The Warrior's Way. Jenna Kernan

she was of the Black Mountain people, butterfly born of spider.

      But who was she deep down, where it mattered? Jack wanted answers.

      “You want to talk about it—the investigation?”

      She shook her head.

      “Okay. I’m a good listener. Just saying. So, do you have brothers and sisters?”

      She didn’t look at him. “Yeah. And tons of cousins. My mom came from a big family. Where are we going?”

      “Top of the canyon. I thought I’d give you an overview. Okay?”

      She nodded.

      “I’ve got three brothers,” said Jack. “Carter is the oldest. He’s my twin and he’s coming home soon. He’s under protection by the Department of Justice.”

      That sure got her attention. Her posture changed and she half turned to stare at him.

      “Why?”

      “Witness. He went with his wife, Amber, who survived the mass shooting at Lilac copper mine. She was going to testify in a federal case against Theron Wrangler.”

      “But Wrangler is dead and so they don’t need witnesses.”

      “That’s right.” She was quick and pretty.

      “Then there are Tommy and Kurt. They are younger. Kurt flies in the air ambulance out of Darabee. Next town over. And Tommy is a Shadow Wolf on the border.”

      “Border patrol?”

      “They work under Immigration and Customs Enforcement—ICE. But he works with border patrol, too.”

      “Shadow Wolves. That’s the all–Native American outfit, right?”

      “Exactly. They’re on the Tohono Oodham lands.”

      “I’ve been down there. It’s hot.”

      “Most of Arizona is.”

      “But not here and not Black Mountain.” She seemed to have lost some of her bristle. “Listen, I’m sorry your people feel threatened by BEAR.”

      “What’s your take on it?”

      “I’m not briefed. Really, I only know that group has been connected with the Lilac shooting and might be involved with the Pine View wildfire in July.”

      On the drive he told her what he could. Carter had rescued Amber Kitcheyan from the Lilac copper mine and placed himself between her and BEAR’s assassins, and the Lilac shooter had been caught. She knew that the mass murderer had been subsequently executed and that the assassin was a member of the Turquoise Canyon Apache tribe, Detective Bear Den’s tribe. She did not know that the shooter had been terminally ill, or that his death had brought suspicion on his daughter, Morgan Hooke.

      “Our men set up protection for Morgan Hooke as a precaution.”

      “What happened?”

      “She helped us recover the blood money paid to her dad. And she and her daughter are safe. You’ll meet Ray Strong soon. He’s one of our men and her assigned bodyguard. Soon he’ll be her husband.”

      She made a face that showed her disapproval of that turn of events.

      “You know about Meadow Wrangler?” he asked.

      “More than you do, I’d suspect.”

      “She witnessed her father’s death.”

      “I know that. I also know she has a history of substance abuse resulting in rehab.”

      “She got drunk at eighteen and swam in a country club’s fountain.”

      “She’s an unreliable witness.”

      “We believe her.”

      Sophia shrugged. “Your prerogative.”

      They crested the top of the canyon rim and Jack brought them to a halt.

      “This is it. From here you can see Skeleton Cliff Dam above our land and also Piñon Forks and Koun’nde, our two main settlements. Turquoise Ridge is out of sight and also above flood level.”

      “Let’s have a look.” She exited the vehicle and their doors closed simultaneously.

      Jack walked easily to the edge of the rim, where the rock bluff ended, leaving the dizzying drop to the valley below. The river had once cut this canyon from solid stone and spanned the gap where the town of Piñon Forks now stood. He had never seen the river roar with the yearly monsoonal rains because the dam and reservoir system had been installed in the 1920s, long before the stretch of his memory. But the old ones remembered. Few had seen it tumble and rage and then shrink like the belly of a woman after giving birth. The floods left rich fertile soil deposited yearly. They also left wetlands that burst with mosquitoes and that brought yellow fever. Crops were raised in the rich earth, but now the land was fit only for grazing livestock and none died from yellow fever. Was it better now than before the river was tamed?

      He didn’t know. He only knew it was different. They had electricity, mobile phones and no crops.

      “That’s quite a drop,” she said.

      “Nine hundred meters from that point above us. Over a half-mile deep.” Jack smiled. “See that spot over there?” He pointed to the arched cut in the yellow sandstone. From here it looked close to the water. “That’s just short of eleven meters—higher than an Olympic diving platform. We used to jump off it into the deep water.”

      “That’s foolish.”

      “Fun. It was fun.”

      “You and your friends sound reckless. I don’t take such chances.”

      “Too bad. It was a thrill. What did you do up on Black Mountain for fun?”

      Her eyes went sad and then she looked away, leaving Jack to wonder what kind of a childhood she’d had on her rez.

      “So what do you want to show me?”

      Back to business then. He pointed out the landmarks, towns and road system along the river and bridge east of the reservation. Beyond sat the great gray wall of Skeleton Cliff Dam that allowed just enough water to keep their livestock alive and their towns above the waterline.

      “That looks like a very healthy vein of turquoise,” she said, motioning to the line of blue threading through the canyon wall beyond the river.

      “Yes. It is good quality, too. We don’t mine by the river anymore. Too much overburden,” he said, pointing to the dangerous overhang of rock created by undercutting the hill to retrieve the turquoise below. “But we have some nice veins farther north at Turquoise Ridge. Very hard and nice nodules. Turquoise varies by looks and quality. That over there is brilliant blue with a webbing pattern called ‘bird’s eye.’”

      “I know it.”

      “We also have bright blue with flecks of iron pyrite up on Turquoise Ridge. That’s our main mining sight now. It’s pale blue to dark blue. We get a little green sometimes. But that’s rare.”

      “You wear it on your belt,” she said.

      He tilted the buckle. “Yeah. This is from that ridge,” he said, grazing a thumb over the brilliant blue outer inlay that surrounded the medicine wheel. Then he lifted his hand to brush the grey Stetson on his head. “My hatband, this paler blue with the fleck of black chert matrix, this is from Turquoise Ridge.”

      “Chert?”

      “Those are the blackish inclusion of the host rock that makes the cut stones more valuable, similar to spider web veining. Some collectors prefer the veining and inclusions to the solid blue stone.”

      “You know your turquoise,” she said.

      “Major biz here. Digging it, selling it at the rock-and-mineral