“Don't have to,” John said. “One could come out.”

“I don't think so,” Sisson said. “I ain't never seen one in the winter unless it was in a long warm spell. Snakes is cold-blooded. They can't move in the cold.”

“Maybe they can, maybe they can't.”

“John, why are you so all-fired certain she got throwed from a horse? It don't even look like that happened. She was in her bed, or next to it. She said it was poison, and I think it was.”

“Like I said, snakes is poison.”

“You know something you ain't letting on?”

“She told me,” John said. “I put her horse away. She got throwed. Maybe it was a stick. Horses get snake mad and shy at sticks. I only know what she told me. I'm only saying what it is that she said happened.”

“Well, why didn't you say that? And why was she going on about poison?”

“Snakes is poison.”

“She didn't get bit, though, did she?”

“Snake's still poison if it bites you or not.”

They turned in unison, hearing the hooves of Tom's horse coming over the rise by the orchard. “Doctor's coming,” Tom said. “In his car. Guess he ain't in no hurry.”

Dr. W. E. Platt examined the body. He noted no external signs of struggle or fall, though her neck did appear dislocated. Nor could he find any signs of poisoning or any poison on the premises. In the death of any young woman an immediate suspicion was botched abortion. But a quick pelvic examination showed no signs of an abortion and, in fact, showed that Ola May was a virgin. He concluded that the death had come from “unknown causes.”

Tom took the truck to Safford, where he bought an inexpensive pine coffin and brought it back. They wrapped Ola in quilts and nailed the coffin shut, then lashed it to the back of the truck and started down the road through the canyon toward Klondyke. Jeff drove while Tom, John, and Sisson rode behind the truck. Mr. and Mrs. Bosco followed in their wagon.

When they reached Klondyke, they found Dr. Platt waiting for them with Sheriff Frank McBride and his deputy, Kane Wootan. McBride approached the small funeral procession. “My condolences on your loss,” he said. “We cannot know the ways of the Holy Father.” Jeff simply stared at McBride as if he were speaking in French. “I'm afraid,” McBride said, “that since the cause of death here is undetermined, an autopsy may be necessary.”

Jeff Power just stared straight ahead, his face an index of grief and anger that went far beyond the reach of words. Finally, he simply shook his head. “No.”

“We have a death of unknown causes here,” McBride said. “Dr. Platt is uncertain, and he agrees that maybe another eye might see something he missed.”

By now the entire funeral party had gathered around them. “Enough eyes,” Jeff said.

“Beg your pardon?”