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 shows. We go as far as Australia for shows. And we make jewelry.” He looked back over the rim to the blue river of turquoise that threaded through the dark stone. He pointed. “We derived our name from that vein of turquoise. It would be a shame to cut it all away. We do collect what erodes and you’d be surprised.”
He followed the direction of her gaze as she glanced from the mineral vein down to Piñon Forks and then returned her attention to the opposite rim a mile up from where they stood, pausing on the yellow rim of rock. This was the narrowest section of the canyon. Here the walls became pinched so the canyon was wide enough only for the river that touched the cliffs on both sides. He always thought that this spot must have been a heck of a rapid before the dam.
He tried to picture the surging torrent that once climbed far of the smooth walls and hoped he’d never see the water forced through that narrow gap.
Now her attention flicked to the wide flood plain, where his rez had placed their major settlement, Piñon Forks, then lifted to fix on the Skeleton Cliff Dam.
“That is really close,” she said, folding her arms before her. The gesture lifted the tops of her breasts so that he saw the mounds of firm tempting flesh over the scoop of her maroon blouse. His mouth went as dry as the cliff stone.
She turned to him
