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.