Rounding a corner, Bluedog stopped and started to whine. They all three stopped behind her and peered into the dim light that their lamps threw onto the cave walls ahead. They could barely see that the path started uphill and split off into two directions. Another decision. Marc was sick of making decisions. He wanted out of the cave. He’d had enough caving, enough adventure for one day—maybe for the whole summer.
“What’s wrong with your dog, Marc?” Eddie was still angry.
Marc knelt beside Bluedog and patted her. “I don’t know. This is the way she acted before I found the grave.”
“Maybe she wants to get out of here,” said Hermie. “I know I do. But she’s making me nervous.” Hermie knelt on the other side of the dog. “What do you see, Blue? Do you hear something? Dogs can hear better than we can.”
“Holy Cow, Hermie. Everybody knows that. You think we’re dumb?”
“What’s the matter with you, Eddie?” Hermie said, tired enough to stand up to Eddie. “Stop trying to pick a fight and help us decide how to get out of here.”
Before anyone could decide, Marc looked up. In the dim light their lamps threw across the room, someone appeared in front of the tunnel on the left.
It was a boy just about their age. He was naked except for a loincloth. His skin was dark, his hair jet black and straight to his shoulders. A small piece of rawhide circled his head, holding his hair in place. On his feet were the brown moccasins that Eddie had described. Sure enough, they were beaded in turquoise blue. And around his neck, hanging on another piece of leather string, was the blue medallion they had found in the grave.
Marc blinked—once, twice. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? He squeezed his eyes shut, then looked again and the figure disappeared into the tunnel on the left.
“Did you see that?” Marc whispered.
“What?” asked Hermie. “Are you all right, Marc? Stop standing there. We want to get out of here.”
“You didn’t see anything up ahead of us?” Marc had thought Eddie was seeing things because he was tired. Now he was doing the same thing.
Eddie stared at Marc. “Look, we’re all tired. I’m getting out of here.” Eddie headed for the right-hand passageway.
“This way, Eddie,” Marc said, starting to the left. “This is the way out.”
“What makes you so sure?” Eddie asked. “I say we go this way. You have a map?”
“I—I—”
They stood there in the black, cold silence, broken only by their breathing and the beams from three faltering flashlights and three dim headlamps. Marc’s light went out. He beat on the end with the bulb.
“I’m leaving,” Eddie said. “You coming, Hermie?”
Hermie looked at Marc. “What did you see, Marc?”
Eddie stared at Marc again.
“Nothing—it was nothing. Come on, I have a strong feeling that we should go to the left.” Marc started in that direction and Hermie followed. Eddie had no choice but to come along.
Bluedog trotted just ahead of Marc, as if nothing had happened. There was no more whining, barking, reluctance to go forward.
“Bluedog likes this way,” Hermie pointed out.
The space pinched down some and was filled with smooth stones like those in a creek bed. Their shoes crunched and rattled against the rocks. No one said anything. They kept going forward, following Bluedog, crawling after a short distance, even though the stones bruised their knees and hands. The tunnel was just Bluedog’s size.
“Light! There’s light up ahead!” said Eddie. He moved faster, past Marc, even though he was bent double, waddling like a duck. Marc was still crawling, too tall to squat for long.
Never had sunshine looked so good. They burst out of the cave onto a ledge and belly flopped to look around. Far below, the river meandered along. They were high up on the bluffs.
“Boy howdy, this looks good,” Marc said. “I thought we’d be in that cave forever.”
“You did.” Hermie rubbed his eyes. “I thought we were going to die in there. That Indian boy died in there. I know he did. He got lost and—” Hermie started to ramble, as if he couldn’t stop talking once fresh air had filled his lungs.
Marc and Eddie burst out laughing at the same time. Marc put out his hand and Eddie slapped it. Bluedog whined and licked Marc’s face.
“How will we get Bluedog down from here?” Hermie asked.
“I should have brought the rope,” said Marc.
“The strap on the bottom of my pack comes off.” Hermie sat down and began to unfasten it. “It’s not that long, but it’s wide.”
“We can add my belt to it.” Marc unbuckled his leather belt. It was the first time he’d thought about using it.
Quickly he looped it around Bluedog’s middle. Then Hermie slipped his backpack strap under the belt, knotting it on top. They tied the rope into a loop they could hold.
“You’re a doggie suitcase, Bluedog,” said Hermie, patting her on the head. Bluedog no longer protested any of the strange things the boys did.
It took an hour to work their way down the slope. Much of the rock was rotten and not good for climbing. Time after time they slid, starting tiny avalanches of rock and dirt. Sometimes they had to lower Bluedog on the strap. But there was no more fighting or arguing. They all helped each other and Bluedog. As they dropped lower, the bushes and undergrowth got thicker. They plowed through it, making a path. They ignored the scrapes and scratches of the branches; they were happy just to be outside.
“We’re going to get covered with ticks,” said Hermie.
“Who cares?” answered Eddie.
There was a drop-off if they went straight to the river, so they cut back toward the direction of the highway. As soon as they got lower, Bluedog, freed from her harness, bounced and ran to lap up the muddy brown water.
The boys followed her and, late as it was, they took time to shed shoes and socks and wade in the warm water. Sitting there on the bank, watching Bluedog snap at bees, they fell deep into their own thoughts. Marc’s were mostly about being thankful they’d gotten out of the cave—and about the help he knew they’d had. It was not his imagination. He knew he had seen the—the Indian boy.
Hermie finally broke the silence. “I was afraid it’d be dark when we got out. We weren’t in there as long as I thought. It’s only six o’clock.”
“If we’d gone back the way we came in, it would be the middle of the night. Getting out seemed longer, too, since we were turned around.” Marc refused to say lost again. He didn’t want to think about it. “But we were in there about ten hours.”
Another silence. “What was it you saw, Marc?” Eddie asked.
Now, out in the lingering light of day, Marc thought about his experience. A part of him was sure he had seen the boy. But maybe he’d been thinking about him so much all day that he’d imagined it. Bluedog did act funny. Eddie did think he saw something earlier. But neither Eddie nor Hermie saw what Marc saw—thought he saw.
“Why were you so sure about which way to go, Marc?” Hermie joined the questioning.
“It felt right. And Bluedog seemed to want to go that way.” Marc hugged her. He’d give her the credit. At least until he thought all this over again. Maybe some day he’d tell Hermie and Eddie what he’d seen. But right now it was much easier to say Bluedog had decided than to believe he’d seen a—a ghost. It was even hard to say the word. He’d never believed in ghosts, in spirits who hung around after bodies were dead. But now …
“It was a miracle we found our way out of there,” Hermie suggested. “I don’t ever want to go into a cave again.”
“Yeah, a miracle.” Eddie had been awfully quiet all the way down the mountain. “Marc—” he paused, looking Marc straight in the eyes, as if he was still thinking about being in the cave. “I—I think we should cover up the grave and leave the things there.” Eddie made the suggestion as though it were a brand-new idea. As though Marc hadn’t thought of it earlier. As though they’d never argued about
it.
Hermie agreed. “Yeah, let’s not tell anyone we found him.”
Marc wondered if Hermie realized he’d said “found him.”
“We could push that big rock over the hole.” Eddie went on.
“How about the hole on this side?” Eddie looked back the way they’d come, down the bluff. They had walked too far to see the ledge overlooking the river.
“I looked back up there after we got down,” said Eddie. “You can’t see it because of the way the ledge tilts up. You’d have to climb right up there before you’d see it. I hardly see anyone on the river way down there. Everyone climbs up by the swimming hole where the rock is solid.”
Eddie scratched in the mud with a stick. “If it stayed hidden this long, it should stay hidden for a lot more years.”
Marc didn’t feel he had to agree, since he had made the suggestion in the first place. He didn’t even care if Eddie thought it was his idea. All that mattered to him was that they leave the relics, the skeleton, there. Maybe, just maybe, each of them could take one of the creamy white arrowheads to remember him—the boy—by. As if they could forget.
“We can come back in a few days—let Mooney’s curiosity cool off. Then we can outsmart him one more time.” Marc stood up. “I may be in trouble for a few days anyway.” If anyone noticed I was gone, he added to himself.
“Me, too. I’ve already missed supper.” Hermie swung his pack on, light now without the food.
No one spoke until they got to town and were ready to head toward their own houses.
“Maybe we can go back on Saturday, even Sunday,” Marc said. “Lots of newspapers to fold on Sunday.” He waved to Eddie and Hermie, and called Bluedog to follow him. She looked tired, but she smiled up at Marc and trotted along in a slow rhythm.
To Marc’s surprise, his dad was in the backyard, digging at weeds with a hoe. He looked at Marc, but didn’t stop him from going into the house. Marc came back out with a glass of milk and the hot dog that was waiting on his plate at the table.
He perched on the step and watched his father while he ate. He had given Bluedog a dish of dog food and a bowl of water, but she watched him eat first, hoping for some leftovers.
His dad leaned the hoe on the little shed that held all the garden tools—and the climbing ropes, Marc realized. And his own spelunking gear. Without saying anything, Marc’s dad went inside, then came back out with a Coke. He sat beside Marc.
“Good cave trip?”
A bite of bread stuck in Marc’s throat. “How’d you know?”
“Pillows in the bed made me think you’d left pretty early and didn’t want anyone to know you were gone. Looking in your closet and the shed told the rest of the story.” His dad tilted the Coke bottle and said no more.
“We were lost for a time,” Marc confessed.
“Scare you?”
“Some.”
“Learn anything from it?”
“A lot.”
Cicadas sang about the sunset being over. A mosquito buzzed by Marc’s ear. He waved it away. In the distance a mixed-up rooster crowed. Marc waited to see what his father would say next. To find out how much trouble he was in. Being in trouble was almost welcome. Maybe it would mean his dad cared that Marc had gone off and almost not come back.
“Your mother called me tonight.”
“Is she all right?” Marc hated to think Mama had gotten worse while he was off fooling around.
“She says the doctor thinks she might be able to come home this fall. She’s much better, and if she can get her strength back—well, it’s a possibility.”
“That’s great.” Marc felt relieved and gulped down the rest of his hot dog. Nothing had ever tasted so good. And now Mama was better.
“And, Marc …” His father had sat quietly while Marc ate.
“Yeah?” Marc patted Bluedog on the head. There was no sandwich left for her.
“Your mother asked me to tell you that Roy Clearwater died. She figured you’d want to know.”
For a minute Marc sat stunned. He had known this could happen any time, but … Then across his mind floated a picture of the old Indian, sitting on the side of a river, fishing. Another picture followed. He was hunting for a deer, and he had a smile on his face.
“Marc,” his father asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, Dad, I’m okay.” And he was. Marc knew that Mr. Clearwater was happy now. He wasn’t cooped up in the sanatorium, waiting, wishing …
“I’ve been thinking we’d better not let your mother see her garden so full of weeds,” his father said, reminding Marc that Mama was alive and coming home before too long.
Bluedog came up and put her nose on his dad’s knee. She looked up at him with a smile he couldn’t resist. He put out his hand and rubbed her ears.
“Would you help me dig, Marc?”
“Sure, Dad. And maybe—maybe if we get finished by this weekend … well, would you like to see the cave we discovered? It was hidden, so hidden that maybe no one has been in there since Indians lived here.”
It took his dad such a long time to answer, Marc didn’t know what to think. He almost wished he hadn’t asked, hadn’t revealed the secret.
“I—I’d like that, Marc. I feel like you’ve been gone longer than all day. Or—or maybe I’ve been gone.”
All the fatigue from the exhausting cave trip fell away from Marc’s shoulders. He sat up straighter. Bluedog, sensing the change, ran to get her tennis ball. She wasn’t tired anymore, either. She held the ball so either of them could throw it. They laughed at her, she looked so eager.
“Did Bluedog go into the cave with you?”
“Yes, it was quite an adventure, spelunking with a dog.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Dad. There’s one thing you have to promise me.”
“What’s that, Marc? I’ll try.”
“Can you keep a secret? You have to promise me you can keep a secret, before I can show you this cave.”
His dad took another swallow of his cold drink. “I think I can, Marc. I’ve been known to keep a secret before.”
“That’s great.” Marc got up and went to take a turn with the hoe. He realized that his arms were sore from hanging onto Bluedog all the way down the slope, boosting her and climbing in the cave. But he didn’t care. Working in the yard felt good.
Everything was going to be okay. He knew it was. And deep inside he carried a warm secret.
Two secrets: the cave and the Indian boy. Two secrets that would be with him all the rest of his life.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This story takes place in 1954. At that time collectors like Marc, Hermie, and Eddie, as well as Mr. Daniels, were not so aware that Native American artifacts are a valuable part of our culture, the history of our country. They enjoyed them for what they were, but felt that whoever found them had a right to keep them. They grew up hunting for arrowheads, Indian pots, and other relics near their homes.
In the 1920s and 1930s, when Mr. Daniels collected, most people didn’t even want the artifacts they found. They didn’t think they had any value at all. Dealers and collectors probably saved many of the relics that have found their way into museums today.
If you should have the good luck to discover an ancient site or other buried treasure from the past, such as dinosaur bones, do not dig or try to excavate in the area by yourself. Call an archaeologist, perhaps at a local college or university, or someone in the National Park Service.
You will receive credit for the discovery, but trained professionals should make the excavation. They can tell a great deal about the past lives of people in your area while they work. You may be able to participate in the dig under the supervision of these professionals.
By sharing your good fortune, all the world can enjoy your contribution to history. It is as important for us to preserve the relics of our past as it is for us to preserve the unique character of our lands.
About the Author
Barbara Steiner
(1934–2014) was an acclaimed author known for her books for children and young adults. Steiner authored over seventy titles, including picture books, early chapter books, mysteries, young adult thrillers, historical novels, and romances. In her lifetime, Steiner visited more than ninety-four countries and all seven continents, and many of her books were inspired by her travels. She lived in Boulder with her family until her death in January 2014.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1990 by Barbara Steiner
Cover design by Mimi Bark
ISBN: 978-1-4976-1171-9
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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EBOOKS BY BARBARA STEINER
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