Longarm #399 : Longarm and the Grand Canyon Murders (9781101554401) by Tabor Evans

intricately beaded in many designs—rocks with crystals and turquoise in them, petrified wood, even seashell necklaces. But it was the withered mummy in a pine coffin with a glass top that really caught Longarm’s full attention.
    The mummy was small, perhaps only five feet long, and his skin stretched over his prominent facial and skeletal bones like old parchment paper. His hair was black and adorned with two eagle feathers, giving Custis the impression that the ancient Indian had died young. There was a death grin on his thin lips, and most of the mummy’s teeth were missing. He wore a faded old animal skin, but someone had obviously slipped a few turquoise rings on his bony fingers and a silver bracelet on his left wrist to dress up his appearance.
    Longarm stared at the mummy for several minutes. So this was what a body looked like after it had lain untouched in some arid and ancient cliff dwelling for hundreds and hundreds of years.
    “His name is Indian Joe,” the clerk said, coming up behind Longarm. “I call all the ones that look like warriors Indian Joe.”
    “Where did he come from?”
    “Beats the hell out of me. Could be anywhere around here or up in Colorado. People…mostly white prospectors and trappers…bring them in here to sell or trade. I don’t like to keep more than a few of ’em on display at the same time.”
    Longarm couldn’t hide his astonishment. “People actually
buy
these things?”
    “Oh, yes!” The clerk snapped his suspenders. “And you won’t believe the price they pay.”
    “How much for this poor Indian Joe?” Longarm had to ask out of curiosity.
    “Two hundred and fifty dollars, which includes the jewelry, his clothes, and the pine box…but not any money for transporting him down to Flagstaff to be put on a train.”
    Longarm whistled. “Why on earth would anyone pay that kind of money for a mummy?”
    “Because if they can get Indian Joe back to the East Coast museums of natural history, he will easily bring a thousand dollars. Trouble is…and I tell all my buyers this right up front…these mummies are
extremely
fragile. You bump one and an arm might fall off, or the foot. I’ve heard that some of these mummies have arrived by train in places like Boston or New York looking like piles of dust and leather. Of course, then they are worthless except for the value of the skulls.”
    “Of course.” Longarm shook his head. “I’d have thought that the local Navajo might have taken exception to their ancestors being carted off to some museum.”
    “Oh, some of them do…some don’t. It’s really about the money. To keep down the objections from the locals, I do promise them twenty percent of every dollar I make selling their mummified ancestors.”
    “That’s real white of you, mister.” Longarm had seen enough of the mummy for one lifetime and marched back to the counter, where his supplies were bagged and waiting.
    “Be five dollars and eighty-six cents. I saw you areriding a fine buckskin. How about a few pounds of oats and maybe even some sugar cubes for the animal?”
    Longarm had forgotten to get oats from John Wallace. “That would be a good idea.”
    “Horse need shoein’?” the man asked. “We do that for six dollars.”
    “That’s pretty high, isn’t it?”
    “Not for a good job. If you’re taking the road up to the Grand Canyon, you’ll find it’s damned rocky. Indian ponies, of course, have feet like iron and they get by…but a fine buckskin like that could go lame if she is unshod or even poorly shod.”
    “She’s okay,” Longarm said, picking up his packages and heading for the door.
    “Come back again! I’ll most likely have a better selection of mummies next time.” He laughed and then he winked. “Maybe even a girl or two.”
    Longarm was so disgusted by the idea of stealing bodies and selling them off as curiosity pieces that he didn’t even reply.
    When he left the trading post, two Navajo dressed in denim work shirts,