never heard of any Indians who ever lived here. And I don't remember cremated burials in baskets being very common among North American Indians.'
'Maybe not. I'm not an ethnologist, but I know the practice exists, or existed. Some of the central California peoples used to do it.'
When Julie continued to frown he said firmly, “Trust me, I'm a world-renowned authority.'
John laughed but Julie looked at him curiously. “Joke,” Gideon said. “Now, let's have a look at this last one. Fenster thinks this might be one of the hikers?'
'Right, Doc,” John said. “You want their descriptions?'
'No, let's do it the usual way. Let me see what I can find out on my own. I wouldn't want to bias my judgment with any preconceived ideas,” he explained for Julie's benefit, looking at the small pile of brown bones.
'Quite proper for a world-renowned authority,” Julie said.
Gideon looked up quickly.
'Joke,” she said. “Honest.” She smiled, and Gideon realized suddenly that she was very pretty.
He returned his attention to the bones. “There's not much here,” he said. “It's been partially burned, and it looks like some animal's gotten in and made off with most of it. Look, you can see where something's been gnawing on the edge of the scapula.'
Julie shivered suddenly and apologized. “Sorry, I guess I'm not used to this.'
'There's no need for you to be here,” John said gently. “If you want—'
'No, I'm intrigued. Don't pay any attention to me. If I faint, just go on without me.'
Gideon leaned forward, studying the fragments intently: fourth and fifth lumbar vertebrae, held together by a few shreds of brown, dried ligament; third and fourth thoracic vertebrae; left scapula, whole except for some gnawing and breakage along the rim.
He shook his head. “It's going to be hard: There's no way I can tell the race from these, but I'm pretty sure it's male.'
John jotted something in his notebook, looking less than hopeful, but Julie was eager.
'How can you tell it's a male?'
'The scapula. See the rough, ridged areas on the extension?” He handed the bone to her. She hesitated momentarily, then took it. “That's where the deltoid and the trapezius muscles...Do you remember your anatomy?'
'Not much,” Julie said.
'Okay, that's where the large shoulder muscles attach,” Gideon said, careful not to sound patronizing. “The ruggedness of the bone shows the muscles were heavy, powerful. A female would have smaller shoulder muscles, and you'd barely see any ridges.'
'But what if it was a woman with large muscles?” Julie asked. “Women are a lot more athletic than they used to be.'
'Well, if the female heavyweight weight-lifting champion of the world is missing, maybe we've found her, but I don't think so. It's much more than a question of athletics. If a man and a woman exercise the same amount, the man will still have a lot heavier, denser muscles and thicker, rougher bones. A woman would have to exercise a great deal more even to come close.'
The corners of Julie's mouth turned down.
'I'm sorry if it offends you,” Gideon went on, “but there really are some differences between men and women that are genetically determined, and muscularity happens to be one of them. I'm speaking statistically, of course; there's no way I can be completely certain on this particular bone.'
'I'm not sure if I agree,” Julie said.
Gideon, slightly annoyed, was about to reply when she suddenly added, “But who am I to disagree with a world-renowned authority?” and broke into another warm smile. She really was extraordinarily attractive, Gideon thought, even beautiful.
'Male,” said John flatly, writing. “Okay. Anything else you can tell us?'
He looked so dejected that Gideon laughed. “You mean anything to justify my fee? Yes, I think so.” He picked up the scapula and turned it slowly in his large hands. “He's over twenty-three,” he said after a while. “All the epiphyses are fused.'
Gideon put the bone on the table and leaned close to it, using the magnifying glass like a jeweler's lens. “And he's definitely under forty. “No sigh of atrophic spots.'
'Of what spots?” asked John dully, writing.
'Atrophic. As you get into middle age, the supply of blood to the scapula decreases, and the bone atrophies in places.” When John winced, he added, “Don't worry, it's harmless.'
Gideon turned the bone over several times more, still peering through the magnifying glass. “Ah!” he said, “Look at this. Just the tiniest bit of lipping on the circumferential margin of the glenoid fossa—'
'Doc,” said John, “you're going to have to go a little slower or else speak English.'
'Don't worry, I'll write it up for you. The important thing is that lipping starts about thirty. I'd say he's twenty- nine, or maybe just turned thirty, considering that the epiphyses look as if they've been fused six or seven years.'
John put down his pad and looked squarely at Gideon. “Doc, is this on the level? Eckert was twenty-nine. Did you know that before?'
