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Despite the carefully sealed coverings； the tent reeked of betadine； alcohol； and something worse。 Smithback leaned away； breathing through his mouth。 〃I'm not sure I can do this；〃 he said。
〃Let's just get it over with；〃 Swire replied； picking up a pole and ducking into the tent。
No book advance is worth this； Smithback thought。 Reaching into his pocket for his red bandanna； he tied it carefully over his mouth。 Then he tugged a pair of work gloves over the rubber gloves Aragon had given him； picked up a coil of rope； and followed Swire into the tent。
Wordlessly； Swire laid the pole alongside the bagged corpse。 Then； as quickly as possible； the two men lashed it to the pole； winding the rope around and around until it was secure。 Swire tied off the ends with half…hitches。 Then； grasping each end； they hefted the body out of the tent。
Holroyd had a slight frame； and Smithback raised one end of the pole onto his shoulder with relative ease。 I'll bet he weighs one fifty； one sixty； max； he thought。 That means eighty pounds for each of us。 Strange how； at times of severe stress； the mind tended to dwell on the most trivial； the most quotidian details。 Smithback felt a pang of sympathy for the friendly； unassuming young man。 Just three nights before； under Smithback's journalistic probing by the campfire； Holroyd had opened up at last and talked； at unexpected length； about his deep and abiding love for motorcycles。 As he'd talked； the shyness had left him； and his limbs had filled with animation。 Now those limbs were still。 All too still； in fact； Smithback did not like the stiff； unyielding way Holroyd's bagged feet jostled up against his shoulder as they proceeded toward the slot canyon。
He thought back to the discussion about what to do with the body。 It had to be placed somewhere secure； away from camp； elements； and predators； until it could be retrieved at a later time。 They couldn't bury it in the ground； Nora had said； coyotes would dig it up。 They talked about hanging it in a tree； but most of the trees were inaccessible； their lower branches stripped away in flash floods。 Anyway； Aragon said it was important to get the body as far from camp as possible。 Then Nora remembered the small rock shelter about a quarter of the way through the slot canyon； above the high…water mark and accessible via a stepped ledge。 It was a perfect place to store the body。 The place was impossible to miss： the shelter was twenty feet off the canyon bottom； just above the trunk of a massive cottonwood that had been wedged between the walls by some earlier flood。 The threat of rain had passed…Black had checked the weather report from the canyon rim…and the slot canyon would be safe for the time being。 。 。 。
Smithback brought himself back to the present。 There was a reason his mind was wandering。 He knew himself well enough to understand what was happening： he was thinking about something； anything； to keep his mind off the job at hand。 Deep down； for some reason he didn't fully understand； Smithback realized he was profoundly frightened。 He'd been in more than his share of life…threatening situations before： struggling against a killer in a vast museum； and later； caught fighting for his life in a warren of tunnels far beneath New York City。 And yet here； in the pleasant afternoon light； he felt as threatened as he ever had in his life。 There was something about the diffuse； vague nature of the evil in this valley that unsettled him most of all。
Once again； Holroyd's rigid foot pressed sharply into Smithback's shoulder。 Ahead； Swire had stopped and was glancing upward toward the mouth of the slot canyon。 Smithback followed his gaze into the narrow； scarred opening。 Clearing skies； Black had said； Smithback hoped to hell the weather report was right。
Once in the slot； they were able to float the wrapped body； buoyed by the drysack； across the stretches of slack water。 At the base of each pourover； however； Holroyd's corpse had to be half pushed； half dragged up to the next pool。 After twenty minutes of pushing； wading； swimming； and dragging； the two men stopped to catch their breath。 Farther up the winding passage； Smithback could make out the massive cottonwood trunk that marked the location of the rock shelter。 He moved a few feet away from the drysack； untied the bandanna from his mouth； shook it out； and stuffed it into his shirt pocket。
〃So you think that Indian you saw had nothing to do with killing my horses；〃 Swire said。 They were the first words he'd spoken since they left Holroyd's tent。
〃Absolutely not；〃 Smithback replied。 〃Especially since the people who killed your horses must have been the ones who wrecked our munications gear。 And we were with the shepherd when that happened。〃
Swire nodded。 〃That's what I've been thinking。〃
Smithback saw that Swire was still staring at him。 The brown eyes had long ago lost the humorous squint Smithback remembered from the first days of their ride。 In Swire's sunken cheeks； bony face； and tight jaw； Smithback could see a great sorrow。 〃Holroyd was a good kid；〃 he said simply。
Smithback nodded。
Swire spoke in a low voice。 〃It's one thing to get in trouble back there〃…he jerked his head in the hypothetical direction of civilization…〃but it's a whole other deal to run into trouble out here。〃
Smithback looked from Swire to Holroyd's body； then back to Swire。 〃That's why Nora's doing the right thing；〃 he said。 〃Getting us out as quickly as possible。〃
Swire spat a line of tobacco across a nearby rock。 〃She's a brave woman； I'll give her that；〃 he said。 〃Volunteering to track those horse killers on her own 。 。 。 that took guts。 But guts alone ain't enough。 I've seen even the smallest problem end up killing people in a place like this。 And you know what？ Our problems ain't small。〃
Smithback didn't answer。 His thoughts were still on Nora： her quick tongue； appraising eyes； resourceful pluck…her courage and determination。 And he realized； with a sense of astonishment； that he was scared； not so much for himself but for her。
Swire appraised him； eyes glittering。 Then he stood up and grabbed the lead end of the pole。 Smithback rose； snugged the bandanna once again around his mouth； and scrambled toward the corpse。 They climbed the rest of the way to the rock shelter in silence。
41
AARON BLACK STOOD IN THE DAPPLED shadows of the westernmost tower； surveying his test trenches and portable lab setups with a practiced eye。 The soil profiles were perfect； naturally： a textbook model of the latest in stratigraphic analysis。 And the labs were； as always； a picture of economy； efficiency； and accuracy。
As he stared； the satisfaction he usually felt when admiring his work was eclipsed by a stab of disappointment。 Muttering under his breath； he drew a large tarp over the test trench and staked it down； pinning the sides with rocks。 It was a wholly unsatisfactory way to preserve his acplishments； but at least it was better than backfilling。 Here he was； about to run away from the site that； by all rights； should be the crowning glory of his career。 God knows what they would find when they returned。 If they returned at all。
He shook his head in disgust and pulled a tarp over the second trench。 Still； he wasn't entirely sorry to be leaving。 His usual assistant； Smithback； was off burying Holroyd； and as Black worked he managed to feel deeply thankful that particular task had not fallen to him。 It didn't really matter whether poison or disease had killed the technician。 Either one was dangerous。 A part of Black hungered for civilization…telephones； fine restaurants； hot showers； and toilets that flushed…a world hundreds of miles away from Quivira。 Of course； he'd never admit this to Sloane； who had moved off in stony silence to take the final photographic records of the site。
As his thoughts turned to Sloane； he felt a hot flush begin to spread out from his vitals。 Memories of the night before gave way to hopes and fantasies for the night to e。 Black had never had much luck with women； and Sloane was a woman； all right； a woman who 。 。 。
Tearing himself from these thoughts with difficulty； he turned to the flotation lab。 Unhookin