Free Night of the Wolves by Heather Graham Page A

tepee.
    A man stood in front of it, as still as the cliffs themselves, his face set in an expression that told them nothing of his feelings.
    Cody noted that the warriors who had watched them from above had descended a path down the face of the cliff and were now following them, six men on horseback, silent and orderly.
    Tall Feather did not have an intermediary speak for him. He waited for them to dismount directly before him, by which time the entire tribe had gathered around. Warriors, stone-faced, stood without hostility, but at the ready should there be any threat to their chief. Women hovered behind the men; children looked out around their mothers’ knees.
    “Tall Feather,” Brendan said, “I have brought you my friend Cody Fox, who has come to help us all with the evil that has invaded this land we share so peacefully. May we speak with you?”
    At last the chief moved, merely inclining his head. That seemed to be the signal for two of his warriors to take their horses as they dismounted. Cody nodded his thanks, and the young warrior who took the reins gave him a slight smile in return.
    Tall Feather preceded them into the tepee, where a central fire burned, the smoke escaping through a shaft atthe peak. Tall Feather’s tent was large, and Cody saw sleeping pallets and skins all around the edge. Tall Feather had many children, it appeared.
    He sat before the fire, indicating that they should join him. Something bubbled in a pot that hung over the fire. It smelled oddly like coffee, Cody thought.
    The chief was dressed handsomely in hand-sewn and beaded buckskin, a band around his forehead keeping his long braided hair from his face. Cody estimated that the man had to be in his sixties, but his posture was so erect and his muscles so honed that they were at odds with the reality. His face, however, was deeply lined, and there were many gray strands in his long black hair.
    “We are living in grave times,” Tall Feather said, staring at Cody. “I am anxious to hear what you can do to help.”
    The man definitely didn’t need an interpreter. His English was perfect.
    Cody spoke carefully. “Chief, what I hope to do is root out the evil that my friend Brendan has spoken of. To do that, we must first find the heart of that evil. It’s my belief that this man, Milo, is more than your usual outlaw. So no matter how brave, strong and selfless your men may be in battle, they simply aren’t prepared to fight this particular enemy.”
    To Cody’s surprise, Tall Feather smiled. “You need not be so careful in your words, Cody Fox. You are not speaking to one of your reporters.”
    Cody smiled in return. “I’m talking about a different kind of being. Something diseased and…not human.”
    Tall Feather nodded. “In our culture, the Black Sky and the Earth Mother came together and created our Great Spirit, who we call Hascin. When a man or maid is ill,ghosts will offer them fruit, and if they accept, they will go on and enter the new world. If they do not, they will return to us. If they eat of the fruit and die, we take them carefully to their burial place. The dead are tended reverently, clad in their best. The horse of the dead man is slain, and his belongings are dispersed. The funeral party takes a different route back from the burial site, because we believe in ghosts, and our ghosts do not always come to plant a gentle kiss on the cheek of a loved one. Our ghosts sometimes come with vengeance in mind, angry over some wrong that was done to them in life, and they can take many forms, perhaps the coyote or the bear or the mountain lion.”
    Tall Feather paused, and Cody nodded silently, certain that it wasn’t his time to speak yet.
    After a moment Tall Feather nodded, as well, satisfied that Cody accepted the way of the Cave Warriors. Then he went on.
    “At first I thought that ghosts had come in the form of these outlaws, an army of ghosts, our enemies from years gone past,” he said.
    “So you fought