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breath, he looked down at Walker. “It just goes to shows how much erosion can take place in seven hundred years.”
    Walker swallowed the fear in his throat. Grinning up at Tag, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “It just shows that you bahanas have feet too big for your own good.” His heart thumped as he watched Tag climb the rest of the way down.
    â€œAre you sure you still want to come with me?” asked Walker, seeing Tag wipe the sweat from his freckled face.
    â€œAnything is better than climbing up that cliff again,” answered Tag, looking up toward the cave. Turning to meet Walker’s eyes, he smiled. “Besides, after seven hundred years, I’m starved. Let’s go see what the Sinagua are having for lunch.”
    Walker led the way back down the narrow path toward the main trail. The air was hot, dry, still. Except for the muffled sound of Walker’s moccasins and the dull thudding sound of Tag’s sneakers hitting the ground, the canyon was quiet.
    Náat, I have walked time, but not alone
, Walker thought. He chuckled, thinking about the noisy bahana following him. He wondered how this city boy would like sleeping on the hard ground, not having flushable toilets, and eating who knows what? Tag thought the Hopi Reservation was primitive! Walker shook his head. Yet as Náat would say, “He has a good heart and deep courage.”
    A high-pitched shriek shattered the quiet air, echoing off the canyon walls. Walker stopped. The hair on his neck was standing on end, his scalp tightening. He could feel Tag’s fear in the air between them.
    Just as the echoing died, a second cry filled with fear pierced his ears, “Taawa . . .”
    â€œThis way,” called Walker over his shoulder, bounding down the trail. “It’s coming from farther down.”
    Walker heard Tag exclaim, “Never a dull minute around here.”
    Walker sprinted down the path, scanning the area around and below the trail, trying to locate the sound. The echo had died; the canyon air was still. He saw the fork in the trail ahead, and his feet slowed. His mind questioned. Which way? Up toward the cliff dwellings or down deeper in the canyon?
    In answer, the strange, haunting feeling filled his mind. “Down, down,” it prompted with an almost overpowering intensity.
    Walker started down the chosen path. He turned his head to look back at Tag. The bahana’s big feet were kicking up rocks and dust, half-running, half-tripping down the steep trail.
    â€œGreat Taawa, have pity on this noisy bahana . . . protect him,” prayed Walker.
    The path was getting steeper now, leading down and around a deep limestone overhang. Walker’s moccasins slipped. He skidded to a stop at the outside edge of the path. Catching his breath, Walker looked down over the ledge and saw the winding trail below.
    A thin, petite girl with blue-black hair flowing almost to her waist stood frozen on the path below. Her slim arms crossed her chest. Her eyes were squeezed closed. Her lips formed a straight, tight line of fear across her oval-shaped face. Yet Walker could hear the soft rhythmic humming sound of an old familiar prayer song. A rattling sound accompanied the girl’s soft humming, sending a cold shiver racing up Walker’s backbone. In the middle of the trail, coiled just a few inches from the girl’s sandaled feet, was a huge rattlesnake.
    Looking down at the snake poised to strike, Walker’s heart thundered in his throat. A cold shudder shook his body like an earthquake. His palms were as wet as if he had just washed them.
    Yet in the same instant, the distinctive rattling sound, accompanied by the rhythmic humming, flooded Walker’s mind with vivid memories, unforgettable sounds, and keenly sharp images.
    Walker’s ears seemed to fill with the beat of cotton-wood drums, gourd rattles shaking, and deep, throaty singing. In his