||Baker Sipapu 12 "But only with faith," the Weaver paused in her work to give him her full attention; something she had never done before. "Only with faith! Talk to the Medicine Man." Her mind closed, and Bob had to go back to his sand shelf to think this over. Bob was in awe of the Medicine Man. Growing up with Indians he knew how these leaders were revered by the tribe. He felt he could not just go up and ask questions and demand answers. If he could take some gift--and his eyes strayed out into the valley, to the burned plane. Surely there would be something on the plane, or some tool in it that the Clan could use better than the flint tools the Medicine Man made. The next day he took the two tree limbs that Rain had brought to use for crutches, and made his way early in the morning down to the plane. It lay at the foot of the butte, a crushed, twisted mass of melted metal. There was simply nothing he could salvage. He turned to go back to the cave and noticed a glint of reflection between the butte and the cedar that had broken his fall. He limped over and picked up his cherished Buck knife that had always been with him. It was still in the leather scabbard, but the belt tie was broken. He found a string in his pocket and hung the scabbard again to his belt. It was mid-morning before Bob made it back to the cave, but he went directly to the Medicine Man and knelt down as he had seen the teen-agers that the Medicine Man coached, do.