Harry laughed, and gripped Singing Rock’s arm affectionately. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “If I ever went past South Dakota, I’d drop by more damned often.”

Singing Rock said, “Is this Mr. Fenner?”

Harry nodded and introduced them. Neil shook hands a little hesitantly, but Singing Rock reached out and placed his hand on top of Neil’s, and said warmly, “You’re wondering why I don’t have bones through my nose and feathers in my cap?”

Neil was embarrassed. “I guess I never met a medicine man before. I didn’t really know what to expect.” Harry picked up Singing Rock’s suitcase and the three of them walked across to Neil’s pickup.

Singing Rock said, “I’d prefer to wear traditional costume. What’s the point of being a medicine man if you don’t look like one? But the costumes are pretty rare these days. They take years to complete, and when they’re finished they’re works of art. These days, you can’t really walk around in a work of art. You might spill catsup on it.”

Harry helped Singing Rock into the pickup, and then they drove off toward Neil’s house. The sky was still oddly dark, and there was a feeling that rain clouds were building up.

Harry said, “Neil has a hunch that the day of the dark stars might be today. Or soon, anyway.”

“Any particular reason?” asked Singing Rock.

“I don’t know,” Neil told him. “It’s a feeling like someone’s trying to warn me.”

“Like when Dunbar warned you of Misquamacus?”

“Harry told you about that?”

“Harry told me about everything. The slightest detail could be vital.”

Neil brought the pickup to a stop at a road junction, waited for a carload of women to pass, and then turned left.

He said, “It’s not exactly the same feeling. When Dunbar first showed up, I could hear his voice, appealing for help. Toby heard it, too. Both of us saw him, or his ghost. A tall man with a light-colored beard and a long white duster coat. But today, the feeling’s just a feeling. I haven’t heard Dunbar’s voice since last night. This is much more general.”

Singing Rock said, “You’re very unusual for a white man, Mr. Fenner, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“What do you mean?” asked Neil.

“You were prepared to believe in the supernatural before you started trying to think of rational explanations for what you saw. Most white men think of the rational explanations first, and only believe the supernatural when they have no other choice. Even then, they frequently don’t believe it.”

“How could I ignore it?” said Neil. “I spoke to Dunbar. I was only ten or twelve feet away from his ghost, and there isn’t anybody alive who can tell me I was dreaming.”