He had to take her from the edges in. Back-lit trim of short-sleeved white shirt and pants. Hair cut in a page boy, ink-black and straight. Gray eyes making a study of him. No lipstick, but full lips with the expression of a person looking into a bear pit.

“The Chief was teaching me how to ride,” Shapiro said.

“An old Indian method?” Anna Weiss asked Joe.

Sun, white-hot, edged her cheek.

“At least with the Indian method, nobody gets bored,” he said.

Wrens darted headfirst into the canyon rim to their nests.

Far below and behind, Shapiro rode alone in the opposite direction, letting his horse follow the stream back to the Hill.

“I told you,” Joe said, “some of the land here is still used by the local people. Which mountain was he climbing?”

“Not so much a mountain as the next valley.”

“Canyon?”

“I forgot. You have no valleys here, only canyons. And gulches.”

At the top, through the fringe of cedars, the Jemez spread out ahead. High peaks surrounded by pines, the range smoother to the south and building like an ocean swell to the north. Anna turned, exhilarated by the climb, taking in mountain meadows colored an extravagant purple by mariposa lilies. She turned the way children turned, Joe thought, as if the earth turned around her.

“You’d think you could see the world from here,” she said. “What’s so good is that you can’t.”

“You’re going back to Chicago?”

“Soon.” As Joe stepped in front of her she asked, “Shouldn’t the lady be first?”

“Rattlesnakes.” He nodded to the rocks along the path.

She fell in behind him. “So, Sergeant, these mountains are your home.”

“According to the Army.”

“You don’t like the Army.”

“I don’t know anyone sane who likes the Army.”

“That’s not a direct answer. Captain Augustino seems to like the Army.”

“Stay away from Captain Augustino.”

“You told him about Harvey?”

The captain’s interested in you, not Harvey, he thought.

“Nothing to tell,” he said.

“Tell me about Mrs. Augustino,” she said.

“Mrs. Augustino left the Hill months ago.”

“In a hurry, people say.”

They came to a stop. She seemed to be studying him as if he were stuck against the sky by a pin.

“What else do people say?” Joe asked.

“They say you have a weakness for officers’ wives.”

“For women.”

“You think I’m rude, Sergeant?”

“No, I think you’re interested.”

Wind lifted a wing of her collar and rubbed it against her hair.

“Perhaps we’d better look for Dr. Fuchs,” she said.