Now she had a riddle to solve and she was getting nothing on her internal radar. Perhaps she would have more luck at the local bar in Jarbidge—it was the only place that would be open this time of night anyway.
The Red Dog Saloon was located in the middle of the four blocks that made up the town of Jarbidge. It was a wooden building painted brightly on the outside, with a rustic interior that could have passed for an old western movie set sixty years ago. The sign above the bar tender proclaimed that the “establishment” was open until 11 p.m. or until nobody was left, whichever came first.
Maria glanced down at her phone and saw it was already 10:30 p.m. She had thirty minutes to learn as much as she could about Jarbidge and where a treasure might be hidden in it.
“Hello ma’am,” said the man behind the bar’s wooden counter. He was seriously distracted by a late night comedy show playing on the television to his side. “What can I get for you?”
Maria didn’t drink—especially not this time of night. But she needed to look like she was here for a purpose—and that meant … somehow … fitting in with the smattering of men who sat chugging down beers staring at the television screen.
“What’s your house special?” asked Maria, approaching the counter.
“For you or someone else?” The bartender had finally fully turned to look at her.
“For me.”
The bartender wiped his hands on his apron. “The ladies say I make a good Sidecar or Irish coffee—they’re my more sophisticated drinks.”
“And what do the men like?” Maria asked.
“My Whiskey Sour. And the house beer, of course.”
She put her hands on the counter and thought a moment. “How about a rum and Coke, please. I’m going light tonight.”
“Sure thing ma’am. You paying cash or want to start a tab?”
“Cash.” Maria pulled a ten dollar bill from her pocket and gave it to the bartender after he poured her a tall glass of rum, added Coke at the top, and stuck a lime wedge to the rim.
“Thanks,” said Maria.
“You bet. Did you just get into town?”
“Yes, not too long ago. Nothing looked open but the bar.”
“Jarbidge is a quiet place. Whatcha here for?”
“Hunting.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes, why?”
“I know some hunting guides if you’re needing any, that’s all. Let me know if you change your mind. I could recommend some good ones.”
Maria thanked him and looked around. Nostalgic and quaint, the saloon walls were lined with black and white photos and yellowed newspaper clippings. A few colored magazine articles were also framed and hung for tourists to read. Looking around, Maria realized she was in a goldmine. This bar had more history than a library—if the town even had one. Maria wanted to read every word of each newspaper and magazine article here.
But what really caught Maria’s eye, however, was a massive map hung on one wall. It was spread out and tacked flat, covered with handwritten notes. Maria took her drink and found a table right next to the six-foot-tall map. Locals had crossed out the official names of mountains and rivers and scribbled in their own. For example, Emerald Lake was crossed out and in its place was scrawled “Bull Trout Paradise.”
People—most likely hunters and fishermen—had also drawn their own landmarks on the map. On the edge in pencil was a strange cluster of three blobs. The handwritten name, “The Three Wiseman Hoodoos” was next to it. Maria had no idea what a hoodoo was, but it only took a minute to look it up on her phone.
Reading briefly about the unique geological rock formation called a hoodoo, Maria had an idea. What if one of the terms Ms. Tuttle and her card-playing professionals were coming up with as they played hundreds of hands of Bridge was on this map? For example, what if there was a Bridge term about hoodoos?
The local nicknames numbered into the hundreds, but Maria knew she needed to record all of them. This might be the break she was hoping for. Maybe the Sight had led her here after all.
Maria took of sip of her drink and opened her “notes” app on her phone. Not caring if she was being obvious, she started at the top left-hand corner of the map. She thumb-typed the handwritten names of places in the Jarbidge wilderness into her phone. After fifteen minutes, she’d only recorded the information contained in a two-foot area of the map. The process was taking forever. Maria quickly took another sip of her drink and changed her phone to camera mode. Starting in the upper left-hand corner of the map, she took pictures of a square foot of the map at a time, moving her way left to right, creating a grid system.
The handful of men in the bar had, one-by-one stopped watching the television and began watching her. She didn’t care. If she was in Jarbidge to show the kidnapper she was on the hunt of a treasure, then the more people who noticed her the better.
Next, Maria moved on to taking pictures of the newspaper and magazine articles hung on the wall. As she did, she briefly skimmed over the content.
One article talked about the last famous stage robbery in Jarbidge. The driver of a two-horse mail wagon was ambushed and shot. He later died. Four thousand dollars was stolen and never recovered—buried somewhere in Jarbidge Canyon. Maria thought of Ms. Tuttle’s idea—something about the ace, or bullet card, pointing to the Veil treasure being at the spot of the robbery. But the article didn’t give a location of where the incident took place and Maria remembered that was only one of many possibilities.
Another article Maria took a picture of was an in-depth retelling of the Shoshone’s capture of the Jarbidge monster. It ended by recounting how the Shoshone were crowded out of the area by miners and gold panners.
A few more articles showcased the largest Bull Trout ever caught at the lakes and the biggest elk ever shot on the mountain. Nothing really seemed inspiring to Maria, and she worried her instinct had lead her astray. Nonetheless, she took pictures of everything.
As she snapped her last photo, the bartender moved to the center of the room, shooing customers to the lobby and out the door.
“Come on, time to go home.” He herded the group toward the exit. Maria followed the men to the lobby where a few of them slipped jackets on. Nights in Jarbidge anytime of year could get chilly.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
Maria turned around, expecting to see the bartender. Instead a younger man in his twenties stood at her side. His arms were the size of most men’s thighs and just about as hairy. His thick neck stretched the ribbing of his t-shirt—an accomplishment which would make many college football players jealous.
“I heard you tell the bartender you were here to hunt. Is that right?”
“Yes.” Maria looked at the man who could easily bench press three of her. “Can I help you?”
“Actually, I wondered if I could help you. I’m a professional hunting guide but my client backed out at the last minute. I’m here for a few days with no jobs lined up.”
Maria’s mind couldn’t stop churning out questions. Was he a plant? Could this be the kidnapper? How had he found her here? Where was he from? Not Kanab, that much she knew.
“Why do you think I need a guide?” asked Maria.
“Name is Clyde Jensen, and I’ve been hunting since I was a kid. No offense, ma’am, but I’d hate to see someone like you run into trouble out here. I’ve been hunting from Alaska to Africa. If you think I might save you time and grief, my services are available.”
“And just what do your services include?” Maria asked, fishing for as much information as possible.
“You tell me the kind of game you have a tag for, and I make sure you bag one. At least I’ll do everything possible. What kind of animal did you come here to get?”
Maria decided there was one sure way to smell out a skunk—direct exposure. “I’m actually hunting for a place, not an animal.”
The guide’s eyes opened wide. “So, you’re not looking to bring home a trophy for your wall?”
; “No, no trophy.” Maria waited a moment and then continued. “But I do plan on bringing something home. Something much more important than the head of an animal. Do you have a business card?”
Clyde laughed. “You must think I’m forty years old or something. I can send you my contact info. What’s your number?”
Maria hesitated only a moment and then gave it to him. If Clyde was the kidnapper and had ulterior motives, giving him her number would only speed up the process, and that’s what she wanted.
Bring it on.
A second later Maria’s phone dinged. She looked at the screen. “Your info came through. I’ll call you first thing in the morning if I decide I want to hire you.”
“Don’t hesitate,” he said. “I’ll be up with the sunrise.”
As the burly man opened the door and left the bar, Maria noticed one last newspaper article hanging by the exit. It was the picture that first caught her eye. It showcased a dark-haired man talking with a government official. On closer examination, Maria was sure the man was a younger version of Jim, the Native American consultant.
Maria heard the bartender collect the glasses from the table, making a clinking noise as he walked. Quickly she snapped a picture of the article and began reading as much as she could.
The story was about how the U.S. government was sending a representative to Jarbidge to determine if a Shoshone cemetery, found deep inside a cave located in the southwest quadrant of the Jarbidge wilderness, required further protection by the federal government. The graveyard was believed to house many of the great Shoshone elders, who died as early as 1820. What had remained untouched for a hundred years was now being subjected to thrill seekers who, sadly, tended to desecrate anything they came in contact with.
The part in the article, however, that was most intriguing was where it said locals called the cemetery the Devil’s Coup because of the legends saying the place had been taken over by evil spirits.
Devil’s Coup.
That had been one of the Bridge terms Ms. Tuttle had told Maria about. Was it just a coincidence it was also a place in the Jarbidge wilderness? Possibly. There always seemed to be plenty of stories about the devil.
But then again … possibly not.
“Sorry, ma’am.” The bartender interrupted her thoughts. “I need to lock up.”
“Oh, sure. Thanks for the drink.” Maria folded her arms around her stomach and pushed open the door into the chilly night air.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Treasure hunters have searched in vain through remote corners of New Mexico, Yellowstone National Park and elsewhere in the mountains. They share their experiences on blogs and brainstorm about the clues. The mystery has been featured on national networks, igniting even more interest.
“TRAGIC END TO MONTHS-LONG SEARCH FOR THE TREASURE HUNTER RANDY BILYEU,” CBS NEWS, JULY 27, 2016. HTTP://WWW.CBSNEWS.COM/NEWS/TRAGIC-END-TO-MONTHS-LONG-SEARCH-FOR-TREASURE-HUNTER-RANDY-BILYEU/
Sunrise was drawing closer bringing with it dread and apprehension. Maria had slept fitfully, mulling over whether or not she should hire Clyde Jensen to be her hunting guide. His presence at the bar had been much too convenient for Maria’s peace of mind. Then again, the bar was clearly a gathering place for hunter and guide, as the bartender had explained.
In the end, she decided it was advantageous to keep tabs on the enemy—even if it was just a potential enemy. If Clyde was the kidnapper, or in league with the perp, Maria would rather know exactly where he was all day instead of trying to track down the location of the Veil treasure as well as keeping an eye out for Clyde. And if Clyde was legit, he would speed up the hunting process which could only be a good thing.
Maria made the phone call at five a.m. sharp.
“Hello?”
“Clyde Jensen?”
“That’s me. Is this the lady I met last night?”
“Yes. My name is Maria, and I’d like to hire you for the day.”
Thirty minutes later Maria was armed, dressed, and packed. She had checked and double checked her gun and knife, now both stowed carefully under her clothing.
Preparing oneself for the possibility of danger was different than going into danger on purpose. One was what responsible, sane people did. They prepared for the worst and expected the best. Today, however, it was all about preparing for the worst, and then expecting to die.
That attitude had kept her alive for many years in the CIA. She hoped it would get her through today as well. But if it didn’t, she at least hoped it would keep Justin alive. That would be enough.
Clyde waited for Maria on the road outside the Red Dog Saloon. He definitely looked the part of professional hunter. His gear was well-worn and fit him comfortably. A hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. He tipped his hat to her and escorted her into his Jeep.
“We’ll drive this in as far as we can go and then we’ll go on foot. What are the approximate coordinates of where we’re headed?”
Maria was ready for the question. Using the pictures she took with her cell phone in the middle of the night and the information in the newspaper, she had found Devil’s Coup on the map and noted the general coordinates. It was not too far from a fork in the Jarbidge River, which was the location she was going to give Clyde.
After she gave him the coordinates, Clyde made notes of them in his GPS and then started the engine of his Jeep. Not more than a minute into the bumpy ride, he asked, “Can you tell me exactly what you’re looking for? It would save us a lot of time if I knew what to keep on my radar.”
“I need to examine the fork in the river to see if there is anything unnatural in that spot. If you keep your eyes out for anything that looks out of place, that’d be great.”
“Something out of place? Are you talking about some twelve-foot tall, hairy ape man? Or are you talking about an eight-person Jacuzzi misplaced in the middle of the river?”
“I’m talking about an-eight person Jacuzzi. The Jarbidge monster doesn’t interest me.”
“Not a monster seeker, huh? Well that’s good to know.”
“Nope. As long as the monster stays out of my way, I will stay out of his.”
“Okay. Sounds good. Most of my clients are more direct than you. With all this evasiveness, I can’t guarantee a success rate. You do know what I charge per hour. We’re clear on that, right?”
“We’re clear,” answered Maria.
“Okay, well it just seems to me you’d want some help finding whatever it is you’re looking for. The quicker you find it, the less you pay.”
“I appreciate your concern for my bank account, but I’ve been honest with you. I don’t really know what I will find. I just need to go there and make sure everything checks out.”
“Fair enough.” Clyde turned back to focus his attention on what had now become little more than an ATV trail. Maria grabbed the seat and held on tightly as the ride jostled her every which direction. The motion paralleled how she felt inside. Her emotions were back and forth, flipping and flopping. Nothing was stable. But she buckled down and repeated what had now become her mantra.
Get Justin back.
Hiking felt more secure to Maria than the car ride. Standing on her own two feet was much more reassuring than giving Clyde all the control behind the wheel. They had been off trail for more than an hour. According to Clyde (and on Maria’s own GPS on her watch that she’d programmed earlier), they had another two hours before getting to the fork in the river. From there it was only another twenty minutes or so to Devil’s Coup.
Clyde readjusted the strap slung around his shoulder that held his hunting rifle. Maria took a granola bar from her backpack and ripped the wrapper open. She had to stay well fed and hydrated. Clyde was a good hiker and she didn’t want him to tire her out, since she had no idea when all this was going to hit the fan. If Clyde was in league with the kidnapper, or if he was the kidnapper, she didn’t know how long he would allow her to take him on a wild goose chase.
As they hiked, Maria revie
wed what her options were. She kept coming back to the same basic plan. First, she had to ascertain whether or not Clyde was on the up and up. She doubted he was, so at some point she was pretty sure she would have to make her move. She would overpower him, with her smarts not her brawn, and restrain him. She had rope in her backpack and there were plenty of trees around that could easily hold him.
Next, she would find Devil’s Coup on her own. Here is where she hoped her Sight might actually come in handy. Granted, she hadn’t met any Shoshone ghosts yet—Acalan was Aztec and shadow man was most likely Freemont—but she hoped she could connect to a few of the buried souls at Devil’s Coup. She planned on showing them a picture of Steven Veil on her phone to find out if they’d seen the old man lurking around those parts hiding treasure.
To verbalize the plan to anyone else she would sound like a complete crazy. But in her mind it sounded doable. Not watertight by any means, but there was a chance she might actually learn the location of the Veil treasure from a few kind-hearted Shoshone spirits lingering about.
After all, Acalan had been happy to help her … eventually. It was a matter of winning trust and assuring no further interruption. That was one thing Maria had learned over the past year. Most ghosts don’t want to bother people—it’s just that people keep bothering them.
Once Maria found the Veil treasure, she would take one piece of it (no more, despite her current financial status) and return to Clyde. That piece of the treasure would be her bargaining chip to find out where he, or whoever he was working for, was keeping Justin. Once she knew the location, it was all about finding a cell signal and getting the information to the FBI.
Maria figured she had a one out of thousand chance of it actually happening as she hoped. Who was she kidding? Probably more like one in a million. She still didn’t even know if the Devil’s Coup was really where the Veil treasure was located.
Paranormal Mystery Boxset Books 1-3: Legends of Treasure Page 70