George to fix that damn thing."
"Sounds like it needs greasing," Leaphorn said.
"I think George needs some greasing, too," Denton said. "He hasn't been good for much since—ah, since I went away and did my time."
A tall, narrow-faced man wearing a red nylon wind-breaker was hurrying toward them. Leaphorn first noticed he was a Navajo with the western Navajo shape of broad shoulders and narrow hips, then that he had a nose which seemed to have been bent, that the face was familiar. Finally he recognized George Billie.
"You got back early, Mr. Denton," Billie said. "I was just about to take care of that gate."
"Well, get it open now," Denton said. "And then get it fixed."
"Okay," Billie said. He had glanced at Leaphorn, glanced again, and then looked quickly away.
" Ya eeh teh , Mr. Billie," Leaphorn said. "How is life treating you these days?"
"All right," Billie said. He put his shoulder to the gate and pushed it open. Denton drove through.
"You and George know one another," Denton said. "I bet I can guess how that happened. He said he was a wild kid. Did time for this and that before he quit drinking."
Denton pushed another button, raising one of the three garage doors. They drove in. "He's been working here for several years now. Pretty fair help, and Linda liked him. She thought he was sweet." Denton chuckled at this description as they exited the garage and entered the house. Denton ushered Leaphorn through a foyer and down a hallway into a spacious office.
"Have a seat," he said. "And how about a drink?" Leaphorn opted for a glass of water, or coffee if available.
"Mrs. Mendoza," Denton shouted. "Gloria." He awaited a response, got none, and disappeared back down the hall. Leaphorn studied the office. Its expanse of windows looked out across a thousand square miles of green, tan, and pink, with the shade of colors changing under a sky full of those dry autumn clouds. The view was spectacular, but Leaphorn was more interested in the interior decorations. A section of wall behind Denton's desk was occupied with photographs of Mrs. Linda Denton, a blonde, blue-eyed girl smiling shyly and wearing oval glasses, who was every bit as beautiful as all he'd heard. Other photographs, some in color, some black-and-white copies of old photos, some aerials, and all in various sizes and shapes, hung on two of the walls. Denton himself appeared in only one of them, a much younger version of him standing with two other soldiers in Green Beret camouflage attire by the side door of a helicopter. In most of the photos mining was the subject, and the exceptions seemed to Leaphorn to be views of canyons, ridges, or cliffs where mining was a possibility for the future. He edged around the room, examining photographs of nineteenth-century prospectors working at sluices, smiling at the camera in assay offices, leading pack mules, or digging along dry streambeds. He recognized Arizona's Superstition Mountains in one photograph, the Navajo Nation's own Beautiful Mountain in another, and—in the largest one of all—a mural-sized blowup of part of Mesa de los Lobos. That, being east of Gallup, probably included Navajo land, Bureau of Land Management land, and private land. In other words, it would be a part of the "Checkerboard Reservation."
He was studying that when Denton reappeared, carrying a tea tray with two coffee cups, cream, sugar, and a glass of ice water, which he carefully deposited on a table.
"I imagine you've heard I'm a gold-mine nut," Denton said. "Came out in the trial, and all. I made my money in oil and natural gas leases, but gold's where the glamour's always been for me. Ever since I was a kid."
Leaphorn was sampling his coffee. He nodded.
"Always had a dream of actually finding the so-called Lost Adams dig down south of here," Denton said. "Or that Sick Swede Mine that's supposed to be somewhere in the Superstitions. Or one of the other ones. Read everything about 'em. And then I heard about the Golden Calf
"Sounds like it needs greasing," Leaphorn said.
"I think George needs some greasing, too," Denton said. "He hasn't been good for much since—ah, since I went away and did my time."
A tall, narrow-faced man wearing a red nylon wind-breaker was hurrying toward them. Leaphorn first noticed he was a Navajo with the western Navajo shape of broad shoulders and narrow hips, then that he had a nose which seemed to have been bent, that the face was familiar. Finally he recognized George Billie.
"You got back early, Mr. Denton," Billie said. "I was just about to take care of that gate."
"Well, get it open now," Denton said. "And then get it fixed."
"Okay," Billie said. He had glanced at Leaphorn, glanced again, and then looked quickly away.
" Ya eeh teh , Mr. Billie," Leaphorn said. "How is life treating you these days?"
"All right," Billie said. He put his shoulder to the gate and pushed it open. Denton drove through.
"You and George know one another," Denton said. "I bet I can guess how that happened. He said he was a wild kid. Did time for this and that before he quit drinking."
Denton pushed another button, raising one of the three garage doors. They drove in. "He's been working here for several years now. Pretty fair help, and Linda liked him. She thought he was sweet." Denton chuckled at this description as they exited the garage and entered the house. Denton ushered Leaphorn through a foyer and down a hallway into a spacious office.
"Have a seat," he said. "And how about a drink?" Leaphorn opted for a glass of water, or coffee if available.
"Mrs. Mendoza," Denton shouted. "Gloria." He awaited a response, got none, and disappeared back down the hall. Leaphorn studied the office. Its expanse of windows looked out across a thousand square miles of green, tan, and pink, with the shade of colors changing under a sky full of those dry autumn clouds. The view was spectacular, but Leaphorn was more interested in the interior decorations. A section of wall behind Denton's desk was occupied with photographs of Mrs. Linda Denton, a blonde, blue-eyed girl smiling shyly and wearing oval glasses, who was every bit as beautiful as all he'd heard. Other photographs, some in color, some black-and-white copies of old photos, some aerials, and all in various sizes and shapes, hung on two of the walls. Denton himself appeared in only one of them, a much younger version of him standing with two other soldiers in Green Beret camouflage attire by the side door of a helicopter. In most of the photos mining was the subject, and the exceptions seemed to Leaphorn to be views of canyons, ridges, or cliffs where mining was a possibility for the future. He edged around the room, examining photographs of nineteenth-century prospectors working at sluices, smiling at the camera in assay offices, leading pack mules, or digging along dry streambeds. He recognized Arizona's Superstition Mountains in one photograph, the Navajo Nation's own Beautiful Mountain in another, and—in the largest one of all—a mural-sized blowup of part of Mesa de los Lobos. That, being east of Gallup, probably included Navajo land, Bureau of Land Management land, and private land. In other words, it would be a part of the "Checkerboard Reservation."
He was studying that when Denton reappeared, carrying a tea tray with two coffee cups, cream, sugar, and a glass of ice water, which he carefully deposited on a table.
"I imagine you've heard I'm a gold-mine nut," Denton said. "Came out in the trial, and all. I made my money in oil and natural gas leases, but gold's where the glamour's always been for me. Ever since I was a kid."
Leaphorn was sampling his coffee. He nodded.
"Always had a dream of actually finding the so-called Lost Adams dig down south of here," Denton said. "Or that Sick Swede Mine that's supposed to be somewhere in the Superstitions. Or one of the other ones. Read everything about 'em. And then I heard about the Golden Calf
Similar Books
