Dance of the Bones

Gabe had always been short and stocky. Lani, along with Gabe’s parents, worried about his diet and the possibility that he, too, might be plagued by the same disease that had cost the boy’s grandfather both his legs and eventually his life. It was for that reason the tortillas she had brought along for this trip had been made with flour ground from mesquite beans. Since Lani viewed this as a ceremonial occasion, Snickers bars were definitely not on the menu.

“Where did that come from?” she demanded, snatching the rest of the half--eaten candy bar out of his hand.

A sullen Gabe shrugged. “From the store,” he said.

“And how did it get up here?”

“In my backpack,” he answered.

“What else is in your backpack?” she demanded. “Let me see.”

Within minutes, from among the approved items in his pack—-some extra clothing, a canteen, and his grandfather’s blankets—-Lani unearthed several pieces of contraband: a plastic--bound six--pack of Coca--Cola cans, two bags of potato chips, and three more candy bars. She handed all the confiscated loot, including the remains of the original candy bar, over to Leo.

“Please take these back to the truck,” she said to him. “They won’t be needed here.”

“You’re sure you want to do this—-that you’ll be okay?” Leo asked.

“I’m sure.”

“All right then,” Leo said. “Delia and I are going to the dance at Vamori tonight, but I’ll come back for you in the morning when the dance is over.”

Gabe watched sourly as his father disappeared taking the goodies with him. “If I can’t drink Coke, what can I drink?” he wanted to know.

“You’d be surprised what a little prickly pear juice and honey can do for a cup of hot water.”

“Right,” Gabe grumbled under his breath. “I can hardly wait.”

Lani ignored his complaints. “Okay,” she told him, “it’s about time you got off your duff and helped me make camp.”

“Why should I?” Gabe objected. “Why do I even have to be here? Why can’t I just go back to town with my dad?”

“You’re here because I think you should be, and so do your parents,” Lani growled back, “and as long as you’re here, you’re also going to do what I say. Now get busy.”

“Doing what?”

In her years as a doctor, Lani Walker--Pardee had encountered her share of surly adolescents, and Gabe was currently running true to form.

“Like gathering some rocks to make a fire pit.”

He made a beeline for the first rocks he saw—-the easy ones—-those surrounding Betraying Woman’s cross. “Not those,” she told him. “Those stay where they are. Find some others. It’ll be dark before long, and we’ll need to have the fire going by then.”

“Right,” he muttered sourly. “Who cares about having a fire?”

“You will,” she warned him, “about ten minutes after the sun goes down.”

Gabe huffed off to do as he was bidden. Watching him go, Lani felt a hint of despair. Maybe Dan and Leo were right. Maybe Baby Fat Crack Ortiz really was a lost cause.

SITTING ALONE IN MY SEATTLE penthouse, I was a very lonely and glum version of J. P. Beaumont that Friday evening. I sat in the family room in my new leather easy chair and gazed out the window at the setting sun and the busy boat traffic on Elliott Bay far below. From my bird’s--eye view, the ferries and lumbering container ships looked like small toys—-about the size of the rubber--band--powered plastic toy boats I used to sail on Seattle’s Green Lake back when I was a kid.