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asking.
    â€œSame as what the newspaper says. Quarter million. Last time a glyph was stolen, the thief wanted two hundred thousand.”
    â€œWait a minute.” Vicky took her seat and locked eyes with the Arapaho chairman. “You were contacted seven years ago?”
    â€œThought we had a deal,” Norman said. “Then Travis Birdsong went crazy, killed his partner. There was all kinds of publicity, and the contact went away. We don’t want that to happen again, ruin our chance to get the glyph back.”
    Vicky took a moment. She stared past Adam and the easel with the map of the Red Cliff Canyon area, a new thought forming in her head. “How was Father John contacted?” she said.
    â€œIndian stopped him over in Ethete.” This from Norman. “Didn’t want to come to the tribal offices himself…”
    â€œIt could be the same contact.” Vicky could feel her heart speeding up. Amos Walking Bear could be right. Whoever had taken the first glyph had come back for another one, and sent the same man to try to collect a ransom. Which could mean that Amos’s grandson could be in prison for a murder he didn’t commit.
    â€œAnother reason not to bring on a lot of publicity,” Adam said, glancing at Vicky as he stepped back to the table. “The Indian’ll disappear, just like last time.”
    â€œAnother problem.” Norman said. He was bouncing his tipied hands off each other. “Newspaper reporter keeps poking around, she’ll find out that the petroglyphs aren’t all that’s been stolen up in the canyon. Thieves’ve been taking small artifacts for some time now. Mona and her staff came across several mounds that were dug up recently.”
    â€œArtifacts are also missing?” Vicky said.
    The tribal councilmen were nodding in unison, heads bobbing over the long table. “Ancient tools, bones, who knows what else was taken,” Norman said. “Probably sold on the black market, same place the Drowning Man will disappear into if we don’t get it back.” The corners of the man’s mouth pulled downward. His eyebrows folded into the deep crease above his nose. “You’d be surprised at how much money people are willing to pay for old bones. Anything that’s Indian, they don’t care, they lay out their money. Don’t have any respect. We don’t need the newspapers telling folks about artifacts and even more valuable petroglyphs.”
    â€œThe alternate road will speak for itself,” Adam said. “Fewer curves, easier grade. We don’t need to involve the press.”
    â€œHow soon can you write up a proposal for the BLM?” Norman said.
    â€œRight away,” Adam told the chairman.
    Norman nodded. “We made real progress here. You two…” Norman glanced from Adam to Vicky. “I’d say you know what you’re doing. We’re gonna go into regular session, take a vote on going forward with this. We’ll get back to you.”
    Adam thanked the councilman, then walked over and held the door open, waiting. Vicky picked up her briefcase and walked past him. “Annie said one of the elders came in,” he said, closing the door behind them.
    â€œIf you knew that, Adam, then you knew why I was late.” Vicky started down the corridor ahead of him.
    â€œThis was an important meeting.” Adam’s footsteps clacked alongside her on the tiled floor; his shoulder brushed hers.
    Vicky didn’t say anything for a moment. She should not have to explain to Adam Lone Eagle that it would have been impolite to refuse to see Amos Walking Bear. It was what had made their partnership possible, the fact that Adam understood the Arapaho Way. Finally she told him the old man was convinced that his grandson had been convicted seven years ago of a crime he didn’t commit.
    They were outside now, walking across the gravel to her Jeep. She opened the door