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dull ache crept in behind it. He put on the clean uniform and went back upstairs.
    “I’m taking my Bronco,” he told Bos. “Let Ed know I’m on my way.”
    “You really ought to get a radio in that vehicle.”
    He started for the door, but Bos called him back.
    “Sheriff?”
    He turned around.
    “Somebody lured you out there.”
    “It looks that way.”
    “They wanted you dead. Or maybe Marsha.”
    “That’s generally the reason they use bullets.”
    “My point is this,” she said. “They didn’t succeed. Does that mean they’ll try again?”

4
     
    F LOODLIGHTS LIT THE hollow with an unnatural glare, and the poplar trees around the Tibodeau cabin looked like a crowd of gawkers gone white with shock. Cork pulled up behind Cy Borkmann’s cruiser and got out.
    Ed Larson stood in the doorway of the cabin. He wasn’t wearing the latex gloves anymore and looked as if he’d gathered evidence and was weighing the meaning. Or at least, that’s what Cork hoped his look meant.
    “Where’s Lucy?” Cork asked.
    “She and Eli went into Allouette to stay with his uncle. We took statements from both of them. They were pretty broken up over the dogs.”
    Cork glanced inside the cabin. “So, what did you find?”
    Larson adjusted his wire-rims, not a good sign. Then he said, “Well,” which nailed the coffin shut.
    “Nothing?” Cork said.
    “Not down here. Whoever it was, they actually wiped out the tracks leading back to the woodpile where they threw the dogs. Looks like they used a pine branch or something. I took prints off the phone, but I’m betting they’re just latents from Eli and Lucy. Nothing on the shell casings you found earlier. We pulled the slugs out of the Land Cruiser but they’re too mashed up to be of any use for ballistics. We’re still looking for the round that went through Marsha. Doing a quadrant search of the ground surface right now, then I’ll have the guys start digging. Come morning, we’ll go over every inch of the hilltop where the shooter was. We bagged the dogs. If you think it’ll be of any value, we can have them autopsied.”
    Duane Pender, who was working on the search of the ground, hollered.
    “What is it?” Larson said.
    Pender picked up something and held it up in the light. “It’s a bell. A little jingly Christmas bell.”
    Larson walked carefully to the deputy and took the bell from him. It was a silver ball with a little metal bead inside that jingled when the ball moved. “It’s new. Not dirty, so it hasn’t been on the ground long. What do you make of it, Cork?”
    Cork walked over. “Could be from a Christmas ornament.”
    “In October?”
    “Or maybe from a jingle dress.”
    “A what?”
    “For ceremonial dances. It may be nothing, but make a note of where you found it, Duane, and put it in a bag.”
    Larson followed him back to the cabin door. “Any word on Marsha?”
    “She was still in surgery when I left the hospital.”
    “You don’t look too good yourself.”
    Cork slumped against the door frame. The lights for the search were bright in his eyes, and he turned his face from them. “I keep trying to figure all this.”
    “I’ve been thinking,” Larson said quietly. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to get you out here. Think about it, Cork. The call comes from the rez. Since you’ve taken over as sheriff, the old policy of you responding to most of the calls from out here is back in place. Marsha’s driving the Land Cruiser. She’s your height, more or less. She’s wearing a cap. The sun’s down, the whole hollow here is in shade. The shooter assumes it’s you who gets out and he fires.”
    “Or she fires,” Cork said.
    “She?”
    “I listened to the tape of the call when I was back at the department. It was a woman doing a pretty good job of sounding like Lucy.”
    Larson considered it while he scratched the silver bristle of his hair. “Whoever, they knew what they were doing. Two dead dogs, tracks erased, a