it.
It’s more like a haze.
But not like the thick gray fog that sometimes spilled out of
Cañón del Espíritu’s
mouth.
It’s more like when the morning sun shines on a roof that’s still wet with last night’s dew.
And the wisp of smoke-fog-haze was about the right size to be the dwarf that Daisy had described on so many dark winter nights while they sat close to the flames crackling in the fireplace. And Sarah could almost make out a leering little face. This was beginning to be scary.
There’s probably nothing there. It’s just my imagination. And even if I do see something, I’m not sure I really
want
to.
Neither the young woman nor the old one was aware of the fact that Mr. Zig-Zag had appeared on the scene. Sarah’s black-and-white spotted cat was sitting by his mistress’s left ankle, staring directly across the stump at the space where the dwarf was supposedly present. This did not necessarily mean that the cat saw the little man. It was more likely that an intelligent and observant feline like Mr. Z-Z, having perceived where the human beings were looking, was merely exhibiting a cat’s natural curiosity about an empty spot in space.
If the apparition looked back at the toothy mammal with some apprehension, that was probably because those of his ilk detested members of the feline clan.
When Daisy turned to fix her gaze on Sarah, she noticed the cat.
You see him, don’t you?
The shaman’s beady little brown eyes fairly glinted with expectation as she spoke to the girl. “Well?”
The youth drew in a breath of fresh air. “I may see just a little
something
.”
“Tell me about it.”
Like thoughtful spaniels do, Sarah cocked her head. “It’s nothing much.”
Daisy chuckled.
Neither’s he.
“Sort of like a shady spot.” She strained to expand on this. “It’s like something was soaking up the light.”
Daisy smiled.
She sees the little booger all right.
But the development of any useful skill takes time. With a little bit of luck, the more the girl looked, and the more she
wanted
to see—the clearer the
pitukupf
’s image would be. “Anything else?”
There was. But, being a polite young lady, Sarah hesitated to mention the distinct olfactory sensation.
The tribal elder pressed. “Well—what is it?”
Sarah hoped that the little man (if he was really there) was not a sensitive sort. “Well, I think I can
smell
something.”
Daisy chuckled at the
pitukupf
’s outraged expression. “Something like three-day-old roadkill?”
“Oh, no.” The girl shook her head so hard that her long black locks whipped across her face. “Nothing like that!”
More like something sour.
Spoiled milk? She strained to think of a suitable euphemism. “The scent is . . . well . . . kind of
tart.
” She smiled reassuringly at the hazy image. “But not at all unpleasant.” Since she was four years old, this was as close as Sarah had come to outright lying.
The dwarf smirked at the Ute elder.
“Hah.” This was all Daisy could come up with. Fun was fun, but enough dillydallying around. Sarah had done better than expected; now it was time to work the other side of the potential match. Daisy shook her walking stick at the dwarf. “Okay, come and get the stuff this nice little girl brought out here for you.”
The nice little girl froze, clasped her hands over her face. She also peeked between her fingers at the stump.
Oh, if somebody I can’t see picks up the jam or the pie, I’ll just die!
Not to worry. Death was not an option. Not today.
The dwarf evidently had no intention of demonstrating his presence by so bold a demonstration of levitation. In a hoarse whisper, the Ute leprechaun advised the shaman that he would collect the jam, pie, and mirror after she and the half-breed child had departed.
The old woman sneered at her neighbor. “There won’t be anything onthe stump unless you tell me everything you know, and I mean
right now
.” Daisy shook her formidable walking stick at