Treasure Hunters

By Terry Perkins Fulton

In 1868, a prostitute has just escaped from a Wyoming brothel. While hiding, she meets an Indian fugitive accused of robbing a train. They become partners and outlaws by circumstance, and the legend of the treasure they unwittingly purloin begins.

In the present, archaeologist Alexa Davis has unearthed the bones of the escaped prostitute and outlaw Clara May Stoddard. Though Claras legendary treasure has never been located, her burial holds a clue, and the race to find it begins. Yet within the treasure lies an astonishing secret, one that none of the hunters could fathom, and one that will determine thedestiny of everyone involved. The stories of the past and present evolve together, and in the unpredictable end, are inconceivably and fatefully linked.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 18, 2004
• ISBN: 9781420807172

Terry Perkins Fulton

Terry Perkins Fulton has been a professional archaeologist for eighteen years.  She has worked throughout the western United States on projects ranging from the excavation of Anasazi pueblos to the documentation of historic western ghost towns.  She has had many unique experiences in her travels and it is these adventures that fuel her stories.  She was awarded the Walden Residency Fellowship for Oregon Writers through Southern Oregon University to write Treasure Hunters, her first novel.  Since winning the fellowship, Terry has moved from Oregon to Southern California where she is a staff archaeologist with a large environmental company.  She is currently working on her next novel, The Castle Rock Relics, another archaeological adventure set in the Southwest.

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This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

© 2004 Terry Perkins Fulton. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   12/07/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4208-0718-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4208-0717-2 (e)

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Contents

Chapter 1 Piedmont, Wyoming, 1868

Chapter 2 Eastern Oregon, The Present

Chapter 3 Piedmont, Wyoming, 1868

Chapter 4 Jack And Nathan

Chapter 5 The Pub

Chapter 6 Clara And Her Freedom

Chapter 7 What Jack Found

Chapter 8 Miles Huber

Chapter 9 Nathan’s Job

Chapter 10 Alex’s Dream

Chapter 11 Clara’s Awakening

Chapter 12 The Kidnappers

Chapter 13 Ben Diamond

Chapter 14 The Crew

Chapter 15 Jack Makes A Phone Call

Chapter 16 Rider And Clara Set Out For Aspen Camp

Chapter 17 The Legend

Chapter 18 Ben And His Ghosts

Chapter 19 Clara’s Treasure

Chapter 20 Billy Buck’s Scheme

Chapter 21 Alex’s Bane

Chapter 22 Three On The Run

Chapter 23 A Storm

Chapter 24 Betsy Thornton

Chapter 25 Clara’s Locket

Chapter 26 The Smoke In The Cave

Chapter 27 Of Portals And Time Travel

Chapter 28 Aunt Betsy Hatches A Plan

Chapter 29 Billy Buck Makes A Stand

Chapter 30 The Last Safe Night

Chapter 31 The Adventure Begins

Chapter 32 The Reunion

Chapter 33 An Epilogue Of The Past

Chapter 34 Rider Returns

Chapter 35 The Trail They Left Behind

Chapter 36 Max Johnson

Chapter 37 The End Of The Journey

Chapter 38 Following The Trail

Chapter 39 What Had To Be

Chapter 40 An Epilogue Of The Present

Chapter 1

Piedmont, Wyoming, 1868

Clara May

Clara honey, it’s been a pleasure as usual, Billy Buck said, cinching up his belt. He sat down on the rumpled bed to pull on his boots, and decided to have another shot of whiskey besides. He leaned forward to reach for the bottle, but the girl beat him to it.

Let me get that for you Billy, Clara said sweetly, giving him her most appealing sideways smile.

You do take good care of me, Clara May, he answered. The grin he bestowed on her turned his weathered face into a relief map of wrinkles.

Clara moved over to the bed and took the bottle of whiskey from the nightstand. She poured a good-sized shot into a glass and held out her hand, but when Billy reached for the glass she snatched it back and downed it herself all in one gulp. Billy Buck let out a guffaw.

That’s my girl, he said, slapping the knee of his pants. This action produced a cloud of dust motes that drifted across the window and played in the light like tiny fairies. "Now pass some of that over here. This time she obeyed, and then sat down on the bed beside him in a fluff of unlaced petticoats. She watched him as he drained the glass.

Clara had something on her mind and William Clyde Buckley could tell it. He stared pensively at the empty glass in his hand for a moment then decided he may as well ask her. He knew she wouldn’t take her huge brown eyes off him until he did.

All right, Clara May, he said finally. The ends of his graying mustache drooped a little, magnifying his reluctance. What is it now, girl?

Clara got right to the point. I hate it here, Billy, she said, with the prettiest pout she could muster. You gotta take me with you this time, honey.

Billy sighed. He tipped his hat back on his head slightly and turned to face her. As usual her beauty startled him and it took him a moment to compose himself. He cleared his throat.

Clara, we’ve been over this before, he began, but just as he was hoping she wouldn’t distract him from the point he was about to make, she put a soft finger on his mouth and leaned in very close so that her red painted lips brushed his ear. He felt a tremor go through his body, and for a moment he reflected on how ludicrous it was that she could reduce him to that when not ten minutes ago the two of them had been rolling around in the bed together like a couple of sweaty wrestlers.

Please Billy, Clara whispered, I can’t stay here any more or I’ll die. You don’t know what it’s like. Earl hates me, and none of the others are like you at all. Her hand was moving under his shirt very persuasively by this time. Just think how good it would be, sugar, you and me together all the time.

Billy Buck was chagrined to find his resolve beginning to fade, in spite of the fact that all the logic in the world told him taking a woman with him, especially a woman like Clara May, was a very bad idea. He tried to say as much, but his mind had started to wander as her hand moved expertly down towards his lap. Suddenly a loud pounding on the door saved him.

Open up Clara May, said a petulant male voice. How many times do I have to tell you I’m trying to run a business here? Your hour is up.

Billy Buck breathed a sigh of relief as Clara jumped off the bed, a whirlwind of indignation.

Don’t you tell me what to do Earl! she yelled at the closed door. See what I mean? she hissed at Billy. He tried not to notice that her unlaced camisole was dropping off her shoulders quite fetchingly. He’s trying to control me again Billy and I can’t take it.

Honey, he owns you, Billy said, calmer now that she was all the way across the room. He stood and tucked in his shirt as he contemplated her. Why Clara May Stoddard seemed determined to forget that she was a paid whore he couldn’t understand. He owns this saloon and you work for him. It didn’t seem at all puzzling to him.

You could own me, Billy Buck, she said softly, and he thought he saw a trace of vulnerability taint her lovely features. It caused him to let down his guard for just long enough that he would regret it to his dying day. He had just taken his gun from the dresser and was about to put it in its holster. Instead he put it on the bed and opened his arms towards Clara.

Come on honey, cheer up, he consoled her. Each of us has got a certain destiny, that’s all. Mine’s riding with renegades and delinquents. Yours just happens to be whorin’. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.

Clara had started to move towards him to accept his embrace when he saw her eyes dart to the gun on the bed. In an instant he could see exactly what she had on her mind. He lunged, but she was quicker. The next thing he knew she was pointing the gun at his balls.

Take ’em off, she said in the same husky voice she used in bed. There was more pounding on the door just then, but Clara didn’t flinch. I said take ’em off!

What? Billy tried to stall, but he knew what she meant.

Take off your clothes or you won’t be paying me or anybody else for it anymore.

I said open up, Clara! Earl yelled from behind the door, every word punctuated by his fist hitting the wood. Don’t make me go get the key! You know what will happen if I have to get the key!

I’ll open up when I want to Earl, Clara screamed back with characteristic defiance. Then to Billy she said: Take off your clothes and give them to me. She cocked the gun and not taking her eyes off him began quickly stripping off what little she was wearing.

The sight of her stark naked body was mesmerizing to Billy, who had never seen her entirely unclothed before. He decided to play along, thinking that with both of them in the buff things could only get better. In a few seconds he had stripped down to his boots.

Them too, Clara May ordered, indicating the boots with a dip of her long eyelashes.

Clara, honey, he began to protest, but just then they heard Earl scream that he was going downstairs to get the key. The color drained from Clara’s face.

He’ll hurt me, she muttered, moving towards Billy with new determination. We have to hurry.

Baby, don’t worry, Billy Buck said with some enthusiasm and a silly grin. If you wanted to go for another round I’m game for it. You just tell Earl the next hour’s on me.

To his surprise he felt the cold muzzle of the gun planted squarely on his groin. At that moment with a naked Clara May standing so close to him it was the only thing that could have dampened his excitement. His spirits, among other things, deflated instantly.

Get in, she said, and tilted her head towards a big armoire that dominated the room. He looked at her in disbelief. I said get in. Together they moved towards the armoire, a sturdy structure made of heavy wood that had a thick brass latch on the front.

Sorry about this Billy, Clara had the decency to say to him before closing the door. But I’m getting out of here with or without you.

I’ll be comin’ after you, girl, was all William Buckley could think of to answer. He tried to look hurt, but something about the whole scenario was amusing to him. He’d always had a good sense of humor.

I’ll be lookin’ forward to it, Clara said with a charming smile. He found himself smiling back. But then she committed the ultimate indignity. As though leaving him to be found sitting naked amongst her spare petty coats wasn’t bad enough, before she left she also took his hat.

* * * * *

Clara May Stoddard could not believe her luck. She dressed quickly, decked out in all of Billy Buck’s clothes except for the boots, which it turned out were entirely too big. Luckily, his pants were long enough to hide the dainty little lace-up things women called shoes. She stuffed Billy’s pistol down the front of the pants and cinched the waist up tight with his belt, then piled her long dark hair under his hat. She had time for a quick glance in the mirror, a lucky thing since it reminded her to rub the rouge off her lips, and she was out the window just as Earl burst through the door and commotion ensued. Over the balcony of the whorehouse she went, landing on her rump in front of the many curious folks milling about the dirt and mud street. Then she made a run for it and left the shouting and swearing Earl and her life at the brothel behind her.

Nobody gave chase and for this she would later find she had fate to thank. There were other more pressing happenings in the town that she did not yet know anything about. For Clara May, all that mattered was that after what seemed an almost charmed sequence of events, she was crouched behind a pile of hay in the old Nelson barn on the outskirts of town, breathing hard and checking the bullets in the gun: Six. Hot damn, she thought. It was definitely her lucky day. In one fateful turn her life had changed. Only once before had it changed like that, seven years ago on the Oregon Trail. That fateful turn had been for the worse, and it was the one she held solely responsible for all of her woes since.

They were headed for the Willamette Valley and a new life before disaster struck. Clara and her small family had joined up with another band of doomed immigrants when her father made the fatal decision of splitting with the larger group, a good two hundred wagons strong, and striking out with a tracker of dubious reputation named Clarence Adams. He did this over the loud protests and obvious consternation of her mother, and this would be Clara’s first inkling that her fate would be forever and inexplicably tied to the questionable decisions of men.

Clarence Adams had claimed to know a short cut through a little traveled region of Eastern Oregon. He had approached her father at the right time: Autumn was coming, and as the days were getting shorter, so were their supplies and tempers. Dissension in the group had been growing and Adams used the opportunity to create the angry split for his own gain.

Clara was fourteen, eager for life and looking forward to a home, a husband and a family. She remembered she’d even liked one of the boys on their wagon train and she thought maybe he liked her too. They had begun to exchange shy glances now and again in the evenings when their groups would convene. Once they walked the trail together for a bit and he talked about all the land for the taking out west and how he was going to get a share of it for himself and farm it with his new wife. When he said wife he looked sideways at Clara May and she had thought for a short time that maybe it would be her he would pick to marry.

It was not to be. Not a day later bandits ambushed the group. Her parents were killed and Clara was kidnapped. By the end of that day she had seen her dream to be married, have a home and lead a normal life vanish, along with her virginity several times over.

Maybe old Billy Buck was right about each person having his or her own destiny, she reflected now. Clara May had been a whore by circumstance for the last seven years of her life. Now in an instant she had become a robber and a fugitive. In spite of everything, her destiny had definitely changed for the better.

Chapter 2

Eastern Oregon, The Present

Alex

Dr. Alexa Davis pushed her hat back on her head and wiped absently at her sweaty brow, smearing dirt across her forehead. It did nothing to detract from her lovely face, as could be witnessed by the admiring glances of the two male students watching her work.

This is awesome, guys, Alex said, looking up at them with a radiant smile. I think you’ve exposed a living surface. This could be thousands of years old. Good work.

The three of them were crouched inside a shallow cave, half way up the steep slope of one of the hundreds of basalt rock buttes that dominate the rugged landscape of Eastern Oregon. This one housed the remains of what was thought to be a 5000-year-old archaeological site. Alex Davis was in charge of a small group of students earning summer field credits towards a degree in archaeology by excavating the site for Oregon State University. It was the end of August in the high desert, and though still early in the day, already beginning to swelter.

Looks like there’s a lot more soil deposition in this rock shelter than I expected, Alex continued, moving her brush lightly over the excavation the young men had been working on. "We could have a number of living surfaces here from different periods of prehistoric occupation. I’ll get some graph paper so you can map everything as you find it in situ. And let’s open up another unit to the north, see how much of this surface we can expose intact."

She stood and brushed her hands off, then started out of the shelter opening. Before descending she stopped and looked back at her students. And don’t forget to drink lots of water, she added, it’s going to be hotter than hell out here today. They murmured an ascent, and she disappeared, skidding down the rocky slope below them and out of sight.

Man, said one of the young men, a kid named Jack Wright, "she is so hot."

This got a snort from the other student, Nathan Overling. And so not in your wildest dreams, he said laughing.

Jack laughed too, but added, Oh yeah she is. She is definitely in my dreams, dude.

Down below, Alex had reached the pickup truck that was one of their field vehicles. She was groping inside the cab for the plastic file box where the graph paper was kept when her cell phone rang. Mildly annoyed at the intrusion, she checked the signal and then answered it.

Alex! said the enthusiastic voice of Dr. Miles Huber, the head of the Department of Archaeology at Oregon State. Aren’t cellular phones the most incredible things?

Alex chuckled. A grand older gentleman of seventy-two, Huber still regarded modern technology not as the mundane result of progressing into the 21st Century, but as a surprising and wonderful convenience.

That depends, Alex answered dryly. I’m old enough to remember when going out in the field meant you couldn’t get phone calls.

Me too, my dear, and I have nearly four decades on you. Huber said with good humor. No air-conditioned hotel rooms in my day. We camped in the same dirt we were digging. Alex was glad he couldn’t see her rolling her eyes with fond exasperation. But I won’t keep you from your work, he continued. I just called to see how things are going.

Things are going very well, Alex said. She had momentarily discontinued her search for the graph paper and turned to survey her surroundings. Several pairs of students were scattered over the rolling sandy plain below the rock shelter conducting excavations of the main site area. They worked under shade tarps as a defense against the sun. We’ve nearly finished on the flats. I got Jack and Nathan started on the rock shelter this morning.

Ah, saving the best for last, I see, said Huber. And what have they found?

What I assume will be the first of several living surfaces, Alex said. I’ve asked them to keep their eyes open for enough charcoal for a C-14 sample to date.

The process of dating carbonized wood was the most reliable method Alex knew of discovering the age of a site, especially in the desert where because of the dry climate preservation is usually excellent. Still, it was only relevant if found in context or in situ, with the best integrity being a in a feature such as a hearth. Alex thought the chances of finding an intact hearth in the rock shelter were good considering people had likely lived in the cave off and on for many centuries.

Excellent. Perhaps you will even find a hearth, said Miles, reading her mind.

That’s what I’m hoping for, Alex said. There doesn’t seem to be too much disturbance in the cave. She squinted into the sun, wondering idly why she always seemed to be excavating in the desert in the heat of summer.

Any sign of pothunters? asked Huber.

Surprisingly no, said Alex.

Pothunters or amateur collectors as they euphemistically call themselves are a bane to archaeologists. Their uneducated efforts at retrieving artifacts for personal collection or monetary gain cause irreparable damage to sites the world over, destroying information about the area’s inhabitants in the process. Since these looters invade sites without landowner permission or government permits, they usually get there first, and archaeologists are forever in the position of trying to make sense of the mess they’ve left behind.

I think for once we may have beat them to it, she added.

"Well, that is a surprise, Huber answered. It sounds as though all is well. I’ll let you get back to your work."

Will you be visiting us Miles? Alex asked. We’ve documented some remarkable things. I’d love for you to see the hunting blinds. They’re perfect, right along the edge of the dry lake.

I would love it too, my dear, Huber answered, but I don’t imagine I’ll have the time. I’m busy working on grants, one of which will go to you and your research, no doubt.

Then by all means stay there, Alex joked. Although I do miss you in the field, she added.

Miles Huber had only curtailed his work in the field over the last five years. It was a concession to his age, Alex suspected and she truly missed him. He had been her mentor and advisor since she was an undergraduate, and was closer to a father in her life than the real one she had barely known.

The dig is in your capable hands, Huber said, and you don’t need an old man like me doddering around distracting you. But there is one more thing, he added. The Paiutes are sending a representative around, a man named Ben Diamond. They are curious about what you might be finding.

Good, Alex said. I could use the input.

She appreciated Native American involvement in her digs. Most of the tribes in the Northwest had been ousted from their ancestral lands only some hundred and fifty years, a short time by general standards in the United States. There were still those who knew much of their heritage and culture. And these were their sites, after all. She could not presume to know everything about them.

Maybe he can help me with the rock art in the cave. Some of the symbols I’ve never seen before.

Perhaps he can, Huber agreed. I believe that cave is sacred to the Paiutes. I marvel at the fact we were given permission to excavate there.

You did tell him our schedule, she said to Miles. If he gets here after two we’ll be gone. Too hot to work.

There was a pause. I can’t say as I remember if I told him or not, Huber said finally. It was a touchy subject Alex knew. The professor was becoming more and more forgetful of late and was painfully conscious of it.

Don’t worry, Alex said quickly, if he knows anything about this business he won’t expect us to be out here digging in the heat of the day. Did he leave a phone number? Perhaps I could call him, she suggested.

Good thinking, Huber agreed, and she heard him rummaging around on his desk. I believe he did but I can’t seem to find it. She noted frustration in his voice.

That’s okay, Miles, she told him, I’ve got the number for the tribal office. They’ll know how to contact him.

They said their goodbyes and Alex hung up with a frown. She hated the idea of Miles getting old. She dropped the phone in the pocket of her field vest and went back to looking for the graph paper. The air in the cab of the truck was stifling, and it was not long before drops of sweat were rolling down her cheeks. She looked at her watch. It was nearly ten in the morning, past lunchtime for people who had started their day at dawn. She turned, about to yell for the crew to take a break, when another voice broke the silence first.

Alex! Jack Wright was leaning from the opening of the cave and waving his arms. Alex we’ve found something! The excitement in his voice was enough to make her bolt up the side of the butte in spite of the heat. Take a look at this, Jack said, as she scrambled inside the shelter, breathless. He and Nathan were crouched over the new excavation pit, a one-meter square hole located adjacent to the first but nearer to the back of the cave. They had already removed several centimeters of loose soil. Alex moved close to the men and her eyes widened.

Holy shit, she muttered.

I know, Jack said with a crooked grin, can you believe it?

Alex knelt beside him and quickly took out her brush. She moved it over the dirt surface with quick strokes, further exposing what was obviously a human skull.

My God, she whispered. You’ve found a burial! They were looking at her with silly smiles on their dirty and sweaty faces.

A half hour later the three of them emerged from the rock shelter to find the rest of the crew gathered around the only juniper tree in the vicinity to offer up a substantial amount of shade. They had their coolers and lunches spread out around them, and all were casting curious glances their way. As field classes went, this was a good group and Alex knew she was lucky to have them. But she also knew that the dirty, hot, and hard work that was really archaeology was bound to persuade some of them to change their majors when fall term rolled around. The profession was hardly as glamorous as most people’s impressions of it seemed to be. Jack, however, she had hopes for. Now as she watched him skid down the rocky slope ahead of her at a near run, she knew the archaeology bug had definitely bitten him.

What’s all the fuss about, a young woman named Claire asked. Sounded like you found a dead body or something.

We did, said Jack triumphantly. We found a burial. He dropped to his knees in the sand, slightly out of breath.

No shit, said the man beside her, his mouth full of a cold burrito leftover from last night’s dinner. Like, an old one?

Old enough, Alex said, coming up to the group.

It doesn’t have skin on it, if that’s what you mean, Nathan added from behind her.

We haven’t exposed much of it, Alex told the group, but if it’s part of this site then it’s likely several thousand years old.

Cool, one of the students said. Do we get to dig it up? That would be righteous.

I want to dig it up, Nathan said. I found it.

"Actually, we found it," Jack answered.

Eventually, we’ll probably excavate it, Alex interrupted, frowning slightly. We have to notify some people first. Then she said: Finding human remains is a hugely significant thing. They have to be treated with respect. She looked at the group of students staring up at her and remembered they were just kids. How could she expect them to know the protocol? But I’ll save that lecture for after lunch, she said, smiling. We’ve got a very important find on our hands, guys. We may have to stop digging until we get clearance from the tribe, the BLM and the rest of the powers that be. I’m going to make some phone calls, so just hang out for a bit, okay? Everybody nodded amid swallows of food and gulps of Gatorade, grateful for the break.

She was almost to the truck when something caught her eye in the distance: A cloud of dust. There was a vehicle approaching the site. As if on cue she heard murmurs of exclamation from the group by the juniper tree. It was no wonder. It was a two-hour drive back to the city of Bend where they were staying and due to the remoteness of their location they hadn’t seen another soul during the four weeks they’d been out there.

Who is it, Alex, Nathan wanted to know.

I think it’s the guy from the Paiute Tribe, she told him and the rest of the curious listeners. I was expecting him.

Paiute, said Claire, you mean like Indian?

Yes, Claire, Alex said with mild irritation. He’s a Native American.

Whoa, the young woman said, I’ve never met a real Indian before.

Alex rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. Given what she knew of Claire’s background there was no reason that she would have. Claire was the product of a conservative Huntington Beach upbringing. She had only decided to go to Oregon State to infuriate her father who thought everyone who went there was a pot-smoking hippy freak. Alex would put money on Claire being one of those to change her major come fall; she wasn’t too fond of getting dirty.

She waited next to the truck as the vehicle rolled to a stop in front of her. It was an old Bronco, battered and colored in tan camouflage, the kind people used for hunting in Eastern Oregon. A few seconds passed while the dark shape in the truck took off his seat belt. Then the man inside got out.

Ben Diamond slammed the car door and walked towards Alex, hand extended and smiling. She stared at him, taken aback for just an instant because he was not what she expected. She had met tribal representatives many times, and thought he’d be older. Usually the younger generations were too busy raising families and making a living to be concerned with the politics of archaeology. But this man was young, somewhere around her age, with an open face and a welcoming smile. He wore his black hair long in the requisite ponytail, a startlingly white T-shirt, and faded Levis blue jeans.

You must be Dr. Davis, he said as they shook hands. I’m Ben Diamond, with the Pauites.

Yes, I know, she said, returning his smile, I’ve been expecting you. Call me Alex. She was aware that the crew over by the juniper tree eating lunch had grown quiet and was watching them with undisguised curiosity. Come on, she said, I’ll show you around. He nodded and followed her towards the group. This is my crew. Budding archaeologists all.

Ben grinned. Cool, he said. You guys having fun?

Everyone started to nod and Alex continued: Ben Diamond. With the Pauites.

There were murmurs of nice to meet’cha, man, and right on. Claire stood up and walked straight over to Ben.

I am so happy to meet you, Ben Diamond, she said with a dazzling smile. "I’m Claire. I’ve never met a real Ind - I mean Native American before." She took off her sunglasses and actually winked. Alex had to swallow hard not to say anything.

And I’ve never met anyone from Huntington Beach, Ben said gracefully.

The girl’s blue eyes widened in surprise. But how did you know? Then