She turned, as if in a dream … and there was the tall figure she knew so well, in the severe but flawlessly tailored black suit, with the silvery eyes and pale chiseled face.

“Who the devil are you?” Garcia demanded.

“Special Agent Pendergast.” He glided over and extended his hand. “So good to meet you.”

Garcia stood as if thunderstruck. “Pendergast?” he repeated, shaking the hand robotically. “The Agent Pendergast?”

“I believe so, yes.” He turned to the rest of the group. “Ah—hello, Nora. Corrie.”

“This … this is unexpected … ” Garcia stammered. “What, ah, brings you to Albuquerque, Agent Pendergast?”

“I’ve taken a small interest in the case that my protégée, Agent Swanson, has been working on. Forgive me for borrowing some of your evidence. I was delighted by how much she’s accomplished and, ah, intrigued by what few gaps still remain.”

“Your protégée?” Garcia said.

“Well, I suppose that, technically, she’s Agent Morwood’s protégée now. Nevertheless, I have a few thoughts. Would you care to hear them?”

“Well, yes. Of course.”

“I borrowed this little empty room over here, if you’d care to follow me?”

Still stunned, Corrie followed the rest as Pendergast, moving smoothly as a cat, led them to what almost looked like a disused broom closet. A table filled the entire space—and there, on the table, lay the missing evidence.

“I’ve brought myself up to speed,” Pendergast said with a cool smile. “So we can skip the background. I believe we all agree Fountain and his group were not after the Victorio Peak treasure. But whatever they were searching for, it had to be of great value—so valuable it was worth killing a peace officer, as you learned, Sheriff Watts, when you surprised Mr. Rivers digging in the basement of this building here.”

He tapped an old plat of the site with a spidery finger.

“It has been mooted that this structure was a house of prostitution. However, it was not. It was merely a boardinghouse with a downstairs saloon. You can see the names of various people written here and there on this plat—in Fountain’s handwriting. He wanted to know who was living in each room. Based on the evidence, it seems his interest focused on one individual in particular: a certain Houston Smith.”

He slid the plat toward the group. “Here is his name, in this little room here.”

They all peered at the name scribbled on the plat.

Pendergast straightened. “And who was Houston Smith? Not surprisingly, a miner. As you will see from this mining company employment list, here, many of these miners came from the Fourth Cavalry, headquartered near Socorro. That was the cavalry troop that pursued and captured Geronimo, the Apache war chief. After his capture, the members of the Fourth Cavalry were discharged. Several went to work at High Lonesome, because gold had just been discovered there and mining was ramping up fast.”

Corrie listened, wondering where this was going. She remembered Fountain saying much the same thing when Watts first showed her the ghost town.

Pendergast pulled another document forward. “Here are Smith’s discharge papers. He was once a lieutenant in the Fourth Cav and right-hand man to Captain Henry Ware Lawton, commanding officer of the Fourth. Lieutenant Smith played a decisive role in the capture of Geronimo—or I should say ‘voluntary surrender,’ since Geronimo was never captured. He was deceived into surrendering.”

Now Pendergast slid out a photo. “And this is the famous picture taken of Geronimo and his band of warriors as they came in to ‘surrender.’ Note how heavily armed they were. They had long ago laid aside bows and arrows for the latest and deadliest rifles.”

His spidery hand fetched another document. “Here is Smith’s death certificate. You will note he was one of those unfortunates trapped in the cave-in. His body was never recovered. And here,” Pendergast continued, “is a document that dates back almost a decade from the present day. It’s an auction record. Captain Lawton’s Winchester Model 1886 rifle sold at auction for 1.2 million dollars—the highest price ever paid for a gun up to that time. Curious it should be among Fountain’s papers. Or, perhaps, not so curious.”

Pendergast cast his eyes over the group. “All very suggestive, don’t you think? It now seems quite clear what Fountain and his gang were looking for.”

Corrie said nothing. It wasn’t clear to her at all. None of this confusing welter of evidence seemed to connect.

A smile creased Pendergast’s face at the silence that greeted his pronouncement.

“Agent Pendergast,” said Morwood, “perhaps you might go into a little more detail on the connection you see among these facts you’ve recited?”

Pendergast’s eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. “More explanation?”

“For those of us lacking your remarkable perspicacity,” Morwood said drily.

Corrie could see Pendergast was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Very well. What is the first thing that happens to an armed man when he surrenders to an enemy?”

“He’s disarmed,” Corrie blurted out. She was suddenly beginning to see how the pieces fit together. “So Lawton took away Geronimo’s rifle … and then, perhaps, gave it to Smith as a reward. You said Lieutenant Smith played an important role in the capture. When he was discharged, Smith would have taken the rifle to High Lonesome. He wouldn’t have entrusted it to anyone else. But then, he was killed in the cave-in.”