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em。 Bill Smithback brought up the rear； his unruly hair imprisoned beneath a suede cowboy hat。 The exhausting course of antibiotic treatment he and Nora had undergone ended two weeks before； but beneath the hat brim the writer's skin was still struggling to regain a healthy color。
The late August sky was sprinkled with light cumulus clouds； drifting over a field of brilliant turquoise。 Wrens flitted about； filling the sweet little canyon with their bell…like cries。 A merry stream； shaded by fragrant cottonwoods； ran sparkling across a bed of soft sand。 At almost every bend in the canyon were small alcoves； Anasazi dwellings tucked inside them： none more than two or three rooms； but lovely in their humble perfection。
Nora let her horse keep its own pace； concentrating on nothing but the sun beating down on her denimed legs； on the murmur of water nearby； on the swaying of her mount。 Every now and then； she smiled to herself as she heard Smithback behind her； leveling curses at his balky mount； who stopped frequently to nibble a patch of clover or bite off the top of a thistle； pletely ignoring the dire threats and imprecations of his rider。 The man just had no talent with horses。
She realized how lucky she was to have him here； how lucky she was to be here herself。 Briefly； her thoughts returned to their struggle out of the wilderness a month earlier： Smithback weak； Nora herself growing steadily weaker as the fungal infection took hold。 If Skip and Ernest Goddard had not met them halfway down the trail with fresh horses…and if there had not been a powerboat waiting at the trailhead； or helicopters idling at Page…they would probably have died。 And yet； for a time； Nora almost thought it would have been easier to die than to tell Goddard the news： how their incredible discovery had turned into such a terrible personal tragedy for him。
Here； thirty…odd miles northwest of the ruin of Quivira； the countryside seemed built on a smaller scale： friendly； verdant； well…watered。 John Beiyoodzin had paused in his long story…he had paused frequently during the ride； giving his narrative time to sink in。
As they rode on through the sunlit silence； Nora allowed her thoughts to move gradually from Goddard to her own father； and of what she had so far been able to piece together of his own last trip up this canyon。 He had taken very little from Quivira。 In fact； far from being a pothunter； he had carefully refilled what excavations he had made in a way that would have pleased even Aragon。 But in doing so； he had exposed himself to a concentration of the fungal dust； and grown sick。 Riding north in hopes of finding help； his sickness had worsened to the point where he could hardly sit his horse。 Nora wondered how he would have felt。 Would he have been terrified？ Resigned？ As a child； she remembered hearing him say that he wanted to die in the saddle。 And he had done just that。 Or almost： eventually being too sick to ride； he had dismounted。 Then he turned his horses free and waited to die。
〃It was my cousin who found the body；〃 Beiyoodzin said； resuming his story。 〃It was lying in a cave at the top of a small rise。 Seemed to have been there about six months。 The coyotes couldn't reach it； so it hadn't been disturbed。〃
〃How did your cousin find it？〃 Skip asked。
〃Looking for a lost sheep。 He saw some color in the rock…shelter； climbed up to take a look。〃 Beiyoodzin paused to clear his throat。 〃Next to the body was the notebook…the one Nora has now。 Sticking out of the front shirt pocket was a letter； stamped and addressed。 And beside him was a satchel holding the skull of a mountain lion； inlaid in turquoise。 So my cousin went back to Nankoweap； and he was a talker； and soon the entire village knew of the dead white man in the canyon to the south。 And because of the turquoise skull； they also knew this white man had found the city we had kept secret for so many years。〃
His voice trailed away for a moment before returning； softer； more thoughtful。 〃This was not a city of our ancestors。 Those few who had been there…my grandfather was one…said it was a city of death； of oppression and slavery； of witchcraft and evil。 There are stories in our past of a people who came out of the south； who enslaved the Anasazi； and forced them to build these great cities and roads。 But they were destroyed by the very god who gave them power。 Most who went to the city came back with ghost sickness and soon died。 That was many； many years ago。 None of my people have returned to the city since。 Until recently。〃
Beiyoodzin deftly rolled a cigarette with one hand。 〃The discovery of the body caused a problem for the tribe； because the secret of the city lay with the body of the man。 To reveal the presence of the body would be to betray the secret of the city。〃
〃Why didn't you just destroy the letter and notebook？〃 Nora asked。
He lit the cigarette； inhaled。 〃We believe that it is extremely dangerous to handle the effects of the dead。 It is a sure way to get ghost sickness。 And we all knew what the white man had died from。 So； for sixteen years； the body lay there。 Unburied。 It just seemed that the simplest thing to do was to do nothing。〃
Beiyoodzin stopped his horse abruptly and turned toward Nora。 〃That was wrong。 Because we all knew that the body in the cave had a family。 That somebody loved him； wondered where he had gone and whether he was still alive。 It was cruel to do nothing。 Still； doing nothing seemed the easiest； safest course of action。 But doing nothing caused a small imbalance。 And this imbalance grew； and grew； until it ended in you ing here and all these terrible killings。〃
Nora reined in her own horse beside Beiyoodzin's。 〃Who mailed the letter？〃 she asked quietly。 It was the question she had been burning to ask for many； many weeks。
〃There were three brothers。 They lived in a trailer outside our village with their alcoholic father。 The mother had run off with someone years before。 These were smart boys； though； and they all got scholarships and went down to Arizona for college。 They were hurt by this contact with the outside world； but hurt in very different ways。 Two of the boys dropped out and came back early。 They were disgusted with the world they had found； and yet changed by it。 They had grown restless； angry； eager for the kind of wealth and power that you can't e by in a village such as ours。 They no longer fit in with the rest of my people。 They began turning from the natural way of things； searching out forbidden knowledge； learning forbidden practices。 They found an old man； an evil man…a cousin of the man who murdered my grandfather。 He helped them； revealed to them the blackest of all the arts。 The village began to shun them； and they in turn rejected us。 In time； they turned to the greatest taboo of all…the ancient ruins…and eagerly picked up what dark hints of its history still remained among our village。
〃The third brother graduated and came back home。 Like the other two； there were no jobs here for him； and no hope of finding one。 Unlike his other brothers； he had converted to the Anglo religion。 He despised our beliefs and our fear of ghost sickness。 He thought we were superstitious and ignorant。 He knew of the body in the cave； and he felt that to leave it there was a sin。 So he searched out the body； carefully arranged the man's possessions； covered the body with sand； planted a cross。 And he mailed the letter at a trading post。〃
Beiyoodzin shrugged。 〃Of course； some of this is just my guess。 I'm not sure why he sent the letter。 He couldn't have known if it would ever reach its destination； sixteen years after it had been written。 Maybe it was to atone for a wrong he perceived。 Or maybe he was angry at what he thought were our superstitions。 Perhaps he did the right thing； I don't know。 But what he did caused a terrible break with the other two brothers。 There was drinking； there was an argument。 They accused him of betraying the secret of the city to the outside world。 And the two brothers killed the third。〃
Beiyoodzin fell into another silence。 He turned his horse's head and they resumed their slow journey up the canyon； the horses splashing across the stream at each ben