The BLM officer, who was the district supervisor, also mentioned that Ira Buck was still at large, even though an APB had been issued by local law enforcement. It was thought the fugitive might be hiding out in the backcountry or possibly had sought refuge with his northern clansmen. Both Ute and Navajo tribal police had been notified. Ira Buck had apparently not found treatment for his shattered hand at any local facility. Several of the more prominent native healers had been contacted, as well, but denied knowledge of any such injury.
Before leaving, the officer drew the professor aside and said he had brought him a sealed letter from Tanya, passed along by Bob Mills, who had stayed with the girl throughout her ordeal. He looked the professor directly in the eye as he passed him the envelope. “I hope, if this letter contains anything pertinent to the investigation, you would immediately relay that information to the proper authorities.”
Custer nodded and assured him he would. The Professor had given Bob Mills leave to stay with the stricken girl as long as he thought necessary. He thought Bob was smitten with her and had her best interest at heart. He had never thought the same about Ted Altman. In any case, he felt it best she not be left alone until everything was sorted out.
Dr. Custer had previously posted rotating guards at the dig, but now thought better of it and announced to the team, “It’s not worth putting any more of the crew in harm’s way, especially now that we’re already short three workers. These people are even more dangerous than we first thought. We’ll stay on the alert. Charlie and Thomas have volunteered, along with Harley and myself, to take turns patrolling the dig at night. We will work in pairs and alternate four-hour shifts. I’m convinced these people will be back. It’s only a question of when.” The professor hesitated and then added, “Charlie has a revolver and Harley has that shotgun patched back together, so at least we will be armed should it come to that.” This last statement caused a ripple of consternation to pass through the crew. Later, several of them privately voiced the opinion that perhaps the entire project should be shelved until such time it could be deemed safe to continue.
The professor motioned for Charlie Yazzie to follow him to his tent, as Thomas and Harley trailed the rest of the crew up to the dig and the day’s work. At his desk, George Custer opened the multi-page letter and silently began to read. Only occasionally did he glance up at Charlie. When he finished, he passed him the letter without comment.
Charlie took his time, reading some portions of the letter twice. When he was through, he carefully folded the pages and returned them to George Custer. “How much longer do you think it will take to finish the kiva excavation?”
“Five, maybe six days, and an equal amount of time to photograph, catalogue, and make a field evaluation of any materials recovered. I’ve already assigned more workers to speed up the process; something I really didn’t want to do. Much of the information and verification we’re looking for may take weeks, if not months, of forensic investigation back at the lab. But I will know what I need to know right here, and soon.”
George toyed with the folded letter before putting it in the cardboard file-cabinet beside his desk. The two men sat staring quietly at one another, each thinking their own thoughts. The professor spoke first, with the opinion they were too close now to quit and leave the site to who knew what sort of vandalism or damage. “One way or the other, this is our last shot at this particular piece of the puzzle. It would be a travesty to leave this final page unturned.”
Charlie agreed. When he left the Professor’s tent, he again went over the letter in his mind. The letter had noted Bob had not left Tanya’s side—sleeping in a chair and taking his meals in the hospital cafeteria. If what Tanya maintained was true, it might be a very good thing he was there.
She said she only applied for the Custer expedition after a long and drawn-out confrontation with her mother. Her father had taken her mother’s side, as he often felt compelled to do. She, however, could not bring herself to support her parent’s dogged position regarding the damage that could be done the Hopi nation. Damage, they felt, would most assuredly come with the publication of Dr. George Custer’s work and upcoming paper.
She had been raised in a family of academic professionals dedicated to scientific discovery and truth. That her parents would forsake the very beliefs they had instilled in her was beyond all reasoning. She intended to do her own due diligence and see for herself what was at stake, and no amount of argument would change her mind.
Tanya first thought Ted Altman had a genuine interest in her and had no idea he might have been sent by her parents to monitor both the dig, and her. She thought it only a coincidence that Ted was a member of the same politically active movement as her parents. Many Indian intellectuals of her acquaintance were members of one group or another—mostly just to make a social statement, in her opinion. Tanya said her first inkling that things with Ted Altman might not be as they seemed came after the cave-in at the kiva. She had gone up the hill earlier than usual that morning, even before George Custer. While she was not authorized to work the kiva that day, she was excited they were getting so close to their goal. Tanya thought it couldn’t hurt to slip into the kiva for just a quick look. As she knelt to examine a patch of freshly turned earth, oddly out of place, she heard a noise and caught just a glimpse of someone on the kiva rim. That was the last thing she remembered until she regained consciousness in her tent with the medic, Ted Altman, in attendance.
Later, she said, it would stick in her mind that the person on the rim of the kiva that morning appeared to be wearing a khaki shirt. A shirt like Ted Altman wore nearly every day—not an unusual item of apparel among the crew—and certainly not indicative of wrongdoing, yet the thought lingered. When Tanya was feeling better, the two had talked quietly there in her tent, and Ted remained solicitous and concerned.
She also mentioned that several people had dropped by on their lunch hour, but Altman told them she could not be disturbed. As the afternoon wore on, Ted’s mood had slowly changed, and he quietly began badgering her about the Indian movement and how important it was that they should all stick together. He made it clear where he stood and finally went so far as to admit he had been in touch with her parents, and that they were very upset with her—to the point, he warned, that something might have to be done about it. Tanya said she then became angry and they quarreled.
The letter was detailed and concise in assessment of conversations with Ted Altman and reading between the lines allowed Charlie to think she might be above suspicion in any wrongdoing.
Charlie couldn’t help but wonder how Ted Altman had been in such close contact with the interlopers without being discovered and thought, The professor had never trusted Altman from the start and kept a close eye on his coming and going. In a tight knit group like this, it would be hard to get away with very much. Could there be yet another person in their crew involved?
In the following days Charlie was amazed at how much work was accomplished. In Dr. Custer’s opinion they were well ahead of schedule despite being short handed. Everyone was working from near daylight to dark and the pace was beginning to tell as tempers began to fray. The professor and the three Dinè were not only pulling night guard-duty but also putting in a good number of hours on the excavation itself. Charlie was almost surprised there was no further interference or sign of their antagonists. He suspected, however, that the closer they got to their goal, the more likely another incident became.
On the third night, Professor Custer and Harley Ponyboy were on their second rotation of duty and were having a hard time keeping their eyes open. They were lying almost prone on a high ledge above the site. The ledge had long been home to several beehive-like masonry storage facilities shored up by a low rock retaining wall. The Professor had selected the location himself, and while the path leading to it was difficult, Harley agreed it would allow them to cover the usual approaches to the dig without exposing their position.
Thomas and Charlie had
finished their last shift of the night and had retired to their beds when the explosion came, and like everyone else they were left wide awake and deafened by the blast.
The explosion overwhelmed the camp with reverberating shockwaves filled with debris. The sturdy expedition tents were pelted with small bits of wood and masonry—several came down completely, trapping their unfortunate occupants in a welter of canvas in the process.
Charlie came instantly awake, unable to hear, yet unsure of the reason. The professor’s tent, some distance from the others and protected by the piñyon grove, suffered the least damage. The stovepipe collapsed, as did the rear support poles. The ridgepole, down at the back, left it more of a teepee than a wall tent. Charlie’s first thought was of Harley and the professor on their ledge above the alcove. Surely they couldn’t have survived such an explosion almost directly below them.
Charlie and Thomas had come off duty only shortly before and, with breakfast only an hour or so away, neither had bothered to undress, but rather just lay down on their cots with their clothes on. Thomas had not even bothered to remove his boots and was the first one outside the mess tent. A heavy pall of dust hung over the camp, increasing the darkness, and bringing visibility to near zero. Oddly, there were no screams or cries for help. The shock of the blast had rendered everyone temporarily deaf and nearly mute as well. Even in the aftermath, there were few calls for assistance; most extricated themselves and quietly gravitated toward the center of the compound.
Charlie found Thomas immediately and was happy to see him in one piece. He opened his mouth but had either lost the ability to speak… or Thomas remained deaf from the blast and could not decipher what he was saying.
Only two people had to be helped from the rubble of their tents. There were the cuts and contusions one might expect, but miraculously everyone was present and accounted for and with no serious injuries evident. The blast had apparently angled more toward the back of the alcove leaving the bulk of the camp clear of major damage. Only the fate of Harley Ponyboy and the professor remained in question. Thomas and Charlie stood staring silently toward the flattened remains of the ancient village. Charlie couldn’t help but think, what a thousand seasons of the rawest elements had failed to accomplish has been wrought by man in only a few seconds.
As though moved by a communal will, all but a few stumbled up the slope to the dig. Charlie and Thomas, in the forefront were first to see the stunning effect of the blast. An entire layer of the alcove’s ceiling had sheared away, nearly in a single slab, and now covered the major portion of the excavation. The kiva, where the explosion had obviously detonated, was obliterated, the remains now sealed forever in a sandstone tomb. The dust, still heavy in the air, made it nearly impossible to see the ledge where just hours before the professor and Harley had taken up their vigil.
A thin grey line of dawn outlined the mesas to the east, and Charlie estimated it would be another hour before any real assessment of damage could be made.
Several people had the presence of mind to bring along their flashlights and now, in the dust-filtered shafts of light, searched the back wall of the alcove for signs of Harley and the professor. The continued patter of fine debris made all but the most cursory inspection impossible.
As the group huddled, somewhat in doubt, there came a shaky and weak cry from the upper reaches of the alcove.
In the dim light of the flashlights, Charlie glanced at Thomas Begay who seemed not to hear the distant plea.
“You didn’t hear that?” Charlie asked, moving closer to Thomas’s ear and raising his voice.
“Hear what?” Thomas asked.
“I think it was Harley yelling up on the ledge.”
Instantly both men began to climb the slanted slab of sandstone that now buried the dig. Charlie called over his shoulder for someone to bring the ladder from the petroglyph panel at the edge of the alcove. Visibility was slightly better higher up and, in the dim glow of the flashlights, Charlie could make out the ledge and its retaining wall.
The muffled voice came again, but stronger this time and Charlie was now certain it was Harley Ponyboy. “It’s Harley all right!” he shouted into Thomas’s ear.
Thomas looked up to see a hand waving above the masonry wall. Harley’s head became visible as he pulled himself to a kneeling position and looked groggily over the wall at his friends. He had a cut over one eye that was bleeding a steady stream. “Up here!” he cried. “We’re okay I think, but the professor has some stuff on top of him.” He looked behind him, “I’m gonna need some help!”
Charlie turned to the people below and shouted, “Get some rope up here, and hurry it up with that ladder; the Professor may be hurt.”
Thomas was first up the ladder and was taken aback at the sight of Dr. Custer almost totally covered in debris. A log of considerable size had been thrown up and over the retaining wall, and now lay partially across the professor’s upper body. Harley Ponyboy was trying to lift the end of what had once been a roof beam of the kiva. Harley was strong for one of his stature but still could barely budge the free end of the beam. Even as Thomas arrived and put his back into it, the beam would not move enough to release George Custer. Only when Charlie hurried over from the ladder and added to the effort did the beam grudgingly yield. Luckily for Dr. Custer, the log had been partially supported by the retaining wall and had not brought its full weight to bear.
The professor was coherent through the process and was finally able to raise himself to a sitting position and take stock of his condition. Though he did not look well to Charlie, George Custer declared himself in good enough order, and insisted he was probably no worse off than many others. He was, he said, able to navigate the ladder. Charlie, not so sure, took the precaution of tying a safety line under the professor’s arms and, despite his misgivings, they were soon safely back on the ground.
Assessing the destruction in the early light of dawn, there was but one conclusion to be reached—the project would have to be abandoned. It was useless to carry on. Even if the thick slab of sandstone could be removed—an impossibility in itself—there remained the fact that what lay under it would now be of little scientific value. The interlopers had won.
The arduous task of breaking camp was begun and a vehicle readied to evacuate those needing more immediate medical attention. Altogether, there were now only ten members of the expedition left in camp. It was finally decided two of the injured could not wait and were to be sent ahead in advance of the others, along with news of the explosion for authorities. Two uninjured members of the group, one, a young undergrad student who had already been in and out of the dig twice and knew the way, would drive. The young man stoutly protested he would rather stay and help but, at the urging of the professor, finally agreed to go. The other person was Neva Travis, the anthropologist from Western New Mexico University, and while the young driver had been reluctant to go, Neva seemed almost anxious to leave. Charlie had the fleeting thought there might be more to her determination than “looking after the injured.” Perhaps fear had shaken her judgment.”
The Colombian woman, who was busy packing, would be the only female left in camp. And when she heard Neva had already gone, she, too, thought it odd the anthropologist should be so anxious to leave. She had supposed them to be rather close and felt somewhat at a loss, abandoned even and thought, The remains of the camp should be packed up in a matter of hours, probably by early afternoon, surely she could have waited. She didn’t understand the need for Neva to leave early and certainly not without saying goodbye.
In the afternoon, when the last loads of equipment were being ferried to the remaining vehicles, Charlie and the professor stood gazing at the remains of the thousand-year-old-settlement. The professor, clearly depressed, still was not ready to abandon the undertaking. “You know,” he mused, “we do have one last resort.”
“I know.” Charlie sighed. “I hesitated to bring it up, given the history between you and Aida.” He faltered and then added
, “There’s something else, something you may not have considered.”
The professor gave him a confused look, “What?”
“Don’t you think the people who did this will figure your next move will be Aida’s ranch?” And here he indicated the destruction in front of them, “Obviously, Myra Griggs, if that’s really who is behind all this, is well aware of that kiva and its contents.”
George Custer paled and, with a shaking hand covered his eyes for a moment and looked at the ground. “You’re right, of course. I must have taken a harder blow to the head than I thought. How could I be so stupid not to factor that in? I’ve been letting my own selfish ends overrule any semblance of reason. They could be on their way there even as we speak.”
“George, what those people have done here today is a serious federal crime. The FBI is already involved and may well be on their trail by now. I’ll get in touch with the agent in charge, as soon as we are in radio range. I’m certain our people who went out this morning are already ahead of us on this. They’ve probably already informed the authorities of what’s gone on here. There’s nothing else we can do right now. We’ll give Aida Winters a heads up on the way into town.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right. I gave Neva Travis explicit instructions regarding who to notify as soon as they reached town.” George Custer thought he had done at least this one thing right.
Charlie hesitated but said nothing. He had not discussed his reservations about Neva Travis with anyone and thought, Now is not the time to add to Dr. Custer’s worries. Clearly, the man is on the brink, and I might still be wrong about Neva Travis.
Ancient Blood Page 14
