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don't know. If they have, they need my
protection."
    "No one can outguess the
weather," he replied, plainly dismissing her concerns. "I'll take you
out as soon as your health and the weather permits. In the meantime, I want the
rules clear. You have full reign in this room. Help yourself to food, add logs
to the fire, whatever you need."
    "I'm leaving in the morning,
Morgan. No —"
    "Don't go outside after
dark."
    "—matter how hard—"
    "It's for your own safety.
This is not a civilized national park. It's a wild forest land. There are
dangers out there you can't imagine."
    "—it's snowing."
    Morgan waved his hands toward the
bedroom with a grace unusual for a man his size. "Please respect my
privacy and stay out of my room. My taste in music is rather unusual, so you
may hear strange sounds at night. Ignore them. They mean nothing."
    "Didn't you hear me? I'm
leaving in the morning."
    "Yes, I heard, but you can
talk forever and it won't change anything. There are already drifts over twelve
feet high out there, and you're still weak as a lamb."
    Dana slammed her hands on her hips.
"Don't tell me about snow! I grew up in the backwoods of Montana. No
Arizona snowstorm could compare to that."
    "Oh?" Morgan walked to
the window and lifted the shade. "Come here, Dana."
    She didn't know why she obeyed so
meekly, but she did, and what she saw outside shocked her.
    A maelstrom of black and white.
Nothing but swirling blizzard. The wind howled. The cabin walls creaked and
moaned. The roof shuddered. An icy draft swept down the chimney, creating a
shiver in the licking flames.
    Dana felt the chill to her marrow.
Turning away without uttering a word, she went to the daybed and climbed
beneath a warm blanket, suddenly grateful to be inside this sturdy shelter. Her
head throbbed, her every muscle ached, and Morgan was right. The storm was a
bad one, and she wasn't in any condition to go out in it.
    At least not soon.

 
 
 
 
    Chapter Three

 
 
    "Unit thirteen-twelve calling
Base Camp Lobo," called Charlie Lonetree into the speaker of the stat icky
CB.
      "Give it up, man." Deek Kowalski swiveled
his seat and gestured at the radio. "They can't hear you, for crissake.
There's too much weather."
    "Yeah well, I'm trying to get
an okay to go in."
      Deek glanced skeptically out the windshield. A
foot or more of snow surrounded their well-equipped van. "I'm guessing
even four-wheel drive won't move us till the plow gets here. Why worry? We got
plenty of fuel and a week's worth of food." He leaned over, pulled a bag
of Cheetos out of a cupboard and began ripping it open. "Want some?"
    Charlie shook his head. "What
I'd like is to get some miles between us and Ebony Canyon." Deek hooted
and slapped his knees.
    "You don't believe those old
legends, do you, man?"
      "Shit, no. But the snow's heavier at this
elevation. Sooner we get down, sooner we'll move out of it."
      "You can't pull one over on me. You half
think it's true."
      Charlie ignored him and peered out the
snow-battered windshield, thinking he saw man-shaped shadows darting among the
swirls of white. Imagination. Spooks from tales told by the grandfathers. He
didn't even do the sweat lodges anymore, much less practice the old ways.
    Deek was still laughing, the son of
a bitch.
      "Dooweep, dooweep, dooweep." Deek
waggled his fingers ominously, then clutched his chest. "Help! Bigfoot's
coming! Watch out! There's the ghost of Geronimo! Whoops! Here's a
tyrannosaurus rex looking for supper!"
      "Knock it off, asshole." Charlie
snatched the speaker back up. "Unit thirteen-twelve calling Base Camp
Lobo."
      "Hey," Deek exclaimed, apparently
losing interest in giving Charlie a bad time. "The storm's easing
up."
      "Yeah?" Charlie glanced up from the
radio. Sure enough, the snowfall had ebbed to drifting flakes, and the wind had
slowed. "The CB's still not getting through."
      "Chill out, man." Deek shoved out
the Cheetos bag. "Sure you don't want any?"
      "Maybe