawasi was silent, staring into the fire. Mike slowly began arranging his thoughts, trying to face his problem and decide what was necessary. There was no use in going it blind. He must have a plan, but one he could adjust to circumstances.
    Of what he was facing he had no idea, beyond hostile people in a world of which he knew nothing. A dozen times in the past he had come upon accounts of mysterious disappearances or appearances for which there was no logical explanation. Ships, planes, even a whole Chinese Army had vanished without logical explanation. But what was logical? Only that which men knew, and they know so little.
    Erik was gone.
    A thin film of dust lay over the worktable and the blueprints. The sleeping bag was rolled up tight, something one did in desert country for fear of snakes, spiders, or scorpions taking refuge in one’s bed. They were not the best of sleeping companions.
    He unrolled the bag. “You can sleep in it. I’ll make out with Erik’s parka.”
    He brought fuel closer to the fire, then walked out away from the ruin. The mesa top was thick with powdery soil and only a sparse growth of weeds. The night was cool; the stars seemed very close. All was still, and he knew the nearest habitation was at least an hour’s drive, unless there was some Navajo hogan south of the river, which was deep and offered no crossing nearer than Mexican Hat.
    The night reminded him of Sinkiang, the Kunluns, and the Pamirs. This was a ghostly, haunted land. Men had lived here and died here, but others had vanished—into what? He knew the feeling from the Kunluns, those mountains that border