The noises grew louder, encircling them like an unfamiliar wind. The torches flickered out and the fire in the center of the medicine wheel dispersed a heavy smoke. In the blackness of night, the shadows of the spirit world surrounded them.

Chief Elkhart raised his spear, the porcupine quills dangling down from the wooden shaft like so many needles. Deadshot showed no fear, standing quietly with his rifle cradled between his arms. Chief Elkhart hefted the spear above his head, his right elbow pointing forward. He leaned back slightly, and then he rushed toward Deadshot and released it into the air.

The spear came so close to Deadshot’s face that he felt the feathers along the shaft brush against his cheek as it disappeared into the trees behind him. The low cries and struggling sounds of a fallen animal pierced the night air, deafening in their spectral tenor, causing Deadshot want to run from the source of the noise as quickly as possible.

“Give him your knife, Murphy,” Thaway said.