The Time Hunters and the Lost City (The Final Chapter in the Time Hunters Saga Book 5)

by carl ashmore

  ‘This is Percy Halifax, a good friend,’ Bruce said. ‘And these are his kinfolk, Becky and Joe Mellor.’

  ‘Good afternoon, madam,’ Uncle Percy said with a bow.

  Tessie looked taken aback by his politeness. ‘Oooh, I like you,’ she replied. ‘We don’t ‘ave many gentlemen call on my bar, so yer welcome, sir… and such a fine- lookin’ one, too.’ She winked at Uncle Percy.

  ‘Great Great Great Granny fancied him, too,’ Joe whispered to Becky.

  Tessie raised her arms wide. ‘Mighty nice to meet y’all, my dearies. Any friend of Bruce’s is a friend o’ mine.’

  ‘Thank you, Tessie,’ Uncle Percy said.

  ‘Now what can I get y’all ter drink?’

  ‘Not here to drink, Tess,’ Bruce said, turning and scouring the room. His eyes locked on an old man with a shock of tangled silver hair, sitting alone in the far right corner, his back to the bar as if keen to blend into the woodwork. ‘We’re here to see Jacob Waltz.’

  Tessie’s face changed. ‘What d’ya want with that old varmint?’

  ‘Long tale,’ Bruce replied. ‘But gimme a bottle of what he’s suppin’ and we’ll go and do our talkin’.’

  Tessie reached behind, gripped a bottle of a brownish liquid that resembled muddy dishwater and passed it over. ‘Talk to him, Bruce. But be wary … I’ll take his gold, but I won’t take his time or talk.’

  Bruce raised the bottle. ‘Thanks for this, Tess. Perce, could you pay the lady? I’m afraid Calhoun took all the cash I had.’

  ‘It’s on me,’ Tessie said. ‘Just you be cautious with Waltz … He’s mean as cat meat, so if he tries ta bulldoze ya -’ In a flash, she raised a tomahawk from beneath the counter and slammed it down blade first, splintering the wood. ‘You shout Ol’ Tessie!’

  Bruce chuckled. ‘Bless you, gal, but he won’t be bulldozing anyone … not after he hears what I gotta say.’ He turned and strode over to Jacob Waltz, followed by Uncle Percy, Joe and Becky.

  ‘Mister Waltz,’ Bruce said, plonking the whiskey bottle down firmly on the table. ‘We got some business with you.’

  Becky looked at Waltz. Up close, she could see he had sickly yellow skin that resembled tracing paper stretched thin over sunken features. His face was covered in silver whiskers as stiff as cocktail sticks and his back was warped from a lifetime of heavy labour.

  Jacob Waltz turned slowly and glowered at Bruce. Although very old, his whiskey-red eyes were alert and simmering with venom. ‘Don’t need your buziness,’ he growled in a heavy accent. ‘But I favour my own company, so I advise you to valk on.’

  Bruce pulled up a chair and sat down anyway, nodding for Uncle Percy, Becky and Joe to do the same. ‘Me? I rarely take advice. I’m a dumbass that way. Anyhow, let’s talk ‘bout that gold mine of yours.’

  ‘Vhat gold mine?’

  ‘Don’t play the fool, Jacob. Thing is, I know a heap of somethin’ ‘bout you … matters that will get you hanged if I stroll out this door and pay Sheriff Goodwin a visit.’

  Waltz clenched his teeth. ‘You know nussing about me.’

  ‘Can’t be agreein’ with you on that … truth is, I know too many of your nasty secrets … so to stop my repeatin’ them in front of these good people, tell me precisely where your gold mine is, and then I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Go to hell, blöder Esel!’

  Bruce gave a self-satisfied smile. ‘Many years ago, you saved the life of a rich Spanish big shot, Don Miguel Peralta. By way of thanks, he gave you a map to a gold mine in the Superstitions. You took the map along with three Mexican miners and went huntin’ for the mine. You found it, but you sure didn’t wanna share all that gold so you killed the Mexicans in cold blood…’

  With each word Bruce spoke, Waltz looked increasingly shaken. ‘Lies!’

  Bruce ignored him. ‘But it didn’t end there. You quarried the mine for a winter … but then y’had to come back to Phoenix for supplies. By the time you returned you discovered two soldiers had found it … so you killed ‘em both.’

  Waltz’s lips were trembling now.

  ‘And then -’ Bruce continued, ‘there was that innocent prospector you murdered soon after just coz he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s a lot of unlawful killin’, Jacob … killin’ that would see you hangin’ from a gallows like a bat from a cave roof.’

  Waltz leaned forward and growled through clenched teeth, ‘But you have to prove eet, Du Hurensohn!’

  ‘D’you think I know all this without the means to prove it? Get real, buddy.’

  Waltz fell silent. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m the end of you if you don’t gimme what I want. Now how’d we find that mine?’

  ‘But zat is my gold. I have earned eet.’

  ‘Mister Waltz,’ Uncle Percy said calmly. ‘We have no interest in the gold.’

  ‘Lügner … I do not believe you.’

  ‘I don’t care what you believe,’ Uncle Percy replied firmly. ‘But we do need to find that mine.’

  ‘If not for its gold … then for vhat?’

  ‘Because we’re looking for something we believe may be in there. Something of no worth to anyone but us.’

  ‘Vhat?’ Waltz asked.

  ‘A corpse we think might harbour a box,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘And I swear that’s all we’re interested in.’

  ‘You are looking for a corpse and a box?’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘Vhat kind of box?’

  ‘We’re not sure … but not one of any real value.’

  Waltz gave a scornful laugh. It was clear he didn’t believe a word of it. ‘You are a Betrüger! You –’ Suddenly, his expression changed as if remembering something important.

  Becky felt sure she saw a murderous gleam in his eyes.

  ‘But,’ Waltz said, his tone softening, ‘if you do not vant my gold, I shall help you find ze mine. Also, Spring is ze perfect time to see it.’

  ‘Then tell us where it is,’ Bruce said.

  ‘Nein!’

  Just as Bruce’s face ballooned with anger, Waltz continued, ‘But I shall give you somezing I have carried wiz me for many years … ze map that was given to me…’ He reached down to the floor, thrust his hand into a weathered leather backpack and withdrew a piece of parchment. He passed it over to Bruce. ‘Here...’

  Bruce studied the parchment and then glared at Waltz. ‘What’s this? This ain’t no map!’

  ‘It is all I was given by Don Miguel, and there is no ozer copy,’ Waltz replied. ‘It is one of a kind and all you shall have from me. I found ze mine, and if you have wisdom so shall you.’ He stood up and the smile fell from his face. Once more, his voice brimmed with menace. ‘And if you break your pledge to me, if any of you try and claim my gold, then you vill all be dead.’ His eyes found Becky. ‘And I mean all of you!’ Then he snatched up his whiskey and hobbled off toward the door.

  As Waltz left the saloon, Bruce spread the parchment across the centre of the table. ‘Any of y’all speak Spanish?’

  ‘To some extent,’ Uncle Percy said.

  ‘Then what does it say?’ Becky asked.

  ‘The top line says ‘The Fingers of God’.’

  ‘And the words below it …’ Joe said. ‘They’re numbers, aren’t’ they? … dos is two, cuatro is four, tres and cinco is five.’

  Becky looked impressed. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Dora the Explorer,’ Joe grinned.

  Becky laughed. Then what about the words on the bottom, Swiper?’

  Joe shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Poco a poco se anda lejos means Little by little one goes far,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘It’s a famous Spanish phrase.’

  ‘And what about the cross and the Bull’s head?’

  ‘Haven’t the foggiest,’ Uncle Percy replied.

  ‘So what do you think it all means?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘I might have some idea,’ Bruce said, ‘or at least a place
to start lookin’.’

  ‘Do tell, Bruce,’ Uncle Percy said.

  ‘Most of the stories ‘bout the location of the Lost Dutchman’s Mine claim it has somethin’ to do with Weaver’s Needle.’

  ‘What’s Weaver’s Needle?’ Joe asked.

  ‘It’s a gigantic column of rock in the Superstition Mountains, Joe,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘It’s quite renowned and named after the explorer, Paulino Weaver.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Bruce said, nodding, ‘but before Weaver got his name attached to it, the locals knew it as The Finger of God.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Uncle Percy said, fascinated. ‘Then although we have no idea what the numbers or other words represent, I think we can safely say we know where the search for the Lost Dutchman’s Mine begins…’

  Chapter 22

  Mine Hunt

  Uncle Percy, Joe and Bruce were in excellent spirits on the return walk. The fact they were embarking on a hunt for a legendary gold mine in the Old West brought out the child in all of them.

  Becky, however, couldn’t quite share their excitement. There was something about Jacob Waltz’s eyes when he agreed to help them that made her feel uncomfortable, fearful even. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  Arriving back at Camelback Mountain, they saw Kenneth had returned with Bertha, who looked as good as new, any scratches, dents and bullet-holes having been repaired.

  ‘Welcome back, all,’ Kenneth said. ‘Did you get what you needed?’

  ‘We did,’ Joe replied. ‘We met Jacob Waltz and he gave us a map to the Dutchman mine, only it isn’t a map, really.’

  ‘And what is it, young sir?’

  ‘Just a piece of paper with a load of numbers, a couple of symbols, a weird phrase and summat about The Fingers of God, which Bruce reckons is this place called Weaver’s Needle. Apparently, legend says it’s got summat to do with the Lost Dutchman’s Mine.’

  ‘That’s certainly consistent with popular belief,’ Kenneth replied. His eyes flashed blue and he turned to Uncle Percy. ‘Weaver’s Needle is forty seven miles from here, sir. I’ve retrieved the temporal coordinates if you wish me to input them into the chronalometer.’

  ‘If you would, Kenneth,’ Uncle Percy replied.

  As they boarded the campervan, Joe looked at Bruce and said, ‘Why was Waltz known as the ‘Dutchman’? I mean, he’s German, not Dutch.’

  ‘Yeah, strange, ain’t it? Never known why myself.’

  ‘Then I believe I can answer that for you both,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘It’s based on the mispronunciation of the German phrase, "Deutsch Mann", the literal English translation being German Man. The nickname stuck somehow and back in the Old West many German immigrants were known as Dutchmen.’

  ‘And how’d you know these things, Bobby Big Brain?’ Bruce chuckled. ‘You put me to shame … you really do.’

  Soon after, a flare of bedazzling sunlight signalled their arrival in the heart of the Superstition Mountains. Squinting through half-open eyes, Becky saw they were in a bleak, desolate wilderness, an angry landscape of rugged mountains, mesquite bushes and countless Saguaro cacti, some of which were so tall they resembled giant wind turbines. Then she glanced behind and a lump caught in her throat. A colossal monolith of red rock, a thousand feet high, sprang from the ground, dominating the horizon like a skyscraper.

  ‘She’s somethin’ else, ain’t she?’ Bruce said, noting the look of awe on Becky’s face.

  ‘She really is,’ Becky replied.

  ‘So what’re we gonna do now we’re here?’ Joe asked Uncle Percy.

  Uncle Percy’s brow furrowed. ‘Actually … I have no idea.’

  ‘Well I have, good buddy,’ Bruce said. ‘Can you check your Alto-Radar to see if there are any Apache war parties nearby? I got no intention of losin’ my luscious locks to one of their scalpin’ knives.’

  ‘Good idea, Bruce,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Kenneth, would do the honours?’

  Kenneth’s eyes flashed blue and he said, ‘There is no sign of human life for fifteen point three miles, sir.’

  ‘Good to hear,’ Bruce replied.

  ‘Now I’m aware you’re all keen to start hunting for your gold mine,’ Kenneth said, ‘but may I suggest a spot of food first? I’ve brought a picnic, courtesy of Maria.’ He opened the campervan door to reveal three large wicker baskets crammed with food.

  ‘An excellent idea,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘And you wouldn’t have brought a flask of tea, would you? I could murder a cuppa.’

  ‘I’ve brought the finest Assam tea – extra strong - just as you like it, sir.’

  ‘Kenneth, you are an angel.’

  ‘Any booze, Ken?’ Bruce said.

  ‘A bottle of Chateau Palmer Margaux 1961, Mister Westbrook. It’s a classic Bordeaux from an acclaimed vintage.’

  ‘No bourbon?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I can go back and acquire a bottle if you’d like, sir.’

  ‘Nah,’ Bruce replied. ‘I’ll slum it with the wine.’

  Kenneth spread out a picnic blanket in the shade of Weaver’s Needle and proceeded to lay out the food: freshly baked baguettes, curried scotch eggs, roast beef sandwiches, mackerel pâté, field mushroom pies, and a strawberry tart the size of a dustbin lid. There was enough food for a dozen people.

  After his final bite, Joe, who had eaten twice as much as everyone else, leaned back and gave a great sigh of satisfaction. ‘I love Maria.’

  ‘We all do,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘And not just for her gastronomic skills.’

  ‘Dunno what that means,’ Joe replied. ‘But she sure can cook well.’

  ‘So what do we do now about finding this mine?’ Becky asked.

  Uncharacteristically, Uncle Percy looked stumped. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know. Has anyone got any ideas?’

  Joe spoke up. ‘Why don’t we just get Waltz, put a gun to his head and threaten to blow his head off if he doesn’t take us to the mine?’

  Uncle Percy frowned. ‘I hope you’re joking, young man, because that’s exactly the sort of barbarous thing Emerson Drake would do. Besides, if Waltz located the mine from this parchment alone, I’m certain we can.’

  ‘Can you show Kenneth the map, Bruce?’ Becky said. ‘Maybe he’ll come up with something.’

  Bruce took out the parchment and passed it to Kenneth, who studied it for a few seconds.

  ‘The numbers, the symbols,’ Kenneth said. ‘Could they perhaps have something to do with the Peralta Stones?’

  Bruce looked impressed. ‘That ain’t a bad idea, Ken.’

  ‘What are the Peralta Stones?’ Becky asked.

  ‘They’re a bunch o’ engraved sandstone slabs found in the forties by a cop, Travis Tumlinson,’ Bruce replied. ‘Some folk believe they lead to the Dutchman’s Mine.’

  ‘Engraved with what?’ Becky asked, intrigued.

  ‘A horse, a dagger, a priest … that kinda thing,’ Bruce replied. ‘To be honest, I always figured they were fakes myself.’

  ‘So d’you think there might be some more stones here? Joe asked. ‘Is that what we’re looking for?’

  ‘I don’t think we know what we’re looking for,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘But Waltz didn’t mention needing anything other than his map to find the mine. I don’t think we have any alternative but to separate, spend a few hours scouring the area and hope for inspiration to strike.’

  It was agreed that Becky and Joe would spend two hours searching the vicinity north of Weaver’s Needle. Uncle Percy gave them a small transceiver with express instructions to keep in touch should they find anything.

  Standing at the base of the Needle, Becky gripped the map in one hand, a bottle of water in the other and stared at the words and symbols on the page.

  What could they mean?

  Joe exhaled loudly. ‘This is ridiculous. We should just go back to Waltz and shove a rattlesnake down his pants. He’ll soon talk then.’

  Becky was about to laugh when Joe’s words triggered
a memory. ‘Didn’t you think Waltz changed his mind a bit too quickly?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘One minute Waltz was determined we weren’t to go looking for the mine, the next he’s giving us the only copy of his map.’

  ‘That was ‘cause Uncle Percy said we were looking for a corpse … that we didn’t want his gold.’

  ‘And you think someone as shady Waltz would believe that? It wasn’t just his words, either … there was something about the way he looked when he said we should go … something I can’t quite put my finger on.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. He just looked like he was planning something … something bad.’

  ‘How could he plan anything? We’ve time-travelled here. He wouldn’t have time to plan anything.’

  ‘I didn’t say it made sense. I just think his change of attitude was a bit weird.’

  ‘He’s weird full stop. I wouldn’t sweat it.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Becky replied, although she wasn’t fully satisfied.

  Becky and Joe began their search, eyes locked on the rocky ground, searching for any hint of something unusual, something that didn’t quite fit, anything that made the information on the map make sense. As the time passed, however, a cloud of hopelessness descended upon them.

  After nearly two hours in the clawing heat, they returned to Bertha.

  Joe flopped onto the ground, leaned against Bertha’s front tyre and puffed, ‘This is bonkers. We don’t even know what we’re looking for. Giz a swig of water, will you?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Becky said, slumping down next to him and passing over the bottle. ‘Suddenly your rattlesnake idea isn’t so daft.’

  For the next few minutes they waited for the others in a heavy silence. Then Joe stared out at the mountains and said in a quiet voice. ‘Becks, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘D’you think Dad’s alive?’

  Becky didn’t falter in her response. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Because Drake said he was.’

  ‘But Drake’s a lying scumbag.’

  ‘No … he isn’t,’ Becky replied. ‘He’s deffo the world’s biggest scumbag, no doubt about that, but he’s never actually lied to us.’