“I used to model for the cigar store Indians,” Bones said, “but chewing tobacco put us out of business. Now I just go around making white people hurt their necks.”
Orley frowned and pursed his lips, glaring at Bones. He looked like he might spew out a stream of curses, but suddenly he laughed and clasped Bones’ hand. “By God, you’re a funny fellow too. This ‘un here,” he nodded at Isaiah, “you’d sooner get a tater out of a goat’s behind than get a smile out of him.”
Bones shuddered at the bizarre mental image. “He’s a college fellow,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, eyeing Isaiah out of the corner of his eye. “You know the type. Serious all the time.”
“I do know it,” Orley said. “You mean you ain’t a college fellow yourself?”
“Me? Not a chance. Retired from the Navy.” He left out the fact that he had earned a two-year degree while in the service. “You ever in the service, Mr. Orley?”
“Hell yes! Did my tour in ‘Nam and got the hell out of there.” He nodded at Bones, as if satisfied, and turned back to Isaiah. “Anyways, keep them diggers over there,” he pointed to the dig site just visible in the distance. “And stay out of the small barn,” he indicated a large shed built against a sheer rock wall about a hundred yards to the east of where they stood. “I got a sick bull in there. I don’t know that you’d catch anything, but I don’t need you upsettin’ him. We clear?”
“Absolutely,” Isaiah said, smiling. “And let me thank you again for opening up your ranch for this dig. I admire the way you’ve preserved the site for so many years, and I appreciate the opportunity to be the first to excavate it.”
“Ah, forget it!” Orley waved a calloused hand at him, and spat another brown puddle on the ground. “Ever since that feller at Range Creek opened up his place, I knew it was just going to be a matter of time before you college ‘uns started poking around. Might as well get it done.” He turned away and strode off toward his small house just visible to the southeast.
Bones looked at Isaiah, who grinned and shrugged. “He’s not a bad fellow,” Isaiah said. “I can imagine that after the undisturbed Fremont sites were opened up on Range Creek, he probably did feel like he needed to share his site on his own terms.”
“Whatever,” Bones said. “Let’s head on to the site. I’m anxious to do some digging. Should be fun.”
“This is the most boring thing I have ever done.” Bones scuffed the ground with the toe of his boot. “I had this crazy idea that a ‘dig’ might involve some actual digging.” He snapped another picture of the pictographs adorning the rock face, and let out a dramatic sigh. They had spent what felt like hours photographing and cataloguing the various pictures etched into the rock. The others members of the dig were mapping the lay of the land and making records of the artifacts that lay strewn across the ground. He had been surprised to see how plentiful they were, and that Orley had apparently left them untouched where they lay.
“Are you sure you’ve been on a dig before, Bones?” Isaiah did not turn to look at him, but instead kept his eyes on the pictographs. “You told me you loved archaeology.”
“Yeah, but the last dig I was on, there was climbing and people shooting at me and stuff.” He knew he sounded like a sullen schoolboy, but he didn’t care, because at least it annoyed his cousin. “It was fun!”
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Isaiah shook his head. “I swear, sometimes you even have me believing your wild tales.” He paused to lean in close and scrutinize a picture that looked to Bones like a lumpy cow. “Anyway,” Isaiah continued, “if you don’t want to help me with this, grab a notebook and start counting the potsherds.”
“Counting the potsherds. Thrilling. Forget it dude, I’ll just stay here.” He moved along the wall, looking with disinterest at the pictographs. Isaiah had called them “fascinating”, said they were the best he’d ever seen. To Bones, all of them looked the same. The same people, the same four-legged beasts, the same weird shapes. Except for one that drew his attention. On the far right end of the rock face, where the overhanging ledge arched down, the wall receded back into the hill. The recessed area looked like it had been bricked over with inch-thick flat rocks and mud. To the left of the bricked in area was a rendering of a person. Unlike the pictographs, this one was a painting, and the fellow in the picture looked like he was bowing down to something or someone.
“Hey, check this out,” he called out to Isaiah. “This one is different.” He ran his fingers along the stone around the edge of the image, wanting to touch it, but fearing he might damage it in some way. His eyes drifted to the stacked rocks closing off the alcove. Perhaps it was his imagination, but they looked like they had been put there intentionally. He touched it with a tentative finger, and found it solid. He pushed a bit harder to no effect. Stealing a glance at Isaiah, who was still scrutinizing the pictographs, Bones balled up his fist and rapped on the rocks. The sound rang hollow in his ears. There was a space behind there, he was sure of it! He knocked again, harder this time. With a loud clatter the rock wall collapsed, falling back into the empty space behind in a puff of dust. Bones gasped when he saw what lay behind.
“Bones!” Isaiah shouted. “What did you do?” He rushed over to Bones’ side. “I can’t believe you…” Words failed him when he saw what Bones was staring at. His dark face blanched. “It can’t be,” he finally whispered.
A detailed cave painting, so unlike the simple pictographs that covered the rest of the rocky face, stared back at them. A man stood in the center of a group. Light shone all around him, creating a glowing aura about his beatific face. Although the artwork was primitive, it was clear that he was not an Indian. He had shoulder-length hair, a moustache, and a beard. He stood with his hands upraised, and all around him the primitive-looking men bowed down to him.
Bones took a step back and shook his head. It was several moments before he found his voice.
“Who in God’s name is that?”
Chapter 5
Dane scrubbed the last bit of corrosion off of the breastplate, admiring its dull glow under the artificial light. It was iron with a copper coating, unless he missed his guess. The artifact was not in bad shape considering its age. The clay and silt of the well had protected it all these centuries.
“What do you make of these markings?” Jade asked, her fingers resting lightly on his shoulders. “Some of them almost look like lines on a map.” She leaned down for a closer look, her cheek brushing against his. He was painfully aware of her jasmine scent and the softness of her skin. “The cross is obviously the most significant marking, but what does it tell us?”
Running diagonally across the breastplate from top left to bottom right, a cross lay in raised relief. At each of the four tips, halfway up the longest segment, and at the point where the two lines crossed were seven-pointed sunbursts. Dane looked at the etchings that surrounded it. It did look like a map. Lines that might have represented mountain ranges filled the top left and center. A low, oddly shaped range lay beneath the center sunburst, and a single jagged peak abutted the bottom left star.
There were pictures as well. There was a tall, squat tower at one point, and what might have been statues at another. And on the bottom, a semi-circle, its center filled with a variety of patterns.
“Is that the moon?” Saul spoke for the first time since Dane had started cleaning the breastplate. Dane didn’t care one bit for Jade’s assistant. There was something about the man’s demeanor that rubbed him the wrong way. “These could be craters,” he said, pointing at the circles that pockmarked the half-circle.