“There have been a few ice ages, right?” Sarah was speaking to Myra.
“So you listened to me.”
“Jeez, Myra, we all listened to you.” Myra colored. Sergei was silent, replacing his flies. Sarah sat, elbows across her knees, chin on elbows. “So maybe there were people here, lots of people, before this last ice age. Then when the ice came, it crushed and ground up all the evidence of them.” Sarah seemed to be directing the comment to Sergei.
Sergei was braced on the log, long legs straight out. “If there were people here, they’d have moved south when the ice came. But there’s no evidence of them to the south.”
“Isn’t Mexico south, Sergei?”
Sergei blinked. “Are you planning to become a scientist, Sarah?”
“Are you kidding? What, so I can argue all the time?”
“Good. Because if you did become one, the rest of us would have our work cut out for us. You’re smart.”
“At least we agree on one thing,” Myra said.
“What did Tom say, yesterday?” Sergei had his fly case open. “Out of the mouths of babes?”
“I am not a babe.”
“You will be, Sarah.” Sergei grinned.
“Asshole.”
“Told you she was ornery,” Tom said, passing around the cooked fish. The fish was delicious.
“You may have a point, Sarah,” Sergei said. “The ice covered much of the good habitat for living, and south was desert and dust. South of the desert, the environment is tropical and acidic and nothing lasts in those conditions. One place that hasn’t been examined much is the high country, the alpine areas, in the mountains. It seems people went high very early, and it can be dry up there. Evidence may be up there.” Sergei waved toward the high ridges over the river. “You see, Myra, Sarah has me thinking, now.”
“But no data, right?”
“Not yet, Myra.”
“Of course not.” Myra leaned back.
“That was some nice throwing,” Sergei said. “I watched you from the river. Did you make that weapon yourself?”
“I did.”
“So you learned much during your journey.”
“I practiced at Ruth’s this summer.”
“Still, you knew what to do.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t get it.” Myra wouldn’t look at Sergei. “On the one hand we have a scientist who only uses data, and yet on the other we have a man who apparently thinks Sarah learned how to throw during a dream.”
“Data, Myra. Sarah made the darts and thrower. Maybe she learned how to do that on the Internet. You can learn much from the Internet. She may have used YouTube and practice to become accurate, as well. But I know a little about ancient lashings and ties from my father’s hobby. Sarah’s workmanship is hard to credit to a YouTube video alone. Her ability to hit something a foot in diameter from well over 100 feet away is more than impressive. Perhaps there is more to learn about skill development, learning, and the power of dreams.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“I’m Russian, Myra. Why would I make sense?”
“Aren’t you Koryak?”
“That, too.” Sergei pocketed his flies, stretched his legs. “I know, Myra, because of your history, the broken treaties, the disease, the abuse, even today the hatred of native people by whites, you think the debt to be paid is unpayable. But in my land, we native people have no reservations, have no government support, have no treaty fishing rights, have few cultural traditions left. They were all torn from us generations ago. Perhaps I envy you.”
Myra stared into the fire. Sergei settled back.
“We get a good day, tomorrow,” said Tom, “we might be able to get all the way to Bear Valley. ‘Eye, think you can make it?” Tom had been watching William massage his legs.
“I can try.”
Evening was approaching. William took the bowls, spoons and pot and washed them in the river. When he came back to the fire, Sarah was sketching Sergei. Sergei was retying some flies. He wore glasses, perched on his nose, and bent his head close to his work.
Sarah closed her sketchpad. William could see a scar on her forehead, a long thin line remaining from her cuts the previous spring.
“You know, we could leave the thrower up there.” Sarah was hesitant. “That’s what you wanted, Tom-Tom, isn’t it? Take it in there to be with Bob-Bob?”
“I’m Tom-Tom, am I?”
“Grandpa makes you sound too old. We could leave it up there. They’ll never find it. They don’t want to find it. I mean, I’d like to get the thrower. Try it out, even, but I don’t want to be attacked. ”
“If we left it, then you wouldn’t get the chance to try, Sarah.”
“I know, Myra, but we’d be alive. That Pete was warning us. If they think we have that thing who knows what they’ll do.”
“I think Sarah makes sense.” Sergei continued his fly tying. “One of those Buckhorn people was carrying a gun.”
“Come on, Sergei,” said Myra. “We aren’t in Russia, here. They aren’t going to attack us. Sarah, you retrieve that thrower, and when we get back out, you’ll have something that will give you and us cover, show that you aren’t crazy, and neither are we. Maybe then you can stay with Tom, because people will stop thinking we’re all demented and dreaming.”
“And, more important,” said Sergei, “the mining enterprise will be stopped. Above all, stop the mining.”
“You think I only care about the mining.”
“You don’t know what I think, Myra. But, yes, in this case I think you want that thrower both for Sarah’s sake but even more because that artifact is what you need to stop Buckhorn.”
“It’s important that we stop Buckhorn.”
William had never been able to get Myra’s mother to come down off her indignant high horse once she started to ride. Over the years he’d had better success with Myra. He tried now. “Just as it’s important to Buckhorn to bring in this material. Just as it’s important for those surveyors to do their job. Everyone has a motive, here, Myra. Sarah is only asking that we be sure we want to go on, tomorrow, because once we get there and she finds the piece, things could become difficult. I’m happy to stop here, turn around, and not just because my legs hurt and my feet are sore. I think there is some danger, to Sarah and all of us, if we persist. But I think it’s unlikely they will try to permanently silence five of us over an old bone thrower that cannot really be confirmed as from this area.”
“I want to get that thrower and put it with Bob-Bob, and maybe first use it once or twice.”
“That’s what I wanted to do last spring, Sarah. Leave it up there.” Tom watched Sarah. “But I now see a good reason to bring the piece out and date it. I agree with Myra. We should go on.”
“I would like to see this atlatl after all I have heard about it, and especially after trying to date and test the sliver.” Sergei placed the retied fly in his case.
“I will go on, if the rest of you go on.” William shifted his legs, wincing.
“See, Myra, we all agree with you.” Sergei bowed to Myra, opening his hands. Sarah reopened her sketchpad and pulled out her pencil. William watched the fire, felt heat against his lower legs and feet. Tom pulled out a small camera, took a picture of Sarah drawing.
“I didn’t know you brought a camera,” Myra said.
Tom aimed his camera at Sarah. “I brought this because I wanted to be able to take pictures of the Bear Valley site, and the atlatl once Sarah retrieves it. I regretted not having a camera last spring.”
Sergei reached into a pocket and pulled out his own camera. Sarah almost smiled when he took a picture. “Sarah, William here told me your story.” Sergei aimed and shot.
“I was wondering when one of you was going to ask about that.”
“We all agreed, Sarah, l
ast May, not to bother you,” said Tom, leaning back. “You had your injuries to deal with and we knew it wouldn’t help to pester you then. And then of course the Lynches took you. Sergei, we all agreed we’d not ask Sarah anything unless she said something first.”
“I never agreed. I wasn’t here.” Sergei added a branch to the fire.
“Well, you should honor what we agreed to.”
“Why is that, Myra?”
“I think none of you asked me anything because you didn’t believe me,” Sarah said, while shading her drawing. “Just like you didn’t believe me about seeing the bear.” Sarah put her pencil down and handed her sketchpad to Sergei.
Sergei’s eyebrows rose. “I have a large nose.”
“You do.”
“You could earn a living today drawing portraits in Russia.” Sergei handed William the pad. Sarah had drawn Sergei working on his flies, head bent, glasses halfway down his nose, black hair parted in the middle and falling over his ears, lips pursed. The likeness was perfect. William handed the pad on to Tom, who chuckled. He passed the pad to Myra.
“Why look at a drawing when I can see that big nose right here?”
“Before you two kill each other, Sergei, what did you want to know?” asked Sarah.
Myra turned the page in the sketchpad to a drawing Sarah had done of her. She handed it to Tom. William could see over Tom’s shoulder. In the sketch, Myra was laughing, eyes alight, head back. William handed the drawing to Sergei. He held it for some time.
“You are a beautiful woman when you look happy.”
Myra colored. “Are you saying I am not happy?”
“I am. Certainly not around me.”
“That’s easy. You are impossible.”
“Of course. I am Russian and Koryak.” Sergei placed his hand across his chest as he said this. Sergei handed the sketchpad to Sarah. “Sarah, when you awoke in that place, at that headland, in your dream, did you remember who you were? Did you know you were Sarah?”
“No. Yes. No. I didn’t think about it. I was just there.”
“Did you wonder?”
“I had lost my memory. My head hurt. I only wondered what I had forgotten about life on the sea of grass.” As she spoke, her voice changed, slowed down, and her look seemed distant.
“And now, Sarah, three months later, do you remember everything as well as you did in May?”
“Everything. It was real.”
“And making the darts and thrower at your grandmother’s? Lashing the stolen stone points? Knowing which of the stone points was a dart point and which an arrowhead? Some of that knowledge, was it from your time wherever you were? Your dream?” Sarah’s head moved, twice. “This is interesting,” Sergei said to the rest of them. “I have heard there are stories of people dreaming and then, upon awakening, knowing how to perform a skill they had dreamed of. Perhaps those stories are true.” Sergei observed Sarah for a long minute. “There was more, wasn’t there. To your story?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell us?”
“Maybe.”
“I look forward to that time, Sarah.” Sergei settled back. He did not ask Sarah any more questions; he did not persist in getting further information. Sarah had told them, on the walk out in May, that maybe she could and would tell them the rest of her tale, and William now saw that Sergei was content to leave it at that.
That night, shortly after they turned in, the wind began to blow. Thunder growled, closer and closer. Rain fell for an hour, starting at 10. North, south, and then over them, they heard heavy thunder. Lightning flashed outside their tents. Yet, by the time the sun rose, the sky was mostly clear.
Tom wanted to push on this day all the way to Bear Valley. It would be a long day, over 13 miles.
Tom tried his little radio to see if it picked up any signal. Here, by the Elkhorn camp, deep beneath two high ridges, the scratchy forecast could be heard. The radio mentioned reports of several fires caused by lightning from the storms of the night before.
They packed rapidly and were on the trail before eight. Three times, approaching Hayes River, they had to work around trees that had fallen across the trail. At the Hayes River junction, the ranger’s tent was tied shut, the ranger somewhere on patrol. Clouds passed by overhead. A strong wind blew from the south.
Tom listened to his weather radio again. It reported two fires started by lightning, one back toward Whiskey Bend, not far from the Lillian River crossing, and the other up on Dodger Point. When they came to the Hayes River bridge, they looked back north to Dodger Point ridge and saw some smoke halfway up the slope.
They took a break at Camp Wilder for lunch. William’s feet hurt, but his back hurt more. He could see Tom was not having much fun either. Tom’s stride had developed a slight hitch. They were both happy to sit and rest.
Because they’d made the same trip the previous spring, they knew where to go when they left the trail. Sarah had some difficulty with her fishing rod holder catching branches. She stopped, removed the aluminum tube, and carried it in one hand.
When they reached the slide area below the Godkin Valley, the slope was dry and the rocks hot. Broken trees and stumps, bleached from the sun, littered the rockslide area. They picked their way across the slide toward Godkin Creek. They followed the creek upstream.
As before, the Buckhorn group had chosen a sandbar on the Godkin for their camp. The gravel bar was wide and open, close to water and firewood. There were three tents on the sand bar, but nobody in sight. Next to the tents were two bulging canvas containers, stacked. William wondered if the sacks were erbium samples.
They moved through cedars and spruce to the small headwall leading to Bear Valley. They climbed the headwall and crossed the wide slide area to find the north bench leading to the overhang. The snow here was gone, long melted away, leaving only thick piles of trees, limbs, and stumps tangled together.
They reached the overhang late in the afternoon. Tom and William brought up the rear. William’s feet felt like fire. His heart slammed in his chest and he groaned from the pain in his back. Tom’s left knee had apparently stiffened; he walked straight-legged, swinging his stiff leg awkwardly in a half-circle as he moved.
Sergei, still wearing his pack, reappeared from ahead. He took William’s pack and hoisted it atop the pack on his back. Then he took Tom’s pack and swung it over his head so that it rested atop William’s pack. Then, carrying three packs, he walked ahead toward camp.
“Jesus.” Tom was breathing hard. “Look at that.”
Sergei disappeared, walking effortlessly.
“Depressing, Tom.” Sergei was carrying over 150 pounds, easily. William felt 100 years old.
“Maybe he’ll carry our packs on the way out.” Tom swung his leg, lurching along.
“You going to be all right, Tom?”
“It’ll get better. I hope. Besides, I know I look better than you.”
“You do not.”
Myra appeared, followed by Sarah. Tom and William were tired, sweating, flushed, and in pain.
“Long day, dad. You guys did well.”
So they arrived. They set up camp not under the overhang, but out where they had first camped last May, where Tom and his grandfather Bob-Bob had camped many years before. Myra and Sarah walked downstream a distance to wash. Tom, Sergei and William heard them laughing. Then the men washed. William’s feet burned in the cold water. The water felt great, but afterward, both Tom and William stiffened up badly.
When they returned from their wash in the creek, they saw Myra and Sarah with Roger and Pete. Roger was without sunglasses and his eyes seemed pale and empty. Pete stood slightly behind his boss, awkward. Roger was waving a piece of paper. He turned to face Tom.
“Anything found in the ground here is ours. We have the claim. Maybe once this was in your family, gramps, but it’s ours now. Y
ou can camp up here, but when you leave we’ll be checking to make sure you aren’t taking anything on your way out.”
Myra spoke. “This is a national park. We have a total right to be here.”
“That’s what I just said, princess, just don’t remove anything.”
Myra spoke past Roger to Pete. “Pete, this is ridiculous.”
“I don’t disagree,” Pete said. Roger turned on him.
“This isn’t your fight, Pete. Back off.”
“What’s the problem?” Tom moved next to Myra.
“No problem. You heard me.”
Tom stood before Roger. One set of pale eyes faced another.
“Thanks for your concern.” Tom turned his back and walked away. Roger realized he’d been dismissed. He gave Sergei and William a hard look, shook his head, and put on his sunglasses. He and Pete headed toward the headwall and their camp, disappearing among the trees.
Tom took a pullover from his tent. The afternoon had grown cooler. He tugged it over his head.
“They don’t have the right to check us, or inspect us, when we leave,” Myra said.
“They think they do. He kept waving that paper.” Tom rubbed his sore leg.
“Tom,” William said, “the way I see this, there are six of them and five of us. Their six are all big, strong, and on a mission. At least one is armed.” William had not liked the look in Roger’s eyes.
“Well, aren’t we on a mission too?”
“We are, Sarah,” William said. “But wasn’t it you who suggested yesterday we just leave the atlatl here, for exactly the reasons we now see?”
“I’m not a quitter.”
That evening Myra cooked dinner with Sarah’s help. Sergei went down to the creek to seek fish. After dinner Sergei and Myra took the bowls and spoons to the creek and washed them. They crouched together, backs to the fire, bent over, washing.
Strong Heart Page 16
