Three Mesaliko men in jeans, T-shirts, and sweat-stained denim shirts with the sleeves hacked off were putting a new roof on a community building. Although none of them spoke, the three men rose as one and stepped over the edge of the single-story building. Their boots thumped against the alkaline ground when they landed, then they headed for Max.

Max held his ground and watched them approach even though he wanted to get back into the Cutlass and leave. He watched the men stop just out of arm's reach, forming a semicircle around him.

"What are you doing here?" one of the men demanded. He was Max's height and slim build, but his arms and shoulders showed musculature from long, hard hours of manual labor. He kept a roofing hammer in one scarred hand.

"I was invited," Max said. He had to push the words out. From past visits to the reservation, he knew that the Mesaliko tribe didn't much care for outsiders, and cared even less for anyone connected to the legends of the Visitor that had arrived in the fateful spaceship crash in Roswell in 1947.

"Who invited you?" the man demanded.

"River Dog," Max answered. The messenger had found him only a short time ago in Roswell.

"I don't know anything about this," the man said.

Max nodded. "I'm sorry."

"He shouldn't be here," one of the other men declared.

"We could make him leave," the third man suggested.

Anger surged through Max. The emotion was raw and vibrant, sometning new that had become part of him after losing his son and seeing Liz with Kyle.

"I'm not leaving," Max said in a low voice.

The man holding the hammer stared at him, his face as cold and still as marble. "Maybe you won't have a choice, boy."

One of the men standing to the side took a step, moving farther behind Max.

Max resisted the impulse to step back toward the Cutlass to prevent them from circling him. For a moment, he realized the rebelliousness that filled him was something he would have expected from Michael.