Chapter 2

Later in the afternoon, with the sun angling toward the western horizon, he headed the roan up to the ridge line. Keeping to his routine, he made a cautious examination before leading the horse over the top. Once remounted, he rode downslope, northing a bit, until he crossed the trail of the two horses, still on their northward course and staying among the trees high on the east-facing slope.

Malik followed along for about thirty yards before leaning down and peering at the imprints on the ground. He gently kneed the roan so it walked in a small circle around the tracks. He stopped the horse, dismounted, and crouched down, pushing the sombrero to his back. Then he reached out and gently ran his finger along the indented edge of a hoof print. He stood and walked back on the trail briefly, crouching again to touch a dark spot on a rock. He pulled his finger back and turned it over to the light. It displayed a faint, reddish-brown smudge.

He rose slowly to stand with his left arm over the saddle, looking back down the trail, though his eyes seemed not to focus on anything in particular. After a few moments, his head turned the other direction, north, where the two horses had continued.

He pulled the sombrero back on his head, swung up into the saddle and turned the roan south, on the back trail of the two horses, nudging the mare into a hurry-up lope.

It was just coming on sunset when he saw, at a distance of a hundred or so yards and a bit downhill from the trail, the hind end of a large coyote that was worrying and shaking something that was obscured from Malik’s view, but it was nearby to an odd mound of flat, dark slabs of rock. When the coyote heard the hoof beats of the horse, it whirled around, taking a squared-off stance, lowering its head and stretching its neck forward, the hair on its back bristling. It snarled, lips drawn back, baring sharp, yellow teeth and pronounced fangs, one broken off at its middle. The roan slowed but Malik nudged it back to a trot with his heels, now directing her right at the coyote. Snarling louder, the coyote took a deeper crouch—then abruptly turned and dashed off down the slope. Tail curled low, it ran almost sidewise, taking repeated glances over its shoulder toward Malik and the roan. About seventy yards distant, it paused, side-on, and watched, looking wary but curious. Malik’s attention, however, was on the low heap of rocks.

He pulled the roan to a halt in what amounted to a shallow wash, just up slope of the rocks. They had obviously been arranged by human hand. Malik noticed immediately what had occupied the coyote’s attention. Protruding from the uphill end of the low mound was the chewed toe of a small-sized western riding boot.

Malik swung down from the saddle, hung the sombrero from the horn, ground-reined the roan, and started moving the flat rocks away from what they attempted to hide. With barely more than a single layer, it was quickly done.

Revealed was the body of a young woman, partially clad in ranch-style riding garb, lying on her back in the gravel and sand, wide-open eyes flecked with dirt. Her head was turned a bit to her right, the arm on that side bent up at the elbow, hand near her head, while the other arm was twisted beneath her back. Her legs, bent slightly at the knees, were askew and angled to her left, with only one boot, the one the coyote had been pulling, still on her feet. Her right leg and foot were bare.

In her awkward repose, she looked more a girl than a young woman. She had light brown hair and clear skin, but her facial features were marred by several bruises, a deep cut on her lower lip, a bloodied, flattened nose, and a concave indentation in her forehead, just above her left eye. Her shirt was open and missing some buttons, the undergarment torn, one small breast exposed. Her corduroy breeches were only on her left leg, gathered unevenly below her knee. The open clothing revealed bite marks on her breast, a bruised abdomen, and, below her sparse pubic growth, contused, blood-smeared genitals. Her missing right boot was under her left shoulder.

Malik knelt next to the body and reached for the upturned right hand. Under the fingernails he found a soft brownish substance that, when examined, left a dark, reddish smudge on his fingers.

He gave the body a long, solemn look, then glanced up to see the coyote, still watching from further down the slope. He rose and walked slowly up the wash, then went to a knee by several boot prints.

Finally, he went to the horse, where he pulled his bedroll from behind the saddle. He opened the rolled-up layers near the body, then rolled up just the blankets, leaving the ground sheet lying open. He re-tied the blankets behind the saddle.

He went back, crouched down, and lifted the girl’s body, bringing it to the open groundsheet. He re-dressed her as best he could, and replaced her other boot. Then he blew the sand from her eyes, but, even then, they would not fully close. Finally, he wrapped her snuggly in the ground sheet, folding over and tucking in the ends to keep them fastened, securing them with short pieces he cut from the soft lead rope.

He lifted the oilcloth-enshrouded body and, with some tongue clicks at the roan, carried his burden back up to the trail. The horse followed. The coyote slunk off down the slope.

Once on the trail, Malik walked north, toward a rock formation he had noticed just before he first spotted the coyote. About twenty yards up from the trail, amidst an open copse of cedar trees, there was a distinctive prominence of the layered, reddish-brown rock. It presented an almost uniform ten-foot-wide expanse, about five feet high, with nine layers receding in a regular pattern, bringing to mind the stone steps as might lead to an imposing public building, though offered here in miniature.

Malik lay the girl’s body off to one side, then tethered the mare to a tree on the other side of the rock. He pulled off his saddle packs and retrieved a small, cast iron skillet. He went to his knees and, utilizing the skillet, began scooping out the soil and rocks parallel to the lowest edge of the outcrop. It did not require much time to remove the sand and stone from a narrow, six-foot trench to a depth of about three-and-a-half feet, at which level he came against the same dark bedrock.

Though it was well past sundown by the time he was satisfied, the season, approaching the summer solstice, stretched the evening twilight.

He once more lifted the young woman’s remains, moved to the foot of the stone, knelt, and gently laid her shrouded body in the grave.

After a quiet moment, he filled the grave, tamping in as much of the excavated soil as he could, leaving a slight mound, which he smoothed to a level surface. From a nearby outcrop, he gathered several of the large, flat rocks, heavy and of a size that would prevent any animal short of a bear from moving them. He placed these so as to fully cover the grave and three feet beyond. He added a second layer above where the girl’s body lay. By then, it was full dark, though dimly lit by a sky gray with stars.

The roan gave a quiet snort and shuffled in place. Malik looked up at the horse, then rose and grabbed the sombrero. He filled the crown from the big canteen and offered it to the mare.

Malik saw to the roan and set up a cold camp, enjoying a second night of the dense, dry biscuits and beef jerky.