"Sure," Flynn said grudgingly. After a final stare, he turned and lumbered back to his sleeping bag.

From the corner of his eye Michael caught Junior making a gesture that would have probably gotten him killed if Flynn had seen him do it. Michael retreated to his own sleeping bag as Perry began his story.

"This all happened a long time ago," Perry began in a properly creepy voice. "A hundred years ago. Maybe more. Back in the days before the West was settled. Only the Mesaliko bands roamed the mountains and alkaline valleys out here those days, and they weren't friendly."

Doubt stirred within Michael. During the encounters they'd had with River Dog, one of the medicine men of the Mesaliko Native-American reservation outside of Roswell, Max had done research on the tribe. The Native-American group hadn't been extreme or harsh unless persecuted or threatened in some way.

"There was this one guy," Perry continued, "the tribe kicked out. His true name was soon forgotten by the tribe, or never used again because they considered him less than human."

"Why'd this guy get kicked out of the tribe?" Flynn asked, glaring at Junior. "Being some kind of pain in the butt nobody could take anymore?"

"No," Perry said. "Head-Eater got kicked out of the tribe for the same thing that earned him his nickname."

"Eating heads?" Junior asked in obvious excitement. His eyes danced behind his glasses.

"Yeah," Perry replied, warming to the story.

"Cool," Junior said.

Even Flynn lost part of the effort he was putting into ignoring the others.

"Seems Head-Eater got stranded in the mountains during one winter," Perry said. "He was with a hunting party when a blizzard came."

Michael only vaguely paid attention to the story. The tale followed the familiar patter of every ghost story he'd ever heard. He wasn't surprised by a whole lot of things that were crafted from mechanical artifices. Stories followed certain routes, and he'd even figured out the trick ending of The Sixth Sense.