Under Desert Sand

by R Lawson Gamble

  Susan's brain was still whirring when she reached the turnoff for Hole-in-the-Wall. She pulled into the empty parking lot in front of the Ranger Station, climbed out, and ran up to the porch. Her footfalls rang hollow on the deck. The screen door groaned open, but the door itself was closed, locked. There was a note taped to the window.

  "Susan. I'm out on the loop trail doing some maintenance. Come find me. Tav."

  Susan studied the map on the wall of the porch. It showed a mile long loop around the huge rock formation rising behind the cabin. She walked across the parking lot to the trailhead. The sun was lowering but the slanting rays reflecting off the volcanic rock were still hot as she began to walk. Soon she was sweating through her cotton blouse. The trail consisted of cinder chunks, broken from the igneous rock formation, hard and sometimes sharp underfoot. Susan needed to concentrate not to turn an ankle.

  The trail skirted the rock formation and brought her to a vista across a vast valley of desert pockmarked by Joshua trees and clumps of Mojave Yucca. A fence line ran down the center, buildings tucked among several cottonwoods suggested a ranch although the distance was too great to be sure. The trail faced west, the sun was full upon her and it was hot. She glanced at her watch; she'd been walking almost ten minutes now. Where was the man? She'd come out here to talk to him, to find a way to warn Zack, not to get her daily exercise. Annoyed, she picked up her pace.

  Her course brought her around to the rear of the formation, where sandstone predominated. Wind and weather had carved isolated pillars, a series of grotesques to Susan's mind, with eyelike holes and tortured carvings, a Dante's Inferno of lost souls standing in deep shadow protected from the sun within the embracing arms of high cliffs. The path meandered up among the stone figures, under their overhanging midriffs and around pedestals into deep shadow, toward a dizzying array of slot canyons. The path itself became confused, offshoots departed toward other formations, into other canyons. Susan struggled to stay on the main path, the one most traveled, as best she could.

  She paused at a junction, less obvious than others, and studied it. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden mosquito-like whir by her ear. Instantly she heard the loud snapping crack of a gun, followed by a thousand snap-like echoes bounding off the stone pillars and cliffs. For a millisecond, Susan stood rooted in place, stunned, confused. In the next millisecond she dropped to the ground hard, lay cheek pressed against gritty stone and dirt, shocked. She felt her pounding heart thump against the hard ground. She lay still, her eyes closed, waiting to know her fate.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Not long after the boys established camp, Col found a spot near the summit of Hackberry Mountain where his cell phone had enough bars to call Kella. Because he had no way to recharge the phone, he used it sparingly. Both boys realized the importance of their phones for emergency calls. Julio never used his phone, though, so Col felt freer to make calls.

  "Did you talk to your dad?" Col asked, after a warm greeting.

  She groaned. "You won't like what he had to say. He's had his run-ins with Bronc, none of them pleasant. The man tried to prevent dad from bringing supplies up to Juan."

  "Did he threaten him?"

  "Not really. But he was his usual unpleasant self."

  "What did your dad say to you?"

  "He told me to stay away from your treasure hunt. He won't let me come back if he thinks I'll take part and wanted me to tell you he strongly recommends you leave it alone. He doesn't really think there is a treasure, but it doesn't matter, because as long as Bronc thinks you are interfering, you'll be in danger."

  Col paused. "Well, that's pretty straight forward."

  Kella was silent.

  "He won't let you come out here again at all?"

  "I think he might, eventually––once he's sure you won't be digging up Hidden Springs while I'm there."

  "What if I promise not to do that while you're here?"

  "I asked him that. He said you must promise not to search for it at all, because even if I'm not there while you search, if you upset someone like Bronc, the danger still exists."

  "Damn." Col thought about it. "He's right, of course. Frank must really believe there is something to this business."

  Kella's reply was whispered. "I don't think dad believes Old Juan just went away on his own."

  "Wow." Col's mind spun. "Okay, look. I'll talk to Julio; try to get him to drop this idea. It seemed exciting to me, fun, you know––but not if it means we can't see each other."

  He thought about it as he rode back down the mountain. Julio wouldn't drop the idea; he knew that, not even if it meant Kella wouldn't be allowed to visit. Col knew better than to try to convince him.

  On the other hand, Col didn't really believe they would find anything. If there had ever been a treasure, it was sure to be long gone. By the time he rode into camp, Col had decided to say nothing about his conversation with Kella. He believed the best course, his best chance to see Kella again as soon as possible, was to go ahead with the treasure hunt and get it over with. Once they tried and failed, Julio would drop the idea and things could return to normal.

  Julio was sitting in the sun, studying the notes they transcribed from the underside of the slab when Col rode up.

  "Hey," he called out. "This looks pretty simple."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. Too simple." Col sat down next to Julio, who moved the paper toward him and pointed to the sketch. "If we follow this, we start at the windmill, walk due west for sixty paces, assuming the tiny number means paces, then step due north forty more paces. Then there's another right angle, back east for forty paces. Is that how you read it?"

  Col studied it for a moment, nodded. "I guess so."

  "But the egg shape isn't at the end of that last set of paces. It's drawn in the middle of that area. Why do the dashes keep on going?" Julio looked at Col.

  Col shrugged.

  "Here's another question," Julio said. "Why make us walk all that way west, only to end up going back east again? Why not go directly to that spot from the windmill?"

  Col took the paper from Julio, grunted, handed it back. "Maybe whatever is buried there isn't in an exact location, like right at the end of the dashes. Maybe the treasure is somewhere along the continuum."

  Julio stared at Col. "Shit. You may be right." He looked back at the map. "I shouldn't have expected it to be that easy. This means we have to explore every inch of a line half a football field long."

  "At least it's all sand there. We might be able to use a probe."

  "Cut a couple of branches, maybe."

  "Yeah." Col grinned. "After we find the zillion dollars in gold we can roast marshmallows with them."

  Julio was not amused. "You don't really believe there is anything to this, do you?"

  Col was embarrassed, but didn't reply.

  "I think you should begin to take it more seriously, my friend," Julio said. "Let me tell you something I haven't told you before. I don't believe Old Juan went away voluntarily at all. I think he's dead."

  "We've all wondered about that, but there's no real reason to think that way."

  "Maybe there is." Julio reached into his pocket and brought out a creased and dog-eared plastic card, about the size of a driver's license, folded in half. He handed it to Col. It was a photo card, with a green banner and blue-green image of the statue of liberty. A Hispanic face looked earnestly back at him. Next to the photo were dates and a name: Juan Domingo.

  Col was shocked. "This is Old Juan? I mean is this his Green Card?"

  Julio nodded, his face grim. "I didn't want to show you this before, especially not when Kella was with us. I found it two days ago caught in some rocks where Juan had kept his horse. It must have dropped out of his pocket."

  Col shook his head. "So he dropped the card, lost it. What does that prove?"

  Julio pointed a finger at the lower right hand section of the card as Col held it. "Look at that expiration date. Look at the Resident From date.
This card was issued the same year he disappeared. It's good for another nine years."

  "I still don't––"

  Julio gave a short dry laugh. "You've never been an immigrant, so you don't get it. I have. These cards are very hard to get, often you have to enter a lottery for them and get lucky. You hold on to these things." He cocked his head toward Col. "You and I don't carry around our wallets out here, we keep them with our special belongings in the tent. If we need our driver's license, say, or a medical card, we get the wallet and take it with us to wherever. Working here, you never know what you might have to do, so you don't risk having the wallet in your back pocket. Right?"

  "Yeah, so––"

  "Not this little guy." Julio took back the card, looked at it. "You keep this on you at all times. You never know when someone may challenge you. You keep it deep in a pocket, a watch pocket, or a zippered pocket; somewhere it can never slip out so you never lose it. This little guy is your life."

  Col felt a sudden rush of understanding, and with it fear. "He didn't lose it. Someone took it from him."

  Julio gave him a thin smile. "Yeah, or it came free while he struggled, or was dragged, or stripped, or––"

  "Okay, okay, I get it. Jesus!"

  "I've been asking myself, why would anyone want to treat an innocent old guy like Juan that way? I have seen no evidence the sheep ever left this mountain, so they were never a threat to the water or the grazing of the Kellogg Ranch cattle. Even out here a man would have to trespass in a serious way to deserve death in someone's mind. My guess is they found he was after something they considered their own."

  "The treasure."

  "Yep."

  Col looked hard at his friend. "So despite all this, despite the danger, you still plan to look for whatever is hidden at Hidden Springs."

  Julio nodded.

  Col sighed. "Okay. When do we start?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Susan stayed down, her eyes closed. She became aware of footsteps, sand crunching underfoot. Her arm was grasped; she was pulled to a sitting position.

  "Susan, is that you? Are you alright?" It was Tav. "You aren't hit, are you? You couldn't have been hit."

  Susan opened her eyes, felt the blood begin to flow through her body. "No, I'm not hit." She became conscious of Tav holding her, supporting her back. She pushed away, struggled to her feet. "I'm okay."

  "I never expected you to come this way, the long way. I expected you to come directly in from the picnic area. It never occurred to me you might come this way."

  Susan felt anger. "What difference does it make which way I came here? What are you shooting at, anyway?" She glanced at his rifle, which lay on the ground where he left it when he reached her.

  Tav shook his head, his look earnest. "Ground squirrels. It's the maintenance job I mentioned. The little buggers constantly burrow under the paths and around signs and cause a hazard. I have to keep them under control." He nodded toward the rifle.

  Susan shook his arm off her shoulder. "I'm okay, I'm startled. I'm not used to hearing bullets whistle by me."

  "Well, it wasn't that close."

  Susan glared at him.

  "Okay, okay, you're right. It should never have happened. I never saw you until after I fired, but I should have been much more cautious."

  Susan was somewhat mollified, but didn't respond.

  "Come on. Let's go back up and get a nice cup of tea. You'll feel better. Then you can tell me why you're so concerned for Zack's safety."

  Susan reluctantly agreed, was cajoled into following Tav up the trail. Once opened, the door to fear closed slowly, however, and suspicion followed. She began to imagine it was Tav's voice on the telephone, warning her away. She noticed he carried no game bag, had no ground squirrels. The slot canyon steepened, ended at an abrupt climb of forty feet up sheer-faced boulders, aided by iron rungs sunk into the rock. Tav moved up easily, the rifle cradled in one arm, his other hand grasping rungs. Susan found it much more difficult. She tried to imagine climbing down the opposite way, as Tav had apparently expected her to do. She doubted she would even have attempted it.

  Her head full of these thoughts, Susan felt less than comfortable when they emerged from the canyon into the full afternoon light. It was an easy stroll down the road from the picnic area to the ranger station. Tav gestured her to a chair on the tiny porch and went inside to brew tea. She wanted to leave, but felt trapped.

  Tav was back in moments with a tea tray and set it on a small table.

  "Sugar?"

  "No, thank you. I like to experience the full bouquet."

  "That seems like you, to want to experience it all."

  Susan glanced up at him. "How do you mean?"

  "You don't pull back from a new experience; in fact you charge toward it. Take that iron ladder we just climbed; you didn't seem dismayed in the least bit." After a moment he said, "It's why I expected you to come from that end of the trail."

  It seemed to Susan he was trying to regroup, to excuse his actions. "I think you overestimate both my curiosity and my courage," she said.

  He sipped his tea, looked at her over the lip of the cup. He set the cup down deliberately, carefully. "What is it you have learned causing you to worry about Zack and Eagle Feather? You mentioned something about lost treasure."

  Where Susan had once been ready to bring Tav into her confidence, she was now hesitant. The whir of a bullet passing so near her, even if accidental, gave her pause. "I spent today in the public library at Needles, looking for any historical reference to Hidden Springs, any occurrence which might offer an explanation for the way those two boys died."

  She glanced at Tav.

  He nodded, waited.

  "If those boys were not there to shoot each other, in some romantically inspired moment of nonsense, what were they doing? I think the most likely answer is they were looking for something."

  "A buried treasure, you said."

  "Well, why not? Young guys, adventurous, romantic ideas; they may well have heard some of the legends I read about today."

  "Such as?"

  "Well, such as the Kokoweef underground river of gold, where black sands are permeated with gold dust. That's no more than fifteen miles from Hidden Springs."

  "I've heard of it." Tav shifted his position, stretched out his legs. "If that's what they were after, why were they at Hidden Springs?"

  Susan shrugged. She hadn't touched her tea, she realized––that might make her appear anxious. She picked it up now and sipped.

  Tav studied her. "Susan, you are not yourself. I'm afraid my carelessness has put a barrier between us. I am truly sorry."

  Susan gave a quick, bright smile. "I'll get over it. To get to the point, my research today revealed a number of possible mineral deposits, valuable resources that have been discovered and lost over time in this region. While I sat at the desk in the library, the thought came to me the boys might have been searching for gold, or silver––that somehow they learned of it, and that someone else was also hunting it and wanted to prevent them from finding it. Then I thought about Zack and Eagle Feather out there combing the area and I began to worry for their safety." Susan looked at Tav and gave a wave of her arm. "Now that I'm out here in the open air, my fears seem unfounded."

  Tav's eyes searched her face. "Do you still want to go find your friends and warn them?"

  Susan stood. "Not warn them, maybe fill in some spaces for them. I'm not sure they see any angle beyond the sheep versus cattle scenario." She turned to go.

  Tav rose to follow her.

  Susan put up her palm, smiled warmly. "I was panicked before. You have helped. But there's no need for you to babysit me any further."

  Tav stared, paused. In a few seconds he shrugged, then smiled and resumed his seat. "As you wish."

  Susan drove north over dusty hard-pack with the radio's single speaker groaning a comforting Country/Western song. She barely noticed it while she examined her feelings. If the mosquito buzz
of a bullet passing so near her had done anything, it brought to her a new sense of reality. Out here, people used guns like tools. They used them for 'maintenance', to clean up messes, to control their landscapes. What was the value of human life in this place? She guessed it depended upon the man wielding the weapon. For some, it might just come down to whether one can take a life and at the same time safeguard one's own.

  Susan didn't think Tav was that way, although in fact she didn't know him at all. Her instincts had caused her to hold her cards close to her chest with him, a reaction to his carelessness. She'd probably be a lot less open with the people of the desert from now on.

  Despite four-wheel drive, the Subaru lacked the clearance to drop into the dry creek bed on the road to Hidden Springs, so Susan parked it, removed the keys, and began to walk. It took her ten minutes to reach Hidden Springs, the sand so deep in the ruts at times it was like trying to climb a dune at the beach.

  She was disappointed when the gate came in sight, but not the Jeep. The gate appeared secured, the lock in place. She turned to go, saw a flash of movement. Big Blue careened toward her through the blackbrush. She braced for impact.

  As Blue enveloped her face with his tongue she heard Eagle Feather call a greeting. There he was on the far side of the fence. She went over to him.

  "Where's Zack?"

  "He went on to the sheep camp. I stayed to give this place another look. How'd you get here?"

  "I have Butch Short's old Subaru, but it couldn't make it this far."

  Eagle Feather studied her face, seemed to read something in it. "Maybe I should ask, why are you here?"

  Susan leaned against the fence, her legs a little weak. Now in the comfort of Eagle Feather's presence, she let down her defenses. "I think we're in more danger here than we realize."

  "Why do you think so?"

  Susan told him her findings.

  Eagle Feather listened without comment; let her finish. When she was done, he looked across the crime scene, up the slope to the windmill, at the blackbrush and sage where the old cabin foundation stones rested. He lifted his eyes to look beyond, down the valley toward the higher hills. He pointed.