Dozing while sitting in a Bronco's passenger seat was not Jim's favorite activity on hot June afternoons. The sounds of rubber on asphalt and Blair humming one of his more obscure grunge tunes drifted through his dreams. Utah weather was sticky. Jim missed the Cascade summer days which sparkled like crown jewels in sunlight.

"Shit!"

Jim snapped awake to see a battered pickup truck in their lane; they were milli-seconds from a head-on collision. He braced for disaster.

Blair slammed the brake pedal to the floor. He twisted the wheel. The Bronco slewed sideways. The truck's left bumper missed them by less than an inch. The truck, still doing sixty, plowed through brush and cactus. Light dun-colored dirt rooster-tailed into the air in its wake.

Their Bronco shuddered, its tires losing rubber to the shoulder's asphalt. Blair steered into the slide, expertly judging the momentum and compensating. The kid was good. Jim turned his head in time to see the old truck jolt violently and flip, passenger side first. It rolled one and a half times before coming to rest.

The Bronco came to a safe stop. Blair's face was parchment white. His hands trembled as he set the emergency brake.

"I'm going to check the other guy." Jim wrenched open his door.

"F-fine..." Blair whispered and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the wheel. "Shit."

"Hey." Jim gave Blair's arm a squeeze before leaving. "Damn good driving."

Blair graced him with a feeble smile.

Jim jogged back. The stretch of road seemed empty but he could hear a large semi-truck coming. Hopefully it would have a radio.

The wrecked truck had landed roof down. Four tires rotated lazily in the heat. Jim reached the cab, keeping lookout for snakes or other creatures which might take offense to the rude intrusion into their habitat.

He squatted down to peer inside. "Hey, you okay?"

The driver seemed stunned. A gash dripped up into his dark hair as he hung upside down by his seatbelt. Jim dialed up his sense of smell: sweat, blood, and gasoline. No alcohol. Careful of the broken glass, he reached in to check for a pulse. It was strong. Air moved in and out of the driver's lungs with ease.

"Wha...?" The driver opened his eyes and looked about in a daze.

"You've been in an accident. Keep still," Jim told him as he reached further into the cab and turned off the ignition. Fuel was leaking into the desert, they didn't need a fire started.

"Jim, how is he?" Blair shouted. He stood by the road next to an older man holding a cell phone. Jim saw a semi truck parked on the shoulder.

"Single occupant, alert, good pulse, breathing okay. Head injury and possible broken arm," Jim called back.

The semi truck driver raised his hand in acknowledgment and dialed.

Help was on the way.

"Hey, isn't that the guy we just helped carry into the ambulance?" Blair pointed to a man getting out of a white van.

Jim was still talking to the semi truck driver. He turned to look. "What?"

"That guy. Looks just like-"

"You're right. He's got to be a brother."

The site of the wreck was humming with activity. A fire engine, ambulance and tow truck lined the shoulder while professionals tended to the injured driver and state police waved the sparse traffic along. Blair had experienced a few tense moments when the cop had first appeared, but it was soon obvious he had no interest in either of them.

"Pete!" The newcomer looked about wide-eyed. "My brother was in that truck!"

"He's okay," Jim assured him, holding up a hand. "He'll be sore and wearing a cast for a while, but he's fine."

"A cast?" the brother blurted. He scrubbed his face and inhaled deeply. "Okay, okay, whatever. As long as he's okay."

Blair pointed to the back of the ambulance. "He's awake. Maybe they'll let you talk to him."

The brother quickly strode away.

Blair's gut picked that moment to rumble unhappily. He picked up Jim's wrist to check the time. It was pushing dinner time and he'd missed lunch.

Jim caught the unspoken message. "I'll get our first aid kit and we'll get going." When Blair moved to follow, Jim held him back. "No, I got it. Take just a second."

"Kay." Blair watched as Jim carefully picked his footing through the broken cactus and uprooted shrubs.

Letting the tension go, Blair massaged his temples and waited. Of all the lousy timing. It had taken a full day of hard talking to convince Jim to stop treating him like a head case, like someone who would fall into a seizure at the drop of a hat. When the guy finally relaxed enough to actually trust him to drive, they'd come within inches of being creamed by a truck.

"You're right. He's going to be okay. He said he fell asleep," the driver's brother announced, walking back from the ambulance. He was a big man, obviously used to a life of physical work, his age somewhere between Blair's and Jim's. "Are you the ones he almost hit?"

"Yeah," Blair answered. "Very almost."

"He said to tell you he's sorry." The man raked a hand through his cropped, jet black hair. "We've both been working double shifts in town. I know that's no excuse... damn, we are screwed."

"What do you mean?" Blair asked.

The guy seemed surprised, like he hadn't realized he had spoken out loud. "It's just... we're starting a new business. Our first clients arrive tomorrow. I don't what I'm going to tell them."

"Ready to go?" Jim said suddenly. Blair hadn't seen him walk up.

"What kind of business?" Blair asked, ignoring Jim's question. "By the way, I'm Blake and this is JR."

"I'm Matt," Matt said, accepting Blair's handshake. "Pete and I own Twin River Guide Service."

Blair noted the callused palms as they shook. Used to making quick decisions about people, Blair liked the guy. "Play on words? You're twins, right?"

"Yeah," Matt answered, suddenly serious as he chewed his lower lip and looked back at the ambulance. "Twin River is also where we live. We run a small campground there."

Jim perked up. "I read your ad in the local paper, back when we stopped for gas."

"You guys looking for a camping spot?"

Jim nodded.

"Consider yourselves our guests, then. For as long as you want." Matt rubbed his forehead unhappily. "It's the least we can do, considering." The ambulance started to pull away and Matt rushed his invitation. "You know the address? You can find it okay? I'll call ahead and tell my wife you're coming. Thanks again." Then he was jogging back down the road toward his car.

Blair felt for the guy, knowing how he'd feel if it were Jim inside the ambulance. "It would be nice not to have to pay for the night."

Jim nodded. "I'm not going to pass up showers and a real toilet."

"Laundromat?" Blair hoped.

"Yep."

Blair grinned. Things were working out.

The campground had lots of shade trees. Jim approved. The lawn was healthy and well cared for. The dirt roads that looped through the campsites were narrow and old looking. The place had some history. A decent brook flowed into a larger river. Their site was nestled on a rise between them.

"Tent's ready," Blair announced, standing with hands on hips as he considered his work. "If we had a bigger one, we could get real cots for sleeping on."

"Getting too old for the air mattress, Grandpa?" Jim stirred the stew. They were having an early dinner and eating up all the leftovers from the last couple of days.

"An air mattress is not the same as a real bed. I guess I miss Grace's little vacation house. That was nice." Blair wandered back to the picnic table and swung his legs over the bench one at a time to sit.

Tossed him a roll to start on, Jim shrugged. "Yeah, maybe when this is all over we can rent it for a vacation."

Blair's face lit up. "That would be so cool. And bring Simon and Darryl down."

"We'd need a bigger house," Jim pointed out. The stew was ready and he ladled out two servings.

"I'll bet she has bigger ones. Thanks, man."

Halfway through the meal they had a visitor. Matt's wife was short and heavy around the middle. They had met her briefly inside the small office attached to the house at the far end of the campground. It was obvious from the way she braced her back that she was soon to be a mommy.

"How do you like your site?" she asked with a shy smile.

"It's great!" Blair bounced up to greet her. "Please sit. Thanks again for letting us stay, Lea. I think we have the best spot in the campground."

She sat next to Jim with a sigh. "We don't get much middle-of-the-week-business this time of year. Our spots are too small for those big motor homes. Some day," she looked wistful, "we'll be able to expand and put in full hook-ups."

Jim preferred the place the way it was now, but he kept it to himself. "How's your brother-in-law doing?"

"Good!" Lea smiled. "Matt's bringing him home in a few hours. I'm so glad you two weren't hurt," she added quickly.

Jim nodded. Had Blair not missed the truck, neither of them would be sitting here right now. His answer was interrupted by a familiar tingling feeling. Jim turned to catch Blair's trance-like expression.

Well, damn.

"I guess I'd better head back," Lea said, turning to push herself off the bench and bringing an automatic response of assistance from Jim. She seemed not to notice Blair's silence as she bid them goodbye.

Jim waited just long enough for her to be out of earshot before he clapped Blair's shoulder. "Sandburg." This would be his first vision since leaving Grace and David. He was starting to think of them as the heralds of bad news.

Blair sagged and would have fallen backwards if Jim hadn't been there. With a groan, his face twisted with pain, the younger man covered his eyes with one hand and shuddered. "No, nooo..."

"Come on, Blair, snap out of it." Jim continued to hold Blair upright while lightly patting his cheek. "Why do you keep doing this?"

Blair's eyes twitched under closed lids. He moaned and held up his hands defensively, then gasped as Jim gave him a quick but gentle shake.

"You with me yet?" Jim asked.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Blair looked around him, dazed. He turned to where Lea had been a minute before and relaxed upon seeing the spot empty. "Oh, god, Jim," he whispered. "Bad... that was a b-bad one."

"What happened?"

"She..." Blair wiped his face with the back of his hand and made like he was getting up. "She had a pretty bad childhood, man."

Jim was ready to catch, but Blair swayed once after getting to his feet and steadied. The late afternoon sunlight looked like it was too bright for him as he shaded his eyes with a hand, his forehead creased with lines.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

"No," Blair whispered wearily. "I gotta crash. Everything hurts." Blair was shuffling toward the tent like he was ninety years old.

The next morning Jim woke to an empty tent and the smell of sausage and eggs. He found his jeans and a clean T-shirt in his bag and pulled them on over yesterday's boxers. He'd shower later. Sticking his head out the tent flap, he smiled at the vision of Blair using lightweight headphones, rocking to tunes as he fussed with the frying pan.

"Hey, Jim!" Blair greeted in a too loud voice. He pulled out one ear plug and continued in a more normal volume. "Breakfast is served, suh."

"Feeling better?" Jim asked as he followed his nose to the coffee pot perking on the camp stove.

"Absolutely!" Blair was just as bubbly as the brew, plucking a sausage out of the pan with his fingers and dropping it into a paper towel. He blew on it before taking a bite. "Ah, hot, hot, but it's sooooo good!"

"Hungry much?" Jim said with a snort as he poured coffee into his travel mug.

"I'm famished. Couldn't find the stew from last night, so I thought I'd use up the last of the breakfast stuff. We can go shopping today, right?" Blair slid two basted eggs, just the way Jim liked them, onto a plate and scooped up four greasy sausages. "Here, man. No potatoes left, but there're rolls in the bag."

"Good enough, thanks." Jim took the plate. Blair was a better than decent camp cook. It was worth the price of clean up to let the younger man fix the meals. "How's the head?"

A cloud seemed to block a bit of Blair's shiny mood. He shrugged. "Pain was gone when I woke up." Blair cleared his throat awkwardly, looking around the camp. "I didn't mean for it to happen, man. It came out of nowhere."

"You want to talk about it?" Jim started eating.

Poking the edges of the cooking eggs with the tip of a spatula, Blair nodded. "It was pretty intense. But now I see that it happened a long time ago. She had a real bastard for a father, man. Lots of screaming and hitting and shit."

"It happens sometimes." Jim wondered about the statistics of women that end up marrying the same type of man after being abused by their fathers.

Blair read his mind. "I want to stick around a day or so, Jim. We need to make sure she's okay."

Jim sighed.

Blair stiffened. "I know what you're thinking. And I'm going to repeat what I said in Sedona, man. What's the point of having this-"

"Hold it." Jim stopped the flow with a raised hand. "First of all, cut me some slack. I didn't say a word. Second of all, let me catch you up on what I did last night while you slept."

"Did?" Confused, Blair almost forgot the eggs until a snap and splatter of grease captured his attention again. "What did you do?"

"I did some `Sentinel-ops'," Jim admitted sheepishly. "Matt brought Pete home last night. Their house is a duplex. Pete lives on one side, Lea and Matt live on the other."

Blair grinned mischievously. "Listened in, eh? Cool." He turned to peer at the distant house. "That has to be at least two hundred yards."

"Anyway," Jim continued with slight exasperation. Blair would be testing him until they were both in an old folk's home. "Matt and Lea had a disagreement about if Pete should stay on his own or sleep on a cot in their living room. She sounded pretty sure of herself. Not one hand was lifted and she won the argument. Matt treated her like a princess."

"Good." Blair scooped his breakfast out and turned off the flame. He settled at Jim's side. "I still say we hang around."

"Tell you what." Jim pushed the bread bag closer to Blair's plate. "We'll go into town and stock up on food. I want to put new wiper blades on the Bronco, maybe run it through a carwash. We'll spend at least another night."

When they returned several hours later with groceries, Jim couldn't help but scan the house as they drove past. He tapped the brakes and Blair shot him a concerned look.

"Lea's inside. She's crying," Jim explained.

"Oh, man." Blair was out of the car before the engine was off.

She answered the side door off the kitchen. Her eyes were red and puffy, her attempt at smiling pathetic. "Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Blair took her hand. "You've been crying. Is Pete okay?"

Jim already knew Pete was somewhere else in the house. He could hear him on the phone.

Wiping her eyes, she tried to be brave. "Pete's okay. We're just having some hard times with the business."

Blair still had her hand. "Can we help?"

"Chief," Jim murmured quickly. "We don't even know the problem."

"Come inside." She drew Blair into the house. Jim had no choice but to follow.

The house was small, but filled with warm colors of earth browns, yellows and oranges. The effect was like an evening sun on a desert canyon wall. Mouthwatering smells of baking bread made Jim dizzy with hunger. He trailed along, doing his best not to drool. Breakfast seemed like a century ago.

"Pete," Lea announced their presence. "JR and Blake are here. They want to know if they can help."

Pete sat in the old recliner, dark circles under his eyes. His forehead had been wrapped with gauze securing a square bandage to his wound. His arm trapped in a cast, he had the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder while he scrabbled some notes in a ledger.

"Help?" Pete repeated. "Hold on, Matt. Those two guys from the accident are here. What are you guys suggesting?"

Jim stepped forward, before Blair could get them more involved than he wanted. "We really don't know what the problem is yet. Only that Lea is upset."

Pete shook his head. "I doubt you can help us."

"We're going to lose everything," Lea said, one hand clutching her heavy stomach. She dropped Blair's hand and sat on a small loveseat. "Matt can't do it by himself. We spent the deposit on supplies and equipment. We can't refund them. We can't!"

"Lea," Pete admonished. "Calm down."

Jim could hear Matt's urgent voice on the other end of the phone, demanding to know what was happening, concerned for his wife. Pete spoke into the handset. "Hold on a second, Matt."

Blair caught Jim's eye, his expression pleading.

Oh, for pity's sake.

Jim sighed. "Look, we've got nowhere to be for a few weeks. We're both willing to give a hand, if we can."

"Come on, Sandburg. This was your idea. A fun-filled fishing trip, you said. Now get your ass out here," Jim snapped.

Cracking one eye open and seeing the blackness of night, Blair groaned. No way was he getting out of his warm sleeping bag. How had Jim managed to get up without jiggling the queen-sized air mattress that filled the tent?

"If you get up right now, you have a chance for some coffee. Otherwise..."

Blair got up.

Dressing hurriedly and shoving his feet into sneakers he emerged to find Jim stirring his bowl of oatmeal by the light of a small lantern. A canopy of stars looked closer than they had any right to be and Blair shivered, hugging his quilted shirt around him. Late June was still damn cold at three in the morning.

"I changed my mind." But he plopped down next to Jim at the picnic table, mouth splitting into a yawn.

"Oh, Lea," Jim singsonged. "What can we do to help? Anything, anything at all."

"Shuddup."

Jim snickered. "At least we don't have to pack. We're all loaded."

Yesterday they had rummaged through Matt and Pete's fishing gear and found waders, river sandals and other odds and ends which made camping in the desert enjoyable. Jim currently wore a dark green baseball cap that had the words `Got Fish' embroidered on the front.

Blair cocked his head. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He took the bowl Jim jabbed into his chest and fumbled for the spoon handle. He carefully shoveled the first bit into his mouth. Yum. Sweet, with bits of dried apricot.

"Actually, I am looking forward to this. Five days on a river. Just having to make and break camp and some cooking. The rest of the time we get to fish." Jim slapped Blair's back and set his empty bowl aside. "If we're going to roam from state to state playing Dudley Doright, at least we managed a cushy assignment."

They finished breakfast and Blair washed the dishes while Jim folded up their tent. They would use some of their own supplies. The rest would stay in the Bronco.

"What time are we meeting everyone?" Blair asked.

"Ninety minutes." Jim saw he had the kitchen boxed up and in the Bronco. "Go grab a shower and shave. I'll finish up."

"Thanks, man." Blair grabbed his kit and jogged toward the shower building. By the time he returned, camp was gone and Jim had the engine warming up. Blair jumped into the passenger side. "We're meeting them at the river, right?"

"Right, they've made arrangements to have the Bronco returned here for safekeeping." Jim made a sharp turn, the vehicle headlights sweeping the nearly empty campground.

Following Matt's carefully drawn map, they arrived at the river on time. The parking lot was just a wide gravel spot off the road with an old wooden outhouse and a weathered sign on a metal post telling anglers to release any fish under fourteen inches. They donned their chest-high waders and sandals. Blair could hear the water gurgle and splash over rocks in the darkness. The air was cool and fresh smelling. He took a deep breath.

And was hit by an unexpected coughing fit.

"Here." Jim was at his side with a water bottle as Blair got the coughs under control.

"Thanks," Blair croaked, taking a long drink. "Much better." One look at Jim's face by the light of the Bronco's headlights and he knew the other man's thoughts. "Don't start, Jim. I'm fine. Besides, you already decreed you're doing all the physical stuff. I'm just along for the ride."

Jim didn't look too happy, but he backed off with the glare. "Don't expect a total vacation. You're cooking and handling the light clean up. Stay clear of the heavy stuff. You're still recovering."

"Yeah, yeah," Blair said, making a talking puppet with one hand. "So you keep telling me."

Jim half-heartedly swiped at Blair's head as a large, white van drove into view. Matt had arrived with the clients. The van pulled a special rigged flatbed trailer with a rack holding two large inflatable rafts. Matt backed the trailer down the gravel slope toward the river.

"Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet my staff," Matt said when the last man stepped out of the van. "This is JR and that's Blake. Guys, meet Doug, Leonard and Charlie."

Hand shaking started. The three looked the business-type, with soft faces and bodies beginning to head toward pudginess from sitting behind a desk all day. The shortest man, a balding guy with a broad smile insisted everyone call him Lenny.

"Okay, while JR and Blake unload, we need to have a quick review of river safety," Matt said. "Let's stand over here and stay out of the way."

Jim and Blair took the hint. They'd reviewed all of this yesterday. They would be the workers during the week. With his twin brother out of commission, Matt was left making sure the three men felt properly cared for. Jim had preferred the menial tasks. He didn't sign on for pampering executives.

Slipping the belts through heavy buckles, they unloaded the lighter raft first. Without the seats and standing frames needed for fishing, this raft's main job was to transport the gear. Carefully they slid it into the water. Blair shivered as the river chilled his legs. His waders were big on him, but allowed him to wear sweatpants underneath.

"Take it over there and tie it off," Jim ordered. "I'll start on the other one."

Blair did, walking carefully over the slick river rocks. The water was as black as ink in the moonlight. The last thing he wanted to do was trip and fall.

After both rafts were in the water, Jim pulled the van forward, bringing the trailer out. They began to load the gear. Everything was inside special waterproof dry bags. Matt had a color code system. They could tell at a glance the contents. Leaving the fishing tackle alone because Matt would be using it in the other raft, they started loading the camping supplies into their raft.

"Wait," Blair said, picking up a bag Jim had set behind the rower's seat. "I'm saving this spot for the stove."

Jim frowned. "Why? I'm trying to keep the heaviest in the center of gravity."

Blair shook his head. "This is a raft, dude. Not a cargo plane. We can move it back a bit. If you set the stove on the side, lash it in with the long side up, you've got a back rest."

Reluctant, Jim let Blair have his way and the raft was soon loaded. They double-checked all tie downs. Matt, finished instructing the clients, joined them and gave his approval.

The eastern horizon had slowly come alive with color. The landscape revealed the fledgling beginnings of canyon walls down stream, the official beginning to the network of creeks that flowed into the river which formed Wraith Canyon.

"Let's go over the communication system." Matt held up his two way radio. "Channel seven will be primary."

Jim unhooked his own two-way and looked at the dial. "Right."

"Do you have the map and GPS?"

Blair pulled out the plastic coated folded map. The campsites were already marked in red. He leaned down and picked up the small GPS from the bow of the raft. "Check."

"Our lunch location is entered. You'll need about ninety minutes to get that prepared," Matt said, sounding like a general leading a battalion into battle. "But if you need more than that, just let me know. I can keep them fishing longer. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Jim tilted his head. "You and your brother were going to pull this off all by yourselves?"

Matt chuckled and nodded. "We're highly motivated. You can't believe how much money city slickers spend to rough it in style. I'll see you for lunch."

Jim tossed him the keys to the Bronco. "Okay, boss."

Blair climbed on board and watched Jim push them into the current and gracefully hop in. They were on the water. The raft glided over the ripples. Blair tried to ignore the cold air seeping down his collar. He'd warm up soon enough when the sun appeared. A tickle in the throat erupted into a sharp cough that caused Jim to pause on the oars.

"Sandburg," he growled.

Blair waved a hand and turned up his coat collar. "It's fine, Jim. Relax."

But when Jim reached down into a bag and tossed him a scarf, Blair took it and wrapped it tightly around his neck.

There, much better.

Blair was starting to look forward to this.

Jim hurt.

The three clients were smoking cigars, lounging comfortably in their collapsible chairs around the campfire while swapping outlandish fishing lies. The night air still held the warmth of the day. The reddish clay in the sheer canyon walls around them caught the firelight, making perfect projections screens for the dancing shadows.

Any other time Jim would have enjoyed a leisurely walk and done some night fishing with one of Matt's extra poles, only...

He couldn't move his arms.

"Jim?" Blair appeared at his side, squatting down on his haunches to get face level. "You okay, man?"

"Just a fishing trip," Jim whispered wearily. He sat on a warm patch of sand, leaning against the large dry bag filled with supplies. "Such harmless words when suggested by normal people."

"What's wrong?" Blair asked, ignoring - typically - Jim's barbed comment.

"I can't move my arms, Chief." Jim tried and stopped when the muscles protested.

"Be right back." Blair hurried over to Matt and spoke in a low voice, bade the clients good night and returned. "Okay, come on. We're going to our tent. You need some attention."

Jim didn't kid himself. He needed Blair to get him off his butt. He let the other man unzip their tent and help him inside. Their sleeping bags were already spread out on the air mattress. He fell onto his bag with a groan.

"I told you to let me take a few turns on the oars," Blair chastised as he dug in a nylon bag. "Maybe tomorrow you're going to listen to me."

"No, tomorrow I'm going to let you get my gun out and shoot me," Jim promised. He knew how much this was going to hurt in the morning.

Blair found whatever he was looking for and leaned over to unbutton Jim's flannel shirt. "Roll over on your stomach. Let's get your shirts off."

"Such a romantic."

"Ass."

"Sweet talker."

Blair was laughing as he pulled Jim's outer shirt off. "Do you want help or not?"

Grudgingly, Jim flopped over. A minute later Blair's fingers began to work unscented sports cream into his shoulders. "Ahhh, I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"Seriously, man. Can you do another four days of this?"

Blair sounded worried and Jim had to chuckle. "I'm fine, coach," he joked. "I'm just a bit out of shape. And working with oars is different than lifting weights. I'll be good to go tomorrow. I'll warm up slowly and take more breaks."

"And you'll let me help." Blair concentrated all his effort on Jim's upper right arm.

God, it felt good. "Keep that up and I'll promise you anything," he mumbled into his bedding. "Did I mention my back is sore?"

"You should drink more water, too," Blair muttered. "I'll check our supply. I can filter some in the morning. I don't want to use those purifying pills with your senses. Who knows what results..."

Blair's rambling continued. Jim scarcely listened. The attention his sore muscles were receiving had reduced him to a puddle of sleepy oblivion. He had to admit, the day had been incredible, the scenery spectacular. They had even managed to fish a few times. Both of them had landed several beautiful trout. Blair had kept the meatier ones and served them for dinner. Matt had literally glowed after the clients had praised the food.

After being on the run from the government, this trip was like a dream vacation, even if he was sore.

Jim blinked his eyes open and it was early morning. Just like that. He'd never slept so soundly. He was warm within his sleeping bag, his upper body sore but manageable. Blair's back was pressed up against his shoulder. The younger man was snoring. Jim lifted his arm to check his watch, noting the way his muscles responded with a dull but manageable ache. They'd need to be up in one hour to start breakfast.

Jim lay still and listened to Blair's lungs fill. Thankfully, he couldn't detect any hint of the earlier illness. Still, if he got up now, he could do Blair's share of the work and let the kid sleep in. After last night's massage, he felt like returning the favor. Getting out without waking his tent-mate, Jim dressed in layers in deference to the chilly predawn air and found his sunglasses and hat. He'd need them soon enough.

The camp was quiet. The stars gave Jim all the light he needed. In half an hour the sun would be lighting up the horizon. The river gurgled and murmured over the rocks, a pleasing background noise to the nearby choir of frogs.

Jim sorted out the stuff he'd need for breakfast and laid them out in order, eggs, vegetables to chop, cheese to grate. There was a collapsible oven that set atop a camp stove so he readied a pan of biscuits from a tube, taking care to brush the tops with salt water, a trick he'd picked up from an old Army gunnery.

Jim put the biscuits in the oven. Charlie emerged from the larger, four man tent. He sniffed the air like a grizzly bear and stumbled Jim's way.

"Good morning," Jim said pleasantly, poured a cup of coffee and set it on the edge of the roll-up table. He then struck a match and lit the lantern hanging from a tripod. "Sleep well?"

""nough to get by. Damn partners snored half the night," Charlie grumbled. He seemed younger than the other two, more muscle and vain about his appearance. With black hair and chiseled features, it was unlikely he spent many Friday nights alone.

"I didn't notice," Jim commented. "I think we have ear plugs somewhere. You can ask Matt."

"Yeah, might be a plan." Charlie took the coffee and one of the flashlights set out for them to use and ambled off toward the latrine trench Jim had dug the day before. It was out of sight from the camp, up a side draw and down wind.

Jim went back to chopping bell peppers. When the frying pan was the proper temperature, he began Charlie's breakfast. Blair picked that moment to wake and roll over in his bag. Jim grinned, listening to the familiar sounds of his partner trying to psych himself into getting up. No matter where they were, it didn't change.

First Blair would groan in denial, as if the morning was some personal attack on his character. Then he'd lie real still for a bit, probably pretending to sleep. But before long, he'd squirm and smack his lips. A short muffled curse and then...

"Morning, Jim." Blair's laces were undone, trailing behind his tennis shoes as he stumbled to the camp chair and fell into it.

"Morning." Jim passed over a full coffee cup. "And it's JR, remember?"

"Oh." Blair cringed, his reaching hand pausing as he quickly looked around. "Sorry, man."

"It's okay, just watch it around the others." Jim checked the oven. "Sleep okay?"

Both hands wrapped around his coffee mug in prayer, Blair nodded as he sipped. "Had some weird dreams. Remember being..."

"What?"

Blair shrugged. "I dunno... mad, scared, running. It's all mixed up."

Charlie returned, his flashlight beam bouncing over the trail before brushing over the table and pinning Blair who raised his hand to shade his eyes. Jim set the finished omelet down before the empty chair. He cracked four eggs into the plastic bowl, gave them a firm whisk and poured them into the hot skillet before checking on the biscuits.

"So you do breakfast and Blake does dinner, huh?" Charlie asked as he sat down to his meal. He began eating. "This is pretty good."

"Blake's not much of a morning person," Jim said with a grin. The biscuits were ready. He turned off the gas and flipped two golden topped treats into Charlie's plate before ripping a paper towel from the roll and using it as a plate for Blair. He added some honey the way Blair liked them and put the rest of the biscuits back into the oven to stay warm.

Blair slouched in the chair, tipping on the edge of sleep. Jim nudged the chair leg with his foot. "Stay awake. Eat before they're cold."

"I'm up," Blair responded with a sudden start and then yawned. His right hand found the warm bread and he began eating, his head resting in his left palm, elbow on the table. He opened his eyes and watched Jim work. "How's the arms?"

"Better," Jim told him.

"You're going to let me row today, right?" Honey dribbled down his wrist. Blair caught it with his tongue.

"We'll see." Jim used his `not now' look and Blair rolled his eyes. He sat up straight and reached for the coffee pot.

Charlie was watching them as he ate, a slow grin growing. "You two related or something?"

"Half brothers," Jim replied. The story had worked in Montana, easier to keep the fibs consistent. He had enough difficulties getting Blair to remember to use their aliases.

"It shows." Charlie snickered. "First we thought you two were a couple, but Matt said he didn't think so."

"You guys were talking about us last night?" Blair asked, indignant.

"Nothing personal, guys." Charlie raised both hands as if to surrender. "Just speculation."

Jim had caught some of their fish-wife-gossiping while falling asleep. Once again Jim considered getting Blair to cut his hair. They wouldn't be so memorable if Blair didn't look like a hippie to his own military aura. It wasn't like Jim could easily grow his hair to his shoulders and slip a large peace medallion over his neck.

"Even if we were, which we're so not, what would it matter? You guys are here to fish. We're just the workers." Blair started in, warming up to his `let's all live in peace' lecture.

Jim caught his eye and shook his head as he scooped the fresh omelet into a paper plate and set it before Blair. "Eat. Then start rolling up our bags and get our stuff packed."

Blair's indignant scowl remained in place as he started eating.

Lenny and Matt both picked that moment to appear from their respective tents, followed a few seconds later by Doug. Jim broke more eggs and set to work. Dawn arrived. The clients would want to eat and hit the river.

"That's the last of it," Jim said, standing straight to survey their work. He adjusted his sunglasses to sit squarely on the bridge of his nose.

Last night's camp on a sandy bar was just a memory. All traces of their stay had been erased. It had been a comfortable place and Blair hoped the others would be as nice. He checked the hand-held GPS in his palm. "Matt said today's leg won't be as long as yesterday's. We should get plenty of fishing time in."

Pushing the raft into position, Jim stood in knee deep water, protected by his waders. He looked over his shoulder at Blair. "You want to take the first turn on the oars?"

"Yeah," Blair answered, pleased and surprised at the same time. He waded out to the raft. "Here, hold this."

Jim took the GPS. Blair scrambled onto the raft, taking the middle seat. He lifted the heavy, wooden oars from their resting place and nodded to Jim. "Okay."

Jim pushed them into the current and jumped aboard. The long raft gathered speed and they were off on their second day as `fish guide crew'. Blair spent a few seconds figuring out the oars, getting the raft pointing bow first down river. A pillow-like rise in the water ahead warned of a large rock hiding under the surface. Putting his back into his pulls, he moved the raft and they glided safely pass the hazard. Cool, he did it. Blair glanced expectantly at Jim, but his friend's head was bent over the map, as he absentmindedly pinched his lower lip in thought.

No time to seek praise. Another rock was coming up. Jim had made this look so easy yesterday. Blair tugged on the oars. The raft responded. This was fun.

"When we get back to Cascade, we should take Simon and Daryl down a river," Blair suggested. "They'd really enjoy this."

"Uh, huh." Jim continued to study the GPS, comparing it to the map. "There's some white water a mile down river. It's only level two, but we'll beach the raft and check it out on foot first."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Or we could just shoot it and have a little fun."

"A punctured raft is not `fun' Sandburg."

"It's multi-chambered and we have a patch kit."

"Remind me to get out our life vests out." Jim held up his hand, palm out. "Talk to the hand, Blair. We're both going to wear them for the rapids."

Blair's reply was interrupted as Jim's expression unexpectedly changed. "What is it?"

Jim was looking off to the left. The canyon had opened up to a wide valley of brown, scrub dotted hills. He pointed. "What the hell is that?"

"What?" Blair squinted at the landscape. There was nothing where the Sentinel was indicating. "Jim? What do you see?"

"Pull over," Jim demanded.

Blair instantly obeyed, back rowing toward shore. Jim jumped into the shallows and pulled the raft until it grounded before running up the hill.

"Jim!" Blair searched for the release with his foot and found it. Pushing down hard with his sandaled heel, he heard the river anchor drop with a splash and leapt out of the raft to follow his partner.

Jim was loping up the hillside in the general direction he had pointed. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing they hadn't seen all day yesterday. What had set Jim off? The side of the canyon was still in deep shadows as the morning sun hung low in the sky. Lizards scurried off sun-warmed rocks. A jackrabbit, startled by the sudden appearance of humans, rocketed away in fright.

Blair caught up as the older man finally came to a stop, a puzzled look wrinkling his brow.

"W-what... the hell..." Blair gasped, catching Jim's arm and holding on in case his friend took off again.

"Didn't you see it?" Jim demanded. "It was right here. I swear it was."

"What, man? What was right here?" Blair spun Jim around to face him. "Tell me."

"Sandburg, someone stuck a human head on a pole."

"WHAT!" Blair turned completely around, gaze sweeping the hillside. A cold wind came out of nowhere and chilled him to the bone. He hugged himself tightly. "Where?"

"That's just it!" Jim threw his hands in the air and drew in a deep breath. Shaking his head in disgust, he dragged a heavy palm down his face. "It's obviously not here. My senses must be acting up or maybe the sunlight on the water?"

"No," Blair told him, shaking his head. "We're in the shadows here."

Tilting his head, Jim went still. Blair tried to keep perfectly quiet. "I don't get it." Jim shook his head after a long thirty seconds. "I can hear Matt and the others down river. No one else is around." Jim looked over the terrain one last time before shaking his head. "I'm seeing things."

Blair wasn't as sure. He shivered. "Maybe this is a vision, like a sentinel thing. Did you... recognize..."

"No," Jim answered. "It was no one we know."

"Okay, good." Blair found huge comfort in that fact. A tinge of doubt crossed his mind. Would Jim tell him if he had?

"Come on. Let's get back to the raft." Jim started back down the hill.

Blair followed. This wasn't good. He was certain of it.

They overtook the fishing raft just before the rapids. Matt had the anchor set in a tail-out just above a run of ripples. Lenny was in the raft, fishing from the bow, Doug and Charlie had abandoned them to try the multiple possibilities presented them. Blair didn't know much yet about fly fishing, but he knew enough from Jim to know this river was made for it.

"Don't say anything about before," Jim instructed as they neared the others.

Blair nodded, set the anchor and returned the oars to their rests. He was tired.

"We'll be here a while, it's a good spot," Matt told them.

"You still want the boxed lunches today?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, the guys are going to be more interested in fishing than eating." Matt tilted his head to look at the clouds building in the sky. "Perfect conditions. You two get some fishing in. The spot I marked for camp tonight has some decent pools."

"Sounds good." Jim was pulling out life jackets. He passed one back to Blair. "Time to switch."

"Gladly." Blair made his way forward, clutching the edges of the large raft as it wobbled.

Just then Lenny's fly rod bowed under the weight of a large trout taking his fly and he crowed with delight. Matt moved for the large landing net, ready to land it.

Waiting until after Lenny played the fish and Matt got it into the net, Jim released the anchor and they moved forward toward the rapids.

The fading light cast long shadows from the canyon cliffs. A ghostly set of fingers ran up Blair's spine and he shivered as he sliced raw chicken and tossed it into the hot fry pan. It wasn't like it was cold. He was just unable to shake Jim's morning vision.

The day had been pleasant, even after the strange start. Their run through the whitewater had been exhilarating. The current camping spot had been easy to find and was arguably better than last night's. The natural boulder arrangement provided handy tables and working areas for cooking. The view was picturesque and the river's song was sure to lull them all to sleep tonight.

Still, Blair couldn't stop the heebie-jeebies. He poked at the chicken strips, intent upon browning the sides evenly and didn't hear Jim's approach.

"How come I get the shitty jobs?" Jim groused.

Blair rolled his eyes. "Because you said I wasn't well enough to do things like dig latrines."

"I'm rethinking my diagnosis."

"Too bad. I'm getting used to the plan."

"Good," Jim said, leaning the shovel against a boulder and washing his hands in the plastic sink basin atop the collapsible stand. A telescopic pole held a large, black bag filled with water. The sun's warm rays soaked into the plastic and heated the water, providing a comfortable wash or shave. "Because I've been thinking. What would you say to staying on? Working for Matt and Pete until our meet in Colorado?"

A month of these canyons? Blair didn't like it. "We don't even know if they can afford it," he answered quietly, unwilling yet to divulge his ominous feelings.

"Doesn't hurt to ask."

Carefully scooping the cooked chicken onto a plate, Blair covered it with foil to keep warm. Time to start the vegetables. "Would you let them know we're eating in fifteen?"

"Sure." Jim wandered over to where the others were drinking imported beer and talking about their day.

By the light of the campfire and the nearby lantern, the scene looked ancient, tribal men gathering together at the end of the day. It didn't take much imagination to fit Jim into the picture as a tribal watchman, someone who had earned the honor and respect of the other men.

Blair snorted. Jim would laugh out loud if he knew Blair's thoughts.

The stir fry sizzled. Blair moved rapidly, adding spices and keeping the sliced vegetables from being overcooked. Within the allotted time, the meal was ready and he divided up the food. Jim helped carry them to the eager hands that waited.

"This is good," Charlie reported.

"Yeah, best camping food I ever ate," Lenny said before stuffing half a roll into his mouth.

Matt's broad grin made Blair smile.

When they'd all finished eating, Jim served lemon pie. The dessert had survived the journey in a special container. The fluffy egg-white topping was perfect.

"When I was a kid, my old man would take me and my brothers camping like this," Doug said with a fond expression. "Really brings back the memories. This is great."

"Yeah, us too," Lenny added. "This was always the time we'd start scaring ourselves stupid with ghost stories."

"I know one," Charlie started and launched into a classic, complete with greedy wives digging up long dead husbands for their golden arm.

The group groaned.

"Oh, pluh-lease!" Doug snorted. "How about one we never heard before?" He looked at Matt. "You must know a few. Any ghosts roaming around in these hills? With a name like Wraith Canyon, there's bound to be some history."

Crap. That was last thing Blair wanted to think about right now.

The three men looked expectantly at their guide. Matt poked the fire, his expression serious. "I'm not sure you'd call it a ghost story, but there have been some murders around here."

Jim caught Blair's eye.

Matt continued, "The way they tell the story, a long time ago, back when the US Army was still fighting the Apache wars down south, a mule train carrying some payroll was ambushed. All the soldiers were killed and the mules stolen."

Doug leaned forward. "By Indians?"

"Yeah, everyone thought so," Matt answered.

"What would they want with US currency back then?" Charlie asked.

"It wasn't paper money, it was gold." Now that he'd started, Matt was obviously enjoying his role as a story teller. He paused and the other's leaned forward. "Only... they didn't even want the gold. Legend tells they left it behind and it's still hidden in these hills."

"Then what the hell did they want?" Doug asked.

"The mules," Blair said before he realized he'd spoken out loud.

"Right." Matt nodded. "Mules and horse flesh were more valuable than shiny metal."

Lenny stared at the cliffs above. "And no one found the gold?"

"Nope."

Before the tale continued, a dry wind rattled down the canyon and swirled around the campfire. Men scrambled for their escaping napkins. The mood was broken. Standing, Blair headed back for the stove, glad the story time was over.

He was halfway there when he heard Jim shout. Blair turned.

"Move!" Jim shouted, still several yards out and running straight at him.

Blair didn't stop to ask why. The two had been through too many tight situations. He darted to the right, hoping Jim's hand signal was purposeful.

Jim changed course, reaching Blair and wrapping protective arms around his head and pulling him along another six feet before the two went down amid pebbles and fist size rocks that bounced painfully off their bodies.

"Ouch! Damn it, Chief," Jim griped as he tried to pull back.

Blair stuck to him like a leech. "Hold still," he demanded. "I'm almost done."

Jim tried. It wasn't easy, adrenaline still surged through his veins. The rockslide was something he should have foreseen. He felt stupid, even though Matt had assured him that he too had considered the possibility and had previously ruled out any danger.

Now they were peppered with small bruises, but his own head injury was the only thing needing first aid.

"There." Blair rocked back on his haunches. "How's that feel?"

The cut was small, only a quarter of an inch long, slightly left of center and above his right eyebrow. Jim probed it carefully with his fingertips, noting the swelling around the break in his skin. Blair had closed it with narrow plastic adhesive strips and covered it with a flesh colored bandaid. Jim doubted it would leave a scar.

"It's fine," Jim lied. The pain would fade by morning.

They were in their tent, more for privacy than any other reason. The incident had killed off the party atmosphere among the clients and the camp was quiet.

Blair gathered up the first aid supplies. "Good."

Jim saw the odd look on his friend's face and poked his shoulder. "You okay?"

Blair wouldn't meet his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Sandburg," Jim said with a low growl.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Blair snapped. "I'm trying to figure out how a smart guy like you would be stupid enough to run toward a rock slide."

"Riiight," Jim answered. "I'm gonna stand around and watch a mountain land on your stubborn head."

"A simple shout would have sufficed. I do know how to run." Zipping the bag closed, Blair returned the kit to their waterproof daypack.

"Knowing you, you'd want to talk it to death first." He gently flicked Blair's forehead. "Everything's fine, here. We didn't lose any equipment. We got off pretty damn easy. Relax."

Blair forced his tense shoulders to relax and wiped a hand over his face. "Sorry, jumpy, I guess."

"I noticed. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Blair flashed a sudden cheeky grin. "I was pretty fast, wasn't I?"

Recognizing the younger man's `evade and dodge' strategy, Jim lifted a single eyebrow. Continue the line of questioning until Blair shared whatever was eating him or get some rest? The desire for sleep won. He'd get the truth from his partner later. "Don't get all cocky on me, Flash."

Jim woke to complete silence and wondered why. Starlight seeped in through the tent fabric letting him adjust his vision to a comfortable three, enough to see Blair sleeping beside him.

He checked his watch, it was only one AM. They wouldn't have to get up for hours still. Why had he woken?

Blair kicked his legs impatiently, as if something in his sleeping bag was tickling his toes. Jim felt a little restless as well. The day had been long and he should be tired, but something was keeping him from standing down.

A distant howl rolled down the canyon. The fine hairs on Jim's arms stood on end. Utah was home to many wild animals, but Jim would have sworn there were no timber wolfs within fifty miles of them.

"No... please... no gold..."

Jim rose up on one elbow and studied Blair's face. Would this one be bad enough to wake him up?

A new nocturnal cry, piercing and demanding, floated over the land, dropping down into the river canyon.

"What the...?" Jim flipped back his sleeping bag and rolled off the edge of the air mattress. Seconds later he stood outside their tent in the cool night air, surveying the dark landscape with heightened vision.

Blair crawled out of the tent and stood barefoot in the sand at Jim's side. "What is it?" he mumbled around a yawn.

"Sorry," Jim answered automatically. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"'Zkay." Blair rubbed sleep from his eyes. A warm breeze lifted the hair from his shoulders.

Jim caught a scent that made him frown. A brackish smell lingered, like something wet and dead had sat in the sun too long. He didn't like it. It didn't belong in the canyon.

"Let's go back inside," Jim suggested.

But Blair shook his head. Squatting, he reached back into their tent for shoes. "Naw, I'm up and I gotta take a leak." He held up a small flashlight. "I'm even prepared."

Jim watched him walk toward the low shrubs and boulders that hid the latrine from the camp, his unlaced tennis shoes flopping off his heels. After a second, Jim followed. He might as well go too.

The latrine was a narrow, deep trench dug into the sand. Jim had used rocks and sturdy limbs from trees washed down the river to form a makeshift seat. A roll of toilet paper hung on a nearby stick. A shovel leaned against a nearby boulder. All the person had to do was throw a few shovelfuls of sand over their waste when finished and the area remained relatively smell and fly free.

Jim waited quietly in the shadows for his turn while Blair did his business. Just as the younger man finished with the shovel and had set it back down, a large, dark wolf walked out from a narrow opening between two massive boulders.

"Whoa!" Blair exclaimed as he caught sight of the animal's approach. "Oh, man!"

Jim tensed, ready to help, but froze as he realized he was too far away. The animal approached Blair fearlessly, almost tamely. It acted very... un-wolf like.

Blair seemed paralyzed.

"Sandburg... the shovel," Jim whispered harshly.

No, it was too late. The wolf was within biting range. Blair was in serious trouble if it chose to attack. Boxers and a T-shirt were no protection.

"Jim, what do I do?" Blair asked in a rush.

Jim eased forward, leaving the cliff shadows and stepping out into the moonlight. The wolf had dropped its powerful head to sniff Blair's feet. When Jim moved, it hunched nearer to the earth, swung its head toward him and growled. Long, ivory-colored teeth reflected in the moonlight.

A loud, feral yowl from a large cat split the night.

The wolf reacted, turning away from Blair and bounding back the way it had come. Blair bolted for Jim's side.

"Did you see that? Did you SEE that?"

Another sharp, angry feline scream bounced off the cliffs.

"Wow!" Blair whispered harshly. "What the heck is that?"

Jim caught his arm and yanked him along, dragging him bodily back toward the camp. He wanted his gun and he wanted it yesterday. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was a panther."

"Puma?"

"Maybe. Let's get back. The wolf was probably attracted by the scent of food."

"No, no, man." Blair was virtually vibrating with excitement. "It was like we connected! I mean we-"

"Shhh," Jim hissed. "You'll wake up the camp." He urged the younger man toward their tent. "Get in there."

Blair erupted with more chatter as soon as Jim zipped the tent closed.

"Jim, Jim! That was amazing!"

Jim tossed clothing over both shoulders as he searched for his Sig, finding it with his white tube socks. He thumbed the release, eyed the bullet count and slammed the clip back in place.

"No!" Blair tugged on his arm. "You can't shoot it!"

"Calm down," Jim urged. "I won't shoot anything unless it attacks us."

"But you saw!" Blair glowed with wonder as he waved his arms. "You saw, he didn't attack me. He was like - I don't know - checking me out. I mean it could have attacked, but it didn't."

"Listen. Maybe it was domesticated. It happens. Maybe there are some campers around here, or a nearby cabin. But that big cat we heard is most definitely wild, and dangerous. From now on, I'm wearing my gun."

"They'll wonder."

"I can keep it tucked under my shirt. If they ask, I'll tell them about the wolf we saw."

Blair's eyes widened. He bobbed his head in agreement. "Right, right. Good plan, man." Blair shook like a junky in withdrawal. Adrenaline pounded through his veins.

Jim sighed. "We're not getting any more sleep tonight, are we?"

"Whew, I'm glad they're gone," Blair said, watching as Matt and his clients drifted out of sight.

"Agreed." Jim stuffed the last of the tent fabric into a bag and cinched the top closed. "Let's get this finished. Lunch is a big production today."

Blair nodded and set to work. Matt's advertisement had promised at least one gourmet mid-day meal, including wine, and today was that day. Blair opened the ice chest and checked over his ingredients needed for the feast. The dry ice kept the medallion-sized steaks cold. Large shrimps and scallops looked defrosted. He dropped the lid and lugged it to the river. The supply raft waited patiently in the shallow waters, gently tugging on its anchor like a puppy wanting to play.

The raft loaded, they pushed away from the shore. Jim took the oars and Blair cast one last visual sweep of the camp site, making sure they'd left nothing behind.

The morning warmed up quickly. Blair peeled down to his T-shirt and shorts. They passed the fishing raft, receiving a nod from Matt, but ignored by the three clients who were too intent upon their fishing. Blair kept one eye on the GPS. When it finally showed they'd arrived at the lunch location, it was already a quarter past eleven. Lunch would be late.

"Jim," Blair said as he jumped out of the forward seat and tugged the raft closer to shore. "Call Matt and tell him to delay-" A particularly mossy rock rolled under his foot and Blair went down.

Jim was still laughing when Blair finished spitting out water and pushing wet strands of hair out of his face. "Smooth, Daniel Boone, very smooth."

"Shuddup," Blair snapped, then grinned sheepishly. "Actually, it feels good." He slapped the water, sending a heavy spray arcing toward Jim.

The older man dodged and pointed a long finger as he stomped on the anchor release. "Don't start something you can't finish, Junior."

"Ohhh, I'm so scared, Old Man." Blair slapped the water again.

"That's it!" Jim roared as he lunged forward, only to freeze and look back upstream in surprise. "Here they come. Something's wrong."

"What?" Blair straightened. "No way, Jim. They're not supposed to be this close behind us."

"Well, they are."

It was another ten minutes before the raft rounded the bend and came into view. Blair squinted. "That's not Matt on the oars."

"He's the one in the back. He looks hurt." Jim waded out into the stream to meet them.

Doug was on the oars, doing a fair job of guiding the raft into the sandbar. Jim caught it. "What happened?"

Charlie answered, "He slipped, hit his head, he was unconscious for a long time."

Blair went out to help. Together they pulled the raft up to shore. Matt's face was pale. Pain lines crossed his face. He moved sluggishly when Jim tried to check his pupils, causing the ex-medic to frown. "He's concussed," Jim said. "Blake, rig a place to lay him down."

"Use one of our cots," Lenny suggested.

Blair hurried to the other raft and started untying the lashings. He pulled out one of the three foldable cots and Matt's own sleeping bag. By the time he had the cot set up, the others were carrying the groggy fishing guide to the shore. "What can I do, man?"

Jim pointed back at the ice box. "Make me an ice pack."

Right, ice, swelling. Good plan. Blair hurried to comply. The dry ice would be too cold. He scooped a handful of regular ice keeping the vegetables fresh and dropped them into a zip-lock bag and snatched the dish towel from next to the stove.

A grunt and aborted expletive caused him to turn back in time to see Jim drop to the ground in a heap.

"HEY!" Ice pack forgotten, Blair ran for his Sentinel. Lenny and Doug caught him, holding each arm in a bruising grip. "What the HELL are you doing?" Blair shouted, furious. "Let me go!"

Charlie rolled Jim onto his back. Blair could see his partner was unconscious. Furious, he kicked out at Doug. Lenny's fist caught his hair, jerking his head back until he was staring up at the sun.

"Settle down, punk," Lenny ordered. Gone was the even tempered, quiet man from before. This Lenny sounded cruel and angry. "Or we'll kill them both."

Nothing was making sense, but Blair recognized the danger to his partner. He stilled. "Just chill. Take whatever you want, okay? I'm not going to stop you."

Charlie neared. Face still forced skywards, Blair could only see the sights and the hammer of Jim's gun as the barrel dug into the soft flesh under his chin.

"No, you're not," Charlie said.

Waiting for the bullet to drill his skull, Blair wondered how much of his head would be left. At this range, would it explode? He swallowed. A painful act when his neck was bent backward. "What do you want?"

Charlie's proximity was repulsive. He leaned even closer and breathed into Blair's ear. "You."

"JR, come on... `ke up... got to wake up."

Jim reached for the back of his head, expecting to feel it caved in. Instead, his fingers found a painful lump behind his left ear. What the hell had happened?

"B-blair..."

"Who?"

Blinking carefully, Jim focused on the man blocking the sun: Matt. Rising slowly to one elbow, Jim searched the area. Blair wasn't in the camp. "Wh'r iz he?"

Matt looked wretched. "I don't understand it. They're all gone."

Panic took hold. Jim sat up, ignoring the way his head pounded. One of the rafts was missing. The other bobbed on the shore, one side deflated, with water lapping into the gear. "Wha happ'n?"

Matt helped him stand.

"I heard them fighting. Someone musta hit me again, because when I woke up, it was just you and me," Matt explained.

Swallowing hard to fight the urge to puke, Jim pressed both palms against his raging headache and closed his eyes. He spoke carefully. "How long?"

"I don't know." Matt raked his fingers through his hair. "I can't believe this happened. God, I can't believe the rumors were true."

Turning on the man, Jim's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Matt dropped his gaze. "Nothing."

"Don't `nothing' me." Jim grabbed a fist full of shirt and drew the other man close. "My partner is missing and your clients just assaulted us. What the hell is going on?"

"It's her," Matt insisted. He waved a hand at the land around them. "Folks are afraid. They won't come into this canyon. People have disappeared. They say she kills them. We just figured it was a story."

"Who?" Jim demanded, give a quick shake.

"A woman. Right after the gold was lost, three local-"

"Are you talking a hundred years ago?" Jim asked incredulously.

"Yeah." Matt stumbled back as Jim shoved him away. "That's what we thought too. That's why Pete and I decided to ignore the legend."

Jim squeezed the bridge of his nose. "But you needed out of state clients because all the local folks are afraid of this place."

"Right," the other man muttered miserably. "If I'd known it was true, I swear..."

"Okay," Jim snapped, cutting him off. It was time to get Blair back. "Come on, you can explain the rest to me on the way." Jim stumbled over to the damaged supply raft and together they pulled it up onto the island.

"What's the plan?" Matt asked.

"We're going to unload this, patch it and go after them."

"It's ruined."

Jim was busy with the tie downs. He started tossing dry bags on the shore. "It only needs to hold air until we get my brother back."

Matt started to help. "They have a head start."

"We're going after them," Jim spat out. He found the bag that had the patch kit and thrust it at Matt. "Get started with the patching."

Legs cramping, Blair chanced a quick glance over his shoulder. The fist returned, yanking his head back, arching his neck painfully.

"I told you to say still," Charlie ordered with a snarl.

"Listen, man," Blair said with a tightly clenched jaw, "none of this is making sense. What do you want?"

"We want to be free from that Indian bitch for good!" Lenny demanded from the rear of the raft.

"What?" Was the water tainted? A case of group sun poisoning? How could three men go crazy at the same time? "What are you talking about?" Blair demanded.

The raft pitched over several deep trenches in the water, forcing Blair to scramble for a hold. He could feel his hair being ripped by its roots in places as Charlie pulled him back, gun pressed hard between his shoulder blades.

A solid fist to the side of his head caused Blair to fall sideways and bounce off the air chambers that edged the raft. His arms were pulled back and wrists roughly bound by a small diameter cord. Before his vision could properly clear and he had his wits back, the cord began to wrap around his ankles.

"No! Please, man. I can't hang on this way," Blair pleaded.

"Shut up," Charlie ordered as he finished binding his prisoner.

They see-sawed a crazy dance over the rapids. Face smashed against the raft's edge, Blair could only hold his breath as the river splashed him. If he fell out, he would drown for sure.

"It's not going to hold. The glue isn't cured," Matt explained.

Jim jumped aboard. "Bring the foot pump. We'll refill as we go." He threw himself into the oar seat and took the oars in hand.

Matt pushed them off the shoreline.

They had lost twenty precious minutes getting the raft back in useable shape. Extending his senses down the canyon, he wasn't surprised by the fact he couldn't hear the others. Jim rowed with fierce determination. They shot down the river, moving quickly with the missing weight of the camping supplies.

Matt held on.

Jim concentrated on the run of rapids that lasted for five long minutes before the river smoothed out. The damaged air chamber was leaking. He could hear the air spilling through the hasty patch. "Start pumping. Slow and steady."

Matt hooked the flexible hose to the fitting and used his hands to push down on the bellow-style pump.

"Tell me more about this legend," Jim said. "Does it involve severed heads on poles?"

Matt shot him a scared look. "You saw it?"

Of all the stupid luck. Jim shook he head in frustration. "Yeah."

"It said it's a warning."

"From who?"

Rocking on the foot pump with both hands, Matt talked. "There was a man that lived in one of the side canyons, a homesteader. He was married to an Indian woman."

Jim nodded. "Go on."

"The story goes, these three guys from a nearby town got it in their heads the woman knew where the gold was."

"Because she was Indian?"

"Yeah." Matt thumped a knuckle on the side of the raft and leaned back. "They murdered the homesteader, tortured her. But she got away from them. No one ever saw her again."

"That's all?" Jim had a feeling it wasn't.

Matt shook his head. "I have no idea if any of this next part is true. But, later that night, after the three got back to town - one of them owned the hotel, the other worked for him - a cook, I think. I don't know what the third guy did. But, anyway, the hotel caught fire. The three men didn't get out. The story goes, they found their burned bodies, but not their heads."

"We're supposed to believe an injured woman killed three men, cut off their heads and burned down a hotel?" Jim asked as he rowed. Obviously the story had been exaggerated over the years.

"She wasn't just a regular woman. They say she was a shaman. She trapped her murderer's souls on this river, some say they're still looking for the gold. Folks started seeing their heads mounted on poles at the beginning of the canyon. People started staying away."

Head still pounding from abuse, Jim kept a lid on his doubts. Experience told him to look for a practical reason for all this, like greed. How known is this story? Perhaps the three clients are really after the gold. But why go through the hassle of pretending to be fishing? In fact, why waste time hiring a fishing guide at all? They could have struck out on their own.

But Jim was having a hard time believing the other possibility. Did he believe in ghosts? Three cursed men took over the clients and controlled their actions?

None of this made any sense. "A simple fishing trip." Jim shook his head angrily. "When are we ever going to learn?"

Stumbling and slipping on loose rock, Blair made slow progress through the desert brush. They had left the raft behind ten minutes ago. The three men kept prodding him, his hands still tied behind his back. At the top of the steep slope, the land leveled off. A faint trail followed a higher canyon that split from the main one.

"If you guys would just tell me what you want," Blair repeated for the third, maybe fourth time. He was losing track. His foot slipped and he went down on one knee, tearing skin.

Charlie hauled him up by an elbow. "Shut up and walk."

Blair craned a look back over a shoulder, purposely dragging his sandal in the dirt. The river was out of sight. Jim would see the raft. He'd know they'd continued on foot. That was if his friend managed to work his way down river. He'd seen what they had done to the other raft. Sweat trickled down his neck. The day was warming up. The sun was high in the sky and shadows were chased back to the edges of the rimrock that lined the cliffs.

"Why are you doing this?" If he could just get them to talk, Blair was sure he could make them understand this was crazy. Yet the three ignored him.

For complete strangers to the area, they moved with one accord, knowing exactly where they were going. Charlie took lead. Doug stayed the closest to the prisoner, acting the part of guard, pushing Blair forward when he tried to slow down. Yet Blair slowed down again and again.

Jim needed time to catch up.

A nearby wolf howled mournfully.

Jim heard the wolf's cry and audibly traced the echoes that traveled down the canyons. Blair would go all sappy and say something about spirit guides and places of Mysteries.

If he was here.

Jim didn't have time for spiritual hocus pocus. He wanted his friend back. Scanning the river for signs of recent human passing, he ignored his aching arms and overtaxed muscles. He kept up the steady rhythm: push down; lift oar blades; pull back; drop into the current; push hard with the raft leaping ahead, drop and pull back only to do it all again, and again.

Not for the first time, he wished they had a way to call for help. Then again, help would run their names and they'd likely find themselves back in government custody.

No, they had to help themselves.

A flash of blue against brown caught Jim's attention. The fishing raft had been beached on the left bank. "They're on foot."

Matt looked up in surprise. "What?"

"The raft." Jim nodded down stream, knowing too late that he wouldn't be able to see it yet. It was nearly a mile away, just before the far turn in the river. "They've left it behind."

"Damn," Matt said, squinting at the bright sunlight on the water. He lowered his sunglasses back into place. "You've got good eyes."

In just under ten minutes they were alongside the empty raft. Jim and Matt pulled it up onto shore. Lengths of fly line had been left at the bow of the raft. Jim picked one up and found Blair's scent on it. They had tied Blair up.

What had caused them to abandon the easiest form of transportation and take out over land? Where were they going? What was there to head toward? "Matt, did you bring a detailed map of the surrounding area? Something to show us the roads or shelters?"

Matt looked up the slope. "I have a map of the canyon with a USGS topographic map background." He climbed aboard the fishing raft and dug around in his duffle bag strapped under the oarsman's seat. "Here we go."

They spread it out. Matt stabbed the paper with a stubby finger to mark their current location. Jim scanned the topographical lines. There was a long canyon that branched off from the river at a ninety degree angle. It looked like it ran northeast for a couple of miles before ending. No roads were in the area. No signs of anything that would make the kidnappers leave the river and strike out on foot.

Jim shook his head. No, this didn't help. He needed to follow his instinct and simply track Blair.

"Okay, water bottles, basic survival gear and the first aid kit. We'll leave everything else in the raft." Jim refolded the map and stuck it into his pocket. They stripped out of their life jackets.

"How are we going find them?" Matt asked.

Jim could see the scuff marks leading up the slope. The disturbed dirt was slightly darker than the layer on the surface. Blair had laid a trail. "Don't worry, we will."

Blair watched as Charlie lifted a hand and brought the entire troop to halt. Thankful for a break from the arduous scramble up another steep incline, Blair dropped hip first to the dirt and lay panting. No doubt about it, hiking in the desert with both hands tied behind one's back during the hottest part of the day was his new number one item on the growing list of activities worth avoiding.

"How can they follow?" Lenny whined. "We sunk their boat."

Blair blinked the sweat from his eyes. What were they talking about? The three men were looking back the way they had just come from. That could only mean...

"Jim!"

Charlie's foot caught Blair in the ribs, rolling him face down into the shale, scratching his face in the dry stalks of coarse grass that clung to the hillside, knocking his sunglasses off. He was lifted from the ground and set on his feet. Charlie stuffed a fishy smelling bandana deep into his mouth. Before he could spit it out, another bandana circled his head to keep in place.

Pushing, punching and kicking, they forced Blair further up the slope.

Harsh sunlight glinted off the broken sunglass lens lying in the dirt. Jim picked up Blair's ruined sunglasses. Standing a few feet back, Matt doubled over, resting his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

"They're climbing out of the canyon on this side." Sweat stung his eyes. Jim used the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his brow. Away from the river, the temperature had climbed into the high nineties. He accepted the water bottle from Matt and took a drink before passing it back.

"Why?" Matt asked, bewildered. "I still don't understand what they're trying to accomplish."

Jim didn't answer. He didn't care about a hundred year-old murder or ghosts that had curses hanging over their heads. His only goal was to get Blair back and then they were getting out of Utah.

He visually tracked the signs of foot travel up the talus slope of broken rock. The trail led under the top edge of the cliff. There was a break in the rock formation, more than likely caused by spring flood waters, which would allow a person to reach the mesa top some three hundred feet above.

"Come on." Jim led the way, climbing upward until they were both directly under the cliff. They were getting close. Jim could feel it. The sudden cry of a large cat caused Jim to stumble to a halt. It came from above. Matt crashed into his back.

Jim looked up, flung an arm out and pushed Matt back.

Not a cat, a huge boulder was plummeting directly at them. Jim shouted a warning and dove sideways, pulling Matt along. The ground shook as the car-size rock smashed less than a foot away. Sharp shards of rock sprayed in every direction. The boulder thundered down the slope as a dozen smaller stones continued to rain down from above. One ricocheted off Jim's shoulder, another off his thigh as he rolled and tumbled down the rockslide. They came to a painful stop amid a dust cloud that had them choking and blinded by dust.

Blair turned to see Doug and Lenny running to catch up. They were on top of the plateau, walking along a faint animal trail in the desert. When they had reached the top, Charlie had marched him forward while the other two men had stayed behind.

"It's done," Doug reported.

Lenny was giggling. "You should have seen it. Splat!" He slammed his palm down over his other hand. "They were directly underneath."

Blair lunged forward, shouting into his gag. Doug pushed him back easily, laughing. Blair fell, landing on his back.

"What? You expected us to let them catch up with us?" Lenny chortled. He rubbed his pudgy hands together. "Just think, we can find the bitch and end this tonight. We'll be free at last."

"We're not there yet, idiot." Charlie reached down and yanked Blair upright again. He pulled the gag free. "Go ahead and yell. No one can hear you out here."

Blair coughed, doubled over. He sucked in air and shut his eyes until his lungs calmed down. "What did you do?" Blair croaked, his throat dry.

"Forget about your brother," Doug said, reaching out and jabbing a stiff finger into Blair's chest. "Start thinking about your own worthless skin. What's that witch been telling you? We've seen her come to you in your dreams."

"What?" Blair blurted. "What are you talking about?"

"Not now!" Charlie demanded. "We've still got some ground to cover. Then he'll show us."

Confused, Blair struggled to keep from stumbling as he was forced down the trail. His sweat soaked hair fell across his face. He felt lightheaded from the heat. His thirst was intense. But the most consuming thought on his mind was Jim's wellbeing.

"Yeah, it's broken," Jim said glumly.

Matt cringed as he tried to move his left arm closer to his ribs, splinting it with his other arm. The fracture was just above the wrist. "Great, Pete and I are a matched pair now. I guess I'm lucky it's only a break. That boulder would have crushed us. How'd you know it was falling?"

"Looked up at the right time," Jim fibbed, worried. Obviously the kidnappers intended to kill them both. Why hadn't he heard them working above? He knew his hearing could easily reach that far.

Damn it all to hell. What if the men were possessed? Jim didn't want it to be true, but more and more of the facts pointed toward the supernatural. Were the ghosts somehow able to mask their heartbeats and breathing? How was that possible? Jim had no idea. This was not his area of expertise. Blair was the one that speculated on the unknown. Jim preferred action and right now he needed to keep moving. Matt would slow him down. "Can you make it back to the rafts?"

"I'll manage." Matt was pulling a bandana out of his pocket.

Jim helped with the sling. "If we don't return in forty-eight hours, get out of here."

Matt scowled as he let Jim tie the sling around his neck. "I don't like it. It's three to one."

"Three to two," Jim corrected. "Don't worry. We've had greater odds before and survived."

Matt lifted the pack strap from the ground. "Here. Take the water and first aid kit. There's a two way and the GPS in there. I'll monitor channel seven when I get back to the rafts."

"Thanks." Jim slipped the pack onto his back. "Take it easy on the trail. I'll contact you when I get Blake back."

The sun hovered low in the afternoon sky when the kidnappers finally stopped shoving and pushing. Grateful for the rest from the punishing pace, Blair sagged, dropping to his knees in the dirt. His throat felt as dry as a rattlesnake's back. Dark spots had started appearing in his vision an hour ago and it was getting harder and harder to remember why he was scared.

The break was too short.

"Get up."

Someone was pulling him by the arms. Arms that he thought were dead of feeling but now tingled in pain at the abuse. "Ahhhhgggg."

He was shoved forward. His feet managed two full steps before he tripped and fell face down. A rock the size of a fist smacked his right hip.

"If he's dead before we get there, he'll be of no use to us," one of them pointed out practically.

"Fine, fix him up," came the answer.

Hands pulled on his arms and his wrists fell free for the first time in many long hours. He was rolled over onto his back. A water bottle bumped his teeth. Blair only got two gulps down before it was gone.

"There, stand up."

It was Lenny talking to him. Blair tried to move his arms. "M... more water."

"That's all you get. Stand up."

Impatient hands lifted him. Blair wavered weakly on exhausted legs. The brief taste of water cleared his head. He focused on their surroundings. They stood at the edge of a cliff. A long, `u' shaped valley floor laid out below them. Gray tinged clouds cast slow moving shadows below. A stream flowed in serpentine twists and turns with tufts of trees growing from its banks. A clearing caught Blair's attention. Was that a square in the dirt? A faint footprint left by a house, perhaps.

He glanced at the others. They glared hatefully down at the valley, their fingers curled in white-knuckled fists.

Jim trotted between sage and cactus. He'd torn the bottom from his T-shirt and fashioned a headband to keep the sweat from his eyes and sun off his neck. Unable to trust his hearing, he kept his vision sharp and moving. He'd have to see them before they saw him. Once he thought he heard Blair's voice, but wasn't sure. It had been so far away that even he doubted it.

They were moving fast but Jim was confident he would catch them by nightfall. The question was: what would he do then? His main goal was to get Blair back, then get Matt to a doctor. Matt could send the authorities back for the clients. By then, Jim planned on being long gone with his guide.

"I don't know," Blair said for what seemed like the hundredth time. His face stung from the open handed slaps. Blood dripped from his nose. "I don't remember."

They'd argue among themselves, then come over and knock him around for a while before arguing some more. Blair was just as confused now as he had been from the beginning of this nightmare.

"She came in your dreams," Charlie said, his handsome face glowing with something so evil that Blair had to avert his eyes. "What did she tell you?"

"Nothing, I swear, man. Nothing."

The sunset had done something to Blair's vision. As it grew darker, the three men seemed to change before his eyes. The shadows deepened their eye sockets and widened their mouths grotesquely. At first Blair had thought the effect was from his exhaustion, but the darker the valley became, the more he couldn't explain it away.

Blair closed his eyes. Between the blows and the shouting he could hear the creek gurgling nearby. The sound only reminded him of his thirst. When he'd first tried to reach it, they had bodily hauled him back and tied his hands together with more fly line.

"Tell us where she is!"

"I don't know!" Blair yelled back, trying to dodge the fist aiming for his face. The punch landed on his right cheek and knocked him off his knees to the ground.

"You'll tell us! Or you die right here!" Doug shouted, kneeling next to Blair. He wrapped both hands around his throat and squeezed.

Unable to breathe, Blair tried to throw the man off by kicking out desperately and writhing in the dirt.

But it was Charlie that saved him. "Not that way, idiot!" he hollered, jerking the other man away.

Blair sucked in a deep breath and weakly inched his way to the base of a nearby tree. He leaned against the rough bark, grateful for the ability to fill his lungs. Charlie pulled Doug away, berating him for his action. Lenny followed, leaving the shadow of the tree and stepping into the moonlight.

Blair stifled a scream, covering his bound hands over his mouth. By the light of the moon, he was looking at three headless bodies, long arms waving at each other in angry gestures.

Blair squeezed his eyes shut and started rocking back and forth. "Jim, Jim, Jim."

Clouds moved in with the twilight. Jim had no problem following the faint trail to the edge of another canyon. The land was riddled with them. Kneeling at the drop off, he surveyed the land below. Deep shadows cloaked the valley floor, but didn't hide the contents from the sentinel. He visually tracked the disturbed dirt trailing down the side of the canyon wall. The path headed toward an old homestead ruin. Not much was left: just rock foundations and a few shade trees. A faint rutted path led from the ruin off toward the main river, looking wide enough for a horse drawn wagon.

Jim didn't even speculate whose place this belonged to. He knew. The German immigrant and his Indian wife must have lived here. The three possessed men had returned to the scene of their crime.

So, where the hell were they now? There, next to a grove of scrubby trees: movement. Jim effortlessly adjusted his vision and zoomed in for a look.

The three clients stood near the creek. Charlie was yelling and shoving Doug. Lenny looked on with bovine concern. Jim let his search widen, desperate to spot his partner. Relief rose as he caught sight of Blair through the branches of the tree, sitting with his back against its trunk, knees up to his chin. The argument broke off and the clients returned to the tree, surrounding Blair like wild jackals stalking a tethered goat.

Jim had to get closer.

With the moon hiding behind a convenient cloud, he slipped down into the valley. The temperatures began to drop as the darkness thickened. Jim walked lightly and dialed his vision up to maximum. Boulders washed down from ancient rains sprinkled the area. He used them for cover, gaining precious ground, drawing closer to his partner. He could hear their conversation now. Blair's voice shook, yet his tone was rigid with stubbornness, a trait that always told Jim that his roommate was pissed.

"Tell us where she is!"

"I don't know!"

"You'll tell us! Or you die right here!"

Boulders and desert shrubs blocked Jim's view. He could hear Blair struggling to breathe, then...

"Not that way, idiot!"

Now Blair was gasping, as if starved for air and making up for it. Then the child-like pleas of his partner spurred Jim forward as Blair's repeated chanting of his own name rang like a bell's toll in his ears.

They were back and they had heads again. The three kidnappers formed a half circle around their victim. Blair tried to swallow but lacked the necessary moisture. Hell he couldn't spit if his life depended up on it.

And something told him his luck had run out.

"Listen, guys, s-seriously," Blair began when a soft, intense rattle sound near his right knee startled him.

The sharp report of a single gunshot concussed his ear. Blair levitated off the dirt as the triangle-shaped head of the diamondback rattlesnake exploded and the bullet continued on to ricochet off the hard packed dirt and into the night.

"SHIT!" Blair yelled, rolling away.

"Damn, this is some kinda gun," Charlie exclaimed, staring at Jim's gun with delight. He fired two more rounds into the sky.

"She's trying to kill him, like she did that other fellow," Lenny whined. "We ain't never gonna get out of this goddamn canyon."

"Shut up," Charlie ordered. He hitched up his pants and squatted next to Blair, friendly-like. "So, little man. You can see you don't wanna piss us off. The witch is trying to kill ya, understand?"

Laying on his side, still trembling with adrenaline and unable to tear his gaze away from the mangled snake - God, it was huge - Blair nodded. "I s-swear, guys. I don't know anything. The dreams were vague. I swear."

A dark shadow darted between two boulders. Doug belted out an oath, spinning on his heel, raking the night with his gaze. "She's at it again!"

"Witch!" Charlie shouted into the darkness. "We're sending you to hell tonight!"

Lenny hugged himself and whimpered.

Another darting shadow caused Charlie to shoot. But now Blair could see what had caused it: a large wolf.

"No!" Blair yelled in spite of his fear. "Don't shoot it!"

But they ignored him.

"Come on." Charlie waved at Doug then pointed the gun at Lenny. "Stay with him, we'll be back. We're going to kill her the old-fashioned way."

Before Blair could stop them, the two men were gone and Lenny was left to guard him. Lenny nibbled on his lower lip while his eyes darted from dark shadow to dark shadow.

Blair sat up straighter and leaned forward. "Hey, Lenny. Talk to me, man. What are you guys chasing?"

Peering fuzzily about him, Lenny shook his head in denial. "I didn't know they were gonna kill anyone. We was jus' supposed to talk to them. Ask them about the gold. She was a witch. We didn't know."

Lenny looked ready to cry. The realization brought strength. Blair rolled up to a sitting position and took a huge intuitive leap as to what was going on. "Listen, I do know a few things about witches. But I gotta know more."

Lenny backed away, shaking his head. "They don't want me talking to you."

"Wait!" Blair began, awkwardly rolling on his hip and onto his knees. He had to do this before the other two got back.

But the scared man was still backing away toward a large boulder. Then, without warning, he crashed to the ground to lie in a motionless bundle.

Jim stepped out from the boulder's shadow. "Hey."

Blair went limp. "Jim! AmIgladtoseeyou."

In seconds, Blair's wrists were free. He found himself drawn up to stand on weak legs. Before he could return the quick but earnest hug, Jim drew back.

"You okay?"

Blair collapsed forward, bouncing his forehead off Jim's chest, unable to keep from babbling. "Oh, God. Oh, God. They-"

Jim caught his chin, checking out his bruised face.

Blair jerked his chin free. "They're not human anymore, Jim. I don't understand what's happening. I saw... their heads..."

"I know, Chief," Jim answered. "We'll figure it out later. Can you walk?"

"I'd rather run," Blair answered, hysteria edging his words.

When Blair stumbled and fell the third time, Jim had to face the fact that they needed a break.

"Sorry," Blair mumbled.

"Whoa," Jim whispered, dropping to sit and catching Blair's arm when the younger man tried to get up again. "It's okay. We can rest a second."

"No, no we can't." Blair vibrated with exhaustion. He caught Jim's hand and tried to pry the fingers off. "They'll find us. We gotta keep moving. We can't afford to slow down."

They had been following a dry ravine that Jim hoped was heading toward the main river. The banks of the wash were over their heads, forming a decent defensive stand. No one could sneak around behind them. Yet the deep shadows caused Blair to stumble, even when Jim took the lead.

"Blair, come here." Jim pulled Blair along with him, scooting on his rear until they both had the rocks to their back. He slipped out of the pack he carried. "Let me look you over."

"Jim," Blair pleaded, mouth trembling. "You're not listening to me."

"I can listen and work at the same time." Jim caught both hands and studied the scraped and bleeding knuckles and abraded palms. "Shit, Sandburg. What did you do, walk on your hands the whole way?"

Blair tried to pull free. "We have to keep going."

"We will. I swear. Just give yourself a second to catch your breath. I can hear their footsteps, remember? They're not around here." Jim didn't share the fact he hadn't heard the murder attempt earlier with the falling rock.

"You sure? Really, really positive?" Blair asked, eyes darting to the right and the left in the darkness. "Because I got to tell you, man. I'm a little freaked here."

"I know. Hell of a vacation so far, huh?" Jim found the water bottle in the pack and handed it over. "Drink."

Blair finished the water off in one long drink. His hands trembled as he wiped his mouth. He looked better already.

"What did they want? Did they tell you?" Jim asked.

"Not much. Kept asking me where some lady was." Hands shaking, Blair couldn't fit the bottle cap back on. He handed it to Jim and wrapped his arms around himself. So cold. He drew his knees up to his chin. "Jim, they're not... human anymore."

"Matt thinks it's an old curse. Remember the head I thought I saw on the pole that first day?"

"Oh, man." Blair shook his head in denial. "I should have known then. That's the classic, `warning, Will Robinson' sign."

Jim smiled. "Yeah, well, it gets better. We're dealing with some turn of the century murderers that killed the wrong person this time, a female medicine witchdoctor type."

That brought the other man up short. "What?"

"She was from a local Indian tribe. She married a white man. That was their homestead back there. She put a curse on her murderers. They're forced to remain in these canyons." Jim pulled out the first aid kit. Blair needed more than antibiotic cream, but it was a start.

"Sounds like a skinwalker." Blair watched Jim smear the cream on his injuries. "It's said they curse people, even make healthy people believe they'll die. Oh! And they can turn themselves into animals." He jerked his hand free from Jim's, his eyes wide. "God, Jim, that wolf! She could have been the wolf."

Jim recaptured the hand and continued to administer the medication. "We don't know that for sure."

"Like wild animals are always walking up to me when I take a piss, man," Blair sniped.

"Explains why the bathroom back home was always trashed," Jim teased, recapping the tube of medicine. "How's that feel?"

"Better," Blair answered, calmer now that his brain had a new puzzle to work out. "Doesn't make sense. Why would they be looking for her, if she did the witch thing on them?"

"Maybe she knows where the gold is."

"No, I got the impression they just want out."

"It's been over a hundred years. I wouldn't blame them."

The moon reappeared from behind a cloud. Blair flexed his hands. "Where's Matt?"

"I sent him back to wait by the rafts," Jim said, rooting around in the pack for the granola bar he had placed there. Finding it by feel, he quickly unwrapped and placed it Blair's hand. "Eat."

"Jim, I really think we should keep moving." Blair had gone back to fearfully watching the shadows around them. He ignored the food.

"It's nearly two in the morning. We've both been walking for more than fourteen hours. This is good cover, we need to rest. You're only going to get hurt if you keep stumbling in the dark. In three hours we'll have sunlight." Jim pushed the hand holding the food up to Blair's mouth. "Now, please eat."

Sunlight and sweat stung his eyes, blinding him as he stumbled down the path. His anger alone gave him the strength he needed to push forward through the pain. A little further and he would be safe. They would never find him. He would have time to make them pay for killing his partner, his reason for living. Nothing compared to the pain that filled his heart and spilled out into his chest until he thought he would explode with grief.

The veil of diamonds beckoned him. He had made it. Passing through its coolness, he stumbled to the back wall and dropped to his knees. He allowed the sobs to come. He would mourn his lost world before cursing those that had ripped his life from-

"Blair, wake up," someone whispered urgently, demanding the dream to fade.

Blair woke with a broken gasp, his face wet with tears, anguish rising in his throat, spilling from his lips. Jim was gone, dead, murdered. A large hand held him tight, pressing him face first against warm skin, muffling his grief back into his throat.

"Wake up, damn it. Before you bring every ghoul and goblin down on top of us."

Sounded like Jim. Jim wasn't dead.

But the pain wasn't going away. It boiled over. He couldn't stop them even if he wanted to. Blair was drowning in grief. Not his... her grief. There was no stopping it. Blair could only hope it would pass soon and leave some of his sanity behind.

Jim held him through it all, silently rocking him as wave after wave of sadness broke. When it finished Blair was left more tired than before he had drifted off to sleep.

"Must have been a hell of a dream," Jim said quietly when Blair finally pulled himself back together and pushed away.

Blair nodded, wiping his face and struggling for composure. Not that he felt he needed it with Jim anymore. The guy had stood by him through so much already, what was one more mental breakdown? Looking around, Blair saw it was still dark and they were still in the ravine. He had no idea how much time had passed.

"So, Goober, you gonna dry up anytime soon?" Jim asked with a teasing smile.

"They murdered her husband," Blair whispered, his voice breaking again. "She got away. She died alone, Jim."

"You channeled her memory," Jim guessed, growing serious.

"She didn't know anything about any gold," Blair continued, shivering from the cold as he leaned away from Jim's warmth. "Why did they have to kill?"

Jim abruptly gathered up their scarce belongings and zipped the backpack closed. "Come on. Sun will be up in about an hour. We're getting you out of here."

Leaving had been such an attractive goal before. Now Blair couldn't imagine walking away from this. "No, we can't."

Jim went still. "What?"

"We can't," Blair repeated, reaching for Jim's arm. "We can't let this go on. It's got to stop."

Blair shook his head. "We're partially responsible for those three men. We took on the job of guiding them safely down this canyon. We have to help them."

Jim felt like screaming. He cursed Blair's damn gift, knowing his partner would allow his empathy to expose him to more danger. "No. I relinquished any responsibility for them when they dragged you halfway across Utah. We're leaving."

"It's not their fault. You know that, man." Blair drew in a deep breath. "I know where she is now, or at least close enough that you can find her." He calmly dusted off his knees before standing with a grimace. "But if you won't come... fine, Jim. I'll go back. You go and find Matt. I'll follow after ..."

Like hell.

"Sandburg." Exasperated, Jim lifted his eyes to the stars, recognizing the lost argument before it could begin. How much trouble would he be in if he knocked Blair out and carried him back to the raft?

Blair took a quick step away. "Don't even think about it."

"What?" Jim asked. "I didn't say a word."

Nah, Blair would kick his ass for a solid month if he tried it.

"You didn't have to, let's go," Blair ordered. He took a step.

Jim caught his shoulder. "This way, Meriwether," he corrected, pointing in the opposite direction.

Some things would never change.

The sun squatted low in the east like an old man struggling to get out of bed. Long yellow rays of light raced across the desert floor. The light brought courage, reducing the concept of witches and ghosts to make believe. Blair and Jim trekked back toward the canyon that held the ruins. The sun was halfway up to noon as they arrived at the overlook.

Jim tugged Blair down and they belly-crawled to the edge. He carefully used his senses to check the area for the three men they were trying to help. It looked deserted.

"So, how are we supposed to free them?" he asked. "I can't even find them."

"They must have left," Blair guessed, sounding surprised.

Now was the time to come clean. "I didn't tell you this before, Chief. I don't know how they do it, but I can't hear them like I can normal people."

"What?" Blair asked in surprise.

Jim shrugged. "It's like they have an internal white noise generator. I can't hear them, except if they speak. When I tracked you guys, your heartbeat and breathing was all I could pick up."

Blair's eyes were wide as he studied Jim's face. "M-maybe you're right. The ghosts are muffling them somehow."

"That, or..." Jim sighed and dragged a dusty palm down his dirty face. "We're trying to free three dead men."

Shivering, Blair swallowed hard. "No. They're not dead. They can't be."

"Well, dead or not, we're still left with three bogies in stealth mode." Jim scanned the area once more, seeing only tumbleweed and jackrabbits. "Okay, we made the valley. Now what?"

Blair's eyes narrowed as he pressed his lips together and searched the area below.

"Sandburg, you do have a plan, right?"

"Yeah, man," Blair said with soft confidence. "We're looking for a wall of diamonds."

"God, it's happened," Jim said as he covered his eyes. "The heat has cooked your brain."

"The house was here. We're standing in the front room. She wanted a view of the stream and that grove of trees." Blair spoke with solemn sureness.

"Let's get the show on the road, Sandburg," Jim urged, keeping lookout. "Where to?"

"Okay, um." Blair pulled his hair back from his face and off his neck.

Remembering he saw some rubber bands in his daypack, Jim shrugged it off his shoulders and dug around for one, pulling out the empty water bottle. "Here. I'm going to fill this."

"Okay," Blair took the band. "Thanks, Jim."

The short trek to the stream calmed Jim's nerves. He squatted down to fill the bottle. Even if he couldn't hear the others, he had decent visual recon. They seemed to be alone.

"I think I have it," Blair said when Jim joined him again. "She ran that way. She was pretty badly hurt, but she got away from them."

They followed the stream up the valley toward the distant cliff. The ground became sandy in places as the valley floor rose. Their walk would dead end in another mile as the edges of the canyon joined together in the back to hem them in. Jim could see where the stream flowed over the cliff, forming a long vertical waterfall.

"Shower would feel good about now," Jim said. "Won't even rag you about not picking up your wet towels."

Blair snorted. "That'll be a first-"

The sand under their feet exploded and hands grabbed their ankles. Blair screamed. Jim fell as a hard sweeping arc from a leg bowled him over. Charlie's face appeared, twisted in rage. Spotting his own gun in the man's hand, Jim lunged for it.

"Sandburg!" Jim called out, needing help as more arms circled his neck from behind and tried to twist his head off his shoulders. Jim tried every covert move he knew, but they had taken him by complete surprise. He'd never heard them.

A solid blow with his elbow took out the person behind him. Jim rolled in the dirt, overpowering Charlie and managing to get his own gun back.

"Stop it or he's dead!" Doug yelled. "I'll kill him!"

Blair's right arm was twisted behind his back. Doug stood behind him with a fishing knife was pressed against Blair's chest, its tip pointing straight up and into the soft skin under his chin.

Jim froze and the gun was wrenched from his hand.

"Stand up. Drop the pack," Doug ordered.

Lenny was still on his side in the sand, arms around his gut as he gasped for air. Charlie smiled as he turned Jim's own gun on him. Doug shoved Blair to stand by Jim before unbuckling his belt.

Rolling his eyes, Charlie walked over to Lenny, toeing him roughly with his shoe. "Get your belt off. We need to tie them up."

"Listen to me," Blair said, moving forward.

Jim caught his arm and held him back. "Watch it, Chief."

"We came back to help you guys," Blair continued. "I know how to help."

"Right, more likely you came back for the gold," Doug drawled. He had the belt off and rotated his finger in the air. "Turn around."

Blair turned around. "If we figured out how to break the curse, you guys would leave, right? You'd turn loose the bodies of the men you're in now and move on?" Blair yelped as the belt was cinched down tight. "We can help you do that."

Charlie's laugh was pure evil. "We just need to break the curse that keeps us stuck in these damn canyons. We'll keep the bodies. They'll come in handy."

With their hands bound, Charlie obviously felt confident enough to stick the gun into his waistband. He regarded Blair with open curiosity. "Tell us where she is."

"What makes you even think I know?" Blair pointed out.

"Why would you say you could help us if you didn't? You have to know by now she's the key to breaking the curse," Lenny answered with a scowl. "Tell us."

"I'll help if you promise to move on." Blair lifted his chin defiantly.

Swearing, Charlie pulled out the gun and fired it. The bullet dug into the dirt, spraying sand onto Jim's bare toes. Blair jumped back in fright.

"By God, this is some gun!" Charlie said gleefully. He pointed it up at the sky and fired it again. "Wow, it's got a touchy trigger, too. Shall I shoot your buddy in the head?"

The barrel pointed directly at Jim's forehead.

"NO!" Blair yelled. "I'll do whatever you want! Just point that thing somewhere else, man!"

They had walked to the end of the canyon. A pool of clear water sparkled in the sunlight. A wide waterfall cooled the immediate area. The sun was nearly at its zenith.

"Now where is she?" Charlie demanded, turning the gun on Blair.

Blair looked around. "Give me a minute."

"Maybe this will help."

Jim found himself looking at the barrel end of his own gun.

"NO!" Blair tackled Jim just as the gun fired. Blair yelped.

Jim's blood went cold as he rolled to kneel next to his friend. As the others laughed, Jim nudged Blair with his knee. He could smell burnt gunpowder and blood. "Blair?"

Blair was breathing in constrained gasps, curled on his side. "My shoulder," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Damn it. Burns."

Jim bumped and nudged till he could see. The bullet had plowed a long furrow on the outside of Blair's arm, just below the point of the shoulder. It oozed with blood, already starting to slow. It would hurt like hell for a while, but it was far from lethal.

"That enough time?" Charlie taunted. He shifted the gun to point at Jim's head again. "I only need one of you for the ceremony."

"What ceremony?" Jim asked, bracing Blair as he struggled to sit up.

"We're going to break the curse and get out of here," Lenny said with a rush of excitement. "We'll be free again. I'm going to find the biggest steakhouse and eat for a week."

"You would, you old fool," Doug snapped irritably. "First we have to find the witch's bones."

"Which is why we need you, kid." Charlie leered at Blair. "You tell us where she died and we'll make sure you live. Piss me off and I'll kill your buddy here right now and then be forced to use your blood in the ceremony."

Sitting upright again, Blair leaned against Jim's side. His face was etched with pain and exhaustion. "None of you know anything... about breaking curses," he said. "I should let you go head with your plan, just so... we can laugh while you spend an eternity stuck here."

Charlie squatted down. He shoved the end of the gun barrel into Blair's cheek. "What are you talking about? What do you know about this?"

"More than any of you losers," Blair responded.

"Sandburg," Jim said, concerned his partner was going too far. Blair's tone was the same as he'd used to taunt Lash a lifetime ago. "Easy."

"They might as well know, man." Blair grinned when Charlie backed away, suddenly wary. "I'm the closest thing you boys got to an expert. I've spent my life studying cultures and customs. You want to know the ritual of an Aztec priest during a human sacrifice? I can tell you. I know where to put the scars on your body to bring you into adulthood in the Blackfoot Tribe. Or how to bless a young Mozambique couple during their marriage for prosperity and a hut full of healthy kids."

Lenny shifted nervously. "That's what he was spouting before."

"You some kind of priest?" Doug demanded. "You're too young to know all that."

"I'm an anthropologist. Rituals are my life's study." Blair managed to look smug even covered with dirt and both hands tied behind his back. "I've read or personally watched every custom out there, including all the American Indian tribes. I can break your curse, but only if you promise not to hurt us."

"We need to spill blood to break the curse," Charlie countered.

"No, you're wrong. Think about it. Murder is what got you cursed in the first place." Blair went to shrug and winced. "But, hey, don't listen to me. Go ahead with your plan. Just know if you kill either one of us, you're totally screwed."

"I don't like this," Doug said, backing away and pulling Charlie with him. Lenny followed and the three whispered among themselves.

Jim wanted to ask. He was pretty sure Blair was bluffing, but the stakes were too high. Sweat trickled down his brow and stung his eyes. Blair hissed and shifted at his side, trying to find a comfortable position, his wound obviously making him miserable.

The three men returned. "Okay, we'll go along with your plan." Charlie tucked the gun into his waistband again.

"We're going to need a few things," Blair started. "Untie us and we'll help."

"What things?" Doug asked.

"To start, a little water would be nice." Blair nodded at the pool with his chin. "If we faint from heatstroke you're not exactly on your way to being uncursed anytime soon, right?"

Jim hid a smile. When Blair was on a roll, the kid was unstoppable.

"No, this is a crow's feather. We need a hawk or eagle, man." Blair tossed the long feather aside. "And where are the stones? I sent you for those over an hour ago. We're running out of time."

The corners of his mouth dropping, Lenny held up his hands. "I can't find white stones out here. Where am I supposed to look?"

"The river bed," Blair explained patiently. "If not the stream here, follow it to where it dumps into the main river. And hurry. We've got until sunset. Otherwise we hang around here another twenty-four hours."

Jim looked up from the platform he was building. Blair was pushing the envelope with these guys. He hoped he knew when to back off. The three men had accepted every detail so far, but they were starting to get cranky.

"Go! Damn it," Charlie shouted at the other, then looked at Doug. "You go with him. We need four white stones and I want them now."

"What about them?" Doug jerked his head at Jim and Blair.

Holding up the gun, Charlie answered. "I'll watch them. Now get to it."

This was looking better and better. Jim nodded approvingly to Blair. Charlie backed away and let the two of them work on the platform. Jim trusted him to be out of earshot. "What's the plan, Chief?"

"Hell if I know," Blair mumbled. "Totally making this up."

Tired, hungry and dealing with a migraine from being in the sun all day, Jim snorted weakly. "Only you, Sandburg." Jim gave it some thought. "If we can make them believe they're free to leave the canyon, I figure we can make a run for the rafts."

"We can't leave them behind," Blair pointed out.

The clients, he meant. Jim shook his head as he wove another stick through the elongated lean-to they were constructing. "Right now I'm more concerned with keeping you and me alive. How's the arm?"

"Hurts. How's your head?"

"Same. How'd you know?"

"You squint when you get headaches."

Blair was running out of things to make up. He considered the Navajo sand paintings, but quickly dismissed it. He doubted he'd find more than two colors of dirt. Besides, it took years to learn how to be good at sand painting.

"Looks good," Blair admitted reluctantly.

Jim tested the structure. It held.

The twig and limb contraption looked like a modified table, about neck high. Two parallel supports, each about five feet wide supported a platform of woven branches. The idea was based on a funeral pyre for burning bodies.

Of course, Blair realized grimly, they didn't have a body and he wasn't volunteering his or Jim's.

Charlie seemed to have similar feelings for the structure. "Now you're going to tell us where the bitch dragged herself to and died. Right? This is for her?" He waved the gun at the twig platform.

"It's symbolic, man," Blair explained wearily. The sleepless night was catching up to him. Plus, he was hungry. Even though they were allowed to drink from the pool, it seemed the sun had completely sucked all the moisture from his body. He dropped down to sit in the measly shade of their structure, with no idea what to do next. "We don't need a body."

"What kind of witchdoctor are you?" Charlie demanded. "Of course we gotta find her. That much even I know."

"And what exactly do you know?" Jim cut in, moving to stand over Blair. "Other than how to murder innocents for gold that probably doesn't even exist."

Face darkening to an angry mask, Charlie spat at the ground in front of Jim's feet. "Shut up. There is gold around here. She's Indian. They were Indians that killed them soldiers. She knew."

"Right, that's why she and her husband lived here in this valley scratching out a living with half a dozen cattle," Blair said. "They preferred that to spending all that gold."

Charlie's eyes narrowed. "How do you know about their herd?"

Oops. Blair snapped his mouth shut.

The possessed man smirked, his predatory expression making Blair avert his gaze to the dirt. "She does talk to you, doesn't she? You see things, like them psychic fellas back East."

"You kidding?" Jim asked, waving his hands about. "Even I can see the old cattle trails around here. What else are they going to do for a living? Grow pineapples?"

"Shut up," Charlie said. "I think after we break the curse, Blair and I are going to go get me my gold."

"Already cutting out your partners?" Jim asked.

"Them idiots are only thinking of steak dinners and whores to bed. I've got plans beyond all that," Charlie responded.

"I don't know about any gold," Blair admitted, knowing he wouldn't be believed. "She didn't show me."

"Blair, shut up," Jim ordered sharply.

Stung, Blair looked at Jim in surprise. "I'm just telling the truth."

"I said, shut up," Jim repeated with careful pronunciation of each word.

Okay, Jim was sun stroked, or maybe a fourth spirit had possessed his friend. Then Blair got it. Gathering up his feet to stand, he answered. "You know what? I'm sick of you bossing me around. Have you ever thought about saving some of those orders for someone who actually gave a damn about following them?"

Jim bristled. The sentinel did pissed better than anyone Blair had ever known. It was hard not to grin. Jim leaned down. "Listen, Book-boy. You're the reason we're stuck here in the first place. Watch the lip or you'll be looking for your teeth in the sand."

Charlie was chuckling.

"You want some of this? Bring it on, Bullet Head," Blair spat out.

The first punch tickled Blair's chin as it brushed by his ten o'clock shadow. Blair threw his own punch that Jim caught with a strong hand and pulled hard, jerking Blair's fist forward and using a sneaky-judo-move-trick to toss Blair through the air to land on Charlie.

Before Blair could roll back to his knees and stand, he'd already missed the action. Charlie was laid out in the dirt at Jim's feet.

"Belt," Jim ordered as he rolled the unconscious man over and pulled his arms back.

Blair unthreaded and passed over his belt. Jim handed the gun over for safekeeping. Taking several steps back and keeping the gun at the ready, Blair tried to control his trembling hands. "How far away are the others?"

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "I can't hear them like normal men, remember?"

"Oh, man." This was not good.

"We have the gun now," Jim said soothingly. He glanced up from his task. "You did good, Sandburg."

"Jim, he was right. We've got to find her body," Blair said, glancing over his shoulder and scanning the terrain for Lenny and Doug.

"You know how to break the curse?"

"No, not exactly. But we might be able to figure it out if we find her."

Jim scratched his neck. "Well, if she's supposed to be haunting this place, maybe we can ask her."

Jim felt stupid for bringing it up. "I wasn't seriously suggesting it."

"No, no. It's good." Blair was all over the idea now, bouncing and looking eager. "Here's what we do. Let's try-"

"Please don't tell me you're thinking of a sance."

Cackling, Blair slapped Jim's arm lightly with the back of one hand. "No, but you're on the right track. You're obviously the one with the ability to reach her. You've seen her warnings. I think you're the link to ending this once and for all."

Jim didn't like it. "What about your visions?"

"No, her memories aren't getting the job done," Blair said. "I mean, really, a wall of diamonds? How much sense does that make?"

Jim's answer was forgotten as he noticed a movement from where Charlie was lying. "Uh oh." Jim snatched Blair's arm and yanked him around to stand behind him.

The dark, smoky-looking form lifted out of Charlie still body, rising like a plume into the sky, before shooting down the canyon.

"What was that?" Blair demanded.

"We don't have time for meditations and spiritual phone calls," Jim said, frowning at the horizon where the darkness had fled to. "I think our ghost just went after his two buddies."

"We don't have time for this, Jim." Blair watched his friend squat next to the pool and wet the strip of cloth he'd ripped from the bottom of his shirt.

"We'll make time." Jim approached. "Take off your T-shirt."

Blair submitted to the treatment, grudgingly admitting to feeling better when the ex-medic was finished. "Thanks." Blair pulled his shirt back over his head.

"Welcome." Jim returned the first aid supplied to the day pack he had brought along.

A soft moan came from the man lying in the sand a few yards away. Charlie was waking up.

"Can we trust him?" Blair asked. "The spirit is gone, we saw it."

Jim shook his head. "No, we can't be sure. Maybe it faked that to get us to believe that's really Charlie. We don't know."

"Whaa... oh, god my head." Charlie rolled over onto his back and yelped as his bound hands were squished between his body and the ground.

Blair neared him, staying out of kicking range. He dropped to his knees. "Charlie? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you." The fishing client squinted as if the setting sun pained him. "What happened?" he asked. "How'd you guys get that thing out of me?"

"You remember?" Blair asked, scuttling a little closer.

Before he could continue, Jim cut in. "It left you when we tied you up."

"God," Charlie rolled back on his side. "Is it coming back? Is it gone for good? Don't let it get me again. I can't stand it." Growing more and more agitated, the man curled into a fetal position and trembled.

Blair tossed a pleading look back at Jim. He wanted to free Charlie's hands. The guy was obviously himself again.

Jim stood, arms folded across his chest, face completely devoid of sympathy for the bound man in the sand. The setting sun, filtered to a golden light, bathed Jim and the canyon walls around them in a glistening hue of brilliance. The effect was stunning.

Blair's attention was caught by another transformation of the setting sun. The waterfall behind them had become a wall of sparkling droplets.

Like diamonds.

"Blair!" Jim shouted, pointing in the opposite direction.

Spinning around and rising to a half crouch, Blair caught sight of the returning wraith-like cloud seconds before it slammed into him.

Charlie was screaming in terror.

Jim was bellowing with outrage.

Blair was flat on his back in the sand, gagging and fighting for his body and soul.

Both hands clutching his own throat, Blair violently rocked from side to side, the soles of his sandals kicking up clouds of dust. Jim fell to his knees, hands going to grab - what? Jim froze, arms reaching but not touching his partner.

He's seen the evil go into Blair. How the hell was he supposed to get it out?

"Sandburg!" Jim shouted.

Blair's eyes snapped open, alert and terrified. "J-j-jimmm."

Charlie was still screaming. Jim ignored it.

"Fight this, damn it!" Jim ordered.

"W-water... fall... run..." Blair's back arched off the ground.

Jim leaned down, cupping Blair's cheek with one hand and gripping his shoulder with the other. "You can fight this!"

"Run... damn you."

"No," Jim shouted. "Listen to me, you scum! Get out of him, now!" Jim would rather see the spirit return to Charlie than take Blair.

Blair's face was growing red, his eyes screwed shut as his entire body seemed to spasm with pain. He gulped the arid air like a beached fish before cutting loose with a primal scream. "Jim! R-run! They're coming!"

"NO!"

Blair balled up his right hand and swung. Jim never would have expected such an act from his passive guide. The punch knocked him over into the dirt and brought stars. Pushing awkwardly off the ground with one hand, his other cradling his sore jaw, Jim stared at his friend in wonder.

Still struggling for every breath, Blair stared back with determined fury. "R-run."

Knowing and hating that Blair was right, Jim snatched up the daypack and backed away, taking one last look down the canyon. They weren't in sight, but Jim couldn't trust his senses now. Forcing himself not to look back at Blair, he searched the slope above.

He needed a hiding place. The best cover lay on the far side where the land rose up a talus slope. He'd need to cross the pool first. Jim dropped to one knee and unzipped the pack. The first aid kit inside had a waterproof case. He dumped the supplies back into the main compartment. Taking his gun from his waist band, he stuffed it into the waterproof container and zipped it closed, and then shrugged the shoulder straps over his arms until the pack was in place. He waded out till the water reached his hips. The sun had dropped below the horizon but the temperatures were still warm. The water was refreshing, nothing like the lakes back in Cascade. Ignoring the sounds of Blair fighting the beast, Jim swam toward the far side.

Blair was right. One of them needed to stay free. With Doug and Lenny returning and Blair compromised, Jim's freedom was their only chance.

A pounding sound made Jim pause near the waterfall. The depth of the pool at this end allowed Jim to tread water without touching bottom. He looked back and groaned. Blair was in full seizure. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Doug and Lenny were running up the trail.

He couldn't do it. Jim started to swim back. He'd use the gun if he had to. He'd go back to the plan of knocking Blair out and carrying him all the way back to the raft. Eventually the spirit would reach its boundaries and leave his guide.

Releasing a high pitched wail, Blair stiffened. The dark cloud, the spirit of the murder, rose out of Blair's open mouth. It hovered a few seconds and dove into Charlie, whose screams stilled the second it disappeared.

"Cut me loose!" Charlie shouted angrily at his two partners who arrived huffing and puffing.

Crap, no time now. Jim backed under the waterfall. He watched through the falling water as Charlie was freed. Blair had gone still. The seizure had ended. Now the three men were scouring the immediate area with their gaze.

Jim backed farther into the waterfall...

And came out the other side.

Turning in surprise, he saw that the water hid a shallow cave. The light was dim and growing dimmer by the minute, but he could see a shelf and a rounded opening formed by an ancient flood that had formed the landscape hundreds of years ago.

Jim swam to the edge, his fingers and sandals finding purchase to climb up and out of the pool. Hidden by the curtain of water, Jim crawled into the low ceilinged cavern. It was surprisingly comfortable. The front of the cave was slippery with moss, but as he crawled farther back, the floor became dry and sandy.

He adjusted his vision and saw a ring of stones. Against the far back wall was a small pile of rotted cloth. Jim sniffed the air and smelled ancient death. He'd found the murdered woman.

Blair became aware of his surroundings slowly. He was lying face down on something extremely uncomfortable. Sharp points jabbed into his ribs and thighs. His wrists were tied above his head, his ankles lashed to something solid.

"So, you're gonna wake up in time."

Blair recognized Charlie's voice, but it was the evil tone that told him Charlie wasn't Charlie anymore. Blair lifted his head to search the twilight for Jim.

The three possessed men were standing around a blazing campfire edged by stones from the river. Lenny laughed and smirked at Blair. "Looks like part of your plan was right, kid. We're gonna use the funeral pyre after all. Sorry we couldn't find your stupid rocks or feather."

Shit. He was tied on top of the platform they'd built. He pulled at the bonds around his wrist, half expecting the entire contraption to collapse. It didn't.

"This is..." Blair paused. He felt sore all over, like when he'd had a seizure. Maybe he had. Maybe that's what had kept the ghost from taking him over. He tried to find enough spit to continue. "Isn't going to work, guys. Killing me won't break the curse."

"No." Charlie clapped Doug on the back and chuckled. "But we figure it will bring your big friend running. He looked out over the canyon and lifted his voice to shout. "Hear that? You get your sorry ass out here right now or we're going to have a little BBQ!"

Lenny giggled madly. "That's a good one: BBQ." He pulled a burning stick from the fire. "Let me do it."

"Shut up, stupid. Not before I tell you," Charlie ordered before raising his voice again. "You hear me? Get out here before we roast your friend!"

"Jim! Don't listen to him!" Blair hollered, pulling on the bindings, causing the entire structure to sway.

"Hey!" Jim's answering call bounced around the box canyon.

Blair groaned and dropped his face to his stretched arms. "Damn it, Jim," he whispered. "Get out of here."

But the hidden sentinel continued to taunt his opponents. "I've got what you want."

"Where is he? Anyone see him?" Charlie demanded.

"Cut my partner down," Jim ordered. "I'll bring you the woman's remains."

Blair lifted his head, straining to see Jim in the darkness. He knew enough about the sentinel to know Jim would take the higher ground. Blair searched the talus slopes but couldn't spot him. It was growing too dark.

Cursing to himself, Charlie stomped over to the pyre. Blair gasped as his head was yanked back. His eyes filled as the stabbing pain of torn hair roots paid the price for the demon's anger. "You bring me those bones or I'll kill him now!" Charlie yelled back. The sharp edge of the fishing knife pressed against Blair's exposed throat.

"There he is!" Doug said, pointing up.

Jim approached holding a bundle of cloth rags in his arms. His clothes were wet and he wore the daypack. He stopped at the edge of the campfire's light. Lowered the bundle to the ground, he stepped back, his gun now clearly visible in his hand. "You let us go. You keep the woman's remains. I don't care what you do after we're gone."

"No, man. Don't do-" Blair started to protest.

"Shut up, Chief," Jim barked, he waved the gun, careful not to point it at anyone. "That's the deal. You try anything and I shoot. I'm willing to kill the bodies you're using."

"I knew it. You wanted our gold all along," Charlie sneered, pulling Blair's head back further.

"Keep your gold." Jim smiled, looking mysterious. "We don't give a rat's ass what you three do. We're leaving."

The pressure from the knife slackened. Charlie's assessing gaze swung back and forth between Blair and Jim until Blair wanted to scream from the building tension.

Finally, the man reached his decision. "Step back from the bones."

"Step back from him," Jim countered.

The seconds were ticked off by the croaking frogs as the three murderers stared at Jim. Blair held his breath. Would they do it?

Charlie stepped back.

Jim stepped back.

Jim and the three clients shifted clockwise, with the possessed men creeping toward the bundle of rags on the ground and Jim skirting around until he stood next to Blair.

"How you doing?" Jim whispered, tucking the gun into his waistband.

"I can't believe you did that, man," Blair whispered back as Jim started on the fly line around his wrists. "They're not going to let us go."

"They have what they wanted." Jim tugged and the first knot came free.

Blair looked back where the cursed men were cackling over the dead women's remains. Lenny held up her skull and cheered. A shiver wracked Blair's frame. "Hurry up."

The bindings were off and Blair tumbled from the platform. Jim didn't wait for the feeling to return to Blair's legs, wrapping an arm around his middle and half-dragging him into the darkness. Amazingly, the three men ignored them.

"We'll get out of the canyon and head for Matt and the rafts," Jim said.

Fighting the pins and needles, Blair tried to move his legs fast enough to keep up. A heavy feeling tugged at his consciousness. This felt wrong. They shouldn't be leaving. But Jim's urgency was intense and Blair trusted the man with his life. If Jim said it was time to run...

"NOOOOO!"

The scream caused both men to pause. They were halfway up the slope. Turning as one, they looked back to see Charlie and Doug lifting a struggling Lenny to the platform that had held Blair moments before.

"Oh, god." Blair covered his mouth.

"Shit." Jim cursed, his grip on Blair tightening painfully.

"Jim, we can't..."

His jaw pulsing with rigor, Jim swore again and looked at Blair. "I don't suppose I could talk you into going on alone."

Did Jim expect him to calmly walk away while he went back? "That would be a `hell, no', man."

"Didn't think so," Jim muttered. He turned Blair loose. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Blair guessed, flinching as Lenny continued to scream. "Let's do it."

"Keep behind me and stay low." Jim pulled the gun from his makeshift holster. He slipped off the daypack and handed it over.

Blair shrugged it on.

They worked back down to the canyon floor, hugging the shadows and seemingly unnoticed by the two men preparing to murder their accomplice. Blair wondered if the spirit of the third was still inside Lenny or if it had escaped. It didn't matter. They couldn't let Lenny be burned.

Jim halted at the last boulder. They were fifty feet out from the campfire. He thumbed the gun's release and checked his clip. "Damn, only two rounds left."

"Where's the rest of your ammo?" Blair whispered.

Jim cut him a look of annoyance. "It wasn't like I expected to be shooting anyone. This was supposed to be a stupid fishing trip." He slapped the clip back into place. "I'll just have to make them both head shots."

"Jim!" Blair snapped. "The idea is to save their lives, man. Not kill two to save one."

"Then give me an option, Sandburg."

Blair ran his palms over his face and raked back his hair. "Right, right. Sorry. Let me think."

"Think fast," Jim ordered. "They're about to light the pyre."

Blair bit his lip as he watched Lenny twist and scream, nearly collapsing the structure. "We've got to break the curse," he muttered aloud.

"How?" Jim raised the gun and aimed carefully. He flicked an expectant gaze at Blair.

Feeling the weight of the universe on his shoulders, Blair closed his eyes and thought hard. "Okay, okay. Let's say she was a witch of some sort. I mean, she had to be something, `coz look at them. They're cursed."

"Saaandburg, anytime here," Jim drawled, his casualness not fooling Blair for one second. The sentinel was drawing a bead on his first kill and didn't want it to happen.

Blair sucked in a deep breath, feeling the dread of failure rise within. Think! Think!

"Okay then, she's a witch. She had powers. How did they symbolize their power?"

Jim demanded. "Hurry up, Sandburg. They've lit the wood underneath him."

Blair didn't have to be told that, he knew by the increased pitch of Lenny's screams. "Burning her bones gonna do it? No, at least I don't think so. It has to be more."

"Blair-"

"What else did you find?" Blair demanded.

"Nothing, bones and scraps of cloth," Jim answered.

"Okay," Blair said, decision made. He stood. "Keep them busy, but don't shoot them." Blair ran toward the funeral pyre.

"Blair!" Jim hollered, furious.

Not waiting to see if Jim was following, Blair made a beeline for Lenny and the stick frame. Doug and Charlie turned in surprise. Blair launched into a flying tackle, hitting the smoking mass dead center and taking the victim and the platform down in a tangled mass of arms, legs and branches. Blair tucked and rolled, breaking free of the chaos and trusting Jim to keep the murderers busy.

From the sounds of fists and cursing, Jim was doing just that.

Blair scrambled over to where the small pile of cloth Jim had used to wrap the bones had been left, praying he'd find what we was looking for.

If Jim wasn't so busy staying alive, he would have murdered Blair personally. Thankfully, with Lenny still tied up, Jim only had two men to fight.

Grabbing at the arm that circled his neck, he flipped Doug over his back and stood just in time to catch Charlie's right cross in the jaw. Jim fell, rolled and sprang to his feet to gain the distance needed to dodge Charlie's knife that slashed at his midsection.

Jim fired his gun into the air. "Enough!"

`You won't kill these bodies!" Charlie snarled, lunging forward again with the knife. "Or you wouldn't have come back!"

Jim didn't have the time or strength to point out the fact he was swiftly overcoming his moment of weakness on this point. Doug entered the fight, swinging a burning brand. Jim dried to duck but was clipped on the shoulder. His wet T-shirt saved him from being burned.

Half a second later, Jim caught the plunging knife hand close in a wrestling move. Charlie countered with a head butt that stole his breath. Twisting, Jim managed to shove the man into Doug and gain a few seconds to fill his lungs again.

Dropping to a crouch, Jim used a leg to sweep both men off their feet and buy a few more seconds. Panting with exhaustion as he worked to keep from seriously wounding his attackers, Jim looked over to where Blair was on all fours, pawing in the rags.

"Some time today, Sandburg!" he shouted.

Shit, Doug was up again, swinging the burning branch at him again. To hell with this, Jim decided a flesh wound wouldn't be considered extreme under the circumstances. Aiming, Jim miscalculated and failed to count on Charlie's reach as the gun was knocked aside at the last minute, sending the final bullet into the night sky.

Jim dropped the gun, caught Charlie's knife hand again and drew a fist back to slam into the man's face. Charlie went down and rolled out of range. Jim turned once again to dance away from the swinging branch. Charlie was getting back to his feet again.

"Sandburg!" Jim hollered, realizing these two men were somehow able to withstand his best moves. He was about to be taken out.

"I got it!" Blair called out.

Blair bounded over to the campfire, holding something small in his hand. "I order you three souls out of these bodies! I revoke the power of the skinwalker and send you all to the Great Spirit to be judged!" Blair yelled dramatically as he spiked an object into the blaze.

Only Jim heard the subsequent whisper.

"Or, at least I hope I do."

The campfire blazed, doubling in size and heat. Blair threw an arm up to protect his face. Scrambling back, he fell hard on his butt as a brilliant blue column of fire shot up into the starry night sky. A roar of wind blasted down, swirling around them in a powerful dance that lifted the sand.

Jim stumbled back until he stood uncertainly above his fallen guide. "What's happening?" he shouted over the wind and the snapping sound of the blue fire.

"Don't ask me!" Blair answered in a panic as he let Jim pull him to his feet. He held on to Jim's arm and pointed. "Look!"

Charlie, Doug and Lenny were clutching their heads. Their faces seemed to shimmy in and out of focus for several seconds before they cried out. An unnatural shriek rose like an old roller siren, riding the wind. Then each man released a dark shadow that twisted and reared away from the fire, yet became drawn into the blue flame.

Suddenly, it was over. The three men, victims of the malevolent spirits, collapsed in the dust.

The silence was deafening.

Lenny was crying openly, his pudgy body shaking with sobs. Blair's went to help, but Jim caught and held him back.

"Wait," Jim whispered in the eerie stillness of the night.

"It's over," Blair answered softly, prying the fingers from his arm.

Face covered with soot and bruises, Jim pinned him with an intense stare. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Blair answered, looking certain. He offered a shrug and small smile. "It's done. Can't you feel it?"

"No," Jim answered. He glanced around before reflecting the smile in his weary gaze. "But then again, I'm not the shaman in this team." Jim patted his shoulder. "Good job."

"You too, man." Blair nodded at the three men. "They're probably in shock."

"Yeah," Jim answered. "I know I am."

The three looked confused, scared and cold. Jim freed Lenny from the ruined platform, checking him carefully for burns and finding none. Using a water bottle from the daypack, Blair gave them all a drink, running to the creek for refills. Jim helped them over to the campfire and got them comfortable. Each man was silent, numb from exhaustion and fear.

Blair settled in at Jim's side, hands stretching out to the fire to catch the heat. "It's over, guys."

Charlie spoke first, dull gaze skimming over them before dropping to his hands. "How can you even stand to speak to us?"

Jim sighed. "You three were just as victimized as we were."

"It was like watching everything on a TV screen," Doug said in a pained whisper. "Not being able to do a damn about it."

"You did," Charlie muttered, looking at Blair. He wrapped his arms around his ribs and hunched his shoulders. "You fought it and won. I saw you."

"Are you really what they thought you were? Some type of spiritual warrior?" Lenny asked. "I felt it. It was scared of you." He looked at Jim. "Both of you."

Blair blushed. He shook his head.

"Listen, it's been a hell of a night." Jim threw another stick on the fire. "Why don't we just rest up? It's a long hike out of here."

No more was said. They dozed until the first pale blush of dawn edged the top of the cliff. Jim led them up the cattle trail to the top of the mesa where they stopped to rest.

Charlie turned back to study the box canyon, his head shaking side to side in gentle disbelief. "Can we leave this where it belongs? In Wraith Canyon?" He looked at Jim. "Do we have to tell anyone?"

Blair and Jim exchanged looks of relief.

"Sounds good to us, man," Blair answered.

Looking back one last time, Jim froze. The figures of a man and woman stood next to a mud and stone house by the stream. The man lifted a hand, a parting gesture. The woman looked Jim in the eye. Her stoic expression was neither threatening nor thankful, just appraising, perhaps forewarning.

Jim shivered in the warm morning air. He turned his back on the vision. "Let's get out of here."

"You sure we can afford this?" Blair asked as he climbed from the Bronco.

"With the combined tips from Charlie, Doug and Lenny, plus our pay from Matt, we could stay a month," Jim answered. "Here, grab the dirty clothes. Our suite has a washer and dryer and we're going to use it."

Blair groaned. "Come on, Felix. Sleep first; clean later."

"You really want to put on filthy clothes when you wake up?" Jim asked.

"When you put it that way..." Blair hoisted the garbage bag filled with dirty clothes over his shoulder and trudged toward their ground floor hotel suite. They'd booked a week in a Residence Inn at Salt Lake City. Popular with the business clientele who had to spend long trips away from home, it was more of an apartment complex than a hotel.

A small kitchen was off to the right, a living room with fireplace on the left. A set of stairs rose to a second floor bedroom and another bedroom sat on the ground floor, just off the living room. Behind the kitchen was a small bathroom-laundry room combination. A larger bathroom complete with a nice bathtub was upstairs.

It was late. They had bid the brothers goodbye immediately upon reaching civilization. Jim had been anxious to leave and Blair couldn't say he blamed him. Sure, no one wanted to report any of the strange occurrences to the police, but what if they changed their minds? Or started talking to the media about the adventure?

Blair dropped the dirty clothes bag in front of the washing machine and stumbled back out into the living room. He'd already claimed the bottom room and wanted to lie down.

Jim caught him by the shoulders and turned him toward the stairs. "Shower."

"Bed," Blair answered.

"Reek."

"Dial."

"Sandburg."

"Ellison."

Jim sighed. "Listen, wash the grime off so I can clean that bullet wound. I'll have a cold beer waiting for you when you get out."

"Beer?" Blair liked the sound of that. "When did we get beer?"

"Gift from Matt," Jim said.

Blair scratched his filthy, sweat and dirt crusted hair. "Okay, but I'm doing this only because I'll sleep better."

"And the beer."

Blair nodded as he trudged toward the stairs. "That too."

Blair hated to admit it, but he felt much better after the shower. He also felt awake again. Dressed in a complimentary robe and feeling as if he'd just sent twenty pounds of Utah dirt down the drain, he descended the stairs. Carefully toweling his wet hair, he took a seat on the tall stool in front of the breakfast bar dividing the kitchen from the living room.

Jim was puttering around in the kitchen. The smell of melting cheese made Blair's stomach grumble. The first aid kit was out and ready. A long neck imported dark beer was next to it.

Blair let his eyes roam around the place as he took a long drink. It almost felt like home.

"Thought we could use some snacks with the beer," Jim set out several open face grilled cheese sandwiches. He scooped one up and headed for the stairs. "I'll fix your arm after I grab a shower."

"Kay," Blair answered, giving his full attention to the food.

Fifteen minutes later Jim was back and seated on the adjacent stool. He examined Blair's injury while Blair polished off the last of the cheese toast. His beer was nearly empty.

"Is this the part where you offer me a stick to chomp on?" Blair asked.

"Well, Lil' Joe," Jim drawled. "That's only for when ya have them bullets dug out of your ornery hide by the tip of my huntin' knife."

Blair pulled a face. "Ouch. Forget I brought it up."

Jim snickered, then turned serious. "Looks pretty clean." He sniffed. "No infection. How's it feel?"

"It's fine," Blair said. "Just a scratch."

"Riiight," Jim said with a snicker. Jim taped a fresh bandage over the injury and packed up the supplies, frowning at the empty pan. "Hungry much?"

"Yep." Blair licked his fingers and finished off his beer. "Thanks, it hit the spot."

"I'll make some more."

Blair watched him slice cheese, enjoying the way the beer dulled his worries and made him sleepy. He thought about having a second. Jim seemed to read his mind and pulled two more out of the refrigerator.

"Thanks."

"Welcome." Jim took a long drink and returned to slicing cheese. "We deserve it."

"No argument from me."

"You know," Jim said as he laid the slices on the bread with military precision. "You never did tell me what you threw into the fire that night."

"Her medicine bundle."

Jim looked up, puzzled. "Her what?"

"Medicine bundle, man," Blair answered. "Sort of a collection of totems."

"I didn't even know it was there." Jim arranged the bread on the pan and turned on the broiler. "I must have trapped it in the scraps of her clothing when I scooped up the bones."

"Yeah, lucky us, man." Blair watched the cheese melt. He had no idea why he was so hungry. "The leather strip was pretty much rotted away. She had a black feather - night birds were considered powerful to some cultures - and some ground corn and a porcupine quill. Stuff like that, collection of a person's spiritual life. Said to possess powers for protection and healing."

"Good thing you recognized its value," Jim said.

Blair pondered the century-old crime. "I don't understand mankind, all that killing for rumors of gold."

"Greed is a powerful motivator," Jim said.

They fell silent, sipping their beer until Jim cocked his head and studied Blair sadly. "You had another seizure out there."

Blair picked at the beer label. ""Yeah, I figured." He didn't like seizures. They left him tired, confused and feeling like an alien in his own body. "That one might have kept me from being taken over, though. I don't think the spirit liked it."

"You think?"

"Yeah." Blair shrugged. "Sort of a reverse benefit, I guess."

Everything about their life was turning upside down. Nothing felt normal anymore. As Jim turned to pull out their snacks, Blair looked at the mini-apartment again and wondered if they'd ever be normal again.

"Ready for more?" Jim set the pan down between them. He ripped two paper towels off the large roll sitting on the counter just like he did at the loft.

Perhaps normal wasn't a place. Maybe it was something else, something that you could bring with you.

"Just one." Blair nudged a hot slice of bread off the pan.

"Glutton," Jim teased. "At least you don't stink anymore."

"Hey, I taught you dials for a reason, dude," Blair said around a mouthful of cheese. "Use them."

"Bossy." Jim swatted his head.

With a show of rubbing the nonexistent pain away, Blair smiled and nodded. Things were as normal as it got for them.

End

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

Home

[an error occurred while processing this directive]