The Widow's Revenge Read Online Free Page B

the dwarf. “And it’d better be good and none of it made up.” She stamped her foot. “And don’t you think for a minute I won’t know the difference.”
    The
pitukupf
was insulted by this rude display. Even chagrined. For a moment, it seemed as if he might simply turn and walk away. But Daisy wouldn’t budge, so in the end, he gave in. What he had to say concerned one of the few Apaches that the Southern Ute tribal elder counted as a friend.
    As Daisy listened to the little man’s stunning narrative, she considered the dire implications of this report.
If what he says about Loyola is true, there’s not much I can do
. . .
not by myself.
A hopeful thought occurred to her:
I could tell Charlie Moon about it.
This notion came with a counternotion attached:
But he’d never believe me.
This was a knotty problem that would likely take some time to unravel. And time was a commodity that the busy woman had no surplus of.
After me and Sarah get to the Columbine, I’ll telephone Loyola and get her side of the story.
The shaman had not dismissed the possibility that the dwarf was either outright lying or, at the very least—painting over the truth with a thick coat of
pitukupf
varnish.
Soon as I know the facts of the matter, I’ll figure out what to do about it.
    With an almost painful intensity, Sarah strained her ears in an attempt to hear the dwarf’s words. The shaman’s apprentice heard nothing. Well, almost nothing. There was that odd, whispering twitter, like a dry breeze rattling dead cottonwood leaves.

CHAPTER SIX
THE JOURNEY NORTH
     
     
    AFTER A FINAL CHECK INSIDE HER HOUSE TO MAKE SURE THE PROPANE water heater was set to Pilot and all the electric lights were turned off and the circuit breaker that powered the well pump was likewise de-energized, Daisy locked the front door and made her way slowly across the yard. The tired old woman steadied herself with her sturdy oak walking stick as she grunted and groaned herself into the passenger side of the pickup.
    About four miles and twenty minutes down the rutted lane, as they intersected Fosset Gulch Road, Sarah made a significant announcement: “I’m going to have a talk with him.”
    The shaman smiled at the woman-child. “The dwarf?”
    Sarah shot her a shocked look. “No, with
him
.”
    Realizing now what this meant, the old woman did not respond.
    After they crossed over the Piedra bridge and onto the steaming black-top of Route 151, the girl pointed her pickup more or less northwest, and added, “We’ve got to get things straightened out.”
    Still, the aged passenger held her tongue.
    Silence reigned as they passed the entrance to Chimney Rock Archaeological Site, where the Twin War Gods loomed ominously in the sky, gazing toward the Three Stone Sisters, whose lengthening shadows would soon darken the windows of Daisy’s home.
    Not a word was said when Lake Capote appeared on the right side of the highway, or when Sarah turned west on Route 160.
    But not too many minutes later, when they entered Bayfield, the seventeen-year-old’s brow furrowed into a thoughtful frown. Having carefully considered all aspects of the situation, Sarah summed up with this irrefutable assertion: “Either Charlie Moon wants to marry me—or he doesn’t.”
    “He doesn’t,” Daisy Perika snapped. “Now stop yammering so much before you give me a splitting headache!”
    Did this cruel retort hurt Sarah Frank’s feelings? Hard to say. But all the way to the Columbine Ranch, the girl uttered not another word.

CHAPTER SEVEN
ESCALATION
    One Minute after Midnight
     
    THAT WAS WHEN LOYOLA MONTOYA HEARD IT .
    This was not one of those creepy night sounds that prickles the skin and sets the heart to thumping—such as the sinister creaking of footsteps across squeaky old floors, bloodcurdling gurgles commonly attributed to antique plumbing, or a rude bump-in-the-night
something
that delights in disturbing the sleep of honest citizens. Not a bit. This was quite unlike