Whitefeather

By Thomas Alan Ebelt

Sam Begay had left his job as a Navajo Law and Order officer with no regrets. He had just closed the biggest case to ever hit the reservation, and what did it get him; a reprimand for his stubborn tenacity and willingness to step on a few toes. Now that he had quit, he was going to finish the job as a civilian. How had a mythical creature from tribal legends come to life to stalk the reservation in the first place? When reports of brutal killings came in again, regardless of the danger, he knew he had to stop the menace for good. His only clue; a photograph of a lava rock with an unusual petroglyph etched on the surface. Was it a representation of a costumed, ceremonial dancer, or a warning about an ancient horror with an insatiable hunger for human flesh?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Aug 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483454009

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EBELT

Copyright © 2016 Thomas Alan Ebelt.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5401-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5400-9 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 07/08/2016

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

This book is dedicated to my grandfather, Alfred Ebelt; a poet and a quiet man of many visions.

"The wistful whisper of wind-worried leaves

And muted drumming of steady rain,

The stirring branches insistent against the eaves –

And those who are gone are here again."

—from The old and lonely sounds by Alfred Ebelt

Novels by Thomas Alan Ebelt

Blacksparrow

Whitefeather

PROLOGUE

1255 AD

The southern Colorado Plateau, northeastern New Mexico

The August sun beat down like a heavy weight on the shale walls of the five-story pueblo standing against the cliffs of Chaco Canyon. The dry years were becoming more and more frequent, and the surrounding region experienced another year of severe drought. The inhabitants of the Chaco Valley had no name other than the People. The nomadic Navajo who would inherit this land long after they were gone, would call them Anasazi—the ancient ones.

This summer, the hottest in recent memory, had quickly taken away the life-giving waters used for irrigation. The parched fields would only provide a small portion of the food the population needed to survive.

Dust rose in the oppressive heat as the natives went about their work and play. Men tended their meager crops while the women sat in groups, and with callused, arthritic hands, ground corn and other seeds on their stone mutate. Theirs was a hard life of endless days preparing food. Usually, they chattered among themselves to stave off the boredom, but now, they grumbled that the spirits had forsaken them. Their children often went to sleep with empty bellies.

For many months, hunters had returned from their search for deer and rabbit with little to show for their efforts. Indeed, the entire civilization stood at a very precarious point. There was talk of moving far southward to the lands of the stonecutters. The tribes there had plenty to eat; their Gods were much stronger.

The people were aware that the moon had gone through a full cycle since an earthquake shook the region, and they knew it would soon bring the beast into their world. This was not the first time it had happened—the elders knew what to do. In their ceremonies, they counted the days it took for the creature to journey from the underworld to the surface. The shaman pronounced that today was that day.

A tall warrior stepped from the shadows of the entryway into the full blast of the sun. Everyone knew him as Bone Crusher. His bare, muscled chest and thick, corded arms told of how he had earned his name. For all of his fearsome countenance, the man was a loved and honored protector of the city.

This was the third time in his twenty-seven years he had been called to fight the spirit monster. It was his place to lead the chosen warriors on their quest to kill the beast.

Bone Crusher gazed down the Chaco valley to the next walled village and thought of Swift Raven, the one selected to represent his people. The warriors would come together today at the holy center of their culture. They would meet in the Great Kiva and receive the blessings of the shaman. After the sacred ceremony, they would take their enchanted weapons and go out to kill the beast.

Groups of silent, fearful people looked on as the warriors arrived and made their way across the inner compound. There were seven in all; two with experience, and the others ready to prove they were worthy.

The afternoon passed slowly outside the Great Kiva. When the men finally emerged, they wore ceremonial feathers. People spoke their names in hushed voices as they watched them walk across the plaza: Bone Crusher, Swift Raven, Bird Claw, Stalking Wolf, Strong Antler, Big Fist, and Standing Bear.

The warriors left the walled city and began to walk across the dry Chaco Wash, south toward two distant mesas. The creature always came from that direction; it would be where the men would make their stand and await its arrival.

Bone Crusher knew that their best chance for success was to divide into small groups. Three men would position themselves in the opening between the mesas. The other two teams would go ahead a short distance to the left and right and hide in the rocks a short distance above the valley floor. They would signal the men below when they saw the monster, and would attack from the rear, encircling their dangerous prey.

This technique had worked for Bone Crusher and Swift Raven before. They waited for nightfall, very aware of their exposure, but also confident of their victory. The beast always came at night. It would be larger than a yearling deer and would come stalking the three men in the widely spaced line. Having no fear of the warriors, it would attack with fierce and deadly swiftness.

The men knew they must succeed in killing the creature, for if it were to escape, it would begin to feed upon the people of the villages. It would quickly grow in size and become even more difficult to kill.

As he waited, Bone Crusher thought of the individual strengths of the chosen men. He had hunted and fought alongside Swift Raven before and knew him for his speed and cunning. Bird Claw was unknown to him, though others spoke of his fierceness and bravery. Hidden in the rocks on the left were Stalking Wolf and Strong Antler, both from two of the remote villages. He knew them not, but he saw strength and confidence in their manner. They were runners, and a good choice for their placement. Hidden on the right were Big Fist and Standing Bear, two large men said to be good fighters.

Later, under a black sky, their eyes accustomed to the light of the stars, Bone Crusher saw the signal. He sighted the beast as it came stalking Bird Claw on his right. He motioned to Swift Raven, and the two moved toward the other’s position.

Bird Claw did not see the beast yet, and when he did, he barely had time to defend himself. He whooped and threw his stone-tipped shaft at the animal as it charged. The creature sidestepped the spear, and Bird Claw faced it with his war axe. It came at him with its teeth snapping, sounding like two rocks hitting each other. He clubbed the beast aside, staggered back with a badly slashed leg, and fell to the ground.

Bone Crusher and Swift Raven ran to his aid. They both threw their spears at the feathered creature as it attacked again; one shaft pierced its leg while the other clipped its neck. Momentum carried it to the downed man, snapping hungrily at his arms and face. The two warriors brought their clubs to bear and dashed in to beat the animal away from their bleeding comrade.

The outlying teams arrived from their positions to dispatch the fiend with their spears. It did not die easily, lashing about in anger until the war clubs and spears silenced it.

Bird Claw lay dying with blood spurting from a long gash on his neck. Swift Raven crouched beside him and sang the song of victory as the other men retrieved their spears. When they returned to the injured man, he lay still, and his heart no longer pumped blood from his wounds.

Swift Raven looked to the others with sadness. He handed his spear to another warrior, and as he turned to lift the body, another fearsome beast bowled him over and beheaded him.

The warriors reacted too late and found themselves in the thick of battle with a second, much larger creature. It was faster than the first. Three warriors threw their spears, missing their target as the others jabbed at the snapping fiend with their obsidian-tipped shafts. The braves had little time to consider how strange it was for more than one animal to appear.

The creature tore Stalking Wolf’s leg off before it turned its attention to Strong Antler, whose spear had deeply pierced its feathered body. It raked its knife-like talons across the warrior’s painted torso, disemboweling him.

Standing Bear and Bone Crusher moved in to bury their own spears into the beast’s side, knocking it over and pinning it to the ground. With teeth snapping and claws slashing, it tore away the skin of both men’s legs until Big Fist ran up with his heavy war club and brained it, crushing its long, evil-looking skull.

The injured survivors; Bone Crusher, Big Fist, and Standing Bear, attended to Stalking Wolf who bled profusely from the ragged stump of his right leg. They bound it to stanch the flow, and gathered brush to make a fire. The men cauterized and re-wrapped his leg before attending to their own wounds.

They dragged the two dead creatures into a small arroyo and buried them, and with daylight still hours away, the three grim warriors carried their dead and helped the severely injured Stalking Wolf back to the settlement.

When news of the battle and its toll reached the villagers, the people cried with sadness and horror. Never before had two creatures entered the valley at the same time. It was the worst of omens. The shaman in each village performed chants and ceremonies to allay the fears of the people, and once again, the elders called the warriors to the Great Kiva.

The recent event indicated a severe imbalance between the two worlds. They told the men that it was necessary to find the place where the demons had crawled up from the underworld. It was something never before attempted in their long, spoken history. Without rain to wash away the tracks, the men hoped to find the opening and bring their world back into harmony by blocking it forever.

The three warriors walked back to the killing field and found the tracks. They followed the signs to a distant, small mesa standing near the taller cliffs of a larger one. The tracks ended at the steep talus slope.

Bone Crusher, Big Fist, and Standing Bear looked for a route that would take them to the weathered rocks high above them. After a long search, they found a faint path.

Once on top, standing Bear located more prints and followed them to a narrow crevice that led into darkness beneath the surface. Bone Crusher tied one end of a woven rope around his waist while the others secured it. He began to crawl into the opening carrying only a knife and a torch.

The sun traveled across the sky as the others waited. Finally, near dusk, the rope tightened and a faint voice called for the others to pull him up. When Bone Crusher reached the surface, he lay on the warm rocks to catch his breath. The two others waited with solemn looks until he spoke.

Brothers, there is a dark place within this mountain with many strange things. I entered a big cavern, and I saw a large, shiny amulet as big as a kiva. It was covered with a strange blanket, and nearby, I found the tracks of the beasts in the dust.

I followed the spoor through a field of bones to another chamber with many more bones. Some were shattered and gnawed. Others crumbled with age when I touched them. I saw the bones of men amongst them, but I could not tell what tribe they were from.

The warriors remained silent as Bone Crusher paused and took a drink of water.

Soon, I heard clicking noises like that of insects. I followed the sound to another room and saw many, red, glowing eyes watching me. They talked in their strange language, and I told them I would leave if they would let me. I am here now.

Standing Bear and Big Fist looked at each other and shivered.

Brothers, I have been to the underworld, and I have found the lair of the beasts. We must close this entrance to our world.

Returning to their village, Bone Crusher told the elders what he had seen and what they had done. After much discussion, the council decided to place a sentry near the covered opening on the mesa. A signal fire would alert the villages of any new danger.

Men returned to the small mesa and placed rocks to fill the crevice. They also built a small shelter nearby. Bone Crusher was the first to stand watch.

As he kept his lonely vigil, he thought of the ancient legends of how the First People came from the underground; how they traveled through three subterranean worlds to reach this fourth world of sunlight. They had destroyed the monsters that had killed many of the People, but the creatures were still here. The battle was not over.

Bone Crusher asked the Great Spirit for wisdom and strength. He pecked designs on the rocks piled around the opening, making the sign of the feathered demon so that all who came after him would know the horror that lurked beneath the surface.

The vigil continued through several generations until the People vanished. The broken, walled cities they left behind gave no evidence of the reason for their departure.

Miles away, the silent images on the rocks gathered dust and told their mute story to the stars.

CHAPTER 1

September 1935

The Navajo Reservation, New Mexico

Sam Begay found himself in a small box canyon, surrounded by sand, sage, and low, twisted shrubs. He had lost his horse and rifle—somehow—somewhere, and his knife, was inexplicably, missing. He had nothing but his bare hands to defend himself.

He stood with his barrel chest heaving and his heartbeat thudding in his throat, watching the narrow opening of the canyon. He held his breath and heard a loud, chuffing noise.

A shadow moved beyond the entrance and soon, a long snout came into view. The narrow, rectangular head that followed was a pale blue with a mane of dark quill feathers standing from its crown. Red eyes glowed inside dark, blue sockets. When the creature saw him, it opened its mouth, showing sharp, yellow teeth. It screamed its rage and lunged at him.

He tried to run, but his legs felt like stone columns. He could barely move. He tried to lift his right foot to kick, but it resisted his desperate effort.

The beast was nearly upon him when his muscles finally responded. He lashed out at the snapping teeth, but his boot seemed to pass through the head of the thing. It halted its charge and hissed as he kicked and kicked again. Each time he felt only slight resistance as he struck the snarling maw.

Sam lashed out in terror until his fist smashed down on something hard. A loud crashing noise woke him, and he lay sweating in the darkness, gulping for air.

From the window, pale moonlight formed an irregular pattern on the tangled sheets of his bed. He sat up and reached a shaky hand to the small table next to him. He found the overturned lamp and righted it. The switch failed to work. He lay back, took a deep breath, and willed his heartbeat to slow down.

This was the third time in two weeks that the same nightmare had come. Each time he had kicked the sheets off his bed, desperately trying to drive the creature away. How could a dream seem so real to cause his unconscious body to react to the danger?

Sleep was beyond him now. He lay with his eyes open until the first blush of dawn showed in his window. He sighed and crawled out of bed. His head swam with questions, but no answers. An uneasy feeling crawled in his stomach.

He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He toweled off, combed his fingers through his coarse, black hair, and stared at his reflected image. The mirror told him he had lost weight. He could see it in the slabs of his cheeks. As he dressed, he noticed his shirt fit less snugly over his thick chest.

He stepped outside on the porch, put on his tan Stetson, and smelled the air as he gazed across the silent compound of the Blacksparrow Mine. High sandstone cliffs encircled the grounds and vacant buildings. The place looked like a ghost town. He shivered and felt as alone and unconnected as the small dust devil whirling across the ground near the airstrip.

He knew hunger would come later, but right now, he felt a need to clear his head. He packed some biscuits and jerky in a sack and filled his canteen with water before walking to the corral. He saddled one of the horses and rode from the gates to let the chilly air and the motion of the horse drive the demons from his mind.

He rode north past the small mesa where Diana Witherspoon, the archeologist, worked at her camp. The land belonged to him now, but he had given her a horse to use, and told her she was free to explore the area as she saw fit.

He remembered her telling him it was where her father had died last summer. Professor Witherspoon had been the head of the Archeology Department at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque at the time, and she said she wanted to follow up on the work he had started here.

Diana, also an early riser, had already left her camp, working her way around the northern side of the mesa where she found a grouping of unusual petroglyphs.

She stepped with the sure-footed confidence of someone used to the outdoors. Her slim frame and soft features hid the muscles of a tomboy and the confidence of someone used to competing with men in her field.

She was watchful for snakes as she walked through the broken rocks, knowing they would seek a place to rest on the flat surfaces where the morning sun would reach them. She jumped when a small rodent dashed across her path and disappeared beyond the dry grass and the shadows.

The kangaroo rat waited until she moved on. It tested the air for any scent of a predator, and climbed the rocks near the cliff wall. It darted into an eroded cleft in the sandstone hidden by a leaning rock. The cleft became a narrow passageway that led deep inside the mesa.

The small creature skittered down the dark, twisting path for several minutes until it emerged into a vast, open area filled with debris. Some of the walls glowed with a pale, green fluorescence.

It stopped, nose whiskers twitching as it detected a faint, unknown scent. It paused and listened to an odd clicking sound somewhere farther ahead. Curiosity drew it closer until the darkness came alive with flashes of light, flickering in random patterns across a wall. When a small hatch slid open, the rat froze. It proved to be its undoing.

The swift jaws of a much larger beast darted out and snapped up the small creature. Strong teeth quickly ground bone and fur into a warm, moist pulp.

Sam felt a mild earth tremor on his ride back from Chaco Canyon. As he approached the small mesa near the Witherspoon camp, he caught a glimpse of someone walking through the desert from the east. He reached for his binoculars, and as the figure came into focus, he recognized the man. It was Val Tannin.

Missing for over a month, Tannin had returned to see his girlfriend. Everyone had thought him dead, except for Diana and Sam. He watched the distant figure for several minutes as the man approached the campsite.

Sam turned and noticed Diana returning from her hike in the opposite direction. He waited for her to reach the camp, and when he saw the couple embrace outside her tent, he smiled, flicked his reins, and rode for home.

He would give them a day to get reacquainted, but tomorrow, he would ride back and have a long talk with Val. He had many nagging questions that weren’t answered in the statements he’d taken after the events of last summer when he was a Federal Indian Officer. Now that Val was back, he hoped to find the answers he still sought.

CHAPTER 2

As Sam rode back through the gates at Blacksparrow, he looked around at the wood and metal structures sprawled across the compound. He breathed a frustrated sigh. How could he put all of this to some useful purpose?

Winter was coming, and he knew he would run out of money before long. He could sell some of the machinery and vehicles, but the cars and trucks were old and heavily used. Even if he sold everything, the money would barely get him through the winter. He had to think of something else. Maybe old Jake at the Trading Post would have some ideas.

He thought about this for a few moments, and then started up an old Chevrolet sedan and drove away.

When he parked in front of the low, adobe building of the Thoreau Trading Post, his car was the only vehicle in the lot. The bell jingled above the screen door as he walked in, and he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

Familiar wooden shelves lined the walls from the plank floor to the low ceiling, sagging under the weight of clothing, boots, and all kinds of canned foodstuffs. Lanterns, ladles, and almost anything else you could imagine, hung from the heavy wooden beams supporting the roof. As his boots scuffed along the worn flooring, he noticed a thin layer of dust covering everything. It was good to know that some things never changed.

Hey Jake, he called as he approached the counter.

A raspy voice answered from behind the curtained doorway of the apartment section in the back where Jake lived. Hold your horses out there. Is that you Sam? I’ll be out in a second.

It was a two-minute second before the old, Anglo proprietor brushed the curtain aside and came out. Sam watched him as he moved in his familiar, shuffling walk. The man had to be in his mid-seventies, and though he still had his big frame, his shirt covered his bony shoulders like a sagging tent. He wore his familiar threadbare clothes—his pants held up with suspenders and a cracked, leather belt.

Jake’s hands were unusually large and gnarled. He gripped his cane with big-knuckled fingers, smiled at Sam through some broken and missing teeth, and said, What’s on your mind today?

Sam glanced at the man’s pale, blue eyes and knew they were still sharp enough to spot a light-fingered shopper from across the room.

What’s the matter, Jake, a little slow getting up today?

Nah, I ain’t slow, I just had to go back and put on a different pair of trousers, is all.

Sam looked at the rumpled clothes and considered the man’s age and health. Are you having…bathroom problems?

Jake glared at Sam, No dammit, for your information I didn’t crap my pants, but I did split ‘em wide open when I bent over to pick up a penny I dropped from the till.

So, you’ve turned into a fussy dresser? His expression showed exaggerated interest. I’ve never known you to be picky about torn pants before, especially when they weren’t even dirty.

"Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just that I was worried about the location and severity of the tear. You know how the old women are that come in here; pretty soon one of them would notice, and then she’d come up and goose me when I wasn’t looking. Then I probably would crap my pants, and I’d have to go change them anyway. It’s just easier this way, that’s all."

Sam nodded sagely. Good thinking.

Well, are you buying today, or did you come all this way just to see what I was wearing?

Buying, but I’m looking for some conversation first, you old mule.

Good, ‘cause I’m all ears—he, he, he.

He’d known Jake for almost as long as he had been in law enforcement—twenty years when he quit. He remembered how they didn’t get along at first, and how they butted heads every time they saw each other. Eventually, they both realized that they looked forward to their verbal sparring matches and decided to become friends instead.

Jake, you know I took ownership of the old mine north of here.

It isn’t a secret, Jake said, wiping the counter with his sleeve.

It’s a big place, and I’d like to find something to do with it besides roll around like a BB in a shoe box. I just can’t think of anything worthwhile, and it’s taking all my money just to keep the heat and electricity going.

A man doesn’t need electricity, Sam. Any Indian should know that.

Yeah I know, but I’d like to think of something to do with the place. It’s a little out of the way, but it’s a shame not to use the buildings and all that space for something good.

Are you thinking about some way the tribe could benefit from it?

Yeah, something that would help the people around here.

"That’s easy; just make some jobs, that’s what everybody needs. Then they’ll all have enough money to come shopping here as paying customers. After a while, I’ll have enough money to move to Mexico and live on a beach somewhere and have a pretty girl bring me a cold drink when I want one. Jake paused for a moment. Nah, on second thought, forget about the jobs. Just give me the money and bypass the middle man—less hassle for you and more convenient for me."

Sam kept a straight face. Jake, your logic amazes me; that’s why I come here to talk with you. It’s not just the ambiance; it’s the chance to learn from the master how to think bigger and more clearly.

The bell on the screen door jingled as some customers came in. Jake rolled his eyes and straightened up behind the counter while Sam went to pick up some things he needed. The store was getting busier. Back at the counter, Sam paid and said goodbye to his cantankerous friend.

On his way home, he realized he still didn’t have any good ideas. Old Jake was right though, everybody sure needed jobs around here. That guy, Roosevelt back in Washington said he was doing his best to help folks out, but it sure didn’t seem like much of the benefits ever made it to the reservation.

CHAPTER 3

Early the next morning, Sam had a quick cup of coffee before he saddled two horses and rode out from Blacksparrow. He headed north toward the small mesa as a cool breeze brought the scent of dry creosote and sage. Along the way, high clouds mottled the landscape with amorphous shadows and flickers whipped past in swift, ragged flocks.

He didn’t know why, but he felt very alive today; satisfied with his decision to leave law enforcement. The weight of responsibility was gone from his shoulders. His stubborn mind, however, refused to rest until he tied together the last threads of the incredible events of last summer.

It had been the biggest case ever to hit the Navajo Reservation, and his mind still picked at the scabs of the half-healed wounds to his pride. In spite of his success in uncovering a nest of Nazi spies who had enslaved scores of natives to work in their uranium mine at Blacksparrow, the new FBI Station Chief in Albuquerque had discredited him.

It had been the last straw. Tired of the burden of having to endure the not-so subtle discrimination of his FBI counterparts, he had quit. Now he was free to do what he wanted, with no one meddling in his business.

He decided to make it his business to finish his investigation into the loose ends of the case. There were several, and this morning he was on his way to speak to a man he was sure could provide answers to many of them.

His jeans and western shirt felt comfortable, and he didn’t miss the pressed uniforms he used to wear. He kept his tan Stetson though, and he made sure his black cowboy boots still had a shiny gloss.

Sam was a big man with a traditional Navajo build: a stocky torso, narrow hips, and a flat ass. Well, the women never seemed to mind. At forty years old, he still considered himself tough enough to handle most anything that came his way.

His eyes scanned the horizon behind dark sunglasses as he rode with the second horse to the edge of the Witherspoon camp. He dismounted and tied the animals to a small juniper.

He liked Val Tannin. The man had a quick smile, and he had certainly caught the eye of the Witherspoon girl. He seemed capable enough. His help on the case had been invaluable, but when the end came, he had stolen aboard a train and vanished. Some thought he had run away or was dead. Others thought he had been part of the spy ring. Sam knew better. He was a good judge of character, and after working with the man, he was willing to vouch for him. However, Val hadn’t come back until now, and some of the loose ends led to him.

Knowing how hard Diana had taken Val’s disappearance, he had left the couple alone to sort out their feelings yesterday. Today was another day, and he wanted answers.

Hello the camp. It was after 9:00 a.m., but there was no sign of either of them. A few moments went by, and then the wall of the tent jiggled and Diana pushed her head through the flap. She stepped into the sunlight blinking and tucking in her shirt.

She lifted a hand to shade her eyes and said, Sam is that you?

Yes it’s me, and you can tell that ghost of a boyfriend of yours that I’m not leaving until I have a long talk with him.

Diana glanced back at the tent, and Sam’s eyes lingered on her slim shape and ruffled, black hair. It made him wish he were a younger man. Val came out of the tent and stretched his arms. He smiled at her and squinted in the sunlight at Sam, attempting to look as innocent as he could.

Sam Begay, you sure don’t miss a thing. I hear you left the Indian Police. He walked up and stuck out his hand.

Sam noticed how his athletic build and tawny features offset his unassuming demeanor and soft voice. He eyed the hand before reaching out and shaking it with a limp grip. He still struggled with his native upbringing and felt uncomfortable indulging in this white man’s custom.

Yes I quit, but I’m afraid it’s old news. Glad to see you’re still alive.

Yeah thanks, good to see you too. Val glanced at Diana who gave him a stern look. I guess everybody thought I was dead. Why don’t you have a seat with us? The coffee should still be warm, and I guess it’s time we had that long talk you’ve been wanting.

Diana poured coffee while Val brought out another folding chair.

Sam said to Diana, How is your work going?

Pretty well actually, her smile faded as her voice took on a professional tone. I’ve been mapping the locations of petroglyphs and other artifacts I’ve found around here. This small mesa is too far away from Chaco Canyon to have been part of their settlement, but it appears that the Pueblo Indians visited this place regularly. I wish I had my dad’s old journal; he used to spend quite a lot of time out here, and he kept detailed notes before he died.

She stopped abruptly and found herself choking up as she thought of how he had fallen to his death from the top of the mesa.

Val put his hand on her shoulder. He was a good man. I didn’t know him long, but I liked him. I think he found something he thought was very important about this mesa. I remember seeing him constantly writing in his journal. Unfortunately, the last time I saw the book; it was in Carl Walker’s hands.

And Carl Walker turned out to be a Nazi spy, Sam said as he sat down. We never did find him, and I’m still working unofficially on the loose ends of the case. I think you might have some information I need.

Val’s face was open and relaxed. Okay, if you have questions, I’ll do my best to answer them.

Sam leveled his gaze, Why don’t you start when you jumped on the train. Then tell me what took you so long to make your way back here.

Val grimaced and glanced at Diana. Things didn’t work out as well as I planned. I hid on the train, but the men I followed caught me and threw me off somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I was found unconscious and spent a month in a hospital in Texas before I could move around enough to make my way back here.

You could have called or written, Diana said, still angry, and apparently unsatisfied with his story.

Val sighed. He knew he would be apologizing to her for many months to come. Yesterday, Diana told me what happened after I left. She said a government man came and gave you ownership of the Blacksparrow Mine.

Yes, that’s right, Sam said, but I’m asking the questions, remember?

Val raised his hands in mock surrender. Okay sorry. What else do you want to know?

You showed up here out of thin air last summer with an unusual interest in this small mesa. Why?

Val dragged a hand through his sandy hair and took a deep breath.

Very well, but let me start by telling you both a story that might be a little hard to believe. It’s about a small boy who had unusual dreams. He paused and looked at Diana. My parents were quite surprised when I began telling them stories about a strange group of people. They asked me where I got such an imagination, and I told them that I saw the stories in my dreams.

Val leaned forward in his chair. I’ll get to the point; my dreams, or rather, my memories, as I call them now, are real. It’s as if the lives of an ancient group of people are stored in my head. I don’t know how they got there, and I don’t know a whole lot, but the memories do go back a very, very, long time.

Sam said, How is such a thing possible?

That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out all my life. At one time, I thought I might be seeing into the future, but now I know that what I see is from a distant past. Not just a few hundred years, but thousands and thousands of years.

Kids have wild imaginations, Diana said. Is it so different from that?

"My parents thought so. They took me to see some doctors who told them I might have a brain disorder. They were wrong. Over the years, I’ve come to understand that what I have is a gift of sorts. I can go to a place in my mind