anything seemed possible.
When they turned away from the crater, Kevin asked, “Where’re we going after Little Hebe, Rick?”
The use of his first name was by Fallon’s request. He wondered, not for the first time, if someday Kevin might want to call him Dad. He wouldn’t ask for it, but he’d be proud if it happened.
“Well, I thought maybe we’d hike up Wild Horse Canyon and camp there tonight. That’s near the Panamints.” Fallon pointed. “Those big mountains to the west.”
“Sure, I know.”
“Pretty rugged country over that way. You won’t mind?”
“Heck, no. Didn’t there used to be gold mines up there?”
“Gold mines and a boomtown called Panamint City. There’s not much left now, but I’ll show you the canyon where they were.”
Halfway through the hike, Fallon paused to drink from his water bottle. When Kevin imitated him, even to the way he held the bottle, he smiled and thought fondly: desert rat in training. In the distance the Panamints loomed, gray and shadowed in their lower regions, golden where the sun struck their peaks and ridges.
He said, “You know, there’s a Paiute legend about those mountains. It says little spirits called
“You think it’s true, Rick?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Have you ever seen a mountain spirit?”
“No, but there’s a first time for everything.”
“Maybe we’ll see one when we’re there tonight.”
“Maybe we will.”
They walked on toward Little Hebe, not speaking now, both of them listening to the silence.
A NOTE ON THE AUTHOR
Bill Pronzini is the author of seventy novels, including three in collaboration with his wife, the novelist Marcia Muller, and is the creator of the popular Nameless Detective series. In May 2008, he received a Grand Master Award from the Mystery Writers of America. A six-time nominee for the Edgar Allan Poe Award, and two-time nominee for the International Association of Crime Writers’ Hammett Prize (for
