GRAVESTONE ~ A Suspense Novel on Time Travel

By Kent Barnard

Newlyweds Michael and Claire James were students at Central Washington State College.  One day they were digging for fossils in the desert when they uncovered an old rusty buried gun.

After purchasing the gun for $100, mysterious professor Jason Smith cautiously introduced Michael and his best friend Doug Collins to The Chamber, a group of retired millionaires obsessed with cracking the secrets of time travel in order to alter history (past and future) with the intent of cheating death and extending their lives for as long as possible.

The lives of Michael James and Doug Collins are not only turned upside down, they are in peril. Threatened by the Chamber, they must agree to travel in time for a cause they do not believe in. Michael and Doug discover something else however; time travel grants a person immortality. One does not age – you just need to stay alive.

The Chamber decided to perform their first experiment sending a fellow member (D. B. Cooper) into the past to save his wife who had died in a tragic plane crash in 1971. After a seemingly successful attempt, they then manipulate the students, sending Doug into the past to Pearl Harbor in 1941, and then to Dallas in 1963 where he interacts with Lee Harvey Oswald. Michael is sent into the future to research the lives and deaths of the Chamber members, only to discover a shocking surprise.

Gravestone, a sci-fi, suspense novel on time-travel, is an adventure with strong characters, fast-paced action and tension, and with a touch of romance and humor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kent Barnard
• Release date: Feb 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781540108401

Kent Barnard

Creative writing has always been my passion. Currently, I am working on two new manuscripts, Time Travels, the sequel to Gravestone, and a murder mystery thriller.  I had met with two favorite authors, Clive Cussler and John Nance, who both offered excellent advice and helped shape my novel. I am a semi-retired marketing executive and an alumni of Central Washington State College where Gravestone takes place. Gravestone will appeal to the readers of Steven King’s time-travel novel, 11/22/63, as well as readers of Jack Finney’s Time and Again, Orson Scott Card’s Pastwatch and The Company of the Dead by David Kowalski. Kent lives in Washington State and has been married over 40 years to his wife Karen. They have two adult children and four grandchildren. Kent is a first-time novelist with Gravestone  coming in at 106,000 words. Contact information: [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue: November 1971

Dan Cooper knew without a doubt that he and all the passengers were about to die in a horrific plane crash. He sat in row 18, white knuckled, gripped by the tentacles of fear, and desperate to do something – anything !

In the cockpit of the Northwest Airlines 727 there was a tense atmosphere as the aircraft shook violently in the turbulence of the angry storm they entered with seemingly no means of escape. A lightning strike had shorted out the pilot’s main navigation console, while frozen rain pelted the cockpit windows adding to the anxiety the captain was feeling for the safety of his 88 passengers and crew.

Nervous and sweating from the ‘right seat’ came an attempted controlled shout, Whoa! We just got fried! Lost the navigational instruments, and our updating position controls are going crazy! The main gyro’s spinning like a top! The pilot glanced over at his co-pilot who had become wide-eyed with raw panic. An acidic smell of electrical smoke was curling out from under the instrument panel. The co-pilot tried to filter his anxiety, but the trembling in his voice betrayed him, Captain, I’ll try to notify Seattle of our situation and our last known position, if the radio still works.

Roger that, and double check the tracking beacon to verify it’s working, the Captain said as calmly as possible.

Another hard boom of thunder cracked, causing the aircraft to roll sharply to the right. A sudden wind shear suddenly forced the plane to drop 500 feet like a horrifying roller coaster ride. The aircraft pitched left this time and was shaking violently as the cockpit crew fought for control.

Back in the window seat 18C, Dan Cooper sat sweating with his eyes tightly shut. He was terrified. It seemed that every nut and bolt was about to burst loose from the pounding outside. He knew that in less than ten minutes, the plane he was on, along with every living soul on board, was going to hit the side of Woodland Mountain killing everyone. He knew that unless he did something he was going to die.

It was pitch black outside, visibility zero, and Cooper could only see the flashes of the strobe lights on the wing through the horizontal rain blasting onto his window. Occasional staccato lightning flashes blinded him adding to his sense of lost desperation. He was the only passenger in row 18, on both sides of the aisle. His wife was sitting in seat 8A, but she had no idea he was onboard. He was in disguise. It was important that she never know he was on this flight, the Northwest Airlines flight from Portland to Seattle on Thanksgiving eve, the flight that she died on eight years ago.

1979 Ellensburg, Washington

Cooper sat in an underground newspaper room, a vault, looking at the Seattle Times headlines for Thanksgiving, November 25, 1971. It jarred him to the bone; AIRLINER HITS MOUNTAIN IN STORM .  Countless times over the last eight years he had sat staring at that article in lost grief. His wife died in that crash and he never recovered from losing her. He lived in continual depression and grief, remembering the desperate and helpless feeling standing at the arrival gate at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport waiting for the flight that never arrived. Waiting for his wife to join him for Thanksgiving dinner after being away in Oregon visiting her parents. His mind never accepted the tragedy, his life was never the same. Helpless, desperate, and empty he searched for answers and as all the emotions flooded back for the thousandth time, he just sat there staring at those headlines.

Dan, we’re ready, Dr. Bruce Matthews announced breaking the trance.

Dr. Matthews and Dan Cooper were ‘close’ friends for years, but they both were using each other and both men knew it. They belonged to the ‘Chamber’, an elite private organization of five retired successful professional men.

Without looking up, in almost a whisper, he said Hello Bruce. Finally. Then with a renewed resolve, Let’s do this! He stood, leaving the newspaper on the table next to his chair.  Dr. Matthews glanced at the headline and shook his head wondering how his friend held it together all these years.

The two men exited the vault, somberly yet excited, stepping into the sunlight and walking down the residential streets of Ellensburg, Washington. It was six blocks, but the weather was pleasant with just a high thin cloud cover, breezy and in the upper 60s. It was autumn and the leaves were displaying their brightest oranges and reds, falling and covering the grounds of the college campus that they had now just entered. Their destination was the physics building. To be precise, the basement of the physics building where the Chamber conducted their experiments in strictest privacy.

Preparations were underway when another Chamber member arrived. He opened the door as silently as a thief and gave the two men an icy stare. No emotion, cold dead grey eyes, all business, not saying a word. Fletcher Blake, the oldest member of the Chamber, stepped into the lab and secured the premises. Things were indeed ready.

Dr. Matthews continued, Dan, rest assured, things will be fine. I have studied every detail of this experiment for nearly two years and am sure it will work. It’s guaranteed! As you know, we’ll have to stimulate your heart with a small shock as the Radium enters your blood system. It won’t be too uncomfortable. Only a small pinch for a split second. Nothing to it. As we discussed many times, Fletcher here will fire this gun containing a small Radium bullet, a dart, directly into your chest as I deliver the shock. You most likely will pass out, but when you recover... well... when you recover you will be in another time period. You can save your wife and all those unfortunate people. There is only the slightest risk, but isn’t it worth it?

He paused, noticing the beads of sweat forming on Cooper’s forehead. It’s all calculated Dan, reassuring him again. We can send you back to 1971, eight years into the past, and you can save your wife and have a joyous reunion with her. You must understand however, this is not a precise procedure and we can only estimate how far you will travel back in time, or how long you will stay in the past.  A reminder, as we had discussed earlier, you could experience some time-jumping, a phenomenon that could send you skipping into several different time periods. I have however calculated that you should travel between 10 to 15 years into the future before you return to us here in 1979. You will have saved your wife in 1971, and then accomplish our mission to travel into the future and read our gravestones! You can then give us the information about our deaths, allowing all the Chamber members to side-step the grim reaper. Well, at least delay death’s call. Once we know when and how we die we can simply avoid those circumstances.

Dan Cooper looked into the eyes of Dr. Matthews, and saw either madness or genius, he didn’t know which, and he didn’t know if there was really even a difference. He really didn’t care. Turning to look into Fletcher’s eyes he saw no emotion at all just that cold  stare of evil. Like looking into a shark’s eyes before you are eaten! Cooper would be glad to be out of the Chamber forever when this experiment was complete. The usual fee agreed upon for a ‘time traveler’ was $50,000 deposited the day before into the bank account of your choice, ready for you upon your return. The deposit was made yesterday, and he was ready. He was only 51, the youngest Chamber member. He was chosen because of his age, good physical health, and his motivation to do anything possible to save his wife, even if he died trying. Which was a very strong possibility

Let’s go, Cooper again said with determination.

It took about 30 more minutes to prepare the final details for the procedure. Dan Cooper was strapped loosely into a recliner and blindfolded. He awaited his executioner. Dr. Matthews handed Fletcher the handgun loaded with one Radium dart. Fletcher would stand just three feet in front of Cooper and fire the Radium into his heart just seconds after Matthews would administer to Cooper’s heart a severe shock. Matthews gave the experiment a 60% chance of success, but he really had no idea. He had convinced Cooper of higher odds. He hoped that Fletcher didn’t have to use the gun’s second bullet, a live .38 round to put Cooper out of his misery.

It was time. They told Cooper to start counting backwards from ten. As he began the countdown, 10 – 9 – 8, the shock was given. Cooper was sweating and very anxious about the severe shock to his heart, which he feared more than the Radium dart.  Then suddenly, Cooper gasped in pain and disbelief, his limbs twitching violently, his mouth opened wide in an attempt to scream. A scream that was never heard in 1979. A second later Fletcher fired the gun on target into the burn mark over Cooper’s heart. He vanished instantly leaving Dr. Matthews wide-eyed!  Both men were standing there astonished wondering if it actually could have worked. Fletcher was left with only an empty chair as his target for the live bullet had disappeared.

1970 Ellensburg, WA - 1971 Portland, OR

He woke disoriented at the General Hospital in Ellensburg suffering from dehydration, burns, and exposure. Cooper had no idea how he got there. A maintenance worker had found him lying next to the boiler in the physical sciences building during Christmas break, on December 28, 1970, and called campus security. It was thought that he was a drifter, a homeless John Doe looking for a warm place to get in out of the sub-zero, snowy winter. Dan Cooper welcomed the medical attention and hot food, but in the evening, he found his clothes, got dressed, and walked out of the hospital. He had never offered to change the authority’s belief he was just a homeless lost man.

Over the next several months, he drifted to the Oregon Coast, hitchhiking and doing odd jobs. He would have to wait almost an entire year until it would be November 1971 before he would need to get to Portland and attempt to save his wife. In some freakish unexplained phenomena of physics, he did not seem to age – they may have discovered a fountain of youth, or so it appeared.  He felt stronger, and more alive than ever. His mind began to wander, would he, could he, live forever traveling in time?  He did marvel at Dr. Matthews’ accuracy in sending him about one year before that flight. He was however, nervous, anxious, and getting impatient to see his wife.

Dan had gotten a temporary part-time job in Seaside, Oregon, working at one of the arcades to earn enough money to live on and then travel to Portland when the time was right.

Then, after what seemed an eternity, on Wednesday, November 24, he grabbed a bus and went to the Portland International Airport dressed in business attire, white shirt, dark tie, a long overcoat, hat, and carrying a briefcase. He purchased a one-way plane ticket for $20 and waited for the flight to be called. His eyes were teary behind his dark glasses as he watched his wife of 40 sitting across the waiting room reading a magazine. He hadn’t seen her for eight years and now there she was, alive and as beautiful as ever. He loved her long auburn, shoulder length hair, her perfect complexion, and the way she carried herself with such grace, confidence, and flowing beauty.  He could not believe she was here and he fought back the strong urge to rush over and take her in his arms.  He wondered what she would do, and what she was thinking about. Most likely it was of him and the Thanksgiving feast they were going to have with their closest friends in Snohomish, 30 miles north of Seattle, where they lived on five secluded acres. He watched her until it hurt. He was determined to save her life and thought many times, as the storm became more severe, that he should simply walk over to her, explain the facts that the plane was going to crash, and that he came back from the future to save her. Surely she would believe him and see that it was really him, now just a little older. That alone would be evidence enough. But he couldn’t risk it. What if he was arrested, thought crazy or something, detained somehow and was forced to watch her board that doomed aircraft. No, he would get on that plane with her and somehow advise the crew of the danger, thus avoiding the crash.  Simple.

The announcement broke his thoughts, We are now ready for general boarding of Northwest Flight 305.

Chapter 1: 

July 1981, Ellensburg, Washington

It was the summer of 1981 in the rural college town of Ellensburg, and Michael James was hot.  Central Washington State College had become a ghost town on campus three weeks ago when the student body and faculty abandoned the high dry plains of Eastern Washington for summer activities west of the Cascade Mountains in Seattle and Portland.

E-burg, as the locals referred to the rodeo capital, was going to reach a blazing 97 degrees today.  It was already sticky and humid when the alarm went off at 6:15.  Michael got up quickly, showered, and drank some apple juice before getting dressed in his running gear. A new pair of Nike Road-Runner shoes needed to be broken-in and today was to be the day.

Michael had been married only six months. He almost decided not to run his ten-mile route this morning as he watched his beautiful young wife Claire sleeping.  Streaks of sun were shining across her long, straight, dark brown hair.  She was beautiful and Michael dreaded being away from her. He kissed her softly and received a soft moan in reply.

He met Claire two years ago when he was over in Edmonds, a sleepy little ferry town on Puget Sound just north of Seattle. Claire was a student at Edmonds Community College and was sitting in her Northwest Indian art class when she looked up from her drawing table and saw this lean, lanky guy bouncing up and down to keep his leg muscles warm just outside her classroom door. She thought it strange, cute, and interesting, but had no idea what he was doing. Claire’s best friend at that time, Natalie, told her to stop staring at that guy. She told Claire his name was Mike James and he was a state champion runner. Claire assumed that this guy was bouncing all over the place, kind of running in place, waiting for someone in her class.

When the bell rang most everyone exited the art room except Claire who was deeply into her project and was planning to work on it through another period. To her surprise and inward delight, this guy strolled across the room and stopped directly in front of her. She looked up into his brown eyes and was smitten. Her stomach had a funny feeling and she almost fainted when this stranger took her hand and told her, I’m going to marry you someday.

Claire just stared into his eyes speechless. She didn’t know what to say, how to react. She had never met this guy before. All she could manage to say was, Huh?  Oh, that was brilliant, she thought, gaining her composure.

Well sir, first you have to slay the dragon, rescue me from an ogre, and convince my father that you are worthy of my hand. She smiled, still letting him hold her hand. She felt inwardly embarrassed as her body tingled.

As you wish my Lady, he smiled. Hi! I’m Mike James and you are Claire Tyler.

Ha, yes I know, she said amused. I know your name, but how do you know mine? Flustered once more, she thought she should not have told this guy she knew who he was.

Yesterday in training, oh I’m a runner, he said stumbling, I saw you in the parking lot leaving campus. I HAD to meet you, so here I am. You’re the most beautiful girl I have ever seen Claire Tyler. Whoa, that sounds kind of, umm...

She stepped in to help him out in the awkward moment, I think that sounds kinda sweet Mr. James, but do you think you should ask me out on a date before we ‘set the date’, she said, smiling coyly.

He loved reliving those moments. Still day dreaming as he was running, an irrigation sprinkler in one of the many Ellensburg hay fields shot a spray of cold water, hitting Michael in the back and bringing him back to the present. Michael was smiling as he ran his morning workout remembering that first time he had met his new wife.

It was important to him to stay in shape and keep his body in perfect condition since his college funding depended on his athletic ability. Running was a talent that had come natural to him and it offered a pleasurable escape from the long, tedious hours and hours of studying.

Michael’s event was the mile run which he considered a sprint. After all, he was running the mile in 4:03 and keeping a pace just near 4:20 minutes per mile for even longer events. His performance netted him a full four-year college scholarship to Central.

He was driven to become one of the few elite college runners like his idol Jim Ryan from Kansas University, a world class athlete and world record holder.  He wanted to enter the record books too, maybe even qualify for the Olympic trials in Eugene, Oregon, next spring.  His college team, the Wildcats, would benefit from his efforts and he owed them that. He felt obligated and carried the heavy weight of that stress as it tugged at him to pay back all those who believed in his athletic abilities.

Training seven days a week, twice a day, either running, biking or swimming left time for nothing else beyond his studies and the occasional low budget dinner at Pizza Hut or Arctic Circle, a break from campus food. Of course, Claire was becoming a great cook too, but he realized she also needed breaks. Twice a week they carved out time from their busy conflicting schedules to spend time together.

Claire needed his attention and he needed hers, and that involved time. Sharing his life with anything but sports was new to Michael. His priorities changed and he considered himself lucky to have found a girl that shared his dreams, his sports interests, and the required discipline. 

Claire realized the importance of a rigorous training schedule since she too was a gifted athlete, a medal winning competitive swimmer.  She accepted and understood the sacrifices Michael needed to make. After all, it was only for one more year. The fact was, without Michael’s scholarship one of them would have to work full time to support the other’s college expenses. 

Michael filled his lungs with a deep breath of the fresh country air and continued his course that was designed to build endurance over steep rolling hills.

At this hour, just after sunrise on a Tuesday morning during summer break, there would be only the occasional person encountered during his hour-long workout. Being amid a farming community, it wasn’t uncommon to see a John Deere tractor heading to the local Co-op or a truck full of livestock passing by.  It was just as common to see Michael running the on roads as it was to see the daily milk-tankers heading to the Meyer’s dairy on the western outskirts of town. 

He could hear those water jets of the massive irrigation sprinklers blasting their cool spray over the fields of corn, potatoes, hay, and other farm crops. Some days he'd intentionally let the mist cool his long and lanky 6'4" frame as the sprinklers overshot into the streets causing steam to rise from the baking pavement.  The combination of wet streets and cut grass were the sweet smells of summer that reminded him of when he was a kid playing in the city parks of Shoreline on Washington's Puget Sound north of Seattle.  His mind often wandered in the runner’s euphoria as he ran, and today he was remembering all the good times.  It was a time of quiet, peace, and escape.

Things were going well for Michael James; he had a full scholarship, a beautiful wife and the entire summer with only one class.  Physics.

CENTRAL WASHINGTON State College was not what you would expect to see in a country setting. This was a ranching town with simple living and politically conservative folks totaling a full-time population of 15,258.  The campus, however did a fine job of blending into the surroundings of Ellensburg as its park-like setting merged gracefully with beautifully manicured and sprawling lawns flaunting row upon row of ancient oak trees. At the same time the college gave the impression of an ivy league school with large gothic buildings that presented huge, Greek-like columns nearly three stories tall. The ivy vines twisted their green foliage, entwining sideways and upward covering almost every square inch of the old, but well-kept brick halls.  Once inside the educational institution much of the architecture supported marble inlaid floors and spectacular gothic stairwells looking like something from an Errol Flynn movie. The teaching staff enjoyed large offices with floor to ceiling bookshelves and arched doorways.

There was also a mixture of modern buildings located deeper into the campus that included Corson Hall which housed the art facilities that Claire frequented which was laid out on the extreme north end of campus. Furthest away from Main Street was the most modern structure of all; the athletic sports complex and stadium. This is where the students, their parents, and the local public would gather together most Fall Saturday nights. Breaking down any age, culture or otherwise discriminating barriers, they would scream like wild banshees while sharing the infamous ‘Wildcat Chili Dog’; cheering for their football team to slaughter those who dared challenge E-burg’s gridiron pride on their home turf.

Even though Michael’s and Claire’s college pursuits were quite different, with Claire’s art career ambitions and Michael’s love of studying thermal geology, both enjoyed physical sports and competition. Riding bikes cross country, especially through the flat and arid terrain surrounding Ellensburg, was one of their favorite and economical things to do together.

The weather in central and eastern Washington was perfect year-round for all sorts of outdoor recreational activities. The hot summers and cold winters brought dramatic seasonal changes.  The James’ may be caught complaining about the climate for conversation’s sake but deep inside both loved the sunshine in the spring and summer, and the snow with its bitter, sub-freezing cold in winter. Best of all was when the Fall season would display its brilliant seasonal reds, deep oranges, and burning yellows in the changing maple and elm tree leaves.

When college starts in late September, bringing the students back like migrating geese, the town erupts into a festive chaos. September delivers the excitement of students settling into apartments and dorms and the frenzy of registration for classes. Then, just as things start to settle down, the town fills up, bursting at the seams with every motel and spare room booked for the weekend to support the thousands that come to witness the annual Ellensburg State Rodeo and County Fair.

This afternoon, well after his early morning workout, Michael and Claire planned a long bike ride east of town.  They enjoyed heading toward the Columbia River where many different geological formations of basalt and reddish igneous rocks lay deposited in stratified layers from the many volcanoes still active in the surrounding Cascade Mountains. Some of the professors that Michael had for his geology classes thought that it was just a matter of time, perhaps in this decade, that either Mt. Rainier or Mt. Baker would erupt just like Mt. St. Helens did last year. Tons of ash deposits still remained from St. Helens that only now were beginning to be overgrown with sage and wild grass.

Claire could’ve been a model with her lean, athletic figure. She had features that other women would die for and men noticed.  Her high cheek bones, deep green eyes, dark auburn hair, and long legs set her apart from most of the other co-eds on campus.  Today she was in her favorite tan cargo shorts and sleeveless ‘Central Wildcats’ t-shirt as they rode out past the city limits toward their destination.  She was breath-taking.

Michael and Claire always tried to push themselves and today, in the exhausting furnace-like heat, they would try to reach the small city of Vantage overlooking the Columbia River, and Ginkgo Petrified State Forest. With only occasional stops to squeeze out a cool liquid full of electrolytes from their water bottles which were attached to the inside rail of their bicycles, they pressed along so they would be in time to enjoy a late afternoon lunch under the shade trees at the State Park visitor center.

After more than two hours of cycling and suffering the reflected heat off the asphalt on the back county roads, they both collapsed and stretched out on the cool, low cut grass next to the parking lot full of out-of-state cars.  The steady sound of a water sprinkler not far away lulled them into an almost trance-like state. Claire begrudgingly shook the temptation to rest forever under the rustling leaves of the tree canopy that protected them from the blazing sun. She stretched then sat up.  A light perpetual breeze blew the dry air along the cliffs overlooking the gorge created by the Columbia River below, and although the wind felt like the dry heat from a hair dryer it offered a soothing relief. Claire opened the small pack taken from the rear travel latch on her bike and produced a picnic with lots of cool water.

They rested, ate the small lunch, and reflected on the possibilities of finding fossils and maybe petrified wood in the nearby desert hills outside the park boundaries as an additional reward for their efforts. The possibility of the occasional rattlesnake, as advertised on the bright yellow caution signs scattered about the visitor center, added to the whole adventure.

After the all-to short refreshing break, they cycled another three-quarters of a mile north of the State Park.

What's that? Claire said in a surprised tone. She was not the bravest person when it came to lifting rocks in the desert to collect fossils. She had once seen a huge black tarantula lurking around rocks that she had just overturned. She felt a bit nervous and jumpy knowing that snakes frequented this area.

Ah, it's just a lizard, Michael said without looking up, What color is it?

It wasn't a lizard! I thought I heard a rattle or something.  I think I'll look at these rocks over here.  A grasshopper flew by making its clicking noise.  Claire stood up, strolled over to some boulders and sat down in the shade of the only tree around.  She noticed how dusty she was.  We better take a drink Michael, she said.

Michael was intent on his new find.  Claire’s voice stayed in the air, not registering.  He laid the small pile of fossils that he had unearthed aside.  They appeared to be of some type of fern, one even took on the shape of some crustacean, a sea creature, but the fossils didn't compare to what he was unearthing.  He laid down his broad camping style hand-shovel and began digging with a pointed dry stick that kept snapping. Darn it, he thought, this ground is like hardened cement.

Something metallic was buried in the arid, gritty ground.

A large spider slowly began to crawl past the hole he was working in, apparently intent on claiming it for a new home. As he turned to call Claire he jumped, startled, Geeze, Claire don't sneak up on me like that.

I was only bringing you some Gatorade, she snapped, what's the matter with you?

She was getting mad.  The combination of heat, dust, bugs, exhaustion and the idea that most other couples spent their days relaxing or doing things with friends was adding to her frustration, and then suddenly she was being yelled at for offering her husband a cool drink.  She wanted to get away from this never-ending heat. It was beginning to work against her and she found herself fantasizing for a minute about taking a long drive to the ocean, maybe Cape Flattery, for a romantic weekend in an old beach cabin.

She came back to reality when Michael offered, Hey, I'm sorry CJ, I wasn't paying attention. But come here and look at this. Please? Something's buried here.  Seeing that his quick apology didn't carry much weight, he added, Oh yeah, thanks, a drink sounds great. It sure is hot. A short pause, then looking at her he said, I think you got some color today, making another desperate attempt to get back in her good graces.

She felt flattered for an instant and thought about glancing at her long bare legs but quickly said, Michael, it’s just dust, dirt, and sweat.  I couldn't possibly look good out here.  She hoped he'd dispute her but he became transfixed on digging for whatever it was that competed for her attention.

A few more inches of dirt came out of the hole and then he could make out its shape, Claire look at this!  Check this out! It’s a ... gun I think, or something! He was digging now with his fingers and finally pulled the object out from its grave.  The spider came out too and fell to the ground, scrambling quickly under the nearest rock.

Wow! Take a look at this.  He stood up holding the gun out, upside-down, spellbound by the find.  He asked Claire to pour some water over the gun.

She poured the precious cool liquid over the dirt encrusted pistol.  Dirt and small flakes of rust broke free, hitting the ground and mixing with the soil in little pools of red mud.

They looked at the gun in amazement.  It was as if they uncovered King Tut's tomb and now held a rare treasure in their hands.  Claire could see some markings beginning to appear. What’s that? she asked, Can you read it? It looks like some writing on the barrel.  Do you think it's worth any money? asking now getting somewhat excited. 

I don't know, but it’s old, that's for sure.  He now could make out and read the words on top of the barrel: ALAMO-RANGER.

Can I see it? she asked as she moved to take it.  He handed it to her as if it was solid gold and said, Look, something on the side.  There's more writing. 

She dipped her finger into some Gatorade and with slow, fragile movements, she rubbed the side of the gun, exposing more markings that she read aloud: ‘.38 SPECIAL S & W CTGS, MADE IN SPAIN’. Suddenly frightened, she said, What if it’s loaded! Let’s be careful. Point it down.

He took the pistol with the gentleness of holding a newborn baby, and under further examination proclaimed, Ah, made in Spain, he said discouraged. I was hoping it might have been an old American Colt or something. I wonder if S & W could be Smith & Wesson? His mind began thinking of the old west, train robberies and gunfights as he checked the empty chamber for bullets.