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up the ridge, each vehicle passing between the silent protesters, each mourner hearing the ancient sound that had once echoed through these hills while their own European ancestors lived and died an ocean away.

Chapter Four
    â€œHe’s back.” Fear vibrated in Archie’s voice.
    I’d answered the call without looking at my cell phone because I assumed it was Susan. She’d left fifteen minutes earlier to perform a Monday morning surgery and she often phoned en route to the hospital with some “Honey, please do this” item she’d forgotten to mention.
    So, ignorance was bliss as I enjoyed a second cup of coffee on my deck. The mist was lifting from the valley below, cardinals hovered around the sunflower feeder, the debacle at the cemetery lay two days in the past, and all was right with the world. My yellow lab, Democrat, and I were lords of the manor, five acres of hardwoods surrounding a home reconstructed with the logs of four Blue Ridge cabins that once housed mountaineers in the eighteen hundreds.
    Now, I had inadvertently let Archie invade my sanctuary.
    â€œWho’s back?”
    â€œThe Panther.” Archie spoke the Cherokee’s surname as he might have that of the assassin Carlos the Jackal.
    I checked my watch. Seven thirty. “Are you at the cemetery?”
    â€œYes.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I promised Luther I’d come up and make sure the grave had been covered and seeded properly.”
    â€œAnd Panther’s there already?”
    No answer.
    â€œArchie?”
    â€œSorry, I was nodding my head.”
    â€œWell, the connection’s not strong enough for me to hear the rattle. What are they doing?”
    â€œI don’t see anyone. His truck’s parked on the road. You know, where they had the protest.”
    I stood and walked into the cabin. “Don’t look for them. They’re probably down at the site where we found the remains.”
    â€œDo you want me to block their escape?”
    I moved quickly to the bedroom and pulled a clean uniform from my closet. “No. Just leave. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
    â€œOK. But hurry. I hate to think they’re desecrating Eurleen’s grave.”
    â€œArchie, whatever you do, don’t tell Luther. That’s an order.”
    I called into the dispatcher to tell her I was checking out a report of trespassing on Bell Ridge. I didn’t mention the cemetery or Panther’s truck. Within twenty minutes, I pulled my jeep behind the rusted vehicle. As I stepped onto the gravel and adjusted my duty belt, Archie rose from behind a stand of rhododendron.
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing here?” I asked.
    â€œI parked off the state road and walked up. How else was I supposed to know when it was safe to return?”
    â€œYou could have called me on your cell phone.”
    â€œOh.”
    I sighed. “Come on. We’ll see where they are and then you can check on Eurleen’s grave.”
    Archie followed me down the southern slope to the new section. The ground was bare where the archaeologists had conducted their exhumation after Mayor Whitlock enlisted the aid of his poker buddy, State Senator Mack Collins, to broker a deal to return the bones to the reservation.
    The site was empty.
    I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted into the air. “Jimmy! It’s Deputy Clayton. You need to leave right now.”
    Silence.
    â€œMaybe they camped out,” Archie said. “And they’re still sleeping.”
    â€œWhy do you think that?”
    â€œBecause the truck was covered with dew.”
    I hadn’t noticed. “Good observation.”
    â€œI’m scared, Barry. Not blind.”
    For once, Archie had a point. “Then let’s check on Eurleen,” I said.
    We walked up the ridge and through the gates of the original cemetery. The grassy slope opened on the eastern exposure and the morning sunlight