Special agents Smith and Jones were indeed waiting for the intrepid amigos after Martin Diaz, the reporter, spy and madman, had been apprehended. As he was led away by the Albuquerque police, Cannon, Ashford and McCloud still had no clue who Diaz might have been referring to when he was ranting about a "master". Smith and Jones asked several questions, many of them over and over, before reminding the investigators of their patriotic duties. By then, it was approaching midnight, and the investigators decided to get some sleep and leave in the morning.
The journey back to the Mitscher Ranch started in the morning of January 14 after a hearty breakfast. It was quite uneventful, and they realized that they had time to visit father Bose before it was too late in the evening. They arrived at St. Mary's church just as the vesper was rang, with a few congregants quietly praying in the church itself. Father Bose eagerly asked the investigators if they were at church to convert, but despite the negative reply, he invited McCloud, Ashford and Cannon for dinner. It was hearty meal in good company, and Father Bose was glad to hear that they had met up with The Collector. They clearly had a long history of friendship, and The Collector was, according to Father Bose, "a friend of the church". The other accounts of the trip to Albuquerque and the Gnospelius paintings seemed to bother Father Bose, and yet he tried to calm Cannon when he angrily accused the sisters of attempted murder. Father Bose told the investigators a bit more about the strange Gnospelius sisters, about his concerns, and a bit about his own thoughts concerning the true nature of the sisters. He shared his observations about their last name, and the Greek meaning of "gnosis", as in knowledge, and that the sisters ranged from quite young to middle aged. But then, living in remote New Mexico does strange things to the imagination. Father Bose would not necessarily label the sisters as a malign force, but they were strangely disconnected, yet astute observers of so many aspects of the world in its entirety. The latter quality was supposedly manifesting itself in their paintings.
The Three Amigos decided to take a a late night trip to the beautifully renovated ranch where the sisters resided. They were all almost expecting some weirdness, or at least something fantastic, but the ranch was peaceful and calm. Dim lights could be seen through heavy curtains, and a faint, somewhat eerie song from a Victrola could be heard.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EWtFtB0Z-AQ
The following morning was bright and sunny, although the chilly winter kept temperatures at a less than pleasant level. Esteban, Frank Cannon, Nurse Pettenkoffer, Lotus Ashford and Bill McCloud were enjoying the standard breakfast of pork, beans and eggs down at the enormous kitchen table when Joseph Mulroney, the promising young artist and photographer came in. The poor man looked as though he hadn't slept for days, with a patchy stubble crested two eyes with layers of dark circles. He smiled at the assembled breakfast eaters, sat down, and simply stated "I have finished transcribing the book". He smiled again, took out a gun, placed it under his stubbly chin, and blew his brains out. McCloud was so close to firing Mulroney's gun out of his hands, but even his considerable skills did not match Mulroney's swift actions. Nurse Pettenkoffer refilled her coffee cup with shaky hands: "I believe he's dead." Nobody disagreed.
This morning calamity weighed heavily on the intrepid investigators, but they nevertheless decided to visit both Father Bose and the Gnospelius sisters after taking care of the final arrangements for young Mulroney. together with Henry Carlyle, the coroner, and his unnaturally skinny assistant Mortimer. Father Bose was distraught to hear of the fate of young Mulroney, especially since he'd been a good Catholic.
The Gnospelius sisters were already out painting in the chilly air of January in New Mexico. They greeted the investigators in triplicate, and then Benson, their manservant, appeared, quite ready to serve tea. The initial confrontational tone did mellow as the sisters charmed the visitors, although it was at times frustrating to make any sense of the sisters seemingly random conversation. Nevertheless, it was decided that the sisters would be commissioned to paint the Mitscher Ranch, an offer the sisters gladly accepted.
Following these hectic January days, life seemed to return to a semblance of normalcy. Running the ranch and establishing the Ashford Mining Company did require lots of hard work. The Gnospelius sisters did commence painting a series of paintings of the Mitscher Ranch, including its surroundings and some it of its inhabitants
The Gnospelius sisters didn't really bother anyone, and they were very polite. Yet, any form of longer conversation was simply difficult. All of the three sisters, Emily, Anna and Dorothy, were self-obsessed, and seemed to have great difficulties concentrating, although they were all completely focused when actually painting. It was almost impossible to grab their attention while painting, and equally impossible to keep their attention when they were not. Any attempt to have a stringent conversation led to a fragmented series of questions and remarks, the verbal equivalent of their splotched palettes.
The Ashford Mining Company and the Mitscher Ranch were coming along nicely, although Lotus himself could not help feeling like things were going a bit too well, like if there was something he had forgotten address, or at times as if there was some impending calamity hovering just out of sight as the sun set below the Capitan Mountains. There were several new hires, though, besides Harris Tweed, nurse Pettenkoffer, and Esteban the Vachero. Most of them had been interviewed by Harris and Lotus together, and in some cases Harris had ventured as far as Albuquerque and Santa Fe to find suitable talent:
- Chef Michel Thibaude had been working in San Diego, but he wanted to see something new, and this was the opportunity. Besides, Mr. Ashford payed well, so why not? Despite his service in the French Navy, Chef Michel was not interested in maritime matters at all. As a matter of fact, he suffered from late onset mild thalassophobia, which made New Mexico perfect. Chef Michel was instead very interested in the art of sausage making, and he looked almost blissful as he mixed raw meat with spices, slowly pushing it into the entrails that had been finished as sausage casings, as to not rupture them. Frank Cannon still didn't really approve. Despite the fine dining, there was something to be said of beans, bacon, toast and coffee. Or cawfee, as Cannon pronounced it.
- Roberto Fernandez, or El Greco, the ranch foreman. Bill McCloud had met "El Greco" before, but he was then just Corporal Robert "Bob" Fernandez, an irritating little shit who clearly wanted to prove himself before the war was over. He was an "F", not for "failure", but for "foolhardy." Something must have happened, though, since this was not the same man. He was quiet, and actually imposing, but gentle. He clearly preferred the company of animals to men, although some would just say that he's shy. So far, nobody seems to know why he's called "El Greco".
- Bjorn Larsson, a mining foreman, and for obvious and unimaginative reasons called "Swede" Larsson. A cheerful optimist, and good company on any occasion, but no pushover. He's not adverse to clearing up any disagreements with his two sizeable fists, although he does not start fights himself. Swede Larsson is a teetotaler, but his prodigious intake of coffee keeps him perpetually buzzed. He loves to play the piano, but he fancies himself being much more accomplished than he actually is, much to the horror of any audience.
- The maid Marita German. Much more than a maid, but not quite a butler. A local, born and raised in Lincoln County. Bill McCloud was in awe. His bath was drawn even before he he had really though about it, and his shaving kit was laid out together with his six-shooter on top of a fresh towel on a stool next to the bathtub. McCloud looked at the steam coming from the bath and thought "Of all the nice women in this region, they managed to pick this sack of potatoes. But then, I think I do not mind living under these particular circumstances, and I'll save my dancing and romancing for when I have time off."
- An accountant, Mrs. Eleonore Harrington. An old company stalwart sent down by Lotus Ashford Sr. Upon reading the telegram, Lotus Ashford folded it neatly and looked out through the office window. "Thank goodness father sent down some help. I was about to get overrun by all these receipts and ledgers, although I must see that Mrs. Harrington doesn't interfere in the running of the actual Mitscher Ranch. For God's sake, I remember being scared stiff of her when I was eleven or twelve. Back then she must have been...oh, 99? I do not know."
"The way I like it is my whisky neat, my county quiet, and my gun loaded." Magruder looked at Frank Cannon across the rim of the shot glass.
"We'll get along just fine then" Frank Cannon said. "Just fine." He downed the whisky without further consideration.
It was just after noon on Friday, March 6, 1925, when Father Bose came to visit the Mitscher Ranch. The Three Amigos were sitting on the porch and enjoying a post-lunch smoke, and Lotus Ashford motioned the good Father to join them. He sat down on a rocking chair, gently putting it into motion as he started to explain the reason for his visit:
"Gentlemen, I have an odd problem, and perhaps you cane help me. You see, several of the inhabitants of Carrazozo as well as Lincoln are suffering from a strange and dangerous affliction. They are withering away, refusing food and in certain cases water. Yet, they are quite happy and satisfied. These are strong people, family providers, hard workers, and yet, they are dying. Both Catholics and Protestants. Their families are in despair, and although it started with just one or two cases, we now have four here in Lincoln and another eighteen in Carrazozo. I know you've had some experiences with the odd and the unusual, and I wonder if you might be able to help me figure out why this is happening."
The Intrepid Investigators were more than willing to assist, and they gathered some equipment as well as Nurse Pettenkoffer before visiting the four cases in Lincoln: three men and one woman. Scenes of misery, concern, and desperation as struggling families faced what seemed to be the irrevocable decline of a loved one that had been health personified just a few weeks ago. Ashford, Cannon and McCloud worked hard, and after thoroughly examining the afflicted and asking all of their family members a long series of questions, the pieces slowly came together. The dying inhabitants of Lincoln had all met a stranger, a tall handsome stranger in a dusty black coat. He was a promising joy, satisfaction, and blissful content, which led to the afflicted individuals giving up on life entirely, while happily withering away. A smiling Dolores, who used to be a healthy 120 pounds of wiry muscle, but now just a skeleton with tissue, added to the description of the stranger by wailing "IL MANO DERECHA ROJA! IL MANO DERECHA ROJA!"
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