The Shaman Laughs Read Online Free PDF Page B

Leaves Falling. Nahum's sheep had fallen like dead leaves. The pasture was dotted with bleached bones scattered by coyote and buzzard. Occasional snatches of dirty wool still hung on a few tumble-weeds.
    Moon leaned with both hands on a creosote-soaked timber that served as a heavy cross member in the sagging corral fence. A relative from Towaoc had taken Nahum's skinny Appaloosa mare to shelter in his own barn until the old shepherd returned. But the smell of the animal still hung on the corral. The presence of Nahum Yacüti was also strong.
    The policeman did not hear the presence behind him, but he felt something like a feather sweeping over the back of his neck. Moon turned slowly, unconscious that his right hand was moving upward toward the bone handle of the heavy revolver holstered on his belt.
    Armilda Esquibel was both amused and annoyed at this big Ute policeman who had never believed her eye-witness account of the shepherd's remarkable disappearance. "Don't need to be afraid, young man. I'm only a harmless old widda woman." But she had her wrinkled right hand in the pocket of her plastic rain coat. Her fingers were wrapped around the black grip of an antique Remington derringer that had not fired any .41 caliber rim fire cartridges since 1952 when Armilda shot a fat Apache woman in the thigh.
    Moon grinned and tipped his hat. "You're pretty light on your feet." Sneaky was more like it. He warily watched the twitching hand in the coat pocket. He thought about dying. A policeman's life had little glamour; his death none at all. According to the FBI statistics, he was far more likely to be shot by a deranged old woman than by a vicious bank robber.
    She chewed on a tiny plug of Red Man tobacco in her jaw, and relaxed her grip on the hidden derringer. "Since that poor old man was taken away to heaven by them angels, there are yahoos and galoots and pumpkin-heads comin' around here to carry away everything that ain't nailed down." She removed her little hand from the raincoat pocket and pointed toward Nahum's grape arbor, where a dozen excavations pockmarked the clay. "Them chuckle-heads, they think old Nahum buried his greenbacks out there. They come around sometimes and they dig for it… like gophers they dig." She spat tobacco juice very near Moon's left boot and grinned at some private joke. "I come down here," her little brown eyes sparked fire, "and I chase them thievin' bastards off."
    "You should call the station," Moon advised gently.
    "We'll take care of any trespassers." Most likely, protect them from this unpredictable old woman.
    She grunted to show her derision. An honest widow woman could not wait half a day for the Utes, who operated on "Indian time," to make an appearance and then treat her like she was feeble-minded. Besides, Armilda enjoyed chasing the thugs away. Every confrontation made her feel young again. Like she might live forever. Secretly, she hoped that one of these vandals would give her reason to shoot him right between his beady little eyes. "You goin' to go inside his house?" On her television screen, policemen always wanted to nose around inside the house of a missing person to discover some wonderful clue. Armilda Esquibel also wanted to see inside.
    Moon didn't answer, but he headed toward the front door. The old woman followed behind, working hard to keep up with the big man's long strides. "I know where Nahum kept his key hid, but I wouldn't never use it myself." It was much too high for her to reach. "But you're a policeman and a Ute Indian like Nahum, so I guess it would be all right if you wanted to go inside and poke around some."
    He was certain that Armilda remembered that he had examined the house on the day after Nahum disappeared. "Why don't you come in too?" The Ute looked thoughtfully at the skinny old woman in the plastic raincoat. "Maybe you'll spot something I missed."
    "Well, maybe I will come inside," she said between short gasps for breath, "if you think it'd