From the ledge high on the cliff, Duncan Grover could see the length of the valley running like a river out of the mountains and into the shadows of the plains. Bear Lake directly below glistened like a diamond in the moonlight. Above the ledge, the spirit that guarded the valley had carved its own image into the flat face of the cliff. The white figure seemed to be stepping out from the reddish sandstone: large, square body with arms outstretched in a kind of benediction, and round, all-seeing eyes behind the humanlike mask.

The world was silent, except for the faint stirring of thunder beyond the mountain peaks and the sound of the wind in the junipers and pinons. The wind smelled of rain. It was the last Friday in April, the Moon of Ice Breaking in the Waters, in the way in which his people, the Arapahos, marked the passing of time.

Duncan pulled the woolen blanket tighter about his bare shoulders and sat down cross-legged inside the circle he'd drawn through the loose gravel on the ledge. He would stay inside the circle for three days, as Gus Iron Bear, the noto'nheihi, had instructed. Here was everything he needed for his vision quest: a small fire of cottonwood chips, and sage, a pipe carefully wrapped in calico and propped on two upright sticks, and a leather pouch filled with tobacco.

He tried not to think about the hunger gnawing at his insides like a small animal. His mouth was as dry as leather. He hadn't eaten or taken anything to drink for two days now, he guessed. He couldn't be sure. All of time had collapsed into the present.

He intended to follow the medicine man's instructions to the last detail. He didn't want to fail. He'd already failed so many life tests that he felt himself a mighty failure. But he'd been given another chance.

He'd spent three weeks preparing for the vision quest: days and nights of praying, fasting, and listening to the words of the noto'nheihi. He'd been cleansed in the sweat lodge, his heart softened so that it might be reshaped by the spirits. He'd prayed for strength, for the power to control his emotions throughout the ordeal of the quest, like a warrior seeking the power to control himself throughout the ordeal of battle.

Two days ago he'd driven thirty miles north of the Wind River Reservation to Bear Lake Valley. The spirits dwelled in the valley, and had dwelled there for countless old men, countless generations -- as long as his people could remember. He'd removed his clothes and slipped past the icy crust still clinging to Bear Lake, surprised at how warm the water was, how comforting as it lapped at his nakedness and cleansed his spirit.

Then he'd wrapped himself in the blanket woven with blue, red, and yellow geometric symbols: the long lines that represented the roads humans must follow, the circle that represented the Creator, the center of all. Carrying only a small bundle that contained the pipe, the pouch, and some cottonwood chips and dried sage, he'd climbed up the mountain barefoot. Floated upward, it had seemed, lifted into the sky by the spirit itself looming above, the rocks and pine needles as nothing beneath his feet. He found the ledge with no trouble. It was much larger than he'd expected, as large as a porch. It might have been waiting for him through the eons.

With his fingers he'd traced out the circle, his home on the ledge, then removed the pipe from the bundle and tapped in the tobacco. Before he began to smoke, he held out the pipe to the four directions, an offering to the four grandfather spirits that guarded the world. When he offered the pipe to the spirit of the west, the thunder keeper had answered. Thunder, boh'o:o, had crashed through the valley.

He'd waited for the thunder to subside before he'd turned to the sandstone cliff and raised the pipe to the figure of the guardian spirit of the valley.

"Remember me." He spoke softly to the spirit. "I am poor. Every morning I will be poor. Take pity on me."

Only after he'd made the offerings did he begin to smoke. The smoke had curled up toward the sky, lifting his prayers to the spirits. A sense of peace had come over him. He felt strong with confidence that the spirits would honor his quest.

Since then he'd dozed inside the circle, then awakened and prayed and smoked before dozing again, waiting -- not expecting, simply waiting -- for the time his guardian spirit might choose to come in a vision and bestow power upon him. To receive power in a vision -- ah, that would be the strongest power of all. Then he would have the strength to follow the Arapaho Way. He could live a good life.

He wasn't sure when he became aware of the light flowing through the trees on the mountainside below, but now it caught his attention. Be attentive to all things -- the noto'nheihi's voice in his head. He tried to concentrate on the moving light, emptying his mind of all other thoughts and possibilities. He felt his heart knocking against his ribs. He struggled to take in a deep breath and calm himself. He must be ready. The spirit was approaching.