The Shaman Laughs Read Free Page B

her here. Figured Rolling Thunder needed himself a female companion."
    Charlie Moon understood. A younger bull would service the herd in the big pasture, so to keep the peace the old bull had to stay behind. Homer Tonompicket, a romantic to the core, had figured that Rolling Thunder needed some female company. Homer's house was empty now, so he would know something about being lonely. Moon stretched his neck, giving the pasture another inspection. "Where's Rolling Thunder?" A dozen years earlier, there had been a contest to name the first buffalo calf born on the reservation.
    "Now," Homer said grimly, '*you see what I mean. He's gone without a trace. And the gate ain't been touched. It's like…" Homer raised his arms to the sky, "… like he just up and flew away. Like old Nahum Yacüti."
    "Buffaloes don't fly, Homer." Moon's stern tone hinted that he did not welcome the reference to the old shepherd who had vanished in a freak windstorm. There was still no sign of Nahum's remains, and unfinished business made the policeman uneasy. And prone to bad dreams. And there was the nightmare vision… of a helpless soul suspended upside down from a tree limb, all trussed up to be butchered by… Moon dismissed the picture from his mind. "Who's got keys to that padlock?"
    Homer's voice went flat and stubborn. "I got the only set." Maybe the big policeman was wrong this time. Maybe buffalo could fly. If they had some help.
    Charlie Moon was looking across the river; the sun was illuminating Sky Ute Downs in a soft yellow glow. The policeman turned to squint at the sunrise, blooming like a fiery flower over the eastern range. The bottom of a heavy cloud was a vast field of glowing embers, threatening to rain molten drops of gold onto the mountains. Fire from heaven. Or some place. He didn't look at Homer when he spoke. "You walk the fence?"
    "Sure I did," the game warden snapped. "Fence is in good shape." He waited for the policeman to speak, but Moon was ominously silent. "Dammit, Charlie, I know what you're thinkin'! No, I didn't go off and leave the gate open, come back and find the buffalo wandered off, and then lock the gate and call my old friend at the poleece and tell him a bald-faced lie."
    Charlie Moon was embarrassed that the game warden had so easily read his thoughts. "Okay, Homer." He patted the old man on the shoulder.
    "Then," Homer demanded, "tell me what happened to a full grown bull buffalo!"
    "Well," Moon said, "I expect somebody wanted some meat. Maybe a skin to sell. They probably waited until
    R. T. was rubbing his hide against the fence so they wouldn't have to move him very far, then shot him."
    "How'd they get half a ton of buffalo over the fence? Tell me that."
    "Maybe they had a truck with a winch." He would ask Officer Sally Rainwater to check on some of the local wrecker trucks. Maybe somebody had rented one. "Or, maybe they cut him up in chunks and pitched 'em over the fence."
    The game warden leaned on the fence, grasping a rusty strand of barbed wire with both hands. He nodded toward the buffalo cow. "Maybe that's the way it was, Charlie. But what about Never Stops Talking?"
    Moon knew exactly what Homer meant. If someone was going to go to all this trouble and risk for some fresh meat, why not take both buffalo? Even if they couldn't haul away that much meat, the old cow would have been a hazard to anyone who spent enough time in the pen to butcher Rolling Thunder. It would make sense to shoot the cow, but there she was. "When did you move the rest of the herd?"
    "Let's see," Homer scratched nervously at the gray stubble on his chin. "What's today? Thursday? Yeah. We moved 'em out on Monday. Took most of the day, I guess we got the last of 'em out about sundown. I'm sure it was Monday 'cause it was just before the big rain on Tuesday morning." He squinted at a long bank of clouds. "That sure was some gully-washer."
    Moon left Homer leaning on the fence; the policeman walked around the south side of the