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  TREASURE

  OF THE

  ANASAZI

  A Jack Trader Adventure

  MICHAEL R. WATSON

  Published by Michael R. Watson

  Copyright © Michael R. Watson, 2012

  Cover design by LLPix Photography, Laura Wright LaRoche - Designer

  e-book formatting by Guido Henkel

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Dedication

  To my wife, Sandra, who encourages and supports my writing, which of course includes proofreading and listening to story ideas, even the crazy ones.

  Acknowledgements

  I’d also like to thank my family and friends who volunteered to be beta readers throughout the process. A special thanks to Susie Nightingale, the first beta reader, who proofread and offered valuable advice. And to my daughter, Candace, for helping with formatting, which I would still be attempting to do if left on my own.

  Chapter One

  Mesa Verde Park, Friday, May 1, 1953, 9:00 p.m.

  Samantha Baker, assistant to the Ranger, climbed to the top of the fire lookout at Park Point Overlook. It was an excellent vantage point for an overview of the park property. A flicker of light caught her attention on the mesa near the Restricted Area, approximately four miles to the East. She watched as several seconds passed. She saw the light again. No one should still be in the park, especially there. Sam climbed down and rushed to the radio to call Emitt Barnes, the park ranger, at the office/visitor center. There was no answer, only static. Sam hurriedly drove the two and a half miles back to the office.

  * * *

  Emitt waited anxiously for Samantha to return from her rounds. It was the same routine she performed every evening before they locked the gate and headed home. Tonight, it was taking longer than usual. He paced in front of the office counter, glancing out the front window on each pass.

  Becoming concerned, he went to the radio to give her a call. He depressed the mike key just as she came through the door.

  “Did you have problems?” he asked, concerned. “You were gone so long I was just about to give you a call.”

  “I tried to radio in, but all I could get was static, and we do have a problem. I was just at Park Point and saw lights out near the Restricted Area. I couldn’t really tell from that distance, but I think they were headlights. Would you go with me to check it out? “

  “I’ve got a better idea. I’ll check it out and you go on home. You’ve already been here longer than you should. It’s probably just another visitor stuck off-road.”

  She started to object, but saw a familiar determined look in his eyes and knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue.

  “Now, get out of here,” he said with a wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She loved it when he looked after her, even though she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. A hint of a smile appeared.

  “Sure, Emitt,” said Sam, “I’ll lock up and go, but I’ll change out the batteries in my radio and leave it on…just in case. If you need me, I want you to give me a call. Promise?”

  “What could go wrong?” he asked as he grabbed the Willys keys off the wall hook.

  Samantha Baker was the daughter he would have liked to have had, if he and his wife, Barbara, had been blessed with children. She had been working with Emitt for ten years now and they had become very close, like family. He got a kick out of how she acted like a mother hen, even though she was thirty years his junior at 32. Eat this, don’t eat that, drink plenty of water. It made him smile to think about it.

  Emitt slid behind the wheel of the park jeep and drove straight for the eastern trail. One that he had driven every day for the last twenty years. The winding trail followed the edge of the mesa, passing over the cliff-dwelling sites in the shady sandstone overhangs, past the pinion pines, junipers, and pithouses. The air was clean and refreshing, lightly scented by the surrounding woods. The area had been appropriately named Mesa Verde, meaning “green table” in Spanish, an oasis rising above the surrounding arid countryside.

  Not far from the park office, Emitt turned on the jeep’s headlights. The sun had already set below the horizon with the remaining light filtering through the outstretched fingers of a small cloud bank, creating a panorama of brilliant colors. It was obvious why so many artists came to this part of the world in an attempt to capture views like this one on canvas and film. Each sunset was its own distinct and spectacular show.

  Normally, he enjoyed a nice, relaxing drive through the park, but tonight he drove with purpose, pushing the jeep to the Restricted Area. Fifteen minutes later, near the trails end, Emitt saw a flicker of two lights, side by side. Headlights, just as Sam had thought, straight ahead, near to if not in the Restricted Area.

  “Oh, great,” he said out loud. As expected, it appeared another visitor had driven off the designated road and became stuck in the sandy soil. The lights disappeared. Emitt stopped the jeep, headlights facing where he had last seen the light. With his binoculars and the aid of the dim moonlight, he attempted to see the vehicle. He saw the lights flicker on again, but couldn’t make out the vehicle. It occurred to him that maybe the vehicle wasn’t stuck at all. The irregular flicker could be from the vehicle driving along the rough terrain, the headlights intermittently popping over the sandy ridges. So, if they weren’t stuck, what were these people up to? Perhaps they were lost.

  If it had been daylight, Emitt would have risked driving toward it in his four-wheeler, but in the dark the terrain was just too dangerous and unpredictable. The surface could change quickly from wind or water erosion, burrowing animals, or even clusters of plant growth. Obviously, these people didn’t share his concern. Turning off the engine and headlights, he grabbed his flashlight out of the glove box and stepped out of the jeep. Already tired from putting in a full day, he drew in a deep breath and blew it back out as he turned on the flashlight and began the walk toward where he had last seen the flicker of light.

  Emitt, as a rule, didn’t carry a sidearm, but he did have a Winchester 30/30 in the rack over the back window, just in case. He reached for it, had second thoughts and placed it back in the rack. Since becoming the park ranger, the only times he had used the rifle in the park were to scare away coyote or put injured animals out of their misery. Not once had he been forced to use it on another human being, even as a threat. He was a smart man, not the school-educated type, but the common-sense type. He knew how to deal with people and how to prevent a situation from escalating out of control.

  It was difficult to determine exactly how far away the headlights had been, maybe two hundred yards. He was surprised anyone had driven out that far. It wasn’t the first time visitors to the park had gone off-trail on their own. First, if they needed help, he’d try to help them out and if they were just messing around, he’d deal with that too. It could be a long night. He could hear the fluctuating roar of an engine ahead in the darkness.

  Picking his steps across the sandy surface was awkward and slow-going even with the aid of a flashlight. At night the surface was just as irregular and hazardous on foot as it was by jeep. The clusters of prickly-pear cactus were a special concern. They were everywhere. He cautiously moved forward as he watched the ground for sure footing, with an occasional gla
nce up at the silhouettes of landmarks along the horizon to make sure he was still headed in the right direction. Approximately one hundred feet from the jeep, he felt a sharp, searing pain in his left shoulder, spinning him around as he fell to the ground. He heard the single shot, a split-second after being hit. Emitt grabbed his shoulder as he lay on the ground, in shock and dazed. A sharp, burning pain shot through his body as he touched the wounded area. He could feel the thick, wet, sticky blood flowing from the wound. A touch of panic began to creep over him.

  The sounds of locust, crickets, and even the random howl of the coyote had vanished, interrupted by the sound of the shot. The silence was unsettling, reminding him how alone he was, adding to his fear. He laid motionless, eyes closed, for just a few moments. His senses began to return as the fog in his mind lifted. A sharp, strong pain shot through his body as he attempted to sit up. Damn hunters, he thought, then corrected himself to or rather, damn poachers. He knew they came onto the property from time to time for animal hides, especially from the plentiful coyote population. It was a given. Being a protected area, the numbers of deer, elk, black bear, bobcats, and even mountain lions were also higher than on surrounding areas.

  Emitt’s mind began to drift to somber thoughts. If he didn’t get help, and soon, he knew he might not see the sun rise again. He’d had a full life and had shared it with a good woman. There were no regrets, except that he may never see her again. There was no reason for him to worry about her. She was a strong woman, she’d be fine. They hadn’t had any children, so there wouldn’t be anyone to pass along his legacy. Legacy? He chuckled. The pain shot through his entire body, bringing him back to reality. “What are you doing, you idiot?” he asked aloud. “You’re not going out like this. Quit feeling sorry for yourself and get up and get some help.”

  He had to get back to the jeep, to the radio. He was alone. He would have to do it on his own. He could do it. He had to do it. Where was his flashlight? It should have still been on, but it was nowhere to be seen. He looked and felt around nearby as best as he could. He grimaced and jerked back as his right hand came down on a cactus. The flashlight must have flown from his hand as he went to the ground. He didn’t have much choice now, he’d just have to suck it up and make do without it. He lay still for another moment, trying not to move, it seemed to help minimize the pain somewhat. He forced himself onto his side, then onto his stomach, pulling one knee underneath him. With his good arm he was able to push himself up into a kneeling position.

  A wave of dizziness and nausea flowed over him. He remained motionless until it had passed. As his senses came back, he forced himself to a standing position. With another wave of dizziness, he felt his knees weaken and wobble as he began to fall back to the ground. Emitt spread his arms out to maintain his balance and shook his head as he fought to stay upright. With his good arm he unbuttoned his shirt and gently placed his injured arm inside the makeshift sling. He looked around to locate the jeep and get his bearings. It was much darker now, but he could still make out the silhouette of the jeep’s roofline against the lighter horizon. Slowly, he stumbled toward it, carefully picking his way across the dark ground. All he needed now was to fall onto a cactus.

  Finally, Emitt reached the jeep, sitting on the front bumper, leaning his back against the grill. He didn’t know how bad the wound was except that he’d already lost a lot of blood. Thinking about ‘how bad it was’ brought a weak grin to his face. Being shot anywhere was bad no matter how you looked at it. He pulled himself along the side of the Willys jeep pickup, opened the door, and with a great deal of painful effort slid behind the wheel. With eyes closed, he leaned his head back, accidentally tapping the butt of the rifle in the rack. It wouldn’t have done any good if he had taken it, except maybe to use as a cane. Emitt held his breath, leaned forward, and reached across the seat for the radio. Sam had said she would leave hers on. He hoped she had remembered as he keyed the mike.

  “Sam… Sam… come in, Sam.”

  Beginning to feel nauseated and light-headed again, he rested his head back against the gun rack and closed his eyes. Now the pain wasn’t limited to just his shoulder. With every movement, a sharp pain shot through his entire body. Although he was on the verge of passing out, he was lucid enough to know he had to reach help, or he may not wake up. He didn’t want to think any more about it. Forcing his eyes open, he keyed the mike again.

  “Sam… please come in, Sam.”

  Chapter Two

  Monday, June 1st, Mesa Verde Park.

  I caught a glimpse of movement in the brush off to my right. I stopped my work and focused my attention on the area. There it was again. I saw a dark shadow through the brush. From its overall size it may have been a coyote or something slightly larger. Then it occurred to me, from its stance, it may be a person, a small person, but there was too much brush to see clearly. It took off, running away from me, on two legs. The dark image dodged back and forth through the brush, moving away from me. I had thought I was alone. Out here, I should have been. If it was a person, why would someone be out here in the middle of nowhere and why would they be watching me? Curiosity got the best of me as I hastily climbed down to the canyon floor and ran toward where I had last seen the figure in an attempt to see who it was. I could hear the sound of scraping and twigs breaking as it forced its way between the juniper and scrub oak. The sounds were getting louder. I was beginning to close the gap. A sharp pain shot through my left arm as I ran too close to one of the stiff, dry branches. I jerked my shirt free, briefly glancing at the gaping hole in my torn shirt sleeve and the long red scratch across by bicep, just breaking the skin, droplets of blood rising to the surface. At this moment I questioned whether I should give up and go back. Then I caught another glimpse of my prey as he passed through a clearing. It was a small Indian boy. The only clothing he had on was a loincloth of what I presumed was some sort of animal skin. He turned to see if I was still following, smiling as he continued to run away, obviously enjoying himself at my expense.

  I was getting tired and out of breath, my heart pounding in my chest and my sides aching. The chase was even more difficult over the sandy soil. The only sound I could hear was my own heavy breathing. Evidently, I wasn’t in as good of shape as I thought I was. This would have been a good time to have had Rudy, my best friend, with me. He was in much better shape and he could do the chasing. I came up on a sign hanging on a barbed wire fence which read ‘Mesa Verde Restricted Area – No Trespassing.’

  I stopped. The boy was just on the other side, taunting me. “Hey, boy. Come back! I don’t want to hurt you,” I yelled, between gasps for air. With my hands on my knees I drew in and exhaled several deep breaths. I stood up straight and scanned the area in front of me, but I couldn’t hear or see the boy. I knew I shouldn’t pursue any further, but no one should be out here, especially not a small boy, alone or not. It was no place to be stranded. This area had been set aside by the Park Service to keep it pristine, and no one was allowed inside its boundaries for any reason. I was no exception. I noted the footprints where the boy had crossed the fence. They appeared to have been made by a boy or small man, definitely smaller than my size elevens.

  I couldn’t leave without knowing whether or not the boy was all right. If someone was in trouble and needed my help, I had to try. Emitt was a friend. Surely, he would understand why I crossed over. Grabbing one of the fence posts and using the wire strands like a ladder, I climbed up to the top and jumped over to the other side. I followed the footprints for maybe a half-mile into a narrow canyon. I stopped, pulled out my canteen and took a sip. The sun was high overhead now and the hot, the dry summer heat was on the rise. There wasn’t even a breeze for a little relief. My hat provided the only protection from the scorching sun.

  Once again, second thoughts began to creep into my mind. What if I couldn’t find the boy? My water supply wouldn’t last forever, and so far I wasn’t having any luck finding him. Maybe I should just go and get help. I wasn’t sure
whether to continue or give up and turn back. No, I couldn’t bring myself to give up yet, knowing the boy was still out here somewhere, maybe alone. I removed my bandana and poured a little water on it, placing it back around my neck. The temporary coolness felt refreshing. It helped me get my second wind. I looked down to place the canteen back on my belt clip. When I looked up I was startled to see standing in front of me, fifty feet away, a young and attractive Indian woman. I would guess her to be in her early to mid twenties. She was dressed as though she were out on a hike, khaki shorts, sleeveless top and hiking boots.

  “Hello,” I said and waved. I took a step toward her.

  “Stop,” she said, turning sideways and taking a step backward as if she was preparing to run away. I heard growling on both sides of me. I quickly glanced around but saw nothing.

  I stopped where I was. “Wait. I’m not going to hurt you. I was following a young boy. Is he with you?”

  “Yes.”

  Do you need help?”

  She stood fast. “We’re fine. Now, please go away.” She turned again to leave.

  “Wait a second. I was just concerned for the boy’s safety.”

  “He’s fine. We’re both fine, and we don’t need your help. He wasn’t supposed to cross the fence. I’m sorry. You should go back, now.”

  “What do you mean ‘he wasn’t supposed to cross the fence’? How long have you been out here?”

  She turned her back to me and began to walk away.

  “Hold on. What’s your name?”

  She stopped and turned to face me.

  “Sarah. Sarah Leaphorn. Now please go… and it would be best if you never came back.”

  “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Sarah, but I don’t think you’re supposed to be out here. You see, this is the Restricted Area.”