Broken Promise

by Simon Toyne

  ‘Stay here,’ she whispered through tight teeth. ‘I’ll go check it out.’

  ‘No way,’ Asha hissed. ‘I’m not staying here on my own.’

  ‘Honey, I need to check the fire is safe is all.’

  ‘Then I’ll come with you.’

  Rita looked at her daughter and saw the whites of her wide open eyes standing out against the night. It was easy to forget sometimes, with how sassy she was, that she was still only eight years old.

  ‘OK, but stay behind me and move slow. And don’t make any sound ’cause noise travels at night. If I hold my hand up for any reason you stop and you hit the deck and you stay there till I tell you to get up again. Clear?’

  Asha nodded. Rita turned back to the distant glow and started moving towards it, picking her way carefully along the barely visible trail, listening ahead for any sounds. After a few minutes of careful progress she heard the faint crackle of fire and the pop of coal tar sap in the burning creosote branches. She listened hard but couldn’t hear anything else. No voices. No movement. Nothing.

  She moved closer and stopped just short of the caves at a spot where the ground dipped. When Asha joined her Rita leaned in and put her mouth to her daughter’s ear.

  ‘I’m going to take a look,’ she whispered. ‘Stay out of sight and listen out.’ She pulled her phone from her pocket and pressed it into Asha’s hands, keeping the screen covered so it didn’t leak light. ‘If it sounds like I’m having any trouble, you dial the Sheriff’s office and tell them where we are, OK? But keep quiet and out of sight. Move away before you make the call.’

  Rita leaned back and saw her daughter’s eyes had grown wide again. She smiled to reassure her. ‘It’s probably just some kids playing at cowboys. I’ll take a peek, make sure the fire’s safe, then come right back, OK?’

  Asha nodded and Rita kissed the tips of her fingers, touched them to her daughter’s forehead then turned and crawled forward on all fours to the edge of the rise, peering into the shallow gulch where the entrance to the cave was hidden.

  The fire was bright to Rita’s night-saturated eyes and she had to squint against the flickering glare of it. It had been built in the dead centre of the dip and the ground around had been swept to stop the flames from spreading. The person who had built it clearly knew what they were doing, though whoever it was, there was no sign of them now.

  Rita blinked a few times to adjust her eyes and studied the ground. She could make out boot marks in the dirt where the dry straw had been kicked into the centre where the fire now burned. There was also a small pile of dried cactus and a neat stack of mesquite branches lying next to it. Two of the sticks had been laid with their ends in the flames, like someone had been toasting marshmallows and dropped them in the fire. There was nothing else: no backpack, no bedroll, no water jug or provisions of any kind.

  She looked across at the entrance to the cave system, a large boulder resting against a smaller one. Whoever had lit the fire had to be inside. She watched for a moment, looking for any flicker of light or movement in the triangle of darkness that formed the entrance, wondering what to do. She should leave, that’s what, go back to Asha and make their way back to the diner. There was still stuff to pack and they had a long day ahead of them tomorrow, driving off to who knew where. The fire was too small and too well set to be dangerous and there was no wind to carry burning embers out onto the wider land. They could always come back here after the auction and get some photos of the cave then. That’s what they’d do. They’d come back tomorrow.

  Rita tensed her arms ready to crawl back away from the rim of the hollow when she saw something. A faint flicker in the dark triangle between the two boulders. Someone was in the cave, and they were coming out.

  She dropped lower, pressing herself into the ground, and watched the flickering orange get brighter in the black. A small flame appeared between the boulders, curling around the end of a burned stick. Then a tall, thin man appeared and held the flickering branch high over his head to show his face. It was the stranger from earlier.

  ‘Come and look,’ Solomon said, looking straight at Rita though she knew she was hidden. ‘Bring your daughter. She should see it too.’

  He dropped his burning stick into the heart of the fire and took out the two longer ones. He speared a couple of pieces of the broken, dried cactus with the burning points, turned them to spread the flames then headed back to the gap in the boulders, the makeshift torches throwing light all around him as he disappeared back into the cave.

  Chapter 13

  Solomon waited, listening to the whisper of a low, tense conversation taking place outside the cave. It had not been hard to find; all the trails north of the diner had led here, the traffic of previous sightseers compacting the dirt and pointing the way. His plan had been to read the message on the wall and head to the diner if what it said was in any way beneficial to Rita, but turn around and head back east if it was not. Now she was here he would have to tell her regardless. Outside the whispering stopped and was replaced by the crunch of footsteps, then a bright, blue-white light shone into his face and blinded him.

  ‘Flaming torches is all very dramatic,’ Rita said from behind the blue light, ‘but a Maglite is less smoky. Now d’you mind telling me what in the hell you’re doing out here sneaking around at night and lighting fires on private land?’

  Solomon held his hand up to shield the glare and could just about see the shape of her behind the dazzling light, a miniature version standing next to her – Rita’s daughter, he assumed.

  ‘I was hoping to repay your earlier kindness,’ Solomon replied. ‘I came to read the rest of the message, the part not shown on the photograph, to see if it might be of value to you.’

  The beam shifted slightly, out of Solomon’s face. ‘And is it?’

  Solomon shrugged. ‘I haven’t actually seen it yet. These firebrands, dramatic as they are, don’t have much in the way of range. So far I’ve only managed to search the first few chambers and I imagine the cave with the petroglyphs will be much deeper. Why don’t you show me, lead the way with your painfully bright torch and I’ll tell you what it says.’

  Rita hesitated and Solomon saw her turn to her daughter, and a silent conversation took place in shrugs and head shakes. Solomon could sense her hesitation but he could also feel the desire to know coming off her like heat.

  She turned back to Solomon and pointed the torch beam down the main tunnel that led to the lower chambers. ‘You first,’ she said. ‘And I’ve got a gun in my pocket, so don’t get cute.’

  Solomon smiled and stuck the points of his two burning sticks into the dirt floor, snuffing out the flames. ‘You haven’t got a gun,’ he said, and turned and walked away, heading down into the system of caves.

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Rita said, following and pulling Asha along behind her.

  ‘Yes I do.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Because if you had a gun it would be in your hand by now,’ he ducked through a low arch and stepped into the darkness beyond.

  Rita picked up the pace, shining her torch after him to light the way and make sure he wasn’t getting ready to try something. Solomon stood with his back to the light, pointing at the two tunnels in front.

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘The one on the right,’ Rita replied, and he was gone again before she’d finished answering.

  ‘You know this guy?’ Asha whispered.

  ‘He was in the diner earlier, spinning some yarn about how he could read the writing in the cave.’

  ‘Really? But I thought no one could read Suma?’

  ‘They can’t, he’s just some conman is all.’

  Solomon reappeared from the darkness, so suddenly it made Rita stop and stumble backwards, her arm thrown out to the side to protect Asha.

  ‘It’s Asha, isn’t it?’ Solomon said, addressing the girl. Asha nodded. ‘I’m Solomon and I assure you that I am not a conman, but the fact that your mother thinks I am is th
e reason I came back.’

  ‘You told me a plain old quarter was worth a hundred bucks.’

  ‘That’s not correct,’ Solomon said, turning away and heading back into the tunnel. ‘What I did was tell someone else it was worth a hundred bucks. I finessed the truth in order to create a situation.’

  ‘Finessed the truth? Well ain’t that a lot of fancy wrapping for a plain and simple lie.’

  Solomon shook his head. ‘Lies are rarely plain, and never simple. Which way?’

  ‘Right. Keep right the whole way down.’

  Solomon ducked through another low arch and carried on moving. ‘The lie I told about the quarter wasn’t even meant for you. And the intended target of a lie is easily as important as the lie itself.’

  ‘Still ended up costing me a steak dinner.’

  ‘Which is why I came back. To try and repay you in some way. Give you something of genuine value.’

  Solomon stepped through another entrance to a much larger cave and saw markings covering the far wall. He stopped in front of them and watched the bright torchlight sweep across the petroglyphs as Rita and Asha joined him in the chamber. The symbols were far more vivid than the photograph had shown, the pigments of crushed plants and burnt earth used to decorate the carvings still as bright as when the artist first made them, perfectly preserved in the subterranean blackness away from the bleaching sun.

  He traced the outline of the symbols with a pale finger, imagining the Suma artist, working by the light of a flickering flame, chiselling this agreement into water-worn rock so it would be remembered long after his hand had turned to dust, little realizing that one day it might be all that endured of his people. Or not quite. For two still remained on this land, their blood diluted by colonizing tribes so that green Irish eyes now burned in their sun-reddened faces. And what was written here would influence their future, one way or another.

  Solomon’s eyes traced the symbols, flowing from those he had already seen in the diner photograph to the ones that had been missing. He read the message again, his mind translating the meaning of the petroglyphs until he was certain of what they said. He took a deep breath ready to speak and caught a hint of something in the trapped air of the caves, a faint smell he had not noticed before. He turned his head to one side and listened past the amplified breathing of Rita and her daughter to the sounds beyond.

  ‘What’s it say?’ Rita said, her whispered voice still loud in the confines of the cave.

  Solomon listened a moment longer, breathed in again to confirm the identity of the odour he had caught, then stood back and drew a square with his hands to frame a portion of the wall.

  ‘This is the section shown in the photograph recording an agreement between the chief of these lands, Three Arrows in the Wind, and this man,’ he pointed to the symbol of a cow’s skull.

  ‘DeVaca,’ Rita whispered.

  ‘Álvar Núñez Cabeza deVaca,’ Solomon repeated, his voice loud. ‘And this is the section not shown in the photograph, the part that identifies deVaca’s chief.’ He pointed at a symbol of a man on a horse holding a sword in one hand and an arrow in the other. ‘The fact that he’s on horseback and is carrying an arrow means he is a chief, and the addition of the sword means he’s foreign, because Native American warriors did not carry swords.’

  ‘The King of Spain?’ Asha murmured.

  ‘Possibly.’ Solomon moved along the wall. ‘Could you shine your light here, please.’

  Rita stepped closer and shone the beam on the final few symbols as Solomon ran his hand over them.

  ‘The King of the Spanish Empire at the time of deVaca’s expedition was Carlos the fifth, so if this spells that name then we’re in business. Unfortunately the Spanish colonials don’t have the best of records when it comes to straight dealing. They often made agreements that looked genuine enough but signed it with the wrong name so that it could be ignored later. The way this agreement is written is certainly all proper and correct and it also shows deference. DeVaca is conceding that he and his representatives do not own this land nor do they seek to take it, which is important. It means it was not a spoil of war and liable to be forfeit to whichever nation subsequently laid claim to it through conflict. And because we know from historical records that deVaca was passing through here in the early sixteenth century we also know this agreement pre-dates any subsequent land claims. But to qualify as a legally robust document of title we need the name of deVaca’s chief to be recorded and to be correct.’ Solomon read the symbols again, making sure he had interpreted them correctly.

  Rita took a step forward. ‘So what’s it say?’

  Solomon looked up at her. ‘Before I answer, I need to ask you something, and you need to answer me honestly, OK?’ Rita nodded. ‘Do you really have a gun in your pocket?’

  Rita hesitated for a moment then shook her head.

  Solomon smiled. ‘I didn’t think so.’ He stood and brushed the dust from his hands. ‘Carlos,’ he said. ‘The last part of the message spells Carlos. DeVaca gave the true name of his king, which means the agreement is genuine and you can legally prove ancestral ownership. If I were you I’d cancel tomorrow’s auction and re-list it once it’s all been officially proven. This land is worth way more than its current listing.’

  Rita stared at Solomon then down at the petroglyphs. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Positive. You’ll need to get someone from the University of Colorado to ratify it but they’ll only tell you what I already did. Congratulations. Your land just quadrupled in value.’

  Something shifted in the shadows by the entrance and a torch flicked on, throwing their shadows across the writing on the wall. Rita swung round, the arc of her own torch sweeping across the symbols before settling on the figure who had stepped into the chamber.

  It was Daryl Meeks. Flashlight in one hand. Shotgun in the other.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Now ain’t this a cosy little scene,’ Daryl said. The barrel of the shotgun was pointing in their direction but angled to the ground. ‘Y’all want to raise your hands and step a little closer together.’

  Rita reached for Asha and instinctively pushed her behind her legs. ‘What are you doing, Daryl?’

  ‘Oh, just a bit of due diligence, dotting the “i”s of a potential investment.’ His eyes slid over to Solomon. ‘I thought I saw you leave.’

  ‘I came back.’

  Daryl nodded and the end of the shotgun moved in time. ‘Shoulda stayed gone. Better for you. Better for everyone.’

  ‘Now put the gun down, Daryl,’ Rita said, ‘you’re making me nervous.’

  ‘Oh really? I’m sorry.’ He smiled but the shotgun stayed where it was.

  Rita held her palms out in front of her, like they might protect her from a shotgun blast. ‘Put. The damn. Gun down, Daryl.’

  Meeks continued to smile. ‘Here’s the thing about negotiations. If you find yourself in a weak position you don’t get to dictate the terms. Now back in the diner there you had a strong position, you had something I wanted and I made you a good offer for it. You turned it down so I had to figure out a way of strengthening my position.’ His smile spread. ‘And here we are.’

  ‘What was the offer?’ Solomon asked.

  ‘Don’t matter what the offer was,’ Meeks said, ‘that offer’s gone.’

  ‘What was the offer?’ Solomon repeated.

  ‘Are you retarded, boy?’ Meeks took a half step forward and shifted the shotgun so it pointed at Solomon. ‘I said that offer was dead and if you don’t watch your mouth you might be joining it.’

  ‘You’re not going to shoot,’ Solomon said, still looking at Rita. ‘What was the offer and when was it made?’

  Rita looked between Meeks and Solomon, fear making her eyes white and wide. ‘Sixty thousand,’ she said. ‘He came to the diner a few hours back with a case full of money.’

  ‘Was anyone else there?’

  Rita frowned as she tried to remember. ‘Some of the regulars.’

>   Solomon nodded and looked back at Meeks. ‘Then you’re not going to shoot.’

  ‘The fuck you say. I’ve a mind to shoot you right now just to prove you wrong.’

  ‘OK, then shoot. Of course if you do then the sound of the gunshots will be the last thing you ever hear.’

  Meeks moved the shotgun up until it was pointing directly at Solomon’s face. ‘You threatening me, boy?’

  ‘No, merely stating a fact. The shotgun you’re holding is a Remington 870, 12 gauge with a discharge noise level of over a hundred and fifty decibels. If you pull the trigger in this enclosed space you’ll probably blow out both your eardrums, and that’s if you only shoot once. But one shot won’t kill us all and you can’t afford to leave any witnesses, so you’ll have to shoot again, twice probably, to make sure the job’s done. Three shotgun blasts from a Remington 870 in this tiny space is going to leave you deaf for life. But that’s only the first reason you won’t shoot. The second is that three blasts from that gun is going to make all kinds of mess – blood, bone fragments, brains – all over these well-scrutinized and photographed walls. Of course if you manage to buy the land at the auction you could close the caves to the public so no one can ever see what happened here. Only you can’t do that, can you? Because you need these lands to be officially recognized as ancestral Indian territory so you can build a casino on it, which means you’ll need experts to come here and confirm that these symbols say what you overheard me saying before you stepped into view with that gun in your hand. Now you could try and clean all the mess up but this stone is soft and porous, so not only could stray pellets and bone fragments tear it up, maybe even destroy the petroglyphs entirely, it will also be impossible to remove all the blood evidence from it.