By Tony Hillerman
Whilst younger boys disappear, certainly one of them leaving a pool of blood at the back of, Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn of the Navajo Tribal Police reveals himself not just monitoring a ruthless and brutal killer yet stuck up within the difficult mysteries of the Zuni faith besides. For the lifeless boy used to be to have performed a key function in an enormous ritual of the Zuni humans. An further worry within the research and seek is the lacking boys' curiosity in an archeological dig that appears on the point of proving a debatable concept. And the FBI's blind walk in the park that it is all on the topic of a small hippy commune's drug dealing does not precisely aid both. Leaphorn patiently tracks the assassin into the desolate tract to a terrifying confrontation...
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And if he couldn't get it done there, then he'd have to go to Shalako over at Zuñi and then he'd be home. " Cecil didn't answer. Leaphorn glanced at him. The boy's eyes were wet. "No," Cecil said. " -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Chapter Ten Wednesday, December 3, 10 AM. JOE LEAPHORN was having trouble concentrating. It seemed to him that a single homicide (as the death of Cata) could be thought of as a unit—as something in which an act of violence contained beginning and end, cause and result.
The Dinee made a harder demand—that man find his place in the harmony of things. There, too, Shorty Bowlegs had failed. Outside the hogan, Leaphorn snapped off the carryall headlights and began a search in gradually widening circles. He worked slowly, conscious that the killer—unlikely as it seemed—might still be near. He looked for tracks—human, horse, or vehicle—using his flashlight sparingly in places where they might be preserved from the wind. He found nothing very conclusive. His own van's tires showed up in several places where the gusts had not erased them, but no other vehicle had apparently come near the hogan recently.
Leaphorn turned off the ignition but not the lights. He was relieved. Bowlegs was not only awake, but sober enough to be standing in the doorway, curious about his visitor. Leaphorn shook out a cigarette, lit it, and waited. Navajo custom and good manners required the wait. The tradition had been born in the old days so that the ghosts which swarmed the reservation and followed travelers would wander impatiently away and not follow the guest into the host's hogan. Today it survived as much out of the respect for privacy of a scattered rural people as from the waning threat of the chindi.