Crows loudly bellowed from some high branches overhanging a picnic area, while four college aged people were carelessly throwing a Frisbee in a field nearby. The crisp air was filled with the aroma from a tall stand of pine trees behind the museum.
“What now?” Ulrich inquired as the four men simultaneously set foot on the ground exiting the vehicle.
Tommy nodded his head in the direction of the museum. “I guess we should check in there. They will have a bunch of information about the area. Maybe we’ll find something.”
The group casually walked up the front steps toward the building. Upon entering, they were greeted with what Tommy considered to be a pleasantly familiar smell. Museums of differing types always seemed to have a similar, unique odor. It was only natural for Schultz to associate the scent he was now inhaling with the vision of ancient relics, pottery, weapons, or ordinary daily devices and utensils that people thousands of years ago would have taken for granted.
Behind the welcome desk, a man with reddish-tan skin and long black hair stood in a tan, short-sleeve, button up shirt and green, park ranger pants. He was busily typing on a computer that sat on top of the information counter. The nametag on his shirt read, “Cooper.” His job must have gotten boring.
Tommy figured the ranger could complete a round of solitaire in record time by now. The guy was probably not used to visitors during the week that were not part of a school group or some kind of educational tour.
“Can I help you?” The man asked, as he stopped whatever he was doing and turned his attention to the four men, smiling with bright, white teeth.
Jens gave Tommy a nudge forward. Clearing his throat, Schultz tried not to act like a hostage. “Yes,” he began, “I was just showing some of my friends around the area. They’re not from around here,” he continued, pointing at the other three who looked at each other confusedly. “I thought it would be cool to show them a little bit about some of the local history.”
The dark-skinned ranger looked pleased, “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Feel free to take a look around our museum, just through those doors there. You can find all kinds of information about our rich past as well as many artifacts that have been discovered through the years, right here on the property.” Then he added, “If you would like, we have a twenty minute video that will be showing in a few minutes.”
Why would they have a movie at set times if there was no one there to watch it? Tommy didn’t ask the question. The guy was obviously eager to share information with someone who didn’t arrive on a yellow bus.
“Thanks. We’ll just take a look around for a few minutes and maybe walk through the park.”
“Alright. Just let me know if you need anything or have any questions.” Satisfied he’d done his job, the ranger went back to whatever he was previously doing on the computer.
Tommy nodded in appreciation and led the two flat tops and Ulrich through the large double doors into a small museum area. Once inside, they were greeted by six foot high placards with pictures of Native Americans in full head dress. Smaller pictures with name plates and brief descriptions dotted the walls. Frames displaying Indians playing an ancient form of lacrosse were paired with some actual balls and sticks that had been used hundreds of years ago.
The “museum” was more like a large single room that had been divided by an artificial wall. Maybe the park thought it would seem bigger if it were split into two areas instead of just one. Display cases were propped around on the floor showing a variety of old artifacts. Eating utensils, scissors, small bowls, sewing needles, and several other items of interest were presented in the first little spot.
As the group made their way around the room, they found containers displaying arrows and spearheads made from flint. Bows, arrows, rifles, pistols, and various other weapons were displayed on the walls behind these glass boxes. A few rusty knives hung, precariously, next to a picture of a sallow eyed Native in what looked like a suit a lawyer may have worn in the 1800s. The name under the picture read “James Vann.”
Tommy smiled and let out a snorted laugh when he saw this.
The men guarding him must not have noticed or even cared about their prisoner’s private thought.
Ulrich interrupted the moment. “What are we looking for?” He said in a direct tone.
Tommy cast him a “buzz off” glance. “We’re just looking at this point. Red Clay was one of the most important spots in the Cherokee Nation. Logic would suggest that if the chambers exist, there is probably something that links to them here.”
The answer to his comment was the feeling of a gun shoved into his left kidney. “I would suggest, Mr. Schultz, that you look faster. Time is of the essence.”
Shivers went through his body, but Tommy remained calm. “Take it easy,” he replied and took a few steps toward a large standup of John Ross. The story of Ross’s life played out next to the image. It was a tale that Schultz knew well.
John Ross had been the primary leader of the Cherokee Nation before it was dissolved and moved to Oklahoma. He and many white members of the United States government had fought the removal of the Indians from their ancient lands for years before succumbing to a betrayal by a minority group acting on the Cherokee’s behalf.
Along the causeway, the images of other great Cherokee leaders hung from the walls. More display cases contained what seemed to be random works of art: drawings, paintings, cups, and other pottery.
Both the guards had a lost look on their faces. Tommy was unsure whether apathy or incomprehension caused the blank look on his captors’ faces, but he didn’t really care either way. His eyes wandered the room, scanning all the frames, hoping that whatever it was he was looking for would pop out like one of those 3-D pictures that were so popular in the late 90s.
After a few minutes of searching, he finally saw it. In the shadows by the exit doors, a small glass case stood alone on a pedestal with a single flood light shining onto it at an angle. In a few long strides, Tommy was standing in front of the exhibit. Wonder filled his eyes as he ran his fingers along the edge of the glass next to the “do not touch” sign.
The men watching him were momentarily alarmed at how quickly Schultz had moved toward the exit, but when he stopped in the corner, they re-holstered the pistols drawn a second before.
Mesmerized by the exhibit resting in front of them, the four men stared into the case. Within its confines, a piece of clay pottery about the size of a typical flower vase, sat inconspicuously in the pale light.
Tommy squatted down to get a closer look at the jar. It looked more like it had come from an ancient Greek society than a Native American one. Fluid snakelike carvings decorated the front of the clay container in shapes that crisscrossed like an elaborate pretzel. As he scooted around to the back of the display stand, he beheld an image of two birds, almost identical to the ones on the stone disc he had discovered.
“This is it,” he whispered.
Jens appeared unimpressed. “What does it mean?”
Tommy had grown tired of these under educated men. Nothing annoyed him more than ignorant treasure hunters who only searched because of the fame and money antiquities might bring.
He rose from his squatting position and sighed, “This is actually a very rare piece of history. As far as I know, only two of these have ever been discovered. One of them was found fifty or so years ago and is called ‘Vessel Number One.’ Until now, I have never actually seen one that resembled anything close to that vase.”