going to honor his last wishes by climbing up this rock face to that shelf on the cliff.”
As he struggled with his handholds, Daniel glanced over at Gene Redhouse. They weren’t related, but were as close as any brothers could be. Gene had turned thirty-three last summer, and though the two of them had grown up together, they were nothing alike. He was an in-your-face type of man, while Gene usually chose a more peaceful approach—at least at first.
“I learned the other day that Hosteen Silver left four other letters, one for each of our foster brothers. We were the only two asked to fulfill the same task,” Daniel said.
“It’s a two-man job and we’re best suited for this. The fetish he wants us to return to Winter Hawk’s nest was his most powerful spiritual possession. He always carried it with him, except the day he died,” Gene said, following Daniel, handhold by handhold, up the nearly vertical rock face. “He believed that the spirit of Winter Hawk was one with the fetish, and I think that’s why he wanted it returned to the nest after he was gone.”
“I’m the better climber, but you’re the one who has a bond with Winter Hawk,” Daniel said, choosing his route and footholds carefully. “I’d get my face torn off if I got too close to that ledge.”
“What can I say? Hawk likes me better than you, obviously a sign of good taste,” Gene said, laughing quietly.
“I still have questions about the way Hosteen Silver died. Don’t you?” Daniel said, stepping up and gauging the path ahead carefully. After finding a solid hand-and foothold, he moved up, then waited as his brother followed. “Why would he just walk off into the desert in the middle of winter?”
“It’s the way of the Diné, the Navajo People,” Gene reminded. “When it’s time to die, it’s an honorable way to go—not burdening the family.”
“But he wasn’t sick,” Daniel said.
“Not that we knew about, but he must have known that it was his time,” Gene said, accepting his brother’s hand up onto the next ledge.
“Then why didn’t he take the hawk fetish with him on that last walk?” Daniel pressed, moving up, picking his way with sure hands and feet.
“Because he wanted to honor his spiritual link to Hawk. That was also his way,” Gene said, grunting as one of the handholds crumbled.
“Watch it there, bro,” Daniel said. “Move a little to your right.”
“Got it,” Gene said, leaning forward and recapturing his balance.
“Hosteen Silver could know things before they happened,” Daniel said. The word hosteen meant mister, yet it was a title of respect they all used. He and Gene had been welcomed into the old man’s home first, and after they’d left, Hosteen Silver had brought in Preston Bowman and Paul Grayhorse to share his home. Later, Kyle Goodluck and Rick Cloud had come. Though they’d been there at different times, the bond between all six was strong, forged by the man who’d refused to believe that any Navajo boy could be truly bad.
Hosteen Silver had turned their lives around, two at a time, teaching them what was important in life and how to assume responsibility. Preston was a cop in Hartley, a small city just off the reservation. Paul, a U.S. Deputy Marshal, had recently distinguished himself by saving the life of a federal judge. Kyle was serving with NCIS overseas, and Rick…. No one except Daniel knew what he really did for the FBI, and he’d only found out by accident when Rick had needed help.
Hosteen Silver had been proud of them all, though he’d shown that by example, not words. Yet what bound them as a family went beyond blood ties. It was love for the man who’d given them a chance—a handhold on life.
“Are you thinking that there’s a reason he wanted us to work together here, something that goes beyond returning the fetish?”
“Yeah. He had a way of seeing trouble coming,” Daniel said, struggling up to the next narrow outcropping. “I think he wanted us to renew a bond he thought might have weakened since we’ve gone our own ways.”
“He was always concerned that we’d lose touch, and our family connection. He knew that over time, the ties that bind can loosen—come undone.”
“I tried to tell him that would never happen, even if one of us moved to the moon,” Daniel said. “We share too much history.”
“Back at the foster home, you and I were the only Navajo kids and that made us targets. I was sick a lot back then, but you always had my back.”
“I enjoyed taking those guys on. Then Hosteen Silver came into our lives. We went from the frying pan into the fire. We were out of that environment, but remember how he worked our butts off?” Daniel said, chuckling.
“I think that’s what made me healthy again. I finally had clean air, and plenty of exercise, physical and mental.”
“Once you could fight your own battles, your confidence shot way up.”
“And we started competing big-time,” Gene said, laughing. “Last time I saw Hosteen Silver, he asked if we still enjoyed pushing each other’s buttons. I told him we’d grown way past that, but I don’t think he believed me.”
“Maybe that’s part of the reason he sent us here to deliver his final gift to Winter Hawk. The only way we’d make it all the way up was if we worked together,” Daniel said.
Daniel reached for Gene, steadying him as another foothold crumbled, the chunks of sandstone tumbling into the air, then cascading to the rocks far below. “We’re almost there. If I’m right, the shelf we want is back to the left and up. You better take the lead now.”
After several minutes inching forward, Gene stopped and looked up. The hawk gazed down at him. “Don’t make any sudden moves or loud noises,” he whispered to Daniel.
They were less than ten feet away from the nest now. “Do you remember the legend?” Gene asked, waiting where he was and giving the bird a chance to settle before drawing closer.
“Word for word. It was one of the first stories Hosteen Silver ever told us,” Daniel said, his soft voice resonating with echoes from the past. “Hawk and his mate always honored their true natures. When they came home every night, they’d take human form and be clothed in garments of bright light. Hosteen Silver would then tell us that, like Hawk, we had the power to change at a moment’s notice and become the men we wanted to be. The choice was ours to make.”
The story seemed to energize Gene. He reached for a new handhold on a sturdy-looking scrub oak, but the plant suddenly came out by the roots. Gene slipped, and for a brief instant, swayed back and forth as he gripped the rock with his left hand only.
“Hang on!” Daniel reached for Gene, steadied his swing, then pulled him upward to a firm foothold.
“Okay, I’ve got it now,” Gene said, his breathing labored.
Daniel waited, giving Gene a chance to catch his breath. “We were so bad back then. Everyone said we were no good—just plain trouble—so we had to live up to the reputation. Then came Hosteen Silver.” He chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling.
“Careful, bro. Don’t let Winter Hawk misinterpret your tone.”
The
