By Tony Hillerman
While younger boys disappear, considered one of them leaving a pool of blood at the back of, Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn of the Navajo Tribal Police unearths himself not just monitoring a ruthless and brutal killer yet stuck up within the tricky mysteries of the Zuni faith in addition. For the useless boy used to be to have performed a key function in a major ritual of the Zuni humans. An additional worry within the research and seek is the lacking boys' curiosity in an archeological dig that appears close to proving a arguable thought. And the FBI's blind walk in the park that it is all with regards to a small hippy commune's drug dealing does not precisely aid both. Leaphorn patiently tracks the assassin into the desolate tract to a terrifying confrontation...
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Extra info for Dance Hall of the Dead (Crime Masterworks)
It passed three empty bedrolls, all in disarray, passed a battered metal chest with its drawers hanging open, passed a rope-tied bundle of sheep hides, and stopped finally on the arm of a man. The arm extended limply on the packed earthen floor, the dark wrist thrust out of a sleeve that was khaki (not dark blue), the fingers relaxed, their tips touching the earth. A stinging flurry of dry snowflakes whipped past Leaphorn's face. Again the wind spoke loud around the hogan, raising an obbligato mixture of hoots and shrieks.
If he didn't take the horse, who did? And who took his things? Don't you think we should find him now? Don't you think he'd be safer? " The carryall tilted up the slope above the hogan, grinding in second gear. A fresh assault of wind howled past its windows. The snow had stopped now and the vehicle was submerged in a sea of swirling dust. Cecil suddenly began shaking. Leaphorn put his hand on the boy's shoulder. He was overcome with a wild surge of anger. "He got the horse yesterday evening," Cecil said.
And the Zuñi Police Department had called and asked that Leaphorn be informed that Ernesto Cata had been found. Leaphorn frowned at the radio. "Found? " "Let me check," the dispatcher said. " The dispatcher sounded sleepy. Leaphorn rubbed his hand across his face, suppressing a yawn. "Found his body," the dispatcher said. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Chapter Seven Tuesday, December 2, 7:22 AM. THE SUN, rising over Oso Ridge, warmed the right side of Joe Leaphorn's face and cast the shadow of his profile horizontally against the raw gray earth exposed by the landslide.