By Louis Owens
Bone online game is a homicide secret on a grand scale. Cole McCurtain, a mixed-blood Indian professor of Indian experiences at Santa Cruz, California, is haunted by means of goals relationship again to occasions of Spanish California. pictures of a Spanish priest murdered in 1812, a rearing grizzly undergo, and a black-and-white painted Indian who bargains bones in his prolonged palms come at a time whilst dismembered items of a tender lady are washing ashore in 1993. The goals turn into more and more pressing because the murders develop into extra widespread, and Cole’s friends and family assemble to help-including Choctaw family members who commute west from Mississippi simply because "this story’s so immense, Cole sees just a bit of it."
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Extra resources for Bone Game (American Indian Literature and Critical Studies Series , Vol 10)
The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources, Inc. Copyright © 1994 by Louis Owens. Published by the University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, Publishing Division of the University. All rights reserved. A. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Page vii In memory of Ida Brown, who knew dreams Page 3 October 15, 1812. Government Surgeon Manuel Quijano, accompanied by six armed men, is dispatched from the presidio in Monterey with orders to exhume the body of Padre Andrés Quintana at the mission of Santa Cruz, La Exaltación de la Santa Cruz.
There had been no footprints outside the house. Beneath and around the thousand slivers of glass refracting damp morning light, the earth was unmarked. He'd walked into the grass, searching for a swath through the rain-soaked oats, but there was no sign. He'd stopped at the edge of the trees, resting a hand on the slick bark of a madrone and feeling moisture from the grass creep up his pant legs. On the sixth night he had fired a twelve-gauge shotgun at a dream. "She was chopped up," the blond rastafarian was saying breathlessly.
He saw the grey blurr and felt the impact before he could react. When he got out, the squirrel was dead. He considered cutting the tail off for fly-tying material but instead laid the animal gently in the grass, running his finger over the soft head and back, and then drove on down the hill. He'd only gotten a few hundred yards when a dark-headed junco fluttered from the side of the road into the truck's grill. In the rearview mirror he saw the tiny fluff of gray and black bounce to the pavement and lie still, the feathers ruffling in the draft of the pickup.