“To tell you the truth I never bought that story about her having an affair with Calisher. She wasn’t like that.”

“Reverend LaSalle thinks she was just about the fastest thing on wheels.”

“LaSalle’s got the imagination of a horny old maid. Maria was fast with her lip, she annoyed a lot of people around here because she liked to talk back when she thought it was called for. Sure she had wit, but she didn’t sleep around.”

Watchman glanced at the Volkswagen beside him. “The truth is I don’t think you’re guilty of anything except brass. I don’t see where you had much reason to want Calisher dead, I don’t see how you could have killed Maria, and I don’t know where you’d have found the kind of money Maria was living on. But somebody saw a blue VW parked outside her house that morning and I still need an explanation for that.”

“I’ll damn sure find out what I can, if Joe doesn’t bushwhack me first.”

“I don’t think it’s you he’s after.”

“Jesus I hope you’re right.”

6.

Watchman got out of the car and heard Victorio shut the other door. Two white-garbed nuns in sailboat hats walked out of the trading post and got into a huge station wagon and drove away. The wagon’s place was taken almost immediately by the white Ford of the Indian Agency Police Force. Pete Porvo got out and walked into the trading post and Watchman turned that way; he felt Victorio’s presence at his heels.

He hadn’t put his boot onto the first step yet when a ruined pickup came staggering down the highway and he stopped and put his eyes on it while it went past. Jimmy Oto was driving; Oto’s hard glance fixed itself onto Watchman and stayed there, the head turning, until the grey truck almost went off the road. Then Oto was gone and Victorio behind him said, “Him you want to stay away from in dark alleys.”

“We’ve met.”

“You’re lucky you’ve still got your teeth then.”

Watchman pushed into the gloom of the store. He found Porvo at the sandwich counter. The high small eyes whipped across Watchman’s face and settled on Victorio.

Watchman said, “Any sign of that Land Cruiser?”

“Nope.”

Victorio said, “We just came in from Rufus’ place.”

“That right?”

Watchman said, “I understand you spotted Joe last night.”

“What about it?” Porvo stood phlegmatically rocking heel-to-toe.

“Did you try to stop him?”

Porvo’s eyes crinkled to show he knew Watchman was kidding him. “Come on.”

“How about it, Pete?”

Porvo’s face changed. “What the hell are you trying to pull?”

“I just want to know what you did, Pete. Did you yell out to him? Did you fire a warning shot and tell him to halt?”

“You’re crazy. By the time I got the car stopped he was back out of sight in the woods someplace. You think yelling and shooting’s going to do any good?”

“Did you take a flashlight and run in there after him?”

“The son of a bitch was toting a rifle. You want me to go in after him with a flashlight?”

Victorio was looking on, puzzled. Watchman said, “You had him in sight, you let him go. It was the middle of the night. So if he was close enough for you to recognize him he might have been close enough to stop. That’s all I’m asking you.”

“If I could’ve stopped him I would have. That satisfy you?”

“It’ll do for right now. I had a shot at him myself, I know how it goes.”

Victorio said, “You did?”

“It’s a long story.”

Porvo finished his sandwich and crumpled the wax paper as if it were Watchman’s throat. “Look, porcupine, I don’t need Navajos telling me how to do my job.”

“Take it easy. My dad was an Agency cop.”

“This still ain’t Window Rock. This is my bailiwick, Watchman. I wouldn’t mind for you to get in some real trouble sticking your Navajo nose in it.”

“I didn’t come up here to muss up your turf, Pete. All I want is Joe Threepersons.”

“Look,” Porvo said, “I believe in my job here. It’s a lot better to keep house inside the tribe than have outside agitators come in here and stomp law-and-order all over us. Now I told you before—I find Joe, I’ll give him to you. In the meantime you can quit pushing your weight around here.” He turned on his heel and marched out of the building.

Watchman turned mildly to Victorio. “You want some lunch?”

“You’re just a beaming ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

“Deep water is for those who can swim. I think Porvo’s making a mistake, taking this too lightly. The next time he comes across Joe he might get shot before he decides whether he should wave hello or pull his gun.”

“You’re expecting too much. Pete’s an Agency cop, his jurisdiction’s limited to traffic cases and misdemeanors that don’t carry a penalty of more than six months in jail. The big stuff they leave to the County Sheriff. You can’t expect him to know his way around a murder case.”

“I can expect him to know his way around this Reservation. If anybody’d know where to look for Joe it would be that cop. I’d like to find a way to reach him.”

“You won’t do it by insulting him. Pete’s kind of proud. He likes that uniform and he likes to think he can fill it.”

Watchman considered the selection of sandwiches. “Maybe you’re right. But with his kind you don’t grovel. I figure he understands authority. It’s probably the only way I can break through that Navajo-hate of his.”

“Just don’t expect too much,” Victorio said again. “I mean you are a Navajo after all. Try the corn beef, it ain’t too bad.”

They took the sandwiches out on the porch and ate standing up in the shade beside the phone booth. Watchman said, “This Jimmy Oto. Tell me about him.”

“What’s he got to do with anything?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe nothing. But he was pretty anxious to scare me off the Reservation last night. He had some anxious-looking friends with him.”

“That rat pack of his, I guess. I wouldn’t pay him too much mind. He likes to ripple his muscles.”

“What do you know about him?”

“He used to be a pal of Joe’s. I don’t know if he still is. Maria couldn’t stand him, wouldn’t let Joe hang around with him.”

“I understand he hasn’t got a job.”

“Well he’s on welfare, I think, some kind of relief. He’s sort of got a job, if you could call it that. You know about Harlan Natagee and that red-power movement of his?”

“Nothing except the name.”

“They’re kind of extremist. That’s a big family, the Natagees. Frank Natagee, he’s the chairman of the Tribal Council.”

“Then that’s where I heard the name.”

“Well Harlan is Frank Natagee’s brother. They don’t speak to each other. Harlan’s sort of the black sheep of the family. Some folks say he’s a sorcerer.”

“A witch.”

“Yes. Harlan used to live over in Oklahoma for a while. He made a lot of money, trading oil leases or something like that. Came back here eight or ten years ago with a pile of money and sank a lot of it into stuff like the sawmill and the cattle co-ops. He’s helped the tribe a lot but folks walk wide around him. You could call him the local homegrown robber baron. Full of crazy notions how to deal with Anglos. I kind of think he wouldn’t mind restoring the good old white institution of scalping.”

“How much support does he have?”

“Not a hell of a lot. He’s got his pack of kids and a few half-grown toughs like Jimmy Oto—they do what Harlan tells them.”

“Like for instance?”

“Well Charlie Rand’s had a few troubles up on his ranch—brush fires, busted fences, that kind of harassment. Everybody knows it’s Harlan’s rat pack doing it.”

“Just like everybody knows it was Rand who broke into your offices.”

Victorio gave him an amused look. “Yeah.”

“Then if Jimmy Oto’s trying to warn me off, he’s doing it on orders from Harlan Natagee?”

“Maybe. Don’t forget Jimmy and Joe Threepersons were buddies. It could be just that.” Victorio squinted out toward the mountains; after a moment he said, “I think I get the drift of what you’re thinking. A lot of folks keep thinking Maria was witched. Harlan’s got that reputation.”