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No, Jake’s wandered off somewhere in that canyon. He’s hurt. Or dying. Maybe he’s already…” She clasped her hands, gave Moon a big-eyed look. “Somebody has to go look for him.”
    The tribal investigator used his cellular telephone to dial the SUPD number he knew by heart. Charlie Moon had a brief conversation with a recently hired morning-shift dispatcher he had never met, requested that a search be initiated for a tribal member who had apparently wandered off alone in Spirit Canyon. The dispatcher informed him that Chief of Police Whitehorse would have to authorize a search, and the chief was currently tied up in a meeting with tribal chairman Oscar Sweetwater. On top of that, there were no officers immediately available to take part in a search.
    He reminded her that a tribal member might be lost in the snow. Moon doubted this, but it was a possibility. The dispatcher asked him to hold for a moment. She returned after a long absence to inform Moon that SUPD officer Jim Wolfe had reported in from the graveyard shift and was about to go home, but had agreed to drive his unit out to Three Sisters Mesa. He would meet Mr. Moon in Spirit Canyon.

CHAPTER FIVE
THE SEARCH
    As the tribal investigator entered the mouth of Cañon del Espiritu , snow floated about him like goose down. A shallow river of blue-gray mists washed along the bottom of the broad canyon. A wispy, whispery fog imposed an eerie silence, transfigured familiar objects into nightmarish props. Jutting boulders stood like alien creatures frozen in instant death. A symmetrical, snow-covered juniper took on the appearance of a giant, frosted toadstool. A prickly yucca pretended to be an icy sheaf of two-edged swords—whose malignant purpose was to impale the unwary pilgrim.
    Though endowed with considerable imagination, Charlie Moon was largely immune to these sinister portents. His practical mind was occupied with how best to complete this thankless task. And so as his boots crunched along a snow-packed streambed, the tribal investigator focused on the job at hand. He had already passed the easy way to the top of Three Sisters Mesa, which was near the mouth of the canyon. That path was used by his aunt on her occasional herb-gathering trips to the crest of the mesa. The more challenging trail was a mile and a half into Spirit Canyon. Based on Kicks Dogs’ report, her husband had made his camp near the foot of this steep ascent.
     
    A slender, gray-eyed, sandy-haired six-footer, SUPD officer Jim Wolfe was a sturdy product of the Oklahoma hills. Weather of all kinds pleased the enthusiastic man—especially when it was wet. Outfitted in waterproof boots, a heavy black raincoat, and a broad-brimmed black canvas hat, he was sorry that the snow had not amounted to an all-out blizzard. As he watched the tall figure coming up the canyon in long strides, Wolfe removed the hat, waved it at the tribal investigator. “Hey—Charlie.”
    The Ute, who had seen the matukach first, waved back.
    Moon approached, pumped Wolfe’s outstretched hand. The white man’s eyes were bloodshot; he looked to be badly in need of some serious sack time. “Dispatch didn’t have any day-shift officers available. I’m glad you felt up to putting in a few more hours.”
    “No problem. I can use the time-and-a-half pay.” Wolfe jerked his thumb upward. “My unit’s parked up on Three Sisters Mesa.”
    “Was Gourd Rattle’s van up there?”
    Wolfe shook his head. “If it was, I didn’t see it.”
    The fog was lifting, exposing the sandstone walls of Cañon del Espiritu . If even the bare essentials of Kicks Dogs’ tale were to be accepted, they must be within a few hundred yards of the spot where her husband had set up camp. Moon squinted, examining the mesa rim. “You seen any sign at all of Jacob?”
    “Nope.” The paleface tried to smile. “So what’s the scoop?”
    The tribal investigator gave Wolfe the boiled-down version. “Mrs. Gourd Rattle dropped her husband