The painted brave pulled a long-bladed hunting knife from a sheath at his belt. He kicked his horse in the sides, urging the animal into motion, and gave a fierce war cry.

Max grabbed River Dog's arm and tried to pull him away.

"No," the shaman said, resisting Max's efforts.

"He'll kill you," Max said.

"No," River Dog insisted. "He can't kill me. There are things going on here that you don't understand."

Max accepted that. There were a lot of things about his life that he didn't understand.

"Release me and step away," River Dog commanded.

Max hesitated.

"Do it now," River Dog said.

Knowing that he could never budge the man in time if he resisted, Max released his hold on River Dog and moved away. Panic welled inside him as he watched the mounted warrior ride straight for the shaman.

River Dog never flinched. The shaman stood his ground. As the warrior and horse closed in on him, River Dog held his arms up at his side. In one fist he clutched a turquoise necklace. In the other he held eagle feathers painted red and white. He broke out in native song, the cadence rolling amid the noise of the thundering hooves.

In stunned fascination Max watched as the warrior and horse disappeared inside River Dog. Horse and rider vanished like a mirage, fading out of existence. The dust cloud that the horse's hooves had turned up rolled over River Dog. Then an electric pulse exploded in front of the shaman, strong enough to make Max's hair stand on end. River Dog left his feet and flew backward as if a bus had struck him.

River Dog stared up at the cerulean blue sky with unseeing eyes. His body lay relaxed. The sand around him was pristine, smooth as new-fallen snow. Max guessed that the force of the warrior and horse disappearing had blown the sand smooth.

Fearing the worst, Max put his fingers against the side of the shaman's neck. There were no wounds on the man's body. Not even a bruise.

But there was also no pulse.

I he electrical discharge must have stopped his heart, Max reasoned as he stared down at River Dog, struggling to control the panic that threatened to engulf him. His own body still tingled with the ionized force that continued to dissipate.

Frantic, knowing that he was working against the clock, that every second River Dog's heart refused to beat was causing the shaman's body to shut down, Max laid his hand on the man's chest. He felt for the warmth, for the connection that would bind him to River Dog. He shifted his hand, sliding his palm over the area where he thought the heart would be.

Feeling the power building within him, Max pushed the force through him, willing River Dog's heart to resume beating. At first he was afraid that his efforts weren't going to be enough, that he was going to be left there with River Dog's corpse.

Then, intermittent at first, like a worn starter dragging on a cold morning, River Dog's heart lurched into an irregular beat. Max felt the uneven thumping vibrate against his palm.

C'mon, Max thought fiercely. Breathe!

Suddenly River Dog's mouth opened and he took a ragged breath. Lifting an arm, he seized Max's wrist in his hand.

"Enough," River Dog gasped hoarsely.

Max allowed his hand to be taken away.

River Dog glanced around. "The rider?"

"He's gone," Max said. "We've got to go." He stood and offered his hand.

River Dog pushed himself into a sitting position but ignored Max's hand. "No."

Max looked around, listening to the lonely echo of the wind sailing across the harsh land. Tall chaparral stood in places, leaving only short, blunt shadows that looked gray against the sand instead of black. Vultures circled the sky.

"Are you sure the rider won't be coming back?" Max asked.

River Dog looked at him. "It doesn't matter where we go," he said softly. "Bear-Killer will come for me again when he wants to."

Turning, Max swept the land around them with his gaze. He could see for what looked like miles. How had the warrior ridden up on them on horseback without being seen?

"How can he be two hundred years old?" Max asked.

"He's not two hundred years old," River Dog said. "He hardly looks more than twenty. He died in battle with a tribe who was our enemy at the time."

"Two hundred years ago?"

"About that."

Max grew irritated at the quiet calm the shaman exuded. The sun beat down on him. Off in the distance, tiny swirls of rising heat created near mirages. "How is he here now?"

"It's part of an ancient prophecy," River Dog answered. "That's why I asked you to come here."

"What prophecy?"

The shaman waited a moment. "That one day the dead would rise and punish the living," River Dog answered.

Liz hurried among the tables as the lunch crowd continued descending on the Crashdown Cafe. With its out-of-this-world decor, the Crashdown Cafe was one of the local tourist attractions. Ideally located near the center of town, local businesspeople and employees ate there, sharing tables with the tourists who came in to gawk at the sights.

"Hey, waitress," a truck driver with an Atlanta Braves baseball cap called. "I'd like a refill on this tea sometime today."

Liz glanced at the man. Civil, she told herself. Just be civil. The clock is ticking, and the shift will be over. And being civil means bigger tips.

"Yes sir," she replied, putting on a smile that was just as plastic and phony as one of the art deco rocket ships hanging on the wall. She snagged a bottle of ketchup from the empty table she passed and dropped it off at a table of teenagers who had already gone through two bottles. They didn't even look up to acknowledge her.

Terrific. If I can't get to something someone needs, everybody sees me. But the minute I get something right, it's like I'm the Invisible Girl.

Liz took a deep breath and let it out. She was experienced enough not to take too much to heart. She managed to take another order, a family of five with something special on each entree, then swept back toward the servers table to grab a pitcher of tea.

Maria was already there, stuffing her apron pockets with sugar and sweetener packets.

"So," Maria said, "do you think your mom is going to become a basket case?"

"That's real tactful." Liz stuffed another handful of paper-wrapped straws into her apron.

Maria glanced knowingly at the nearly filled-to-capacity restaurant. "We don't exactly have time for tact." She took a pot of decaffeinated coffee from the wanning plate. "So… we can either talk about the situation, or we can ignore it." Without another word, she stepped back into the dining area amid an immediate flurry of calls for her attention.

Liz attached the latest order to the spinner bolted on the pass-through window. Michael, dressed in an apron over jeans and a T-shirt, wielded a spatula and tongs with grim efficiency. He flipped a half-dozen burgers, then lifted a basket of fries from the deep fryer and swatted the annoying beeping timer in one move.

"How about that order?" Liz asked, flicking one of the tickets with her forefinger.

Michael shook the basket of fries. "You know, I'd be a lot faster if we didn't have to involve this whole cooking thing."

"Good plan," Liz said. Then, off a second look, "No."

Michael shrugged and dealt cheese out onto burgers like playing cards. "Hey."

"What?"

A look of concern lighted Michael's face. "Is your mom gonna cave?"

Choking back a harsh reply, Liz grabbed the order sitting in the pass-through window and went back out into the dining area. She passed the food out, then noticed the truck driver raising his arm again. Retreating back to the wait station, she retrieved a pitcher of tea and managed the refill.

Taking out her order book, she seated three regulars at a back table one step behind the young busboy her dad had hired for the summer. The tabletop still glistened from Ethan's towel. After getting the drink order, which she thankfully knew by heart, she got the beverages delivered.