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Pendergast let his light play around the bag。 Arrowheads and potsherds were scattered on the ground beside it。 An old parfleche was decorated in the same Southern Cheyenne style he'd seen in the burial chamber beneath the mound 。 。 。
。 。 。 And then； a few feet away； his light stopped at a ragged clump of hair； bleached…blonde with black roots。
Sheila Swegg。 Digging in the Mounds； she had accidentally e across the rear entrance to the cave。 It was well hidden； but easy enough to access if one knew which rocks to move。 She must have been astounded at the burial chamber where the Ghost Warriors were entombed； and she'd then gone deeper into the cave； looking for even more treasures。
She found something else instead。 She foundhim 。 。 。
There was no time for additional examination。 Taking one final look at the pathetic remnants； Pendergast turned and followed the small river along the smooth curves of the phreatic passage。
Within a few hundred yards； the river dropped away into a deep hole； filling the cave with a wash of mist。 Here； Pendergast went upward； through narrower tubes and pipes。 Now the faint marks made by the long…term passage of feet were being stronger： he was approaching the inhabited region of the cave。
Pendergast had believed from the beginning that the killer was local。 His mistake had been in assuming the killer was acitizen。 But no； he was not somebody to be found on Margery Tealander's tax rolls： he livedwith them yet notamong them。
From this realization； it was a relatively simple matter to determine the identity of the killer。 But along with that determination came an understanding…or the beginnings of an understanding…of just how malformed and amoral a creature they were dealing with。 He was a killer of extraordinary dangerousness； whose actions even Pendergast； with his long study of the criminal mind； could not predict。
He arrived at another narrow corridor。 Along the floor； the calcite flow had recrystallized； forming a shimmering； glowing； frozen river。 In the center； the soft flow had been worn down several inches by the passage of feet over a great many years。
At the end of the corridor the tunnel began to branch repeatedly； each branch showing signs of having been traversed many times。 Narrow crawlspaces and vertical cracks also showed signs of passage： a delicate crystal crushed here； a smear on an otherwise snowy white dripstone there…the variety of ways a human could betray his movements through a cave were almost infinite。 In the labyrinth of passages Pendergast lost his way…once； twice…each time managing to guide himself back with the aid of the map。 As he rejoined the central trail the second time； his flashlight caught a glimpse of color： there； on a high shelf of dripstone； was a collection of Indian fetishes； left hundreds of years before。
Added to the fetishes were others of more recent vintage； made of bits of string and bark； gum； and Band…Aids。
Pendergast paused just a moment to examine them。 They were strange； crude； and yet made with loving care。
Pendergast forced himself to hurry on； trying always to follow the most traveled route。 Infrequently he would stop to jot something on the map or simply to fix in his mind the growing three…dimensional layout of the cave system。 It was a stupendous maze of stone； with passageways twisting in every imaginable direction： splitting； joining； splitting again。 There were shortcuts here； secret passageways； tunnels； stopes； and drifts that would take many years to explore and learn。 Many years indeed。
The fetishes began to grow in number； supplemented by bizarre； plicated designs and images scratched into the rock walls。 Ahead； how near or far he did not yet know； was the killer's living space。 There； he felt sure； was where he would find Corrie。 Dead or alive。
In all previous investigations； Pendergast had taken pains to understand； anticipate； the thoughts and actions of his adversary。 In this case； the killer's psychology was so far outside the bell curve…for even serial killers had a bell curve…that such anticipation would be impossible。 Here； in this cave； he would confront the most profound forensic mystery of his career。
It was a disagreeable feeling indeed。
Sixty…One
Hazen jogged down the broadening slope of the tunnel； trying to catch up to Lefty and the dogs。 He could hear Raskovich huffing behind him and； farther back； the thudding footsteps and jangling equipment of the others。 And up ahead； the awful bellowing of the dogs。 Any pretense to stealth was long since shot： that barking could probably be heard miles away。 The cave was a hell of a lot bigger than anyone had imagined。 They'd left the still at least a quarter mile behind…it was hard to believe the dogs had dragged Lefty this far。
A moment later； as if in response to the thought； Lefty came into sight up ahead at last； leashes taut in his glove； speaking angrily。 He had finally gotten the animals to heel。
Hazen slowed up； grateful for the chance to catch his breath； and Raskovich came puffing up beside him。 〃Lefty； hold up for a moment；〃 Hazen said。 〃Let the others catch up。〃
It was too late。 There was a sudden explosion of hysterical barking from the passage ahead。
〃What's going on？〃 Hazen yelled。
〃There's something here！〃 Lefty shrilled back。
The dogs were growing frantic now； lunging and howling； once again dragging the protesting Lefty down the tunnel。
〃Damn you； Lefty； slow 'em down！〃 Hazen bellowed as he trotted forward。
〃You want to swear at me？ Take me back to the surface and swear at me。 I don't like it down here。 And I don't like these dogs。 Sturm！ Drang！Heel！ 〃
The dogs were baying and growling horribly； echoes distorting to the sound of hell itself。 Lefty gave the chain a brutal jerk and one of the dogs whirled around with a savage snarl。 The handler shrank back； almost dropping the leash。 Hazen could see Lefty was frightened。 The lure of the trail was too strong now： if these dogs caught up with McFelty； they might kill him。
That would be a disaster。
He pushed himself harder to catch up； Raskovich at his side。 〃Lefty；〃 he called out； 〃if you don't get those dogs under control； so help me I'll shoot them。〃
〃These dogs are state property…〃
As Hazen watched； the pale red shapes that were Lefty and the dogs dipped around a bend up ahead； suddenly vanishing from sight。 A moment passed； then there was a shout。 The frenzied baying of the dogs went up a notch： huge； meaty barks that rose at the end to a high…pitched shriek。
〃Sheriff； just ahead！〃 came Lefty's breathless voice。 〃Christ； there's something moving…！〃
Something？What was Lefty talking about？ Hazen turned the bend； drawing in the wet air of the cave through his nose and mouth； trying to find his wind。 And then he stopped abruptly。
Lefty and the dogs had disappeared into a virtual forest of limestone pillars。 Along the walls； strange curtainlike deposits hung down in heavy folds。 Everywhere he looked there were openings to tunnels； cracks； yawning holes。 He could hear the frantic barking； echoing back through the strange stony woods； but the sounds were so distorted that he had no idea where they were ing from。