“Wow. Think they’re talking to each other?” Tom was grinning.
Sarah was drawing again. “She’s probably telling him how to clean the right way.”
“Or he’s telling her,” William said.
They were laughing when Myra and Sergei returned, bowls and spoons clean.
The sun had dropped below the ridges. The sky glowed red to the west, clouds under lit. Above, behind them, the cliff face rose to stars. They were warm, fed, and comfortable. Tom was recovering his color.
They heard very faint shouts and laughter. The breeze from the west was carrying up the noise from the Buckhorn camp.
“Wish they weren’t here,” Tom said.
“First thing tomorrow, we’ll go look for the thrower,” said Sarah. She had removed the coiled line from Tom’s pack and was checking its condition. “I should find it if the water hasn’t carried it somewhere. I should be able to get it right away. You guys will lower me down and then use the line to help me climb back up.”
“You’re sure about this, Sarah?” Myra watched Sarah prepare the rope.
“I got out once, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. At the cost of a possible concussion, torn hands, and a lost finger.”
“That’s not how I lost my finger, Myra.”
Myra opened her mouth, then said nothing.
“Tomorrow, we find that thing. And then what? Pack up and skedaddle?” Tom rummaged for tea bags.
“Any way we can avoid passing their camp?” asked Sergei.
“Not really,” William said. “We have to follow Godkin to get out of here.” There were no trails out of this valley. Climbing to the top of the ridge at the head of the valley only led them into further backcountry, filled with cliffs and snowfields.
“I don’t think we’ll be stopped.” Myra sounded hopeful. “We’re a lot of witnesses, five of us, if they take things from us.”
Sarah poked the coals with a stick. “If they take the thrower and our cameras, no matter what we say, they’ll put their word against ours.”
“Well, maybe we’re wrong.” Tom sounded as hopeful as Myra. William could tell Sergei didn’t think Roger was bluffing.
The next day, they rose early. A hint of frost rimed leaves and branches. They cooked oatmeal, had tea, cleaned up.
The morning sky was blue, with occasional passing clouds.
“OK, Sarah.” Tom took hold of the rope. “Lead the way.”
Sarah stood at the fire ring and paused, looking back toward the cliff, then up toward the head of the valley, as if she was orienting herself. They watched her. William was reminded of the night up here the previous May when she’d reappeared in the middle of the thunderstorm. He and Tom had had no idea, really, where she’d come from. She’d just appeared, then collapsed.
William tried to imagine what this must be like for her, to willingly go back to that place where she had been trapped for eight days, alone and surely terrified, thinking she would die and never be found. Then he caught himself. To her, there was light, the bear, and then she was in a great canoe.
She lined up her angle based on the fire ring. Sarah mimed picking up the atlatl case and started forward, angling to the right of the cliff, in the direction of the head of the valley, She worked around the jumbled boulders. William expected her to pause at one of the many voids, but she continued, past the boulders. She walked 100 yards, all the way to the base of the slope.
The base of the bare cliff face, 120 feet wide, was to the left, jumbled with vegetation and fallen trees. William remembered searching here for Sarah back in May. Sarah came to a rise in the slope, then stepped forward to climb to a higher, smaller shelf on which trees grew. She worked herself behind the trees.
She disappeared.
“Sarah?” Tom held the coiled line. They all stood there. They could see nothing, hear nothing. She had been 10 feet away, and now she was gone.
“Here.” Sarah’s face appeared, to the right of the trees. “It’s here.”
They scrambled up onto the small ledge. Behind the trees, on a small ledge, a broken rock covered a void. One had to be on the ledge itself, standing behind the trees, to see this rock, and beneath it, the narrow opening.
“How did you come to this spot, that day?”
“I was pissed, Tom-Tom. I was looking for a good secret place to hide the thrower. Maybe to hide myself, too. Figured I’d let you guys panic trying to find me.”
“Well, we did panic trying to find you, Sarah.” Myra was not amused.
“I saw this rock and the space below.” Sarah gestured toward the void. “Be careful. I wasn’t. Give me the rope. The headlamp.”
Tom pulled a headlamp from his pocket, then handed Sarah the rope. William stepped forward.
“Let’s get you properly tied in, Sarah.” He ran the rope around her waist, and then made a sling called a bosun’s chair. He measured the loops around her narrow legs and tied the bowline. She stepped into the chair. He adjusted the rope. “Stay upright if you can, Sarah. With this chair we can lower you, then help lift you out. You’ll have your hands free to brace yourself.”
The hole was just a narrow gullet dropping straight down eight feet and then twisting to the left. William could see how she might have been crawling over leaves and branches covering the hole and simply fallen through, tumbling down headfirst.
Sarah put on the headlamp. She wore a long-sleeved shirt and long pants.
Sergei came forward and took the rope from William. “I will hold her.” He straddled the gullet with his long legs, holding the rope directly above the narrow opening.
Sarah turned on the headlamp.
“I’m not sure about this,” Myra said.
“Well, I am, Myra.” Sarah adjusted the lamp on her forehead.
Sergei let out some line. “Sarah, when you need to be lifted up, three pulls on the rope. Three, all right?”
Sarah sat on the leaning rock and lowered her legs into the void. As she went down, Sergei took up tension on the rope. Sarah started descending.
“Jesus.” Myra had her fist to her mouth.
Sarah disappeared. Sergei fed the rope through his hands.
Sarah spoke as she dropped. “More. Hold it. Now, more. OK. Wait. OK.” The light grew dimmer. She started twisting, following the void as it turned. “More, More. Wait.”
Her voice grew fainter and she disappeared. They heard nothing. The rope moved inch by inch through Sergei’s hands. Myra, Tom and William were on their stomachs, looking down into the hole. Sergei continued to stand, immovable, feeding line.
Suddenly the line went slack. From below, unbelievably faint, William heard Sarah’s voice.
“OK. OK. Wait.”
Then, nothing. Sergei continued to hold the rope. He was sweating. Long minutes passed. The rope stayed motionless.
“What’s she doing?” Myra backed away from the opening.
“This is crazy.” Tom peered into the void. “We’re nuts. I’m not sure any of us could fit down that chute to follow her, if we had to. It’s too tight.”
Sergei continued to hold the rope, hands loose, waiting.
The rope remained motionless. Time slowed, then stopped. William watched sweat drop from his forehead into the void. Myra had moved off and stood facing the trees. Tom lay on the ground, his head hanging over the opening.
The rope remained slack, still. Time passed.
William’s watch said Sarah had been below for 40 minutes.
The rope jerked three times.
Sergei started to pull on the rope. It came too easily. He lowered it again. The rope jerked again, harder.
“She wants you to pull something up.” Tom spoke into the void.
Sergei pulled the rope, to which something was tied. It snagged down around the twisted turn, but then came free. The a
tlatl case hung on the end of the rope, dripping and streaked with mud. Sarah had tied the rope around the case above the bosun’s chair. William grabbed the case, then untied the rope and handed it back to Sergei.
Sergei lowered the rope back into the void. The bosun’s chair hung up near the turn, but by wiggling the rope and hauling it up once or twice it passed the obstruction and continued down.
The rope went slack and then, five minutes later, jerked three times. The way Sergei pulled, William was certain Sarah must be in the bosun’s chair below them. Every once in a while, the rope went slightly slack as Sarah repositioned herself.
Sergei’s hands were red with effort, his forearms corded and thick. Finally they could hear Sarah.
“Lift. Wait. OK. Lift.”
The top of her head came over the edge of the hole, headlamp shining. They pulled her free. Sarah collapsed on the ledge, breathing hard. She was scratched and streaked with mud. Somehow she had cut her ear. Her long-sleeve shirt and pants were wet and muddy, the pants torn.
“You OK?” Myra asked, as she helped Sarah stand up. They moved from the narrow shelf to the base of the ledge below. Sergei coiled the wet, muddy line.
Sarah sat in the sun, handing the headlamp to Tom. She held the atlatl case in her lap.
”I knew I’d never be able to climb out that way,” she said.
“What?” Myra asked. “Isn’t that how you got out last spring?”
“No. The bear showed me another way.”
Myra said nothing. Sergei observed Sarah. Sarah brushed off some mud.
“Was the case where you thought it would be?” asked Myra.
“No. I got down there, took off the sling, had to go looking.”
“Jesus, Sarah, you agreed not to take off the sling.”
“Myra, I had to.”
“You don’t take direction well, do you?”
“Not when you give stupid direction. The case had been washed a ways. We were lucky. It caught in a crack right before another long drop. I was able to reach that far, but not easy.” William imagined Sarah untying herself from the lifeline and heading off into the dark, probably on her knees, to search for the atlatl. “I was OK.” Sarah stood up.
Sergei watched Sarah, fascinated. Now his face broke into the widest smile William had ever seen.
“Thrower smiled like that,” Sarah said, and then, taking the case, she started toward camp. Sergei blinked. Myra watched Sarah walk off.
“We’re all crazy,” Myra whispered.
Tom took the coiled line from Sergei. “Let’s go look at this spear thrower. Take photos, have Sarah make a drawing, too. She went to some trouble to retrieve it.”
“That she did,” William said.
It was not yet 10 a.m. when they returned to their camp. Tom cleaned off the case, then pulled out the atlatl. The atlatl had remained dry during all that time underground. Myra bandaged Sarah’s ear. Sarah was shivering. Tom and Sergei both took photographs. William kept watching for Buckhorn’s people, but the woods were silent. Sarah, warming up, took the atlatl and held the piece as if throwing, looking back at her outstretched arm.
“I gotta try this a couple times.” She gestured over toward the cliff where she had stacked her thrower and darts the evening before.
“Sarah, that’s an ancient artifact. It could be damaged if you use it.” Myra was frowning. Sarah started drawing the thrower.
Myra, Tom, Sergei and William struck camp. They emptied their tents, rolled up the sleeping bags, packed their gear. The forest seemed empty. William had concluded the Buckhorn people would simply wait for them to leave the valley and intercept them down by Godkin Creek. The fine day had deteriorated. Thunderheads were rising in the sky and the wind began to blow. They’d have rain by nightfall.
By the time Sarah had completed her sketch of the atlatl, they had broken camp. The fire was nearly out. They gathered together by the fire, avoiding the blowing smoke. Sergei took the atlatl and examined the raven’s carved beak, the marks showing the wings. He spent long minutes tracing the lines and marks on both sides of the shaft with his fingers. He was almost reverent. “This is very old, William.”
“I know.” When William had touched the atlatl last May, he felt the same thing.
“Very old,” Sergei said again. He handed the piece to Tom, who wrapped the atlatl in the cloth and then placed it carefully in the case. They were ready to leave. Sergei straightened and opened his hands. “There’s something I need to say. Myra, you said earlier you didn’t want to hear my points, and I did not persist then, because you did not want to listen. You offended me, actually. But now that we have retrieved this atlatl, I have something I need to say.”
“Wait, Sergei.” Sarah turned and trotted toward the cliff. She disappeared behind some brush below the overhang.
Just then the Buckhorn survey crew emerged from some trees beyond those that had been felled by lightning the spring before. They had crept up under the sound of the wind. They were suddenly right there, close.
Tom held the case containing the atlatl. Myra stepped in front of him. Sergei and William were to the side, beside their packs.
Roger approached, closely followed by the others. He was carrying a pistol. His eyes were on the atlatl case.
“Good morning.” Roger’s voice grated. William regretted that Sarah hadn’t carried the atlatl case back to the cliff with her; she might have been able to hide it. But it was in Tom’s hands, now in plain sight.
Roger stood just ahead of the felled tree, flanked by Raymond and Bernie. Pete stood next to Bernie. He would not meet William’s gaze. The other two stood by Raymond. Roger pointed the pistol toward Tom’s feet. “We need to see anything you might be taking from this site. Where’s the girl?”
“She went to the latrine.” William said the first thing that came to his mind.
“She isn’t missing again, is she? You didn’t lose her again, did you? Add wood to that campfire, Pete.” Pete was confused. He threw some branches on the coals. They burst into flame. “Make it good and big, Pete.”
Pete built up the fire.
“You don’t need that gun.” Tom said. “Last thing we all need here, a bad accident.”
“I know how to handle a gun, gramps.”
Tom said nothing. He continued to hold the atlatl case.
Sarah was somewhere behind them. William prayed she would remain out of sight until these men were done.
“Cameras, Raymond. Cell phones. iPods.”
Raymond approached and held out his hand. Tom shifted the case to his left hand and, with his right hand, pulled his small camera from a pocket, handing it to Raymond. He had no cell phone. Sergei was absolutely still next to William. Raymond approached him.
“Camera, please,” said Roger, raising the gun until it was pointed at Sergei’s knees.
Sergei said something in Russian and handed over his camera.
“Cell phone?”
Sergei took a cell phone from his pocket.
“You, too, Tonto.” Roger was talking to William.
“I don’t have a camera. Or cell phone.”
“You as well, Pocahontas.”
“Kiss off.”
Roger’s face twisted. He stepped close to Myra and pointed the gun at her belly.
“Do you have a camera?”
“No.”
“Search her, Raymond. The rest of you guys, check their packs.”
Raymond started patting Myra down. Roger held the gun to her belly. The others each grabbed a pack. Gear began to fly onto the ground - clothing, bowls, sleeping bags.
Raymond took his time with Myra. He checked everywhere, lingering in her pants pockets. Myra shuddered. William could probably kill Raymond with one good blow, but by then Roger would have blown a hole in his daughter.
Raymond found n
o camera on Myra. Roger removed the gun from her belly. He took the atlatl case from Tom with his left hand. Bernie placed the two cameras and the cell phone on a wide, flat rock by the fire and stomped on them. Then he kicked the broken pieces into the flames. William watched the plastic melt, dark smoke rise.
“Does the girl have a camera?” asked Roger. William didn’t like the look in Roger’s eye, and he liked the look in Raymond’s even less. Pete was standing to the side, ashen.
“Where’s the latrine?” Roger asked.
William pointed toward Bob-Bob’s grave. He was certain Sarah had not gone that way. “We use the woods that way, back 100 yards or more.”
“Mark. Clarence. Go look.” Roger gestured to two of his men. The two men standing by Raymond headed off, leaving Roger, Raymond, Pete and Bernie. The packs lay on the ground, gear scattered. Roger handed the gun to Raymond.
Roger unscrewed the top of the case and pulled out the cloth-wrapped atlatl. He pulled the cloth away. The bone gleamed in the sun. He stood directly in front of the broken blasted tree. At his feet lay several rocks. “I can see this is it, from your expressions.”
Pete stood off to the side. Raymond stood right beside Roger, in front of the blasted tree. He aimed the gun toward Tom, then Myra, then William, finally Sergei.
Roger held the atlatl carelessly, swinging it by his side. “I have no idea what this thing is, but I know it’s old. We heard you last spring, knew this thing might have come from here.”
“Maybe not.” Myra spoke fast. “There’s no evidence, really, that it was here. Tom found it because his grandfather had it with him, but Bob-Bob might have found it anywhere.”
“Nice try, princess. This thing is a bona fide artifact, that’s art-ee-fact. This thing is your wet dream, to stop the mining.”
“Just as it’s your worst nightmare, if it gets out.” Tom ignored Raymond’s gun.
“Not any more, gramps. As of now, you have no cameras, no photos, and no evidence.”
“What, you’re going to take that atlatl and hide it?”
“That’s what you call it, princess? At-lat-ell? Hide it? Here, watch me hide it.”
Strong Heart Page 17