I swallowed hard as Railer pushed his shiny black boot to her thigh. I looked down at Hemaucus’s face as he turned her over. Her long, loose hair, shiny and thick as horsetail strands, threading weeds. I saw the hole in her back that pierced straight through her shattered breastbone. A single bloodstain, round and dry as a quarter, lay beneath her. She had been shot somewhere else and brought to this place. Her shirt fell open, exposing one breast. I saw she was already returning to the mud cradle that held her. The weave of grass stamped on her soft skin held a warm, sweet smell that made me uncomfortable. Death. Railer called the ambulance to transport the body. We covered Hemaucus with a blanket, then waited by the roadside.

Mist smoked above the river. The sun had risen to meet our eyes. The light was so bright I was almost blind. The top ground was thawing and we packed the grass like straw as we lifted her out. Her body was heavy. I felt the weight of the task. If Yellow Knife had been in a hundred-mile radius I would have tracked him down, but the word was out that he was still in Yakima. That was one thing in his favor.

I ran suspects through my head. All the people who might have had some connection to Hemaucus. But I kept coming back to Yellow Knife and his slick grin, the way he liked to shine his cheeks with oil when he was looking to fight. I was looking for an easy answer. I felt my scalp tighten. If Yellow Knife was back on the Flathead I wouldn’t have too much to investigate. The thought didn’t make me feel any better. The only thought that consoled me was that old Stoner would be in a world of shit if my suspicions proved true. No amount of money could save him from Yellow Knife. I knew I had to include myself in Yellow Knife’s list of “get-evens.” I didn’t want to put myself in Stoner’s category, but as much as I hated to admit it, where Louise was concerned, I was no different than Stoner.

I knew Yellow Knife had been with Hemaucus the night he’d beaten up Louise. Everybody knew that. And though I had word that he had lost himself in Yakima, I could not keep myself from seeing Yellow Knife lifting a rifle to his shoulder. Taking aim. It was the story that Hemaucus could no longer tell me. I had a gut feeling Yellow Knife had returned to the Flathead. I had learned to trust my instincts but they troubled me just the same. I wanted to gain my knowledge through hard work and sweat. I didn’t want vague certainty, animal wisdom. I wanted evidence. I found it.