She smiled, showing a set of tiny teeth.
Moon smiled back. The child looked to be fine. And it was a hundred-to-one shot she had invented the story as an excuse for wandering away from her mother. But just to be on the safe side, the question had to be asked. “Did this man…uh…touch you or anything?”
The little girl squinted at the giant. “The dog licked my ear.”
“Sounds like a nice dog.”
She nodded.
“Peggy—why do you think the man brought you here?”
She thought about this for a moment. “I think—to show me the picture.”
“What picture?”
She pointed the toe of her red cowboy boot at the sandstone shelf beneath his feet. “That one.”
He leaned to have a closer look. At the edge of some loose dirt, there were two deep scratches in the rock. One L-shaped, the other straight. Moon heard a wail off to the north. “Peggy…where are you…Pegggeee…” He got to his feet, grabbing the tot by her grubby little hand. “Sounds like your mother’s looking for you.”
“You think Mom’ll be mad?”
“Maybe. She’ll want to know why you wandered off.”
“What should I tell her?”
Moon grinned. “I expect you’ll think of something.”
The child was delivered to an extremely grateful mother, who turned out to be the pretty Zuni woman. After hugging her little girl, Nancy Begay scolded her. This done, she thanked Charlie Moon. While the unrepentant child clung to her mother’s leg, the adults exchanged a few words. He learned that the Zuni woman was a prosperous silversmith. The squash-blossom necklace suspended from her neck was her own work. Moon admired the silver flowers, and said so. This earned him a shy smile. It turned out that the lady was also a friend of Daisy Perika. Moon admitted his surprise that his grouchy aunt had any friends at all.
Nancy Begay laughed at this. And did not fail to notice that her daughter’s rescuer was a fine-looking man. And gentle of speech and manner. Though somewhat overly tall.
He noticed that she had a dazzling smile. And was easy on the eyes. The Ute wondered whether he should ask the widow and her child to have lunch with him and his aunt. But Moon reminded himself that such an invitation would have unstated implications. And that he was spoken for. By a pale-skinned woman with hair of spun gold. Who is very far away. But he prudently decided that getting to know this attractive Zuni woman better wouldn’t be quite the right thing to do.
An hour later, Nancy Begay departed from Chimney Rock Archaeological Site with the flock of Indian tourists. She looked back over her shoulder. The tall Ute seemed an uncommonly kind man. He wore no wedding band on his finger. And he had a lonely look about him. But he had shown no interest in her. Nancy reminded herself that she was a widow who didn’t have time for fantasies. What she did have was a daughter to raise. An imaginative, unpredictable child who made up silly stories to excuse her misbehavior.
After watching the Zuni woman depart with her child, Moon returned to the spot where he had found the little girl sitting under the juniper. Walking slowly, in an ever-increasing spiral, he made a thorough search. Except for several of his own footprints—and a few marks made by the child’s tiny boot heel—there were no traces of another presence. Which, he admitted, didn’t prove what the little girl had said she’d seen wasn’t real. A man who was determined to do so could walk from one end of the mesa to the other without getting his feet off the sandstone. The former Ute policeman was well aware that there were more than a few eccentrics wandering around the canyon country. He was thankful that this one—if he existed outside the little girl’s imagination—had done no harm.
Before departing, he knelt to run his finger along the lines incised in stone. Under the loose soil, there might be a lot more. I’ll tell April Tavishuts about it. She can pass it on to that contract archaeologist. Then I’ll find Aunt Daisy. Maybe she’ll be ready for some lunch.
4
She took them to a room, and she wrapped them in the four coverings of the Sky, the dawn, the daylight, the twilight, and the darkness.
—Sandoval, Hastin Tlo’tsi hee
The Twin Boys were cared for…each had a cradle, and when they first laughed gifts were given to all who came to the home. Not much is told about them until the fifteenth day. By that time they were young men.
—Sandoval, Hastin Tlo’tsi hee
THE SCHOLARS
A group of university scholars, graduate students, forest service specialists, and skilled technicians had assembled on Ghost Wolf Mesa. They brought a wide range of knowledge, ranging from archaeology, astronomy, and ethnography to geology, mathematics, and photography. After a preliminary meeting at the parking lot, the team converged upon the site where Charlie Moon had found the child—and the edge of the enigmatic petroglyph, which had now been completely exposed. The experts assembled themselves in a loose circle around the recently discovered illustration.
The excitement among the academics was barely submerged under knowing nods and erudite comments about such arcane matters as were of mutual interest. A comparison of this discovery with Chacoan rock art. The relationship of the odd figures to Zuni and Hopi myths. The devastating effect of industrial pollution on Southwestern petroglyphs. Who was in line to get the department chairmanship once Professor Axton retired. Italian versus American hiking boots. The price of gasoline.
A bushy-haired photographer, having no time for idle gossip, busied himself by mounting a wooden view camera on a battered tripod that had been to the Gobi Desert and Antarctica. Today’s best shot might, he hoped, make the cover of National Geographic. Or Archaeology Today.
A science reporter from the Rocky Mountain News cued his Sony tape recorder for interviews with the more notable members of the group. And hoped for some controversy.
There was a general sense that this was a rare privilege—to be present so soon after an important archaeological discovery was made. And the way this one had been found was more than a little peculiar. The experts stared hard at the petroglyph. As if by some mysterious magnetism of corporate will they could withdraw its secret.
Charlie Moon, having repeated his story a dozen times to as many inquisitive scientists, stood well outside the circle of privilege and watched. This should be interesting. He felt someone brush his elbow. Amanda Silk was at his side, leaning on a birch walking stick. The contract archaeologist was frowning. The Ute tipped his black Stetson. “Morning.”
Her eyes measured the height of the sun. “Yes it is.”
Moon looked toward the petroglyph. “So what do you think?”
“About what?”
“What the little Zuni girl found.”
“It’s a boojum,” she muttered.
He wondered what that meant.
There was—as is common in human affairs—an unstated but clearly understood ranking. First in the pecking order was Professor Silas Axton, chairman of the Rocky Mountain Polytechnic Department of Anthropology and Archaeology. The tall, angular man stood on the southern side of the pictograph. Dr. Terry Perkins, professor of paleoastronomy, had positioned himself on the opposite side. Each made a pretense of being unaware of the other’s presence. The accepted practice was that either professor’s comments were directed to the respectful audience of colleagues and graduate students, certainly not to his distinguished rival.
Professor Axton had studied the highly stylized sketches of human beings with intense interest. Each had a trunk comprised of opposed triangles, arranged so the points were touching at the figure’s waist, giving the impression of a highly angular hourglass. The heads were squares, with wavy lines protruding from flat scalps—presumably an indication of feathers. Legs and arms were merely lines. What made the drawing intriguing was that each of the figures had something grasped in its hands. There could be no doubt that these objects—straight lines with pointed tips—represented spears. The southerly figure—taller and thinner than his companion—held his weapon so th
at it was almost parallel to his body. The spear belonging to the shorter of the humanoids was leaning at a noticeable angle.
The implication of the petroglyph was obvious to each of the several scholars, but protocol required that the most eminent of them would state what was quite apparent to all. And so he did. Professor Axton cleared his throat and spoke as if he was unaware of the microphone the science reporter held within an inch of his chin. “While much detailed examination of this pictograph remains to be done, it is immediately apparent—from comparison with existing rock art in other locations—that these figures represent the Twin War Gods.”
There was a murmur of agreement from his audience.
Axton moved cautiously to the “bottom” of the pictograph, where the toes of his laced boots almost touched the feet etched into the sandstone. The anthropologist frowned thoughtfully at the primitive armaments grasped by the stick figures. Then looked off into the distance at the rising towers to the northeast. “The artisan who crafted this drawing has arranged the spears in such a manner that each points toward one of the sandstone monoliths.” He said this with an air of understated triumph. “Therefore,” the professor continued pedantically, “the sandstone formations known as Chimney and Companion do indeed represent the mythic Twin War Gods. This petroglyph verifies the claims of several Native American groups, which I have long supported.” He paused to beam upon his students, then cast a wary sideways glance at the paleoastronomer. “Surely this conclusion can be stated without fear of contradiction.” And then muttered: “From any scholar worthy of the name.”
There was another murmur from the gathering, mostly of appreciation. But this was salted with some amusement. It was clear to all whom Axton thought unworthy. The man who stood on the north side of the sketch in stone was the intended target of the anthropologist’s poison-tipped arrows.
There were reasons for Axton’s intense dislike of his junior colleague. For one thing, Terry Perkins held mere undergraduate degrees in anthropology and archaeology. For another, he had been awarded a Ph.D. in physics and astronomy. To compound his shortcomings, Perkins was a noted paleoastronomer. And in Axton’s opinion, the sort of arrogant physical scientist who never doubted that he was considerably more intelligent and far better informed than the most prominent anthropologist. Perkins—like others of his ilk—had a highly annoying habit of poking around in anthropological business that should rightly be left to his betters. Which is to say, those who held the proper certification. If this were not enough, there was still another reason for Axton to detest the younger scholar. In every argument in which Professor Axton had engaged Dr. Perkins, the brilliant young paleoastronomer had—sooner or later—turned out to be demonstrably in the right. And Perkins never gloated over his victories. It was as if he had never doubted the outcome of such unequal contests. Perkins’s behavior was galling to Axton. And damnably unforgivable.
There was a silence in the audience. Dr. Perkins would certainly have something to say. Though not directly to Professor Axton, of course.
And, as the reporter’s microphone was aimed at his face, he did. “The assertion that these figures are meant to represent the Twin War Gods is, I should think, almost certainly correct.”
Professor Axton was momentarily disarmed by this unexpected support.
Perkins flashed a dazzling smile at no one in particular. “Or at least as likely to be correct as any of the many informed speculations one encounters in fields such as archaeology, anthropology—or metaphysics.”
The pink flesh of Professor Axton’s face turned to gray stone.
The science reporter, who was recording this encounter for posterity, could not suppress a smile.
Perkins continued in an affable tone. “While one need not doubt that the artisan who created this nifty little sketch believed Companion and Chimney Rocks to be the earthly personification of the Twin War Gods, we may rightly ask ourselves a question: Just who was this artisan?”
Axton turned his craggy face to stare at the younger man. And broke the unwritten rule by speaking directly to Perkins. “I daresay, you physicists may be expected to come up with some technique for identifying this individual who died a thousand years ago. Perhaps you will lift a bit of his DNA from a crevice in the stone where his sweat has fallen?”
There was a titter of nervous laughter from the audience.
Perkins—who had taken Axton’s place at the base of the figure—seemed not in the least offended. He squatted, closed one eye, and held out his thumb to make a sighting, first along one spear, then the other. “I am pleased to know that you are appreciative of the significant contributions to anthropology made by those of us in the hard sciences. And impressed that you are aware of the technology of identification of specific individuals when samples of their DNA can be recovered…from the scene of a crime. Or,” his eyes glittered with amusement, “from the site of a gross misinterpretation of evidence.”
Axton’s mouth fell open. He gasped for just enough breath to expel one word. “What?”
“We physicists and astronomers,” Perkins said slowly, still sighting with the aid of an upraised thumb, “attempt to make measurements whenever there is something to measure. And though I’ll have to repeat this with proper instruments, it seems that the spear on my left does not point at the center of Companion. Its target is much closer to the northern profile of that big slab of sandstone. And the other spear,” he shifted the thumb, “points at the southern edge of Chimney Rock. Not that this actually means anything.” He looked up to see Axton wince. “I would not worry,” he added innocently, “you are probably right. After all, many of the most firmly held conclusions drawn by anthropologists are based upon guesswork.”
This was a cruel blow.
Axton, though stunned, manfully stood his ground. And laid his heavy axe on the other man’s head. “Well, of course—some must always reject the simple and obvious explanations.” He frowned thoughtfully. “No doubt these spears point toward the stellar location of some long-dimmed supernova…or a mysterious lunar standstill.” He displayed a smirk for the benefit of his graduate students. “You astronomers are so fortunate—with such a great multitude of heavenly bodies, moving upon infinitely many paths, you are always able to find something in the sky that aligns with anything whatever upon the face of the earth. Yes, I imagine you’ll come up with something.”
Perkins was unbloodied by this assault. “Your faith in my profession is gratifying—but I’ll leave the imagining to those who are more adept at it.” The paleoastronomer ran his finger along one of the lines etched into the stone. “Perhaps the fellow who made this sketch simply did not know how to draw a straight line. He may have been,” Perkins smiled wickedly, “an early anthropologist.”
Silas Axton opened his mouth to rebuke the arrogant young bastard, then snapped it shut. Being unable to think of a response, the outraged anthropologist turned on his heel and walked stiffly away.
After Professor Axton was well out of sight, a pair of comely young women emerged from the small crowd and approached their hero. Perkins acknowledged them with a nod and a smile. These ladies had much in common. Both were anthropology students at Rocky Mountain Polytechnic. Melina Castro—tall, fair, and as coldly wholesome as a member of the Hitler Youth—was the first to speak. “Dr. Perkins—do you really think Professor Axton’s views about the pictograph may be”—it was hard to say wrong—“I mean—could there be some other interpretation?”
The handsome young scholar laughed out loud, then signaled the science reporter to turn off his recorder. “Not for a minute. I just felt like twisting the old lion’s tail.”
Melina adored him with her large blue eyes. “How very naughty of you, picking on Professor Axton.”
“He needs me,” Perkins said with a sober look at Axton’s retreating form. “The taste of combat whets the old warrior’s appetite for battle.” And for life itself.
April Tavishuts—also smitten with Perkins—felt that she
must say something. “Then you agree with Professor Axton—the pictograph proves that the rock pillars represent the Twin War Gods?”
Perkins regarded the darkly attractive Ute woman with a gaze that caressed from head to toe. “Whoever was responsible for this very unusual pictograph—and I suspect it was one of the priestly Chacoan caste—certainly intended to identify Companion and Chimney Rocks with the fabled sons of White Shell Woman.”
Melina attempted to regain Perkins’s attention. “Why do you see the pictograph as—well—unusual? The Southwest must have thousands of rock drawings and—”
He offered her a tolerant smile. “Tens of thousands, I suspect, Miss Castro. But surely you understand why this one is so special?”
The blond blushed like a bouquet of pink roses.
The handsome scholar turned to the darker woman. “Why is this pictograph so special, April?”
Embarrassed to suddenly be the center of attention, the Ute woman hesitated before responding. And when she did, April was fumbling for some relevant fact. “Well, even though the local sandstone is a perfect canvas, this is the first real piece of rock art ever found at Chimney Rock Archaeological Site.”
Perkins nodded at the graduate student. “Very good. Anything else?”
By now she was beginning to understand. “With all the beautiful sandstone cliff faces, why didn’t he make his pictograph on a smooth vertical surface? That’s where most southwestern rock art is found. Not on bumpy horizontal surfaces at ground level—where people are likely to walk on them.”
Well now. This one is thinking. “So despite the obvious disadvantages, why did the artisan make this drawing on the horizontal?”
April Tavishuts stared at the stick figures. “If he wanted the spears to point at the stone towers, that’s easy on a horizontal surface. But it’d be really hard to do if he’d used a vertical cliff wall. Even if he got over on the south side of the mesa, he’d have to find just the right panel to work with. And the face of a particular panel would be parallel to only one of the stone towers.” Her face brightened. “So Professor Axton must be right. The fact that the spears are pointing at the towers isn’t likely to be some sort of coincidence. It had to be deliberate.”
White Shell Woman Page 5
