As Blake's car entered the frontage road off highway 163 to Kayenta, Arizona, the afternoon light was slanting onto the buildings of the small town from the west. Pulling into the only gas station on the main road, a boy of seventeen or eighteen came out to serve him gas. He appeared surprised at seeing someone he did not recognize from the small town.

"Put in fifty," Blake said, knowing he would either be driving back to Farmington or beginning the long trek to San Diego on the West coast. It all depended on the information he wanted, which he knew in the end, might be too futile to ever find.

"Ok," the dark-skinned boy said. He was obviously Native American and living there on the Navajo teritory. "Where you guys headed?

"California! " Russel shouted emphatically from across the seat.

"Long drive," he responded, smiling. "Want me to check that oil? Tires or anything?"

"No. But thanks," Blake answered. "Just tell me where the sheriff can be found in town."

"You mean the Ranger?"

"Yeah. The Navajo Rangers. Right?"

"Yup. That's who takes care of things out here."

"Great. They got an office or something nearby?"

"Well . . . they pretty much work out of their homes. You got a serious problem or something?"

"Just need some . . . important information. And yeah, it's pretty serious."

"Well, if it is, I can call them. Ranger Dan can be here in a few minutes. He's probably around somewhere. You want that?" The boy reached into his pocket and held up what appeared to be a portable police radio.

Blake looked over at Russel for a reaction. His friend gave no obvious indication to accept the offer. But Blake could sense from his silence that his patience with the whole trip to Arizona was wearing thin.

"OK. Could you do that for us? That is . . . if he's around like you say."

"Yeah, hang on."

The boy pressed a few buttons on the phone and it squawked open, then hissed loudly. He put it close to his mouth.

"Dan? This is Robert over at the Shell. You copy?"

After several moments the hissing stopped, and a clear voice answered. "Go ahead Robbie. What's up? Over."

"Got some guys over here at the station. No emergency. But they say it's important. You in the area? Over."

"Yeah. On my way."

The boy closed the phone and nodded to Blake as he placed the gas nozzle back into the pump. "Give him a couple of minutes. He's here somewhere."

"Thanks," Blake said, handing the boy a fifty bill for the fuel.

"So . . . you two getting hassled by someone or something?"

"No. Nothing like that. Why? Does that happen out here?"

"There's crazies everywhere. We got our share, yeah. Usually it's about strangers. Sometimes our people get a little edgy with outsiders. You know . . . disrespecting the land with off-road vehicles. Or just looking for trouble in town. Boredom I guess."

Blake immediately thought of his father's alleged murder, somewhere in that desert months before. He was about to ask the boy if he knew anything about it when he saw a familiar dusty Ford Bronco speeding over and entering the gas station next to them.

The 4x4 came to a stop and a tan-uniformed, portly man in a cowboy hat walked toward Blake's car. When he came closer, the two college students could see it was indeed the Ranger they had spoken to the day before while clearing out Blake's father's trailer.

"How you guys doin?"  the Ranger said. He spoke in a cordial, but muted voice.

"Hello Sheriff . . ."

"Thought you two would be on your way by now. If you have second thoughts about that trashed trailer on the other side of town . . . it might be too late. They hauled it out of here yesterday."

"No. No it's not about that," Blake told him. He slowly got out of the car and faced the Ranger.

"I just wanted to ask you something . . . sort of privately."

The boy standing next to them took the cue and walked back into the gas station office.

"It's about . . . you know, my father's death and . . ."

"Look, son. A lot of investigation was done on that case. By the state of Arizona and the county sheriff's department. We did some forensic work, too. Mainly cause it happened on our Navajo land."

"OK . . . And?"

"As far as anybody knows, I can tell you . . . it's still an unsolved homicide. But the case will stay open. We keep our eyes open for anything that might come up. So far in two months . . . nothin."

Blake just nodded.

"I know you've got to be frustrated by that," the Ranger said. "We are too. But until anyone one comes forward with something new . . . we're looking at it as just a random killing."

"But why would anyone . . .?"

"A possible motive is theft. But as you know, your father didn't really own much of anything. We just don't know what he could have been carrying with him out there in the badlands when he got shot."

"Look, Sheriff. I know my old man was pretty worthless. At least he was to me and my mom over the years. But you said there are people out here on your land . . . that knew him. Maybe knew him well. You also told me he was into . . . some of the same things your elders were out here."

"I said it was a possibility."

"Well I've come across some things today, Sheriff . . . over east of here. Stuff that was really shocking. Things that just might relate to all that. If were talking about the same subject."

"Alright."

"Those elders, Sheriff . . . any way I can I speak with one of them?"

The Ranger hung his head and remained strangely silent.

"Sheriff?"

"That's pretty difficult, son. These old guys are into our Indian stuff. Our heritage. They're not into sharing much of it. OK . . . some information is out there for the public. Tribal history and the like. But as far as our deep past and more . . . sensitive stuff . . . we've just learned not to trust anyone."

"Well apparently a few of them did trust my father. How else was he allowed to live out here on your land, anyway?"

Again, an unexpected silence came over the Navajo Ranger.

"Look, Sheriff. Let's just say I've come across some shocking objects your elders would either already know about . . . or would love to know about. I'm talking about really sensitive stuff . . . things most Americans are too ignorant or scared about to look into. Maybe you can tell a few of your elders this? To see if they might want to exchange information with me. Is that possible, Sheriff?"

Russel was silent the whole time, but obviously wishing Blake would not reveal anything more about what they had discovered in the storage garage. It all now seemed to carry an even greater danger concerning who knew about it—and who was obviously not ever to know about it.

"Well sheriff? Do I go back to California knowing what I know now? What I've seen? And talk about it to people? These things I can share only with your elders."

The ranger looked back at him seriously.

"I'm willing to give that information to them in exchange for anything someone can tell me about my father. And what possible reasons there were for his unexplained death."

The native officer thought for a moment then spoke softly.

"Hang on a sec," he said, taking out a cell phone and walking several meters away to make a call. Both young men could hear the Navajo language being spoken for the first time as the Ranger contacted someone. Neither could decipher a single word of the conversation.

Finally, Ranger Dan walked back toward them, nodding his head.

"Get into my vehicle," he said in a different, more urgent tone. "Someone wants to speak to you about these things."

Russel's eyes met Blake's with an expression of fear.

"The person I'm taking you to . . . he knew your father well. We're going to his house."

Nothing more was said as Blake directed Russel to park the car off to the side of the gas station. He was then to join Blake in the Ranger's 4x4 for a ride neither knew where.

The asphalt road through the town soon morphed into a narrow dirt roadway and the dim lights of the shops and buildings faded behind them. Blake began to seriously wonder what dire trouble he may have gotten himself and his anxious friend into. One way or another, they would soon know.

* * *