By Tony Hillerman

A demise guy is murdered. A wealthy man's spouse has the same opinion to pay 3 thousand money for the go back of a stolen field of rocks. a sequence of strange, inexplicable occasions is haunting Sergeant Jim Chee of the Navajo Tribal Police and drawing him by myself into the undesirable kingdom of the cruel Southwest, the place not anything stable can live to tell the tale . . . together with Chee. simply because an murderer waits for him there, retaining a thirty-year-old imaginative and prescient that greed has sired and blood has nourished. And just one guy will stroll away.

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Has little need for Sena. Nor do I. B. J. wouldn’t wish him fascinated about any manner. along with, what stable wouldn't it do? They’d ship out a few ignorant deputy. He’d ask loads of questions and go searching after which he’d depart and that might be the top of it. ” She sipped Scotch. “There’s completely not anything for the police to head on. ” “I’m police,” Chee stated. “It can be easy adequate for you,” Mrs. Vines stated. “The humans of Darkness stole the field. you discover them and get it again. ” Chee felt swallowed by way of the couch, engulfed in velvety royal-blue convenience. He thought of what Mrs. Vines had acknowledged, looking a few feel in it. Her eyes have been learning him. one in every of her arms held the glass. The ice moved within the trembling liquid. the opposite hand fidgeted at the denim of her jean leg. Sleet rattled and scratched on the plate-glass window. past the glass, evening was once coming. “The humans of Darkness,” Chee stated. “Yes,” acknowledged Rosemary Vines. “It should have been them. Did I let you know not anything used to be taken other than the field? go searching you. ” She gestured on the room. “They didn’t take the silver, or the work, or anything. simply the field. They got here to get it. and so they took it. ” The silver provider used to be at the sideboard—a nice urn and a dozen goblets on an immense tray. worthy much, Chee notion. And at the back of it, at the wall, an ideal little Navajo yei rug which at the reservation might deliver thousand funds from the greediest of investors. Chee resisted an impulse to invite Mrs. Vines what she intended via “People of Darkness. ” He’d by no means heard of them. however it will be smarter to easily enable her speak. She talked, perched at the fringe of the chair, sipping sometimes. She acknowledged that after she had come to this place—the apartment then nonetheless lower than construction—the foreman of the B. J. Vines ranch were a Navajo named Dillon Charley—the guy now buried subsequent to Vines’ first spouse by way of the storage. Vines and Charley have been neighbors, Rosemary Vines acknowledged. “The outdated guy had geared up himself a few kind of church,” Mrs. Vines stated. “B. J. used to be drawn to it. Or looked to be. He claimed he wasn’t; acknowledged he used to be simply humoring the outdated guy. yet he used to be . I’d pay attention the 2 of them speaking approximately it. and that i comprehend B. J. contributed funds. And for those who Navajo Police have been arresting them, B. J. helped get them out of detention center. ” “Arresting them? ” Chee requested. knowing dawned. “Was it for utilizing peyote? ” If it used to be, Dillon Charley’s cult used to be a part of the local American Church. It had flourished at the Checkerboard Reservation after global warfare II, and have been outlawed by means of the Tribal Council due to its use of the psychedelic drug in its ritual; however the federal courtroom had thrown the tribal legislations out on grounds that it violated freedom of faith. “Peyote. certain. That was once it,” Rosemary Vines stated. “Drug abuse. ” Her voice used to be scornful. “B. J. is rarely discriminating in his pursuits. besides, B. J. gave them a few kind of factor out of that worthy field of his. He and Dillon Charley had the field out a number of instances. And no matter what it was once extremely important to their faith. And now they’ve stolen it.

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