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out here on Monday, headed back home, then drove the family van back yesterday to pick him up. But Jacob wanted to stay another night, so she stayed with him. He slept somewhere near the middle of the canyon floor; she found a place under an overhang. The woman woke up early this morning, saw her husband walking away with his buffalo robe. She thought Jacob was looking for shelter from the snow.”
    The white man’s eyes narrowed. “What was Jake Gourd Rattle doing in the canyon?”
    The tribal investigator shrugged. Following his dream…
    Jim Wolfe stared up at the place where the Three Sisters were still shrouded in clouds. “His vehicle might still be up there. But if his wheels are gone, then he’s gone, too.”
    High on the cliffs, there was a harsh call from an unseen raven. It was answered by a raspy echo from the opposite wall. As if summoned, a low, moaning wind swept down the broad canyon. To Jim Wolfe’s superstitious ear, it was the soul-wrenching sound of a ghostly woman wailing for her dead children. This was followed by a deep belly-rumble of thunder, a diffuse flash of lightning.
    Moon wondered how much evidence had been covered up by the drifting snow. That was an odd thought. Evidence of what? “We’ll look for his van later. But as long as we’re down here, let’s check things out.”
    Wolfe nodded. “You want to head up canyon?”
    “Might as well.”
    The lawmen got to work, trudging doggedly along in the wet snow.
    Every few paces, Moon would put his hands to his mouth, bellow the missing man’s name.
    As the spirit moved him, Wolfe would do the same.
    The calls were invariably answered—by mocking echoes off the canyon walls.
    Another boom of thunder was followed by a stinging sleet that peppered the snowy floor of the canyon. The sleet changed to a fine-grained snow. This was converted to heavy, wet flakes. It snowed hard for an hour, covering the canyon floor with several more inches of soft, feathery carpet.
    During this time, the men did not exchange a word.
    The snowfall finally ceased, and with it, the obligatory search.
    Having backtracked, the searchers headed for the only trail that led out of this section of Spirit Canyon. The slippery snow made the winding path more hazardous than usual. The climb was steep until they reached the trail’s upper portion, where the rocky path zigzagged to the crest of Three Sisters Mesa.
    As if to celebrate their arrival, the clouds parted in a narrow slit. Sunlight spilled down from the cleft heavens like a waterfall of molten gold.
    The tribal investigator followed the SUPD officer to his coal-black Blazer, where Wolfe shared a Thermos of steaming coffee with him. Thus refreshed, the lawmen walked along the rutted lane. Even the heavy-treaded tracks the Blazer had left a short time ago were concealed under the new snow. While the white policeman watched, the tribal investigator climbed a six-story tower of sandstone—the lesser of the legendary Three Sisters.
    Having reached the craggy shoulder of the Pueblo woman, Charlie Moon pulled the brim of his black Stetson down to shade his eyes. He had an unhindered view of the mesa and beyond. Unless Jacob had taken considerable trouble to hide it, there was no van. Convinced that he had done his duty and more, Moon descended the skirts of the petrified woman.
    They returned to the SUPD officer’s four-wheel-drive unit.
    Moon listened while Jim Wolfe contacted dispatch, reported negative results on a preliminary search for Mr. Jacob Gourd Rattle and his vehicle, and requested that a second unit be sent to pick up Mrs. Gourd Rattle at the Perika residence.
    Dispatch informed him that Officer Danny Bignight would transport the woman to tribal police headquarters for a formal statement, then take her home.
    The call completed, Jim Wolfe rolled himself a sad-looking excuse for a cigarette, touched the tip of the drooping cylinder with a flame sprouting from a plastic lighter. He sucked carcinogenic fumes