Knights of Light: Knight Vision

by Mark Moreland

The following Thursday, as part of their U.S. History curriculum, the entire tenth grade class of Cactus Shadows Junior High is readying themselves for an afternoon field trip. This also happens to be game day for the football and soccer teams, so legions of students are sporting cardinal and gold colored game jerseys as they board two school buses for a trip to nearby Cave Creek Museum. Schuyler and Tate board the second bus with their teammates, while Ayana rides up in the front bus with the teachers. On his way to the back of the bus, Schuyler turns to say something to Tate.

  “Come on O’Brien, you’re holding up the line here,” yells Johnny Mack, the starting quarterback of the football team. He leans in and grabs him. “Besides, we don’t hang out with soccer players.” With that, he shoves Schuyler toward the back of the bus.

  “Take it easy Mack!” Schuyler replies. “You can really be an ass sometimes.” He then takes a window seat, then shockingly finds that Mack has slipped into the seat next to him.

  “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about cavorting with the wrong type,” Mack says. “Some of the guys are getting worried that you’re growing soft on us. What’s the deal with you and that Indian soccer player?”

  “There’s no deal,” Schuyler answers. “I mean…. our moms are friends. So our families hang out sometimes.”

  “Well, you best be careful,” he responds. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation, now would you?”

  “I can handle myself,” Schuyler says looking at him with an increased edge. “Just make sure you don’t overthrow my routes in the game today. Last week, you hung me out to dry on that curl pattern over the middle. Not cool.”

  “I wanted to make sure you could still take a hit,” Mack replies. “I’ve been planning a little more of that for today.”

  “Whatever Mack,” says Schuyler. “That goes both ways. You need to worry about me making blind side chip blocks on the crashing defensive end.”

  “O.B.!” he shouts. “What has gotten in to you?! First, you start blowing off your friends, you’ve been dissing Jamie, and now you’re threatening me with missed blocking assignments. Not cool. Are you still mad at us for dumping you off at your parents the night you puked all over yourself? You know that wasn’t my fault.”

  “Look, I didn’t say it was,” Schuyler answers. “My parents just want me to chill. I’ve been working some things out.”

  “Well, you take care of that, pronto,” Mack says. “We need our star tight end at the top of his game if we’re going to make districts.”

  The bus slows down after the short trip around Black Mountain arriving at the Museum just off Military Road. Having disembarked with the group in front, Tate is waiting for Schuyler as he brings up the rear with the other football players. “Talk to you later,” Schuyler says hurriedly as he takes off in the crowd.

  Ayana is no stranger to the museum or its elderly volunteer curator, Mr. Potts, having completed a school newspaper article on the museum during the last school year. She is asking him about mining claims, and whether any documents have ever been recovered. “Come see me after my little spiel,” he whispers to her.

  Once the students are all assembled outside the small museum, Mr. Potts begins giving a short introductory lecture: “The museum displays authentic tools and instruments used by local miners as early as 1874. The first big gold strike occurred in that year at Gold Hill, just above Tonto Hills, in the north central part of Cave Creek. Of course, Tonto Hills was named for the Tonto Apache encampments that flourished here before the U.S. Government claimed the Arizona Territory. The Cave Creek area was considered far too dangerous for prospectors due to the risk of Apache attack until late 1873. On Christmas morning of that year, a confrontation occurred in which at least nine Tonto Apaches were killed at Cave Creek, while the rest of their people were scattered, permitting the miners to settle the area, and establish claims.” Tate uses his sleeve to rub sweat from his forehead, growing a little flush.

  Mr. Potts continues, “While there were isolated flare-ups after that date, the incident at Cave Creek represented the last major Indian battle before the final settlement of the Territory.” Tate swallows hard and bites his lip.

  Mr. Potts continues: “Miners were lured to Cave Creek by gold strikes in droves, but in the end the most abundant minerals taken out of this area were silver and talc. A museum tour runs groups out to the Mormon Girl Talc Mine on the southwest face of Black Mountain during the upcoming cooler months of the year.”

  Many students grow restless as the lecture runs on. Mr. Potts senses this, and moves on to a more exciting topic than the multitude of uses for talcum powder. “You’ve probably heard rumors about some of the old miners, especially the Lost Dutchman, and his legendary mine. The Dutchman is known to have frequented this area, but it’s believed that his mysterious abundant gold mine was located east of here in the Superstition Mountains.”

  The students lean forward intently. “Legend has it that a Mexican family who mined gold at the site were killed by Apaches as they tried to take the gold home. The story then goes on that one Jacob Waltz, who was German, not Dutch, happened upon the mine. After bringing several valuable nuggets out of the area, he mysteriously disappeared. Scores of others have tried to find the lost gold mine, and several have died trying. The old miners in the area thought the lost mine was haunted. Nobody knows for sure whether the Lost Dutchman Mine ever really existed or,” Mr. Potts pauses for dramatic effect, “if it remains hidden to this day somewhere in the Superstition range. Who knows, maybe one of you will someday bring home the treasure.” He adds a slight smile for effect.

  A murmur begins. “Probably easier than winning the lottery,” remarks one boy. With that, students disperse, some heading to a display area about the lost mine.

  Seeing an opening, Schuyler edges his way up to Mr. Potts. He looks around to see if other students are standing by. When the coast is clear, he asks: “Mr. Potts have you ever heard of written messages left behind by the miners in this area?”

  Mr. Potts smiles. “You’re the second student to ask me about that just today? Oh, here she comes now.” Ayana and Tate begin to join them. Ayana shoots Schuyler a terse glance. “Friends of yours?”

  “Sometimes I wonder, but yes,” Ayana replies. “Are you talking about documents?”

  “Yes, I was just about to answer this young man’s question. In the gold rush days, tobacco was sold in durable metal tins. Those tins were ideal for depositing and preserving mining claims. It became the accepted form. They staked out their areas by forming rock mounds, and placing the claim documents within those mounds.”

  “Have other documents been discovered?” Ayana asks trying not to arouse suspicion.

  “Well, of course, you folks know that the ancient HoHoKams lived around Cave Creek as far back as 650 A.D. You can still see settlement ruins and ancient rock markings, some of which have been relocated here in the museum, while others have been left intact. The Spur Cross Conservation Area offers an opportunity to see many such artifacts in a pristine state. It’s estimated that as many as 20,000 HoHoKams lived in the area centuries ago, during the time period that the Europeans considered the middle ages.”

  “What about parchments, things more recent than that?” Ayana continues.

  Schuyler looks around to see if others are watching. Tate smiles as he witnesses Ayana’s deft approach.

  Mr. Potts hesitates, enjoying the interaction. “You are asking some perceptive questions. There have been rumors about literary treasures, I think they were parchments. You have to keep in mind that in the early days there was a constant stream of colorful characters to this area, drawn by the energy and excitement surrounding the promise of great riches. Preachers, spiritualists, heck, even alchemists and medicine men were rumored to have passed through these parts. I remember a story about one particular fellow espousing a philosophy of human fulfillment, some code of life. His friends called him ‘Squire’. Something about an ancient
knights order…” He pauses searching for the word. “Sorry about that, I’ve got that CRS thing… you know… can’t remember stuff. I believe it was light.”

  Their jaws drop. Trying to appear calm, Schuyler asks: “What else do you know about this fellow?”

  “Loads!” Mr. Potts shoots back. With a wry smile on his face, he continues: “You kids have to remember that it’s only a legend some of the old timers used to spin in the watering holes around here. Old Rackensack, one of the best known, believed that this Squire fellow was an acquaintance of the Lost Dutchman, while others thought that he actually was the Dutchman, because the two were last seen somewhere around Cave Creek Cave. Rackensack apparently had a journal among his personal effects when he died. One eyewitness claimed that it was actually the Dutchman’s diary, although this was never substantiated. Apparently, there’s some valuable information in it.”

  “Do you know who might have this diary, Mr. Potts?” Ayana asks.

  “Perhaps, but first I need to know why you kids are so curious,” he replies.

  Schuyler nervously turns around to see if any of the other students are watching. Ayana walks up to Schuyler and whispers in his ear. “Look, I’m still mad at you, but we’ll deal with that later. Can we at least give him a clue that we’re on to something?”

  Schuyler pauses. He feels pulled in several directions. If they admit to the discovery, the scroll might become the property of the museum or a land owner on Black Mountain. Then he looks into Mr. Pott’s eyes. A gentle “yes” comes forward from the back of his mind. “If we tell you something, can you keep it among us?”

  “That really depends upon what it is,” Mr. Potts replies. “You aren’t in any trouble are you?”

  “Not really, for a change,” says Schuyler. “We think we’re on to something but we need some assistance.”

  “Well, your cautious approach might be well founded,” says Mr. Potts. “There was a reason much of this went underground – literally. There was a group who felt threatened by those sharing the philosophy.”

  “You mean the knights of light have enemies?” Schuyler blurts out.

  “So, you do know about them,” probes Mr. Potts. “What do you know?”

  “Before we show you, will you agree to help us?” Ayana chimes in.

  “I will, but we must be very careful not to disclose anything to the wrong people,” says Mr. Potts. “You have my word, as long as we all proceed cautiously.”

  Schuyler nods to Ayana. She pulls out a copy of the scroll, and shows it to him.

  Mr. Potts examines the document. “Yes. I see. Hmm.” Without saying anything further, Mr. Potts walks into the nearby office and extracts a manila file folder from a cabinet, then walks back. “Here it is, at least a transcription from relevant parts of the diary. We keep original documents in climate-controlled storage – off-site. People find these old legends fascinating.” He motions for them to join him in the office, and then reads aloud:

  “Start where ye stand. Stand ye, where it all begins. Face the early morning light and the shadows cast behind ye. With mouth wide open, glance ye away from the slumbering beast. If ye pay attention, ye shall receive handsomely in whatever currency ye seek.”

  The three are about to explode. “Mr. Potts!” Schuyler speaks in a loud whisper, “can we have a copy of that?”

  “Sure, I’ll make you a photocopy – as long as I can keep yours. It’s great to see young people interested in history. I would assume that you are taking great care of any originals you might have in your possession.” Ayana nods affirmatively.

  “There you are kids!” interrupts Mrs. Henton, the history teacher. “The buses are about to leave without you. Mr. Potts, we have to get the student athletes back to school in time for their games. Thank you for having us today.”

  “Mrs. Henton, I will escort them to the bus,” says Mr. Potts. Thank you all for coming today.” While Potts walks over to the copier, Ayana pulls out her smart phone and photographs the scroll. He returns, hands the copy of the diary to Ayana, and they all walk out to the parking lot where the familiar roar and diesel smell of bus engines greet them. Some of their classmates jeer at them through open windows. All three slide into the last remaining seat at the front of the first bus, the doors squeak shut, and the hulking bus lurches away. Schuyler checks the bus for any sign of Mack, and exhales when there is no sign of him.

  “You guys know what this means, don’t you?” Tate whispers. “We’ve got to explore the Cave for clues!”

  “You mean CCC?” Ayana asks. “Cave Creek Cave? How did you jump to that conclusion?”

  “Hey, I grew up here! I know the sleeping elephant like the back of my hand, you know ‘the slumbering beast’. We use to climb that rock as kids.”

  “I hope I’m around to join you guys. I think old Mack has plans to turn me into a slumbering beast during tonight’s game.”

  Chapter 13: Mouth That Speaks

  Intuition will tell the thinking mind where to look next. -Dr. Jonas Salk