Novel 1987 - The Haunted Mesa (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page A

ahead. It was Gallagher’s car. As he neared it a hand reached out, flagging him down.
    Gallagher was alone. “You got a gun?”
    Raglan hesitated briefly. “Yes. I always carry one when I go into the mountains.”
    â€œKeep it handy.”
    Raglan mentioned his speculation about the possibilities of a longstanding base, and Gallagher nodded. “I been thinking the same thing. Been running people through my mind, wondering who and where.”
    He sat silent, staring down the road. Then he glanced over at Raglan. “Kinda spooky,” he said. “I can’t deal with it. Not yet, anyway.” He paused again. “I’ve been reading an article about you.” He held up the magazine. “You’re used to this sort of thing.”
    â€œYou never get used to it,” Raglan said. “The frauds are easy. Almost any halfway decent magician can beat them at their own game. Most of the tricks they use were old-hat fifty years ago. People believe because they wish to believe and they don’t want the frauds exposed.
    â€œIf someone expects miracles they will see miracles.”
    â€œI got some ideas.” Gallagher looked at Raglan. “Better keep this under your hat. No use to get a lot of talk started.”
    Raglan started his car and moved down the road. The turnoff was miles ahead and very easily missed. He would have to watch closely.
    Kawasi was quiet, resting her eyes, almost asleep. Mike did not feel like talking nor did she, it seemed. He was trying to remember the map Erik had sent him. It was a far different route from the one he had taken down the Canyon road, which was far away to the south. He was well over an hour from town when he turned off the highway and took the dim desert trail. When he had driven a short distance the road dipped into a hollow and he stopped the car.
    Kawasi’s eyes opened. “What is it?”
    He was getting out of the car. “I want to look at the road. See if there are tracks.”
    He walked to the road ahead, pausing by the front bumper to study the trail. After a moment he walked on ahead, keeping alongside the trail, not wishing to smudge the tracks.
    There were tire-prints from two different vehicles. The tracks were several days old, with the paw-prints of a porcupine and several ground squirrels and some snake tracks crossing them. He walked several hundred feet, studying the tracks. The first car had been driven very fast by someone who obviously knew the road—probably Erik Hokart. He had been followed by another car, certainly not the white van. Yet there were no returning tracks, so where was Erik now? Where had they taken him?
    Kawasi was sitting up, watching him. “They did not come back this way,” he told her.
    She shrugged. “They have other ways, not sure ways, but they exist.”
    Where was Erik? If they had a hideout, a base on this side, had they taken him there? He suggested it to Kawasi.
    â€œI think maybe,” she said, “but not long. The Hand would wish to have him to be questioned.”
    â€œAnd then killed?”
    â€œPerhaps, but I do not think so. He is scien-tist? I think The Hand keep him, work him. He has…how do you say? He has things for listening. Big ears.”
    She paused. “He listen to what people speak to each other. All the time listen.”
    From where Mike stood he could see the highway, if such it could be called. It was a lonely road along which maybe two or three cars an hour traveled. He saw nothing now. He turned, sweeping the country with his eyes. Of course there were many places a watcher could be and remain hidden.
    He got into the car and started down the road. He should have a rifle or, better still, a shotgun, a sawed-off shotgun for easy handling.
    After a few miles the trail branched and he took the easternmost branch. The desert growth increased as they drew nearer to some rugged ridges of bare rock. He glanced at Kawasi.