The Night Visitor Read Online Free

across it by stepping from stone to stone.
    The wisp of a girl in the seat beside him strained against the shoulder strap and pressed her nose against the window. “I bet there are lots of fishes in there.”
    The driver did not respond, and this irked the child.
    Sarah Frank looked to the Ute policeman for confirmation.
“Are
there lots of fishes in the river?”
    He nodded.
    â€œWhat kind?” she pressed.
    â€œMostly rainbow trout,” Moon said, and jerked the steering wheel to miss a shallow pothole in the gravel road.
    â€œRainbow,” she sighed. “I bet they’re really pretty.” Mr. Zig-Zag purred: Sarah rubbed the black cat’s neck. “Are there any catfish in the river?”
    â€œNope. Piedra’s way too cold for ’em.”
    She shivered. “Aren’t there no other fish to keep the rainbow trout company?”
    He thought about this. “Well… I s’pose there might be some rattlesnake trout about.”
    â€œThat sounds scary.”
    â€œOh, they’re not dangerous. Just another kinda fish.” He waited for the inevitable question.
    â€œCharlie, why are they called
rattlesnake
trouts?”
    â€œFor one thing, they got a long, skinny neck.”
    There was an expression of wonder in her brown eyes, which seemed far too large for her face. “A fish with a neck.
Really?”
    â€œSure. That old rattlesnake trout can pop his head out real fast and strike!” He flicked his hand to demonstrate. “Last April, Gorman Sweetwater said he saw one snap a woolly worm off a willow branch that was a good two feet above the water.”
    She shuddered.
    He was on a roll. “It’s an evolutionary advantage. Gives ’em an edge over the common water-feeders.”
    â€œBut with such a long neck wouldn’t it be awfully hard to swim?”
    â€œSure. It could get wrapped around a reed or even tied in aknot. So when they’re not using that long neck, they keep it all coiled up on their shoulders. That’s why they’re called a rattlesnake trout. Although down in New Mexico they call ’em spring-necked trouts.”
    She made a face. “I think they sound
icky.”
    â€œI don’t much like their looks myself. But some fishermen prefer ’em to rainbows or cutthroats. Last week Gorman Sweetwater caught a small one. Said he stretched the neck out and it wasn’t more’n ten inches long. He let it snap back and only counted three coils. But I guess old Gorman must’ve took a shine to it anyway. He took it home and put it in a big bowl with his Chinese goldfish.”
    â€œWould you take me to see it?”
    â€œI’d sure like to, but it’s too late.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œGame warden found out about it. Made Gorman throw the thing back in the Piedra.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œAgainst the law to keep a rattlesnake trout with less than five coils.”
She’s a good kid, but kind of gullible.
    â€œOh.”
Charlie’s nice, but he makes up such silly stories.
Sarah Frank clutched the black cat against her chest and squinted through the sandblasted windshield at a dusty road that led into the canyon country. “Are we almost there?”
    Moon, who had answered this question a dozen times since he’d picked her up at the Colorado Springs airport, nodded. “Almost.”
    The child looked up at the big policeman. “Are you sure Aunt Daisy′11 be glad to see me and Mr. Zig-Zag?”
    Sarah was no blood relation to Daisy Perika, but all the kids called her “Aunt Daisy.” “She’ll be happy to see you. But,” he added cautiously, “she don’t much care for cats.”
    â€œI know. When I was here before, Aunt Daisy never called Mr. Zig-Zag by his real name. She called him Dishrag and Hair Bag and stuff. And sometimes she kicked at him.”
    â€œKicked him?” Sounded just like the grumpy old