Indiana Jones and the Unicorn's Legacy

by Rob MacGregor

"What about Mara? Did she ever ask about it?" Indy persisted.

  Watson glanced at Smitty, then nodded. "Back a couple of years ago, she did. She wanted to find that Moqui real bad. Don't know if she ever found him, though." He looked down at the floor, then up at Smitty. "I do hope she's okay."

  "Hear anything new?" Smitty asked.

  "Those fellows who were holed up there at Mesa were no-good bandits."

  "Holed up?" Shannon said. "Let me tell you about being holed up."

  "Jack, let him finish," Indy interrupted.

  "Yeah, they say a couple of 'em were wanted by the law. Some of the ranchers are even sayin' the Utes did us a good turn getting rid of 'em."

  "They didn't do me no good turn running off with Mara," Smitty said darkly. Then he glanced at Indy and added: "She's the only daughter I got."

  Watson nodded. "I heard something else, too. Don't know if it's true, but a Moqui passing through just this morning said he heard that those renegade Utes didn't take your daughter. She went with them on her own."

  10

  Shape-shifter

  As they unloaded the supplies from the buckboard, Indy mulled over what Watson had said, both about Mara's disappearance and about the staff. If she wasn't being held by the Utes, then what had happened to her? Was she hiding on her own, still fearing that Walcott was after her? Maybe she thought that someone else was involved in the Englishman's misadventures, and she wasn't sure who it was.

  The staff was another matter. Why would Walcott go to all this trouble to get his hands on it? Did he really think it was a unicorn's horn? If Mara knew where it was, why would she endanger her life to protect it? "Smitty, how much do you think that staff was worth?"

  The old timer seemed surprised by the question, but only for a moment. "Depends, I guess."

  "On what?"

  Smitty threw a sack of oats for his horses over his shoulder as Indy grabbed a box of groceries. "On whatever someone would pay for it. That's what the fella from the natural history museum told me when I asked him what it was worth. He said it was definitely ivory. He thought it might be a carved elephant tusk or from some sort of arctic whale called a narwok."

  "That's a narwhal, and it's a good guess. The male has a long, straight, spiral ivory tusk."

  "Yeah, you got it. Can't remember that fella's name now. He did a lot of exploring around here for the museum."

  "I'll get the door for you guys," Shannon said.

  Indy snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute. That's the American Museum of Natural History, right?"

  "I guess so," Smitty said as he lugged the oats toward the house."

  "That's it!" Indy rushed to the house with the groceries under his arm and Smitty trailing after him.

  "Hey, what's it?" Smitty dropped the sack of oats, and hurried after him.

  Indy didn't answer. He set the box on the kitchen counter. "I think I've got it, Jack."

  "Got what?"

  Indy sprinted into the library. He snatched up the notebook where Shannon had written: A.M.N.H 73 N.C.N. 1920 B.T.B.H. "Yeah. I was right."

  "What is it?" Shannon asked as he and Smitty stopped in the doorway to the library.

  "I'll show you." The young archaeologist pushed past them and headed for the stairway, climbing the steps two at a time. He disappeared into his room, and dug into his bag until he found his reference books. "Here it is." He held up a slender book. Shannon and Smitty moved into the room and waited for him to explain.

  "This is a catalogue of Anasazi sites." He flipped to the introduction, then tapped the page. "Here we go: 'This survey was conducted in 1920 by Nels C. Nelson of the American Museum of Natural History. Nelson led the expedition in an effort to identify Richard Wetherill's numbered sites and so document the artifacts in the possession of the museum. He was guided by John Wetherill, Richard's younger brother, and accompanied by B.T.B. Hyde.'"

  "I still don't get it," Shannon said.

  "Okay, in Mara's message, the A.M.N.H stands for American Museum of Natural History. N.C.N, is Nels C. Nelson, of course. B.T.B. Hyde is B.T.B.H. and 1920 is the year that they carried out the survey. That leaves the number 73." He paged through the catalog. "Here it is. Site No. 73. It's called Junction Ruin. It's located in Upper Grand Gulch."

  "Well, what do you know," Smitty said. "That Nels Nelson is the museum fella who stayed here. Right in this room, in fact. I offered to guide him on that survey, but he decided to go with Wetherill's younger brother. I didn't like that one bit, either."

  "It doesn't matter now, Smitty," Indy said. "You can lead us to Junction Ruin. I think that's where Mara's hiding out."

  "Hm... Maybe so, but that's rugged territory," Smitty said. "You gotta go through Kane Gulch, which is no easy hike. She'd have to know what she was doing, and I don't know where she'd get her food and water."

  "I'm pretty sure she's been there," Indy said. "I remember her writing me about the rock art in Upper Grand Gulch."

  Smitty shrugged. "All right. If you think we might find her hiding out there, I'm more than willing to go take a look."

  "I don't know what else her message could mean," Indy said. "Unless she's got the staff, and hid it there."

  "That's what I was wondering," Shannon said.

  "Well, let's go look," Smitty said.

  "Are you sure you can find Junction Ruin?"

  "Of course, I can," he scoffed. "It's right at the junction of Kane and Upper Grand."

  "Sounds like we can drive there," Shannon said.

  "Huh, that's what you think. Like I said, it ain't easy. When I was with Wetherill back in ninety-seven, we had a real tough time in Grand Gulch. I've even got a copy of the notes from the trip. Come on downstairs, I'll show you."

  Shannon tugged on Indy's arm as they started to descend the stairs. "Do you really think she's hiding in that ruins? I mean, even if that's what she intended to do, there's no way of knowing that she's actually there."

  Indy thought of his dream of Mara pleading for help. "You're right, but we've got to try."

  "Indy, take a look," Smitty called from downstairs.

  They found him in the library where he'd opened a bound notebook to a page near the front. He pointed to his name listed as Wetherill's assistant.

  Indy took the notebook from Smitty. "That's you all right. I never doubted it for a minute." Smitty, it seemed, was looking for recognition that he'd never received. Indy paged through the typed notes, wondering momentarily if Wetherill had bothered to mention the rock art. Since it wasn't anything you could date and carry away, both archaeologists and pot hunters had pretty much ignored it. He paused to read a passage. "I guess you didn't have much luck with horses on that trip."

  "Grand Gulch can be rough on 'em," Smitty said. "Real rough."

  "What're you reading?" Shannon asked.

  "It's about horses." Indy read it aloud. "'We had several extra ones on the way down to use in case of accidents which proved of frequent occurrence. One animal fell off a bridge and broke its neck. Another fell off the trail where it wound about a ledge, going into the canyon, and was killed instantly. Another fell off a cliff with the same result.'"

  "They got bridges out there?" Shannon asked the question nonchalantly, but Indy could tell it wasn't the bridges that concerned him.

  "There're some natural arches," Smitty replied. "They're something to see."

  "I bet," Shannon said, unenthusiastically. He touched his injured arm. "Don't you think someone should stay behind, you know, in case Mara turns up around here?"

  Indy nodded. "That might be a good idea."

  Shannon raised a hand. "I volunteer."

  "Don't worry about it," Smitty said. "Rosie will be here. She can hold down the fort."

  "Smitty, with my luck it wouldn't be a horse who would break its neck," Shannon said. "Just the name, Grand Gulch, sounds like a place I'd want to avoid."

  "Suit yourself." Smitty sounded disappointed. "It's really not that bad. You just gotta be careful, and watch out fo
r rattlers. There's plenty of them out there."

  Indy handed the notebook back to the old prospector. "That's good to know. Maybe a good rattler bite will take care of my headache."

  Just getting to the trailhead proved to be an adventure in itself. The road, open a few months of the year, was rugged and every bump the Ford hit seemed to reverberate through Indy's head, feeding the dull pain. He was getting concerned about the prolonged headache, and as the day wore on, his vision blurred more than once. Although he didn't complain to Smitty, he could tell by the way the old man watched him that he knew the headache was still bothering him.

  By dusk, Indy was starting to feel numb from the drive. Finally, Smitty told him to stop. The landscape was dry and desolate with clumps of sagebrush rising every few yards. Distant, dark hills were silhouetted against the pale, blue-gray sky.

  "Where are we?"

  "Right here."

  "Yeah. I can see that. Are we taking a break, or what?"

  Smitty simply nodded toward the west. "Don't you see it?"

  Indy peered into the growing darkness and saw a hogan, an eight-sided, dome-roofed adobe structure that nearly blended into the landscape. A wisp of smoke rose from the smoke hole in the center. It was hard to believe that anyone lived in this desolate terrain. They hadn't seen another building for at least an hour.

  "What are we doing here?"

  "Getting horses. The road ends just up a ways."

  Indy remembered that Smitty had said they would arrange for horses when they got to the canyon, but he'd assumed they'd do it tomorrow. "So what are we waiting for?"

  "It's the polite thing to do. You don't just go barging in on the Navajos."

  It was nearly dark when Smitty stepped out of the car. "Wait here. I'll be right back." He slammed the door and headed toward the house.

  After a couple of minutes, Indy opened the door and stretched his legs. He rubbed the back of his head, trying to ease the throbbing pain, and wondered why Smitty had gone alone. He moved away from the car and strolled down the dirt road with his hands in his pockets. As soon as the sun set, the temperature dropped; he could literally feel it falling degree by degree. He enjoyed this time of day when, for a few minutes, it was like being caught between two worlds, the one of daylight, the other of night.

  He suddenly stopped. Three antelope stood perfectly still not a hundred feet away. They could have been statues, except for the soft glow of their eyes. Suddenly, a large bird swept low over his head, shrieking as it furiously beat its wings. He ducked, and as he did, the antelopes dashed across the road, vanishing from sight.

  "Wild out here," Indy muttered, and he headed back to the car.

  He leaned against the fender and rubbed his arms against the cold. "C'mon, Smitty. What're you doing in there?" A faint light burned from a window of the hogan. Another few minutes, he thought, then he'd go investigate.

  He stared up at Venus, bright in the western sky, then tried to count the stars that had popped out. When he'd found seven and saw several more materializing, he decided he'd waited long enough. He pushed away from the car and headed toward the hogan.

  When he got within twenty feet of the building, he paused. He heard a low growling that sounded like it was coming from right under him. His eyes darted about until he spotted a dog laying in the dirt a few feet away. It was medium-sized with short, tan fur. An Indian dog. He'd seen plenty of them as a kid. They all looked as if they were from the same litter. "Easy, boy. Easy," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you." Indy moved past the dog and looked back to see the animal trailing him, wagging, rear-end wriggling.

  He knocked on the door. No one answered. He knocked again, then moved over to the window on his right. Its shutters were partially open, and through them he saw the flickering of candles. "Hello? Smitty? You there?"

  No answer. He looked back at the dog. "Where'd they go, boy?"

  "Indy! Don't you have no manners?"

  Indy nearly jumped out of his skin, but it wasn't the dog talking. Smitty stood by the corner of the house. "Where were you?"

  "Out back. Picking out our horses. I was just coming to get you."

  Indy thought he glimpsed a small, wiry man standing in the shadows behind Smitty, but when he looked again, the man was no longer there. "Where're we staying tonight?"

  "Right here. Let's go inside. Aguila is making a cup of tea for you. He says it will help your headache."

  Indy followed Smitty into the hogan. A fire was burning in the potbelly stove and a black pot rested on top of it. "Sit down."

  He settled into a lumpy chair that was made of a rough wooden frame and two gunny sacks filled with straw. Smitty picked up the pot with a rag and poured the steaming tea into a ceramic cup that looked like a bowl with handles on either side. "Here you go. Drink."

  Indy took the offering, and blew on the tea to cool it. He felt uneasy sitting in a stranger's house, drinking his tea, without the man being present. "Where is your friend?"

  "He's around. Don't worry about him. Just relax. He's sort of shy."

  "Maybe he doesn't want company. Why don't we get the horses and go find a place to camp for the night?"

  Smitty laughed. "What's wrong with you? Aguila's glad to have us here, otherwise he wouldn't have offered to make the tea. It would be an insult to leave now. Besides, he says he knows you."

  "What?"

  Smitty smiled. "He said he went out to greet you by the car. Didn't you see him?"

  "No one came out there."

  Smitty laughed. "You must be tired after all the driving. He said you didn't recognize him."

  As Indy sipped the tea, perspiration beaded on his brow. The faster he finished it, he thought, the quicker he could go outside. Everything Smitty had said about the man who lived here made him uneasy. He felt as if the walls of the hogan were closing in on him.

  Smitty settled back on a cot. "How's the tea?"

  "It tastes like hot water with a slight metallic flavor, maybe from the pot. You sure the tea's in here?"

  "I hope so."

  "Why don't you have some?"

  "Aguila said it was only for you. You're the one with the headache."

  Indy took several swallows, and the tea nearly scalded the inside of his mouth. "Your friend... Aguila... says he knows me, but..." He laughed. "...But I don't know... anyone named... Aguila." He laughed again as if what he'd just said was uproariously funny.

  "Are you okay?"

  Indy laughed again. "Never felt better." He settled back in the chair and rested his head against the earthen wall. Now his mood shifted again and he felt drowsy.

  "If you're tired, there's another cot over there." Smitty pointed toward one of the corners.

  Indy realized he'd closed his eyes. He blinked them open, rubbing his damp forehead. A drop of sweat rolled over his cheek. He felt flushed; his skin tingled. "No, I don't want to stay here." How long had it taken him to reply? He didn't know.

  Just the thought of spending the night in the hogan sent a shudder through him. He wasn't so sure he wanted to see Aguila, or anyone else either. Not tonight. He sat up straight and swallowed the rest of the tea in two huge gulps, then set the cup on the woven rug, which covered part of the hard-packed dirt floor.

  "Did your headache go away?" Smitty's voice bubbled across the hogan. It sounded as if he were talking with his mouth in a bowl of water.

  "Headache, what headache?" Indy's voice echoed around him. He laughed and the sound assumed a life of its own.

  "You seem like you're having a good ol' time over there," Smitty said. "Maybe I should've tried that tea." He yawned, and stretched his arms.

  "What was in it, anyhow?"

  Smitty laid back on the cot. "Just some herbs. Aguila is a medicine man. He's very wise about all of the plants in these parts. In fact, he helped me stop my drinking with one of his potions. Said he could see my doom hovering near me, and if I wanted to chase it away, he could help me. At first, I laughed and offered him a drink from
my flask, but he looked at me in such a strange way that I almost sobered up right on the spot."

  Indy couldn't help laughing again. "You mean this old Indian just walked up to you and said you were going to die if you didn't let him help you?"

  "Well, you gotta understand that he's Rosie's granddaddy. She'd had enough of me, and had gone off when he showed up."

  "Oh, now I get it. So what happened?" Indy couldn't tell whether he had just thought the question or actually spoken it. But it didn't matter, because Smitty kept talking. He explained that Aguila gave him a pouch with some powder in it and told him to take a spoonful of it every six hours with a glass of water until it was gone. He stuck around until Smitty took his first dose, then he left.

  "He wasn't gone for fifteen minutes when I got out my flask. But you know what? I couldn't drink it. I took just a little taste and my gut heaved so bad that I nearly died right there. Then after several hours I figured the stuff had worn off and I could take a drink, but I no sooner reached for the flask when Aguila was at my door again. He showed up every six hours for three days. I don't know where he went, but each time he was suddenly there. By then, I was too afraid to tell him to leave me alone."

  "So it worked?" Again, Indy couldn't tell whether he'd spoken or not.

  "It did the trick. I ain't had the desire for a drink in nearly ten years now."

  "That's an interesting story," Indy remarked when Smitty didn't say anything further. "You think Aguila is coming back tonight?"

  Indy heard a soft snoring; Smitty was fast asleep. As he stood up, intending to wake him, he heard a wheezing sound outside the hogan. He figured it was probably a horse. Aguila must have brought their horses to the front of the hogan.

  When he didn't hear the noise again, he decided to take a look. If Aguila was out there, he'd thank him for the tea and horses and tell him he'd sleep inside his car. He stepped outside and looked around. What in the name of God was in that tea? A tingling sensation that he'd felt earlier was now even more intense. It spread over his hands, feet, face, crept down his neck, and over his chest, up his arms, and all over his legs. Sweat trickled over his brow and into his eyes. He wiped his face with the back of his hands, and when he opened his eyes nothing looked quite the same. It was pitch dark, but he was seeing things—things he never knew were there. It was as if he could see the air itself. It formed a graphic texture that one moment was like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle, then shifted into a million dots, which created some pattern that he couldn't quite comprehend.