Gila Prophecy

By Brent Botts

Gila Prophecy is a mainstream fiction based on the true story of a canoe trip gone bad. Set amidst the backdrop of southwest New Mexico on the Gila River, author Brent Botts brings his thirty-one years of experience as a ranger with the U.S. Forest Service and forty-five years of outdoor adventures in scouting together in a tale of suspense and intrigue.

Jason Beyer and his side-kick Carl Crawford are the leaders of an inner-city youth group who embark on a whitewater adventure into the Gila Wilderness. The novice paddlers are tested to the limit when the normally mild Gila River turns into a raging torrent that sweeps the group deep into the Gila Gorge and into the middle of a sinister plot led by a ruthless billionaire industrialist to uncover a national secret of hidden treasure, that if exposed could alter the world's economy. Chests of gold given to early explorers by an ancient people and lost on the Gila River provide the crucial link to the greedy billionaire's discovery of the riches. Only through the heroic actions of Jason and his group can the plot be foiled.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brent Botts
• Release date: May 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301511563

Brent Botts

Brent Botts retired from the U.S. Forest Service after serving 32 years. He is currently a professor at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs where he teaches Map and Compass, Communication and Sustainability. Gila Prophecy is his first published novel that was inspired by a scouting adventure down the Gila River in SW New Mexico. Brent has been active in scouting for over 45 years and continues to serve the program as Venture Crew Advisor and Vice President of the Pikes Peak Council.

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Dedication and Acknowledgements

Gila Prophecy is dedicated to the men and boys of Boy Scout Troop 126, Albuquerque, New Mexico who survived an almost tragic adventure on the Gila River in south central New Mexico, on which this story is based.

Their preparation, perseverance and bravery served as an inspiration to many; a life-changing milestone that molded men from boys and influenced lives for years to come. Nine of the eleven boys went on to become Eagle Scouts. During that six-day canoe trip in the spring of 1998, adversity begat adversity, boys were challenged beyond their years and fathers found strength they had not previously possessed.

I make a special dedication to my mentor and friend Don Newton. He leaves behind a better world, a legacy and inspiration to all. He was truly one of a kind, a confidante to many. I am honored to have known him.

Many thanks go to those who supported me with their patience, time and endless review of the information that went into the writing of this novel: my entire family and family-in-law, especially my wife Sheryl and her sister Janet Davis who reviewed the book and my brother-in-law Terry Davis who provided the artwork. I would also like to thank Critique My Novel staff Catherine and Esther who provided excellent review of my manuscript.

Character List

Jason Beyer- leader of Quest, Director of Recreation of U.S.D.A Forest Service, Southwestern Region

Carl Crawford - long-time friend, college roommate and assistant leader of Quest

Aaron Beyer - fifteen-year-old son of Jason

Adam Beyer - twelve-year-old son of Jason

Ali Crawford - eighteen-year-old daughter of Carl

Tim Crawford - fifteen-year-old son of Carl

John Goodman - assistant leader of Quest

Cedric - member of Quest group

Donnie and Mike Mitchell - sixteen-year-old twin brothers who are Quest members

Michael Cantrell - very likeable thirteen-year-old member of Quest

David Duffy - cousin to Michael

Professor Robertson - professor of archaeology at Yale University and leader of the archaeology summer camp on the Gila River

Julie Clairmore - grad student in archaeology who discovers gold coin

Ranger Jack Kerry - district ranger at Gila Ranger Station

Robin Spitz - manager of the Taylor Ranch Community Center

Scott Ulibarri - Albuquerque businessman

Cappri Zanotto - CEO of Z Enterprises

Russo - Hired assassin

Jerry - Russo's assistant and chauffeur

Simmon - Russo's hired henchman

Tapper - Russo's hired henchman

Agent Thomas Haley - U. S. Forest Service special agent located at Silver City, NM

Amanda Wright - U.S. Forest Service archaeologist located at Silver City, NM

Dr. Jonathon Leahy - dean at Princeton

Gregory Dyer - Eccentric old man who lives in a farmhouse above the Gila River

Mike Dyer - Deputy Sheriff, Silver City, NM., and younger brother of Gregory Dyer

Officer Archuleta - Jailhouse officer in Silver City, NM

Gila River Map

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GILA PROPHECY

by

Brent Botts

Prologue

It was an ancient land untrammeled by man. A desert broken only by the islands of mountains that were oases to hardy wildlife that could survive the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter; a place where anything without a horn, thorn or rattle stood little chance of survival.

It was here, carved into the sandstone cliffs, a small tribe of the Anasazi or the Ancient Ones squeaked out an existence. They did not mind the hardships, they had endured worse.

In the early years of the village, a tribe of marauders from the south had followed the Gila River through the narrow canyon to its headwaters and discovered the village. They waged war on the village from the cliffs across the canyon, shooting arrows and throwing stones at anyone who dared to leave the safety of the cliffs. After many days passed and after many tribe members died trying to reach the life-giving water only 200 feet below their cliff dwellings, the marauders descended into the valley and scaled the stone steps overpowering the tribe, killing more than half of the tribe's population.

As they retreated with their spoils, the heavens opened up and rain fell for two days. The marauders who had already entered the Gila Gorge were doomed as the water rose higher and higher. The water soon reached the gorge walls and removed any land between its banks. The marauders were forced to scale the walls of the gorge to escape the river's flood. But the walls were too steep and too high to allow them to climb out of the gorge. They could only seek refuge in the small caverns carved into the canyon's walls by the waters that formed the gorge through centuries of erosion. Just as the marauders had stranded the Gila tribe in the cliffs, the river stranded the marauders from land.

As the marauders became weak and unable to cling to their precarious perches on the cliffs, they slowly gave up their lives and spoils to the river. With no other escape but up, many tried to climb out of the gorge, only to fall into the fury of the waters below that would slam their frail bodies into boulders and onto rock banks undercut from the river's mighty current.

Those who held on to the end, in hopes of the water receding, etched pictographs on the cavern walls in a futile effort to appease the angry river. But in the end, the river had its way and either starved the weak who clung to its cliffs or swallowed them in its churning waters.

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Kri was just one of seven teenage tribe members of Gila Village. A tribe of fewer than one hundred; they lived off the land. The land was sparse in deer, elk, bear, and mountain lion, but the streams were rich in trout and the summer rains provided adequate moisture for growing maize.

His learning came from the tribal elders who passed their heritage from generation to generation through story and song. The best Kri could understand is they came from a mother tribe located many weeks' journey to the northwest, before entering the endless snow-covered mountains. The smaller tribe size was a necessity to survival in the arid desert mountains. Taking their shelter in caves and rock overhangs within canyon walls, they lived a simple and unobtrusive lifestyle.

Kri had spent many days dreaming about the distant land of his ancestors and what it would be like to live in a large tribe, so large one might not even know all who live there.

Never having ventured more than a day's journey from the canyon village, Kri could only rely on his vivid imagination and stories the elders told to conjure images of the adventures he longed to experience.

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One such story that played over and over in Kri’s imagination was that of a group of foreigners who arrived through the mountain passage on horses. This was the first anyone had seen of such an animal, which was as large as an elk, able to carry a full-size man, yet tame and responsive to the reins held in one's hand.

The men wore great helmets made of silver and gold and spoke with a different tongue. Only through sign language could the elders understand their desires. These foreigners had journeyed first to the mother tribe of Kri's people. They came from a far away land with cargo of gold and silver in hopes of trade for spices, salt and untold secrets.

The foreigners were greeted warmly and treated to all the Anasazi people had to offer. They were honored with food and festivities, exotic dishes of wild game and wines fermented from local berries. They were entertained with dances by hundreds of warriors dressed as wild animals and birds. They were given spices of salt, pepper and native herbs with miraculous healing powers. The leader of the foreigners had given each of his men a gold coin for trade. They traded pearls, beads and metals, but the gold coins were of little interest to the city dwellers except as trinkets.

On the seventh day of their visit, the chief took the leader of the men into a maze of underground passages that led to a great underground city that workers continued to chisel out of the earth. There were golden stairways that surrounded the cavern and buildings with ornate carvings cast in gold, silver, and exotic woods that were acquired from traders from distant lands.

The chief explained that his people had been chosen to build this great underground kiva called Cibola, and when it was finished they were to disband the people of their great tribe and inhabit all the lands. The chief said he had seen a vision in his dreams. He was to show the leader of the visitors the city of Cibola and present him with two specially carved chests. He then summoned two workers who presented identical chests that were two feet by one foot across and almost two feet in height. The chests were carved inside and out of teak and inlaid with turquoise. Each chest had a false bottom that when removed and turned upside down depicted a map of the region with Cibola at its center. The visitors were to use these chests to haul their gold coins on the remainder of their journey.

After several weeks, the foreigners decided to leave, traveling southeast from the city. For two days they followed a series of mountain passes into the desolate wilderness and after several more days arrived at the small Gila village. They carried with them the spices they had acquired as well as the gold coins carried in the two chests from Cibola.

They arrived tired and hungry. Again they were greeted warmly, fed and given rest. The chief of the Gila village met with the foreigners for two days in their ceremonial kiva with only the elders present. When they emerged, each had an understanding of the other. The foreigners desired to continue on their southeast course in search of something greater, and the Gila elders knew these men were the messengers that would be the legacy of their tribe.

The only passage continuing southeast was through the Gila Gorge. The tribe considered the Gila River a god that gave them life through its tributaries and abundant fisheries. It could also become angered, killing members of their hunting parties who ventured too far along its banks. It was the tribe’s southern guardian of their village for very good reason.

The village elders considered the only safe time to travel along the Gila was during the summer when the Gila River god slept. It was then the river's banks would widen and allow passage. Even in the summer, only those who had been taught the ways of the tribe were allowed to venture into this treacherous gorge to fish and hunt.

The foreigners had convinced the chief that they were worthy and able to make this journey even though it was not yet summer. The chief tried to dissuade them, telling them how the riverbed of the canyon could be swallowed by the river in a matter of hours, but to no avail. He shared the story of the marauders and told them of their forbiddance of entering the gorge until summer arrived, but the foreigners were convinced they were of no threat to either the tribe or the river and would be allowed safe passage.

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The foreigners left early the next day. The heavy fog of early morning lay eerily on the water and seemed to transcend into the gray sky above. The elders had told them that if they could find the passage through the gorge, it would take five days to exit the other end. They were given fresh supplies by the tribe, and a special dance of safe passage was performed the evening before their journey. They departed the village mounted on their mighty horses, packing the spices, herbs and other treasures they had traded, along with their bounty of gold coins packed in the two special chests. The tribe followed in procession to where the tributary of their stream met the Gila River and entered the gorge.

The tribe’s women and children waved as the foreigners disappeared from view one by one through the great walls that stood as gateways to the mighty gorge. The chief had followed at a distance and stood in solemn silence as if he knew what fate awaited the foreigners.

Before the tribe had returned to the village, a light rain began to fall. Their mood was marked by an eerie silence as tribe members went about their daily tasks. As the gray, wet day turned into night, a cold chill pierced the air, and the rain quickened.

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Captain Francisco was the leader of the foreigners. Having served on the high seas for the better part of his life, he was accustomed to bad weather.

Lieutenant, have your men form a single file and maintain close ranks, the captain ordered.

Without hesitation, the lieutenant broke rank and carried the message back to the men.

Francisco was always thinking ahead. He had led his men for the last 18 months through many strange encounters and now that they were headed on a homeward course, each member of his party was anxious to see their homeland. He did not need an overanxious soldier to startle the horses in such a narrow passage. There was no room for mistakes as they forded back and forth across the river to find dry land.

As the captain led his men onward, the rain only served as a constant reminder of the stories told by the chief. Francisco recalled the fear, respect and reverence the chief had for the Gila River. Francisco was glad that only he and his officers were told of the marauders and the fate that had befallen them.

With each passing hour, the rain quickened and the river rose higher and higher. The gray sky was now dimming as dusk approached. Francisco was forced to make more and more stream crossings to find the only ground still free from the increasingly turbulent water. In places where the gorge walls narrowed, the river had overrun the stream banks and the horses had to wade as deep as their saddles to continue the journey downriver. Francisco became more and more worried with each crossing they made.

To Captain Francisco the gorge was swallowing him up like a storm at sea. It was too late to turn back; the rising water had blocked the narrow channels they earlier forded and the power of the moving water made it impossible to go upriver. Their fate was being swept along as if it were a log captured in the river's current. Captain Francisco had survived many a maelstrom at sea and knew the only safe passage was to continue through the adversity and not retreat.

As his men rounded the next bend, a great thunder was all that could be heard. To the captain, the river seemed to boil and turn into a white froth of angry spray as it crashed headlong into a mighty rock wall. He watched as trees that had been uprooted by the flooding waters splintered and disappeared beneath the mighty waves. He could sense the fear in his men as they watched the fury of the river slam into what appeared to be a dead end, a massive rock wall hundreds of feet high.

Already, their horses stood in water up to their cannons. The flooding water was rapidly overtaking the vegetation that was once the riverbank. Trapped, with no place to go, the men began to panic. Some turned to ride upriver in a futile effort to retreat. Others abandoned their horses and begin to climb the sandstone cliffs. Captain Francisco’s officers rallied around their leader in hopes that once more he would lead them out of what appeared to be certain death.

Dismount and gather as much rope as you can find, he ordered. Use the ropes to ascend the walls of the gorge. Captain Francisco dismounted his steed and removed the saddle. He then gave the horse a hard slap on its flank, sending it back upriver. Good luck, old friend, he said as the horse disappeared. He was not optimistic, but believed every creature deserved a chance to live.

He stood in the rising flood waters and watched as his remaining men climbed to the only shelf the gorge had to offer. Captain Francisco was the last to climb. He grasped the rope and began to pull himself upward. Fifty feet above the river's fury, the shelf was only wide enough to accommodate two dozen men. As the shelf became crowded, the men who had already reached its safety could see that it would not hold the six additional men who were still making their way up the rope, including their captain. Some men began to dig into the cliff in an attempt to widen the shelf area, but without shovels their progress was much too slow.

Captain, a voice from above called out, we have no more room.

Captain Francisco, still hanging on the rope pondered a decision. The answer would be made for him.

The canyon suddenly echoed as if a cannon had been fired. The walls of the canyon shook and a loud roar echoed from the canyon upriver. Captain Francisco turned to see a wave of water thirty feet high round the corner. Crashing towards him he could see a wall of foaming brown water carrying entire trees and the remains of the men and horses who had tried to escape upriver. The men and horses had been beaten against the rocks to the point they were hardly recognizable. Debris of trees mixed in a gruesome carnage raced towards him. Francisco could only watch helplessly as the remains of his command, horses, supplies, gold, silver and spices were pounded into the great wall. The remains of men and beasts were quickly swallowed as they were drowned in the Gila’s mighty current.

In the next instance, the wave crashed into the rope sending all but the captain into the currents of the river. Captain Francisco held on with all his might, but the force of the river was too much. He knew he could not hold on much longer. He devised one last plan.

He knew if he let go, the force of the water would propel his body towards the great stone wall, and he would be crushed. He also knew the great quantity of water hitting the rock was going somewhere, so he did the only thing he could in a final attempt to save himself. He took one final breath, let go of the rope and dove down as far as he could.

That final desperate act saved his life. He felt the water sweep him under the rock instead of slamming him into it. He emerged half conscious in a great underground cavern that he later estimated large enough to hold his entire ship. He pulled himself free of the river’s grasp and crawled onto a rocky beach just before the river slammed into the cavern's downriver side disappearing through an unseen opening.

Deposited with him were the corpses of his crew, horses and the two boxes of gold coins he and his men had carried with them. As he lay on his back, there, far above him through a single opening no bigger than a doorway in the cavern's dome, he could see the dark sky and the falling rain. His eyes shut as he lost consciousness and his body collapsed into a hypothermic sleep.

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Outside, his men who had climbed to the safety of the shelf did not fare as well. The twenty-four men who had reached safety on the small shelf had only enough room to sit with knees pulled tightly to their chests. Some had managed to excavate a small cavern into the cliff where they could take turns sleeping in a fetal position. For hours they sat speechless watching the river race below. Without a leader to offer direction, they argued over what course of action to take. Some wanted to wait out the storm and others wanted to attempt to climb further up the cliff. Fights broke out between the two opposing groups and in the struggle that ensued, five men were pushed over the edge into the deadly waters below. The remaining nineteen men agreed to wait until morning.

That night, the rain intensified. Lightning illuminated the canyon and thunder echoed off its walls in a deafening roar. With no shelter or protection from the elements, two of the men succumbed to hypothermia. The others crowded close together trying to keep warm. By the break of day, the rain had slackened but the sky was still gray and threatening.

One of the men who wanted to climb higher out of the gorge was Jose, a young man of small build, not an officer, but one who was trusted by his fellow soldiers. Jose and his friend Carlos began to plan how they would make their attempt.

Carlos, you are a good climber. I have seen you scale the mast on the ship and work the riggings in weather when no other man would attempt such a feat. Do you think you can climb this cliff?

Carlos looked up at the cliff above and then answered, I do not wish to die on this shelf like a helpless lamb. I will climb the cliff, or I will die trying.

Jose coiled the rope they used to climb to the shelf. Take this rope and tie it around your waist. I will tie the other end around mine. Once you reach a secure spot, anchor yourself and I will climb to you. We will continue until we reach the top.

Carlos tied the rope securely around his waist and slowly began his climb. The remaining fifteen men watched them disappear beyond the overhang above them.

Hours passed and the only sign that the climbers were still above was the echo of their shouts and the occasional rock that fell from above with the speed of a cannon ball. With each rock that fell, an older man cramped against the back of the shelf would cross himself and say a prayer. He had mentored Jose and had always looked out for him. He wished he were with them. Not knowing if they were making progress or simply hanging on for survival was anguishing.

As the morning rain transitioned into an afternoon drizzle, the climbers had made their way to within 50 feet of the top of the cliff. Carlos was tired and cold; he struggled to keep his footing as he reached a small shelf large enough for him to lie down. As he pulled himself onto the shelf and rolled over in exhaustion, he saw a drawing in the rock that depicted the events that had just taken place. The drawing showed a mighty wall of water crashing down on people as they entered a narrow canyon. Carlos did not know the pictograph was drawn by a few marauders many years earlier who experienced the same fate on the same cliff.

Carlos could not control his fear and reached up pushing on the wall to cover the picture. His push loosened a wall of boulders on the shelf above. The skeletal remains of the ancient artist who died on the shelf came crashing down on him. In a frightful rage to avoid the skeleton, Carlos rolled off the protective shelf.

The ties he had used to secure himself ripped free. He fell past Jose with the rope still tied to his waist. As if in slow motion, Jose on the other end of the rope was pulled from his perch. The climbers fell 500 feet onto the shelf from which they started.

The older man who had been praying for Jose was the first to see the two bodies, the rope tethering them together. He watched in terror as the rope swept behind most of the men on the shelf and like a snare pulled tight, catapulted all but him and four others into the river's currents of death.

The older man's hope for living perished that instant with Jose. He prayed for a quick end to his life but he and the four remaining men, with little water, food or shelter, did not succumb to the elements for another seven days.

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Captain Francisco sluggishly