Sacred Clowns by Tony Hillerman Read Free Book Online Page A

Frank Sam Nakai since his middle teens, but he knew that Nakai—his uncle, his Little Father—still withheld something from him. That, too, was traditional. The hataalii didn’t reveal the final secret of the ceremonial he was teaching until . . . until when? Chee had never been quite sure of that. Probably until the hataalii knew the student was worthy.
    “Interesting,” Blizzard said, and starting telling Chee something about the Cheyenne religion. It was something to do with how, a long, long time ago, a delegation of Comanches had come north and brought a string of horses with them as gifts to the Cheyennes. But the Comanches had told the Cheyennes that if they accepted the horses, they would have to change their religion because the horses would totally change their lives. Blizzard was saying something about following the migrating buffaloes. But Chee had stopped listening. It occurred to him just then that he was going to marry Janet Pete. Or try to marry her. And he was thinking about that.

LEAPHORN AND David W. Streib took the short way from Window Rock to Crownpoint and a conference with Lieutenant Ed Toddy, in whose reservation precinct Eric Dorsey had died. They followed old Navajo Route 9 past the Nazhoni Trading Post, Coyote Wash, and Standing Rock, and crossed that invisible line that separated the Big Rez from the Checkerboard. Special Agent Streib worked out of the Farmington office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Since the wrongful death of Eric Dorsey was clearly a felony committed on a federal reservation and therefore a federal offense, he was responsible for the investigation. But that didn’t make it particularly interesting to him. Streib could be described as a Bureau old-timer. He should have been in an assignment much loftier than a tiny office in northwestern New Mexico from which he dealt mostly with Indian reservation business. But the whimsical sense of humor that had earned Streib his nickname of Dilly had not earned him the confidence of those selected by J. Edgar Hoover to run his FBI. And while Hoover was now long gone, Hoover’s reign had lasted longer than Streib’s ambitions. Special Agent Streib had evolved into a laid-back, contented man with lots of friends in Indian Country.
    One of them was Joe Leaphorn, which was fortunate on this day because even the short way from Window Rock to Crownpoint involved some seventy miles of mostly empty road. Plenty of time for conversation. They covered Streib’s plans for building a greenhouse behind his home when he retired from the Bureau. They rehashed cases they had worked together, skirted around the sensitive subject of what Leaphorn intended to do with his accumulated leave time, and covered an assortment of gossip about the small world of Indian Country law enforcement. Just as they passed the turnoff to the Nahodshosh Chapter House, they got to the question of why anyone would want to kill a Saint Bonaventure Mission School shop teacher. Theft was clearly the number one choice, since some silver ingot and other materials seemed to be missing from Dorsey’s shop. Trouble over a girlfriend made number two as the motive. Trouble with a student made number three. No number four suggested itself.
    Finally, Streib brought up the sensitive subject.
    “You going with the professor?”
    Leaphorn was sure he didn’t want to open this subject to discussion. Not even with Dilly.
    “Where? What do you mean?”
    “To China with that professor from Northern Arizona University, goddammit,” Streib said. “Bourebonette’s the name. I heard that’s the plan. What are you being so goddam coy about?”
    Leaphorn had never, ever discussed accompanying Bourebonette to China with Dilly or with anyone else that he could think of. It wasn’t the sort of thing he would discuss. But it didn’t occur to him to be surprised that Dilly knew. In empty country everybody knew everything about everybody. One’s inner thoughts seemed to