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way I do so that it would look like I’d killed him.”
    “Who would do that?”
    “I have no idea. They were pretty crafty with the arrow, so I’m thinking there may be other evidence they’ve arranged to point in my direction.”
    “You didn’t see who shot the arrow?”
    “No.” Cork looked to Meloux. “Sam Winter Moon taught me to hunt in the old way, Henry. He taught a lot of men to hunt that way.”
    Meloux was clearly already ahead of Cork. “You are a good hunter. You read the ground, and you listen to the air. Yet you did not see the man who shot the arrow. So you want to know who else Sam Winter Moon taught to hunt in the old way. You want to know who could hide himself from you so good.”
    “If Sam were here, I’d ask him. But he’s not, so I’m hoping you might know.”
    The room was lit with light from a kerosene lantern in the center of the table. The shadows of Cork and Rainy and Meloux fell against the walls, and when Meloux shook his head, his shadow self did the same.
    “Sam Winter Moon taught many,” he said.
    “Some of them have already walked the Path of Souls, Henry. And some have grown too old to hunt that way. And some no longer live on the rez. I want to know who’s still here. And of those, I want to know who’s good enough to hide from me.”
    Meloux had made his chairs long ago. They were sturdy pieces, but so old that they creaked easily under the weight of those who sat in them. Meloux’s chair complained as he leaned back and studied Cork’s face and gave the issue long, patient thought.
    “It would not necessarily take such an expert to hide from you,” Meloux said at last. “A hunter is only as good as his mind will let him be. You were distracted today.”
    Cork realized that the old Mide, in his mysterious way, had divined an important concern. “Jubal and I had kind of a falling-out, and we were both pretty upset.”
    “Over what?” Rainy asked.
    “It doesn’t matter. But Henry’s right. I was distracted.”
    “So maybe it was not such a good hunter you did not see,” Meloux said.
    Cork was disappointed. He’d believed he might have a way of narrowing the field of suspects, but Meloux’s insight cast a deep shadow of doubt over the possibility.
    Then Cork thought of something else.
    “I believe somebody followed me here, Henry. They were pretty good because most of the way I only had the sense of their presence, nothing really solid to give them away.”
    “Most of the way?” Rainy said.
    “At the end, when I came onto Crow Point, I’m almost certain I heard a voice say something to me from the woods.”
    “Did you see anyone?”
    “No.”
    In the lantern light, Meloux’s dark eyes burned with a little flame of intrigue. “And what did this voice without a body say, Corcoran O’Connor?”
    “Just one word, Henry.”
    Meloux blinked and waited patiently.
    “Traitor,” Cork finally replied.

C HAPTER 5

    A fter he first met Jubal Little that day in Grant Park with Winona and Willie Crane, Cork had almost nothing to do with the new kid in town. Jubal was a grade ahead, and their paths seldom crossed in a way that allowed the kind of interaction that might have led to friendship. Whenever the opportunity did arise, Jubal seemed completely uninterested in pursuing it. That was fine with Cork; he had plenty of friends. Still, Jubal Little, in his size and the assuredness of his bearing, stood out in a way that couldn’t be ignored. And whenever Cork was with Winona and Willie Crane and they spotted Jubal, he couldn’t miss how Winona’s gaze fixed on the big, distant figure.
    In a small town, people talked, and he knew a few things about Jubal. He knew that the older boy had come with his mother from the West, though from where exactly seemed a bit of a mystery. Although there was clearly Indian in Jubal’s blood, his mother didn’t look Indian at all. And while Cork knew that looks alone didn’t tell the whole genetic story, he figured that