A Dead Man's Tale by James D. Doss Page A

with the dwarf had to do with the recent visit to the Columbine Ranch by one Delilah Darkwing, who had urged the tribal elder to arrange a meeting with the pitukupf . Needless to say, urgings by ravens are ignored at one’s peril. Minutes earlier, when Sarah pulled her red pickup into Daisy’s front yard, that feathered personage had been perched expectantly on the topmost branch of a juniper. In the Ute-Papago girl’s presence, the shaman and the raven had limited their exchange to meaningful glances.
    Daisy deposited her suitcase in the bedroom and advised Sarah that she was going to “take a little walk.”
    Stiff from the long drive and brimming over with pent-up energy, the eighteen-year-old was ready for a hike. “Where to?”
    “Oh, I don’t know.” The elder avoided the youth’s hopeful gaze. “I just want to go have a look at things.”
    “What things?”
    Daisy bristled at this cross-examination. “Rocks. Trees. Skunks. Centipedes. Whatever I happen to come across!” The edgy old woman leaned against her stout oak staff, took a deep breath—and explained so that even a teenager could understand: “I want to be by myself for a while and enjoy some peace and quiet.” She jutted her chin in a defiant gesture. “While I’m gone, you can fix us some supper.”
    Sarah arched a doubtful brow. “Well…okay.” I guess. “What do you want to eat?”
    “I’m not picky.” Charlie Moon’s aunt shrugged. “Anything that don’t smell bad or try to bite me back.”
    Daisy’s Time Alone
    That was her intention, but she was never entirely without company.
    Miss Darkwing was never far from Daisy Perika’s side; the gossipy raven flew from huckleberry bush to aspen sapling to mossy boulder to aged ponderosa—all the while updating the tribal elder on recent events such as births, deaths, feuds, mysterious disappearances, and newcomers in the canyon. Not to mention dreadful omens, thunderous rumblings from Cloud Woman, fiery night-sky portents, and the like.
    As Daisy trod her breathless way into Spirit Canyon along the slightly upgrade deer path, she also encountered a lonely disembodied soul who was determined to bend her ear, a cheeky chipmunk who demanded a handout or else, and a cheeky little rattlesnake who coiled under a winterkilled Apache plume—all of whom she pointedly ignored. In addition to these residents, not a few pairs of unseen eyes watched the aged woman’s progress with considerable interest—and not all of them belonged to such common residents as mule deer, squirrels, cottontails, badgers, and ghosts.
    With much huffing, puffing, grunting, and groaning, Daisy finally arrived at her destination. She was in for a disappointment. After tapping her walking stick on the ground by the badger hole and calling out several times, she was forced to conclude that the dwarf was not at home. It’s just like the ugly little wart not to be here when I want to talk to him. The disgruntled visitor kicked a stone into the entrance of the pitukupf ’s underground dwelling, but this did not satisfy. Charlie Moon’s annoyed aunt looked around for someone to complain to, but the raven—who presumably had some pressing business to attend to—was nowhere to be seen.
    Daisy’s feet ached liked she’d walked ninety miles. Before I head back to my house, I’ll sit down and rest for a while.
    The familiar ponderosa log was within a few yards of the badger hole, where it had fallen years ago. She seated herself on the rotting trunk, gazed at the twilighting sky, and commenced to wonder where on earth the pitukupf might have gone. But not for long.
    “Yikes!”
    Someone or some thing had tapped a finger on Daisy’s shoulder.
    A smallish finger.
    The startled woman turned to see the little man, who was standing on the log beside her. The pitukupf ’s wicked grin enraged the shaman, and she was about to brain the impudent rascal with her oak staff when she remembered the reason she’d come to visit