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Bill? You shouldn't be near Kitt Peak. I hear there's all kinds of weird things happening out here lately."
    A frown crossed Adams's face; he looked as though he was trying to remember something. "Don't know. . . ."
    "Bill, where you just come from?"
    "Why . . ." Again a frown crossed Adams's face. He suddenly looked up at the Indian and smiled. "Can't quite remember that, Tahini. Talked to the Great Spirit, I think." He pointed up.
    "Oh, boy."
    "Say, Tahini," Adams said, looking up at the Indian questioningly. "You think I'm lying? I'm telling you, I just found out many interesting things." He frowned. "If only I could remember what they were."
    Drunk as he was, Tahini knew that something was very much wrong. Rising unsteadily, he approached Bill Adams's mount, which stood patiently in the shade of a rock outcrop. Rifling through the saddlebags, he found the remains of Adams's provisions — a few days' worth of food, a blanket, a tobacco pouch.
    "Bill," he called back, "where's your ammo, your rifle?"
    There was no answer.
    "Say, Bill — "
    When he looked back, the white man was slumped over on his side of the coat, unmoving.
    "Oh, Jesus spirit," Tahini said.
    When he reached Adams, there was a faint pulse in the neck. Turing the white man over, he cradled Adams's head in his lap.
    "Bill . . ."
    Adams's eyes fluttered open. He stared straight through Tahini, and there was a sudden look of horror on his face. He clutched the Indian's collar, tried to raise himself.
    "Settle down there, Bill," Tahini said gently.
    "You tell me what!" Adams said, his eyes wide. "This isn't true! None of it is true!" "Say, Bill — "
    Adams ignored him. "I'll get the Army! I'll get Sherlock Holmes himself after you!"
    Adams let go of Tahini and fell back. He seemed to be listening. Then, suddenly, he screamed, and his eyes opened impossibly wide, and he began to thrash in Tahini's grip.
    "No! No!" Adams cried, trying to cover his face.
    "Bill!"
    "Get Thomas Mullin — " Adams went suddenly limp, collapsing in Tahini's arms. Tahini once again checked for a pulse. There was none.
    "Jesus spirit ..."
    He lay Adams's body back on the ground. The man's neck was rigid, his head thrown back, his mouth locked open in a scream he would never make. His eyes were nearly bulging out of his head.
    Hands shaking, Tahini grabbed for Adams's bottle, which had rolled away, half-spilled on the ground. He brought it to his lips, closed his eyes, and drank until warm numbness spread through him.
    Jesus, he thought, they'll blame you for sure now. They already had you once and let you go; this time they'll stick you in that cell and close the door forever. Or hang you by your neck.
    Lowering the bottle, seeing that it was empty, he stood, and looked down at Bill Adams's body.
    Sorry, old friend, but I've got to do this. Got to do it for me.
    Retrieving the shovel from his own pack, he found a place off under the rocks, and began to dig.
    Two hours later, as the sun was starting to fall toward the west, Tahini was done. The grave was Indian style, shallow, covered with rocks. Then he shielded the front of the rock overhang with larger rocks, blending it into the scenery. He would tell Jellek this spot was no good for the road they wanted, steer him to one of the alternates. Tomorrow he would survey an appropriate spot and head back to camp. With any luck, they would never find Bill Adams.
    Inappropriately, Tahini found himself crying. Adams's own bottle had long since been emptied, and he had the remains of his own, sitting cross-legged on the ground, facing the sun. Closing his eyes, he said all the prayers he knew, Christian and otherwise, praying for forgiveness and guidance. He ended by asking the Great Spirit to guide his steps.
    Rising unsteadily, as the sun lipped the far horizon, he approached Bill Adams's mount, untied it from its spot under a rock overhang, and slapped it across the flanks to make it run.
    "Gallop far, my friend," he said,