Hunter Moon. Jenna Kernan

guilty or he was a fool. Clay never liked the choice. He lowered his head. “Are we finished?”

      Kino stood. “Yeah. Sure. So, I’ll see you Saturday?”

      Clay rose. “Saturday?”

      Kino’s voice held impatience. “The wedding?”

      Clay’s mouth dropped open as he realized he’d forgotten. His kid brother was getting married and then honeymooning in the Badlands of South Dakota, so he could pick up the trail of their missing little sister.

      “Yeah, of course. Sorry. My mind is just... Like you said, long day.”

      Kino walked him out.

      “Want to go for a beer after work?” asked Clay.

      Kino rubbed his neck. “Sorry. Can’t. Wedding stuff.”

      “Oh, right. Well, see you Saturday.”

      “Don’t forget the barbecue. Thursday night. Rehearsal and dinner at Salt River on Friday.”

      Clay nodded and left the station, shedding the stale heated atmosphere for the crisp air of a perfect September day. Relief poured down on him with the sunshine. He looked to the west, to Black Mountain. Emerald-green Ponderosa pines that were broken by patches of brilliant yellow aspen ringed the base. Nearer the top, forest gave way to the browning grass. The crown looked as if someone had scraped away all vegetation. This was where the reservation got its name, from the dark of the tallest mountain in Arizona. Eleven thousand two hundred and twenty feet. On this cool day, the crown looked black against the bright blue sky, but soon the snow would cover it again. He’d been to the windy peak. All Apache boys climbed it. There, on the top the Crown Spirits lived. The Gaan, as his people call them, had been sent by the Creator to teach them to live in harmony.

      When Clay told outsiders he was Black Mountain Apache, they assumed he lived in the desert and wore a red head scarf and a long belted shirt. The truth was that he did wear a red kerchief, but about his neck, and his reservation was mountainous with a ski resort in addition to a casino. They had plenty of lakes and some of the best trout fishing and elk hunting anywhere. But mostly what they had was the grassland, and much of it had been broken into permitted grazing areas. Raising cattle was still big business here. Some pastures had been in certain families for generations. Like Isabella Nosie’s grazing rights. It had been her grandfather’s and her father’s—William’s—and now it was hers for as long as she kept filling out the application.

      Some folks thought that system unfair. That they should have a lottery. Clay had no cattle, so he stayed out of the debate.

      He took one final look back at the station. Was she still in there?

      Clay had missed Isabella more than he’d ever admit. She came to him in dreams sometimes, and on a good day he might see her in town. He’d caught her looking back at him once, but she never spoke to him. He didn’t blame her. Lots of folks looked right through him now. Or they hurried the other way as if he was contagious.

      Clay recovered the truck he drove for his job, headed back to the offices and checked in with Dale Donner. Besides managing the communal cattle and horse herds, Donner’s offices collected fines, cared for impounded livestock and sold unclaimed stock at auction. That meant showing up in tribal court and dealing with the tribe’s various livestock associations over disputes. Donner was also on the tribe’s general livestock board, along with Boone Pizzaro, Franklin Soto and two members of the tribal council. Boone Pizarro was the general livestock coordinator, in charge of managing the tribe’s cattle holdings including all grazing permits issued to ranchers on the reservation. Franklin Soto oversaw the health of the herds on the Rez and made sure all Black Mountain cattle complied with regulations with the state’s livestock sanitary board.

      Clay drove the two blocks, parked and entered Donner’s office. He felt as if he had been away for a week.

      Donner did not glance up as Clay came to a stop before the battered wooden desk littered with piles of paper. His boss was a barrel-chested Apache with dark braided hair that framed a face deeply lined and aged by the sun to the color of a well-oiled saddle. He seemed perpetually impatient with the stupidity of both his cattle and his men. Behind him, various clipboards hung on nails beside a calendar featuring a large longhorn steer’s photo. On the lower half of the calendar, Donner had crossed off all the days in the month up to and including today, Monday, September 7.

      His boss glanced up, and his flint eyes fixed on Clay.

      “We registered fifty-one cows with Nosie’s brand,” said Donner.

      “There were four more, but I shooed them back into their pasture. Mr. Donner, those fences on the upper pasture were cut.”

      Donner lowered the clipboard. “What do you mean cut?”

      “I mean with a wire cutter. Someone came in from the road, parked, cut the fences and left.”

      “What about the lower pasture?”

      “I didn’t see anything, but I was pretty busy rounding up cattle.”

      “Well, heck. We got to call your brother about that.”

      “Didn’t he call you?” Had Gabe forgotten to alert his boss?

      “Yup. Said you’d been delayed.”

      Clay realized Donner didn’t know about what happened with Izzie and the shooters. It took several minutes to relate the story, and his boss’s mouth hung open for most of it. Clay didn’t think he’d ever talked so much in his life. Except that day in court. When he finished, his shoulders sagged.

      “Well, a heck of a day.” Donner sat back and scratched his head, sending one of his long graying braids wiggling. “I’ll call Pizzaro and Bustros. Update them and have them take a look at the fences and the cattle.”

      Victor Bustros was not technically on the general livestock board, but worked under Pizarro, the livestock coordinator. Bustros’s title was livestock brand inspector. Because of the record keeping of individual brands, Bustros had a clerk who helped him keep up with the paperwork. Bustros’s job also including overseeing the weekly cattle auctions.

      Cattle were still the tribe’s main source of income, though tourism was catching up. These four men—Bustros, Pizzaro, Soto and his boss, Donner—held positions of importance in this enterprise overseeing the care, business and health of the tribe’s holdings. Clay felt lucky to work with them. Now Clay hoped that his actions today had not jeopardized that.

      “Sir, would you like me to have a look at Nosie’s lower pasture?”

      “Leave that to your brothers. If what you say is true, that might be a crime scene.”

      If it were true? Clay felt his face heat. Even after six-and-a-half spotless years of work, his boss did not take his word at face value.

      If the impounded stock hadn’t belonged to Izzie, then Clay would have let it go. But instead, he opened his mouth again.

      “Sir, I could...”

      Donner’s gaze snapped to his, and he gave a slow shake of his head. It was a gesture Clay recognized as a warning. Clay closed his mouth.

      “You’ve done enough.”

      Clay accepted the long, hard look Donner gave him.

      “Finish your paperwork before you leave.”

      Knowing he’d been dismissed, Clay returned to his desk in the outer office to wake up his ancient computer. An hour later he had his hat back on his head and was leaving for the day.

      Clyne and Gabe, his older brothers, still lived in their grandmother Glendora’s place. But he and Kino had a small house outside of Black River, one of four towns on the reservation and the one that housed the tribal headquarters. Since Kino and Lea Altaha would like their own place, Clay planned to move back to his grandmother’s while they waited for placement. It could take over a year for the newlyweds to get their house through the tribe’s housing