by Phil Truman
* * *
Artie hadn’t slept much the rest of the night. At around six-thirty he gave it up and got out of bed.
“Where’re you going?” Galynn asked, her voice thick as she roused from her own fitful sleep.
“Can’t sleep,” Artie answered.
Galynn sighed and propped herself on one elbow. “Me neither,” she said. “I’ll make some coffee.”
Later, sitting across from one another at the kitchen table, Galynn studied Artie’s dark expression as she raised the mug of steaming coffee to her lips. “What’s bothering you?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Artie answered.
Galynn nodded. “Yeah, That’s kind of what I thought,” she said. She let her sarcasm hang in the air. He would tell her in a minute or so, now that she’d asked. First, she had to let him do his strong, silent type thing.
“Uncle Buck was a good man,” he said finally. Galynn looked at him, but didn’t respond. She would let whatever smoldered inside Artie bubble out.
“One of the gentlest, kindest men I’ve ever known. Generous, too... to a fault, I guess,” he continued. “He and my dad were best friends, you know. They’d known each other all their lives. Grew up together.” He glanced up at Galynn, and she nodded with a smile, holding her coffee mug in both hands.
“I’ve always felt guilty about his death. And now to find out he was murdered. If I hadn’t been such a damn fool back then, I would’ve been with him that day, and maybe none of it would’ve happened.”
“It’s...” Galynn started. But she stopped. She found she couldn’t argue with what he said. “Or you might’ve been murdered, too. You can’t keep beating yourself up on that,” she said, more out of sympathy than sincerity.
“I don’t know, maybe not,” he said. “But now that I know who his killers are, I’m going to do something about it.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Don’t know, yet. But I want to make sure those guys get their just dues.”
“The Sheriff will catch those guys. I think you better stay out of it.”
Artie looked at Galynn, the darkness still in his eyes. “I need to go for a walk,” he said.
“Mind if I tag along?” she asked.
“Suit yourself,” he said.
The morning sun hadn’t quite cleared the eastern hills when they came upon the area in the pasture where Artie and Sheriff Bluehorse and Deputy Butch had searched hours earlier. They hadn’t found much then, except mashed meadow grass and a few oil spots where the two assailants had stashed their bikes. Tire tracks led from the pasture gate at the road.
Artie walked out to the open gate by the road and leaned on it. Looking down at the tracks on the short drive, he noticed a gunnysack in the ditch. From where he stood, it appeared half its contents had spilled out.
“Lookit this,” he said to Galynn. He retrieved the gunnysack from the ditch, pulling the buckskin out.
They both studied the thing for a while. “What do you think it is?” Galynn asked.
Artie shook his head trying to fathom what it could be and what the words painted on it meant. Something in the back of his mind started pushing its way toward foggy comprehension.
“Do you remember that time in your mom’s café when your dad started telling this story about the Belle Starr Treasure, and this letter he had that contained some clues about its location? He said he got it from Sunny’s... well, Buck’s stuff.”
“Yeah, sort of,” Galynn said. “I don’t pay attention to half what Daddy says, he’s so full of it.”
“I remember Uncle Buck talking about that letter. He told me he’d show it to me someday, but he never got around to it.”
“What’s all that got to do with this?” Galynn asked, as she felt the skin and painted words with her fingertips.
“I think these define those clues. Remember, Punch said the clues were some letters and hills and something about an animal’s cave. He said it had something about a cave marked by a picture of an animal.”
“So you think this’s what those two guys were after at Sunny’s last night?”
“It must’ve been. I guess Buck had it packed away with all his stuff in the barn. I bet Sunny didn’t even know about it. But somehow those two guys did.”
Galynn twisted up her lips and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Why would Buck have something like this? Seems a little obvious to me. Looks to me like this thing was planted somewhere at Sunny’s, maybe in her barn, to lure those guys there.”
Artie looked at Galynn. “Who would do that? Better yet, why?”
Galynn shrugged, “Beats me,” she said. “Maybe Hayward and Soc have something to do with it. Thought it was kind of odd their being there last night. Didn’t really buy their ’coon trapping’ story. Didn’t you think that was kind of strange?”
“Well,” Artie said. He looked down at the deerskin again, pushing his lower lip out. “I think we ought to check this out. Ever heard of a place on the river with some cliffs, maybe Ninekiller Cliffs?”
“I don’t think so,” Galynn said.
“What about a Bear Bend, or Bear Foot Bend?”
“Nope.” She looked down at the skin and tapped the word “cliffs” with her index finger. “Daddy used to take me fishing with him on the river.” And I remember some cliffs, some high bluffs somewhere. He had one place he always liked to go where there was a wide, deep pool... and a bluff. It was Daddy’s favorite spot.”
“Do you think you can find that place?” Artie asked.
“I think so, but it’s quite a ways from here, and we’ll have to float down the river to get to it. That’d be the only way I’d recognize the place,” she said.
* * *
“You need to come with me,” Soc said to his dejected friend.
“I told you I don’t want to pursue this anymore. Somebody’s going to get hurt. Let’s let the sheriff take it from here,” said Hayward.
“I don’t think the sheriff will find those guys. Besides, the only people who’ll be there will be us and the bad guys. And I expect the only ones likely to get hurt will be them.”
“Soc, we’ve been friends for a long time, and I’ve always made allowances for your Indian ways, out of respect, but what you’re talking about smacks of vigilante justice, and as much as I thought of Buck, I ain’t so sure I agree with your tactic.”
“Relax,” Soc said. “I’m going to let the sheriff in on this... after a bit. And I don’t aim to touch those fellas. I just thought we’d put a little more fear in ’em in case they ever thought about coming around here again. Just in case the Sheriff doesn’t catch up with them, you understand.”
* * *
“I’m looking for a place around here called Bear Foot Bend,” Randy said to the night clerk.
The guy, a skinny man whose Adams apple was bigger than his nose, played with a toothpick in his mouth and looked extremely bored. He watched a small TV sitting on the counter. “Barefoot Bend,” the guy repeated. “Is that a business, like on the lake?” he asked.
“It’s a location on a river,” Randy said.
“Naw, Never heard of it,” the hotel clerk said. “But then, I ain’t lived around here that long. There’s an old dude you could ask, though. He’s a native; lived here ’bout a thousand years, I’d guess.
“Where can I find this old dude?” Randy asked.
“He lives here most of the time, number 12. But I don’t think he’s in, yet. Works the graveyard over at the feed mill, that is, when he ain’t off drinkin’. Name’s Everett Goingsnake.”
The man turned to glance up at the clock on the wall behind him, which read 6:35. “Shift ends at seven. He usually rolls in around seven-ten. Why you trying to find this place?”
Randy looked at him stonily and said, “I’m looking for a buried treasure.” Then he turned and left. The night clerk smirked and returned to watching the TV.
“You Everett Goingsnake?” Randy asked the ancient red man g
etting out of an old pickup. The man looked at Randy warily and nodded.
“I’uz told you know these parts pretty well,” Randy said. “I’m looking for a place; thought maybe you could tell me where it is.”
The old man stood with his lunch pail in his left hand looking up at Randy, waiting.
“There’s a place called Bear Foot Bend. I believe it’s on the Illinois River. You know where it is?”
The man’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes shifted. “Why’re you looking for this place?” he asked Randy. Somehow Randy could tell the old man already knew the answer.
“I’m looking for something. A man told me this place is where I could find it.”
“You won’t find what you’re looking for at that place. You may find something you ain’t looking for, though,” the old man said with solemnity.
“Look, old man, I got a fifty dollar bill here.” Randy pulled out his wallet and produced the bill. “You tell me how to find this Bear Foot Bend, and this fifty is yours.” He held it out to the man. “This’ll buy a lot of hootch,” he said.
Everett Goingsnake considered Randy for a moment, then the fifty. He nodded. “Yes, I can tell you how to get there,” he said. “But give me the fifty first. I don’t think you’ll be back.”
Chapter 30
Randy Makes a Splash
Galynn and Artie sat in the aluminum canoe looking up at the soaring rock face before them. Earlier, they’d driven an hour into the back woods and hills until they found the establishment on the Illinois River called River Hawk Float Trips and Canoe Rentals. At the end of a winding downhill road, a rusting hulk of a 40’s vintage pickup sat on concrete blocks in the side yard of the rundown house. Opposite the truck, on a flat rise from the river rock beach, large metal racks held inverted canoes and johnboats. A large, big-bellied man in overalls stood on one end of the rack strapping down a johnboat.
The proprietor didn’t want to rent them a canoe, because he said he’d already shut down for the season. But an offer of a hundred brought him around, grudgingly.
Folding the five twenties neatly and putting them into his fat billfold, he asked, “What’s so dang important, you got to get on the river today?”
Artie and Galynn looked at each other. “We’re on assignment,” Galynn said with a broad smile. “We’re photo journalists for National Geographic. They’re doing a piece on American rivers.”
Artie gave her an amazed look.
“National Geographic, huh?” the guy said. He didn’t look too impressed with the information. “Where’s all your camera gear?”
“Oh, we don’t need a lot,” Galynn said. “Technology today makes it so cameras are a lot smaller. Don’t need to lug around those big old bulky things anymore. That’s a big plus when we’re on a shoot in Africa or somewhere like that.”
“Is that right,” the guy said, rubbing his chin. He still sounded dubious.
“Uh-huh. As a matter of fact, I can get the best pictures I need with this cell phone,” Galynn said. “Here, I need to get your picture for the magazine. It might be on the cover.” She held the phone up and aimed it at the guy. “Smile big,” she said, which the guy did, and she snapped a picture.
“The river’s kinda high,” the man said. They’d loaded what little gear they had into the man’s battered and grimy SUV, and jumped in for the ride up to the drop-off point. The owner still didn’t seem convinced with Galynn’s story, but the hundred bucks helped him ignore the flaws. “You folks experienced in white water?”
“Oh, yeah,” Artie lied. “We do the Colorado a couple times a year.”
“Uh huh. Well, you gotta know what you’re doing this time of year. Water’s cold and swift. Ain’t many people on the river now. You get in trouble out there and more’n likely you ain’t gonna get no help.”
“Understood,” Artie said.
After they shoved off from shore and paddled to the first bend, Artie, sitting in the back yelled up to Galynn, “National Geographic?”
Galynn laughed. “I know. It popped into my head and I sort of ran with it. I just didn’t want him to get apprehensive and call the cops.”
“Oh, well, your story sure did that. It was very believable.” Artie said. “National Geographic on a cell phone?” he added.
“Relax,” Galynn said. “This canoe’s not worth a hundred dollars. I’m sure that’s all he’s worried about.”
An hour and a half later, after they shot through some pretty rough rapids and drifted around a bend into deeper, slower water, the cliff face came into view.
“Hold it a sec,” Galynn said looking up at the bluff. “Let’s go over to that gravel bar. This is it,” she said, still looking up.
“Are you sure?” Artie asked as the bow of the canoe ground into the gravel beach. He studied the cliff face. “Wow, there it is! Do you see it?”
Galynn kept looking. “See what?” she asked.
“It’s an outline of the Hill Man. That’s it! That’s the ‘animal!’” Artie said almost in a shout.
“I don’t see anything,” Galynn said, squinting and scanning the bluff.
“Right up there,” Artie said pointing. “It’s kind of faint, but when I looked up, it just sort of jumped out at me. It’s a big biped with his arms stretched out. You can tell it’s man-made.”
Galynn followed where Artie pointed. “Oh! Yeah, now I see it. It’s huge. Wonder why I never saw that as a kid. Daddy must’ve brought me here four or five times.”
“Probably because you weren’t looking for it. It’s not obvious at all unless you know it’s there. Sun has to be right, too. And that’s got to be the cave entrance next to it. See it? It’s about ten feet from the end of the left arm.”
“Wow, the Belle Starr Treasure,” Galynn said almost reverently.
“Sure is high,” said Artie. Must be sixty feet. Wonder how you get up there?”
They got out of the canoe and walked closer to the cliff face. Artie moved back some and walked back and forth studying it. Galynn did the same at the river’s edge.
“Looks like there’s a little ledge that winds down from the top,” Galynn said. “But I can’t tell if it goes to the cave entrance or not. I think we’re going to have to get to the top of the bluff and approach it from there.”
“Let’s go on down the river and find a place where we can get up on the shore,” Artie said. “We’ll have to backtrack to get to the top of this bluff.”
Another hour and a half later they stood at the top of the bluff looking over the dizzying edge and down at the river almost a hundred feet below. From there, it wasn’t difficult to find the ledge leading down to the cave. It angled in some spots as little as forty-five degrees, and others as much as sixty as it zigzagged downward. At some places along the precarious ledge only a few rounded rocks protruded no more than a foot from the cliff face. Only the smallest and bravest, in descending along that trail, would not face in toward the cliff wall, clutching tightly any handhold they could find. That’s how Artie and Galynn managed until they reached the cave entrance some forty feet below the top of the bluff. Two large boulders effectively hid the entrance from view by jutting out in front of it, but they formed sort of an enclosure around a small rock porch in front of a seven-foot high by four-foot wide opening.
Artie stepped up onto the porch of the cave. He took a quick look into the dark mouth of it, and then reached out to help Galynn up onto the overhang.
“Hand me the light,” Artie said, turning his back to Galynn so she could fish it out of his backpack.
The early afternoon sun had come over the edge of the cliff above them and shone brightly onto the full face of it. The boulders on the porch blocked some of the sunlight, but it still penetrated about three feet into the cave entrance. Artie snapped on the lantern as he stepped into the cave.
“Dang, it sure smells bad in here,” he said to Galynn who still stood a couple of feet behind him.
He moved the lantern’s
beam along the wall to his right, then into the cave’s depths. The cave went so far back, the light from the big lantern dimly lit the back wall. Artie swung the light to the wall on his left, starting at the back wall, and moved the beam forward toward him. He turned it to the ceiling and ran the light along it to the back again. Inside the entrance the cave ceiling went to about ten feet, then sloped upward to twenty or more as it widened into a cavern about fifteen feet in diameter. Artie, with Galynn right behind him, stepped deeper into the cave.
“Holy cow,” Artie said in amazement. He continued swinging the light around “Who ever knew this place existed?” His voice echoed though the volume of the cave.
“Somebody must’ve,” Galynn answered. “Otherwise, they wouldn’t have painted that giant petroglyph on the cliff outside.”
“Look at this,” Artie said. He’d shined the lantern light into a little alcove that branched off to the right ten feet past the entrance. A small gathering of artifacts stood along the wall at the back. As Artie played the light across them, they saw a rake, a pitchfork, a shovel, a birdhouse, a hunting rifle, a baseball bat, a pistol, a plastic tackle box, a double-bladed axe, a large bell-shaped terra cotta jar, and a two-foot tall, white bearded yard gnome wearing a red pointed hat. The light from the lantern sparkled on the glossy paint that covered the figure. The little gnome smiled benignly back at them.
“What the heck is all this stuff?” Artie said.
“I guess somebody has been here,” said Galynn.
Artie shifted the lantern light to the gnome again. “Do you suppose that’s Sunny’s missing elf?” he asked.
“Gnome,” Galynn corrected. “And look, her jar, too, I bet.”
Artie walked closer to the items and looked in amongst them, moving some of the things around. “Ah, I think this is what we’re looking for,” he said. He bent down and picked up a rusty old box that had been pushed back into a corner. “I’ll bet Ed Reed’s treasure map is in this box.” He handed Galynn the lantern so he could use both hands to open the encrusted box.