Read Online Mexican hat by Michael McGarrity - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael McGarrity
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breathing.
"Who's there?" Kerney asked.
The breathing stopped.
Kerney raised his voice and asked the question again. He could hear Stiles climbing up to join him.
"Do not hurt me," a shaky voice answered in Spanish. It came from a small room at the back of the cave.
Kerney crawled toward the voice on his hands and knees, answering in Spanish. "I am a policeman," he said. "No one will hurt you." He could see the shape of a man pressed against the rock wall, his body shaking. "Policia, " he said again.
''Policia, " the man repeated, unbelieving.
"Yes," Kerney replied softly. Eyesight adjusted to the dim light, he could see the man more clearly. Old and thin the way some men get as the body wears out, he was curled up with his knees to his
64 ■ Michael McGarrily
chest. Kerney reached for his hand. It was wet and trembling. The man's clothing was soaked. "Who are you?" he asked.
"I do not know," the old man moaned, his voice breaking. "I cannot remember."
"What have you got?" Stiles called from outside the cave.
Kerney told him, and Jim crawled in to see for himself. Together they carried the man out of the cave and across the stream into the sunlight. The old man's lips were blue, his pulse rapid and uneven, and shaking racked his body. He was losing core heat. They stripped off his clothes, and Kerney dried him with a towel from his saddlebags while Stiles fetched a blanket. Wrapped in the blanket, the old man still shivered. Kerney started a small fire, and after warming his hands over the flames, rubbed them on the man's clammy skin. He kept repeating the process while Stiles checked the soaked clothing for identification.
"Anything?" Kerney asked.
"Nope," Stiles answered. "But these aren't any cheap threads. We got designer labels here. How did you know he was in the cave?"
"The steps were wet," Kerney explained. "It took a minute for it to register. The cave is too high above the stream for any water to reach it. He must have scrambled in when he heard us coming."
"I didn't notice," Stiles said. He keyed the hand-held radio to call for help, then took his finger off the button. "You don't see too many people hiking in the mountains wearing expensive city clothes. What's this old man been up to?"
Kerney shrugged as he kept rubbing the man with his hands.
Stiles leaned over and spoke in the old man's ear. "Who are
you.'^
The old man looked at Stiles, his eyes blinking rapidly.
Mexican Hat ■ 65
"Ask him in Spanish," Kerney counseled.
Stiles tried again, this time in Spanish.
"I do not know," the old man answered haltingly.
"Where did you come from?" Stiles inquired.
"Mexican Hat," the man answered, his teeth chattering.
"Where were you yesterday? Last night?" Stiles prodded.
"Mexican Hat," the man repeated.
"Damn," Stiles said, looking at Kerney and shaking his head in disbelief. "What the hell is an old man from someplace called Mexican Hat doing lost in a place where people aren't supposed to be?"
"Beats me," Kerney replied. "Call it in. Let's get this old guy to a hospital."
Stiles switched to the state police frequency, keyed the unit, and made contact. He asked for a chopper from Silver City and paramedics.
"The only place called Mexican Hat I know of is in southern Utah," Stiles said, when he was finished talking on the radio. "A small town near the Arizona border."
Kerney shook his head. "I don't think that's where he came from."
"How in the hell did he get here?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Kerney answered. "Let's get him warmed up."
Stiles put away the radio and joined Kerney. Together they massaged the old man until his trembling started to subside.
"He's going to make it," Stiles predicted.
Kerney wasn't so sure; there was a nasty bruise on the man's temple, and his eyes were unfocused.
The rescue helicopter made good time, and Stiles used the
Michael M c G a r r i t y
radio to guide it in. It landed as close to the mouth of the canyon as it could. Two men carrying
"Who's there?" Kerney asked.
The breathing stopped.
Kerney raised his voice and asked the question again. He could hear Stiles climbing up to join him.
"Do not hurt me," a shaky voice answered in Spanish. It came from a small room at the back of the cave.
Kerney crawled toward the voice on his hands and knees, answering in Spanish. "I am a policeman," he said. "No one will hurt you." He could see the shape of a man pressed against the rock wall, his body shaking. "Policia, " he said again.
''Policia, " the man repeated, unbelieving.
"Yes," Kerney replied softly. Eyesight adjusted to the dim light, he could see the man more clearly. Old and thin the way some men get as the body wears out, he was curled up with his knees to his
64 ■ Michael McGarrily
chest. Kerney reached for his hand. It was wet and trembling. The man's clothing was soaked. "Who are you?" he asked.
"I do not know," the old man moaned, his voice breaking. "I cannot remember."
"What have you got?" Stiles called from outside the cave.
Kerney told him, and Jim crawled in to see for himself. Together they carried the man out of the cave and across the stream into the sunlight. The old man's lips were blue, his pulse rapid and uneven, and shaking racked his body. He was losing core heat. They stripped off his clothes, and Kerney dried him with a towel from his saddlebags while Stiles fetched a blanket. Wrapped in the blanket, the old man still shivered. Kerney started a small fire, and after warming his hands over the flames, rubbed them on the man's clammy skin. He kept repeating the process while Stiles checked the soaked clothing for identification.
"Anything?" Kerney asked.
"Nope," Stiles answered. "But these aren't any cheap threads. We got designer labels here. How did you know he was in the cave?"
"The steps were wet," Kerney explained. "It took a minute for it to register. The cave is too high above the stream for any water to reach it. He must have scrambled in when he heard us coming."
"I didn't notice," Stiles said. He keyed the hand-held radio to call for help, then took his finger off the button. "You don't see too many people hiking in the mountains wearing expensive city clothes. What's this old man been up to?"
Kerney shrugged as he kept rubbing the man with his hands.
Stiles leaned over and spoke in the old man's ear. "Who are
you.'^
The old man looked at Stiles, his eyes blinking rapidly.
Mexican Hat ■ 65
"Ask him in Spanish," Kerney counseled.
Stiles tried again, this time in Spanish.
"I do not know," the old man answered haltingly.
"Where did you come from?" Stiles inquired.
"Mexican Hat," the man answered, his teeth chattering.
"Where were you yesterday? Last night?" Stiles prodded.
"Mexican Hat," the man repeated.
"Damn," Stiles said, looking at Kerney and shaking his head in disbelief. "What the hell is an old man from someplace called Mexican Hat doing lost in a place where people aren't supposed to be?"
"Beats me," Kerney replied. "Call it in. Let's get this old guy to a hospital."
Stiles switched to the state police frequency, keyed the unit, and made contact. He asked for a chopper from Silver City and paramedics.
"The only place called Mexican Hat I know of is in southern Utah," Stiles said, when he was finished talking on the radio. "A small town near the Arizona border."
Kerney shook his head. "I don't think that's where he came from."
"How in the hell did he get here?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Kerney answered. "Let's get him warmed up."
Stiles put away the radio and joined Kerney. Together they massaged the old man until his trembling started to subside.
"He's going to make it," Stiles predicted.
Kerney wasn't so sure; there was a nasty bruise on the man's temple, and his eyes were unfocused.
The rescue helicopter made good time, and Stiles used the
Michael M c G a r r i t y
radio to guide it in. It landed as close to the mouth of the canyon as it could. Two men carrying
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