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with a natural grace. That all changed as he struggled to get out of the canoe. His damaged legs twisted at an awkward angle and seemed barely able to support him. Watching him, Dan was taken back to the time, more than ten years ago now, when he had chased a much younger man across a roof after being called out to a bank robbery in progress. He could still picture the scene: the gap between buildings, the hesitant leap, the windmilling arms, the sickening thud that followed. Remembering that crumpled body, Dan was amazed the man could walk at all. The doctors had worked miracles, but it was Walker’s spirit and determination that had fueled his recovery through his long months in hospital and his longer ones in jail.
    Walker used the log to pull himself upright, then slowly stepped out of the canoe and worked his way up the beach, using the driftwood for support. With no clear path up to the roped-off area, he had to take the long way round, and it took almost ten slow and painful minutes before he finally reached a place where he could see the desecrated totem.
    â€œJesus!” he breathed, staring in horror at the mutilated wood. “What the hell happened?”
    â€œWe don’t know,” Dan answered. “We found it this morning. It looks new, but we’re not sure. I guess it could have happened yesterday, or even the day before.”
    â€œNo.” Walker shook his head, his eyes moving slowly over the destroyed figures. “This is very new. Maybe only a few hours old.” He reached down and let his hand rest gently on the bear’s head. “Who would do this?” he asked, his voice tight with grief and anger. “And why?”
    The three men stood in silence for a few minutes, looking at the carnage in front of them, and then Dan voiced what he had been thinking.
    â€œProbably the same guy that killed Margrethe.”
    Gene sucked in his breath. “You think she’s dead?”
    â€œI think it’s a good possibility,” Dan answered. “The blood was pretty fresh, and there’s too much for it to be from just a cut finger or something. How else could it have gotten there? Hell, you saw it the same as I did.”
    â€œMargrethe?” Walker asked. “That the woman from the lighthouse that Sanford talks about? She weaves his designs or something?”
    â€œYes,” Gene answered. “She’s missing. And Dan found blood on one of those pieces of driftwood.”
    Walker stared down at the jumbled driftwood, then looked back at the totem.
    â€œDamn, white man. You’re the strangest lightning snake I ever saw.”
    â€œLightning snake? What the hell are you talking about?”
    Walker looked at him, his voice serious.
    â€œHis name is He'-e-tlik. He’s a friend of Thunderbird. He punishes those who break the moral laws of the people.” He gestured to where the severed pieces of a carved snake lay on the ground. “Guess Thunderbird figured this one was lost, so he chose you for the job.”

• SIX •
    â€œSo tell me about this lightning snake thing,” Dan said.
    Gene had returned to the lighthouse and Dan and Walker were sitting on the beach, their backs to the water. Dan had suggested it might be more comfortable if they sat on a piece of driftwood, well away from both the totem and the blood, but Walker insisted on sitting on the sand, and Dan knew better than to argue. Walker did what Walker wanted to do.
    Walker shrugged, his eyes focused on the sweep of land that rose in front of him. “It’s a Mowachaht story. You should ask Sanford.”
    â€œSanford isn’t here,” Dan said.
    â€œHe will be.” Walker leaned to the right and ducked his head down low, squinting at something in the distance.
    Dan shook his head. This was obviously all he was going to get on that subject.
    â€œSo what do you think he’ll do when he gets here?” he asked.
    Walker shrugged again.