Treasure of the Anasazi Read online

  “Just making things a little more interesting,” said Rudy. “I’m guessing that they were using the headlights as a beacon to find their way back.”

  “Yeah, but now they’ll know someone else is out here,” I said. “So much for the element of surprise.”

  “Okay, so what do we do now?” asked Sam.

  “We know they’re here so we’ll sit and wait. They’ve got to come back to their truck eventually.”

  “You two stay here,” said Rudy, “and I’ll see if I can find them. I saw two sets of footprints heading east away from the pickup.”

  “And what are you going to do if you do find them?” asked Sam.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid. I’ll just see what they’re up to, then come back here to report. Okay?”

  “Okay. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  “The only thing I’m worried about is whether or not I can leave you two here alone without killing each other,” said Rudy.

  “Just go!” I said.

  * * *

  It had all started when Benny Doyle found a well-aged journal in a box of old books he had picked up at an estate sale. The journal had entries about a community of Anasazi living in what would now be the Restricted Area, a spring with special properties, and treasure. According to the entry in the journal, the area had also been visited by Spanish Conquistadors in the 1690s, led by a Don Diego de Vargas, searching for the rumored treasure of the Anasazi. It wasn’t recorded whether the Spaniards were successful or not. How could the writer have known about the Conquistadors? Benny had never heard any stories about them coming to the area and obviously the journal’s owner hadn’t been there. Benny didn’t know whether to take the information in the journal as fact, folklore or the ramblings of a want-to-be writer. The name Charles Bartholomew was written inside the front cover. Benny, curious about the writer, did some asking around and learned that the journal had belonged to a past U.S. Indian Agent who had overseen the nearby Southern Ute Reservation and had lived in the Durango area. He was also told that the agent had disappeared. He checked the journal. The timeframe matched, it coincided with when the entries in the journal had ended.

  Whether fiction or not, the journal made for interesting reading. He had doubts, but he began to wonder whether some or all of it were true. He was sure there weren’t any Anasazi living in the Restricted Area. Surely, if they were there, someone would have seen them over the years. Their discovery would have been a fantastic find, and once word had gotten out, would have spread like wildfire. The water having special powers, more specifically the ability to slow down the aging process, was just as ridiculous, …but what if? Benny became obsessed with the journal, reading and rereading it. It was always with him. Whenever he found a willing listener at the local watering hole, it would invariably gravitate to the information he’d read in the journal. It didn’t take long for the regulars to know the stories almost as well as he did. When the stories started to get old, the barkeep and his patrons began to poke fun at him when he came in.

  “Have you found that miracle water yet? Oh, and what about that treasure?”

  The regulars got a good laugh out of it. At first Benny had played along. Now he wished he’d never mentioned it. He didn’t like being treated like a fool. He didn’t have a very good reputation before all of this, which he could live with, but he didn’t want to be known as the town nut job.

  On one of these trips to the bar, Mel’s Tavern, Jones and Smith happened to be there. Out of curiosity they called the barkeep over and asked what the joke was all about. Mel relayed the story about the journal and the story Benny had been repeating over and over about the Anasazi, a spring with water that slows aging and a treasure. Jones and Smith laughed too, outwardly anyway. Only one of the things described in the journal really drew the attention of Smith and Jones. The treasure.

  “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Smith. “There must be something wrong with that fella.”

  “Well, I hadn’t thought so until lately,” said Mel, as he slung the bar towel over his shoulder and went back behind the bar.

  “What do ya think?” Smith asked Jones.

  “I think we may have stumbled into a gold mine,” said Jones.

  “Don’t tell me you believe that story?” asked Smith.

  “Just think about it. If you believe any part of it, isn’t that enough?”

  “About the Anasazi too?”

  “Well, all but that part…and the part about the slow-aging spring water. That’s just nuts.”

  “So, what part do you believe?”

  “So, I believe that if there really is a spring and we can find it, the treasure should be nearby. Right?”

  “I guess so,” agreed Smith, reluctantly.

  “According to Benny and the journal, the spring is supposed to be on what is now park property, in the Restricted Area. That already narrows down our search area. How hard can it be to find a spring? And,” he chuckled, “it’s probably in the middle of an old Anasazi village.”

  “Even if there is a special spring and we are able to find it, access could be a problem,” Smith pointed out.

  “Access? Since when do we worry about access? What has gotten into you?”

  “Nothin’. It’s just that it’s on federal land and there could be tight security.”

  “It’s a park. How much security could there be?” But one thing at a time. Let’s have a talk with our friend over there first,” said Jones. “Why don’t you invite him over?”

  Smith moved over to the stool next to Benny.

  “Hello. Benny, isn’t it? My name is Smith, my friend over there is Jones. Would you join us?”

  Benny looked both of them over. “Smith and Jones, huh?” he asked suspiciously. “I don’t know you, do I?”

  “The barkeep gave us your name. We’d like to buy you a beer,” said Smith.

  “I guess that’ll be all right. As long as you’re buying.”

  Benny slid into the booth opposite Jones. Smith sat next to Benny, forcing him to slide over. Now he was beginning to feel uncomfortable and trapped. Jones saw it in Benny’s face.

  “Don’t worry. We just want to ask you a couple of questions,” said Jones.

  Smith got the barkeep’s attention, “Three beers.”

  “We heard some of the folks poking fun at you. What’s that all about?” said Jones

  “Nothin’ really.”

  “We heard it had something to do with a community of Anasazi, a spring and treasure,” said Smith. “It sounds interesting. Want to tell us about it?”

  “So you can make fun of me too?”

  “No. Really. We’d like to hear all about it,” said Jones.

  Benny didn’t like the ridicule, but he really did like talking about the journal to anyone who asked. The barkeep brought the beers over and he began to explain how he had obtained it describing its unbelievable entries, excitement growing in his voice.

  “I take it you believe what’s in the journal?” asked Jones.

  “At first I wasn’t sure, but now I’m convinced it’s all the truth.”

  “Everything? What makes you think so?” asked Smith.

  “Well, for one thing if the things mentioned in the journal were based on folklore wouldn’t more people be aware of the stories? But there aren’t. I’ve asked around and no one has ever heard of anything in the Restricted Area. Second, it’s not written like fiction, it’s written more like a daily log. And finally, I checked and the journal belonged to a Territorial Indian agent who was over the Ute Reservation area before Mesa Verde was set up as a national park. If anyone knew about those things, it would have been him.”

  Smith and Jones nodded. “You may be on to something,” said Jones.

  “Then you believe me?” asked Benny, desperately wanting acceptance from anyone.

  “I believe you believe what’s in that journal of yours. Have you ever gone out to the Restricted Area looking for any
of this?” asked Jones.

  “No. The Restricted Area is just that, restricted. It’s off limits to everyone.”

  “Have you mentioned any of this to the Ranger?” Jones asked.

  “Yeah, I mentioned it to Ranger Barnes, but he just blew it off. He told me it was just crazy.”

  “I can’t believe you haven’t at least considered going out there to investigate on your own,” said Smith. “You have something against getting rich.”

  “I didn’t say I haven’t considered it, but I can’t. The risk is too high.”

  “It’s what gets the blood flowing,” said Smith.

  “Are you kidding? Even if it was possible and I wanted to, the Restricted Area covers more than eight thousand acres. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Jones noticed that Benny carried a book.

  “Is that the journal?” asked Jones.

  Benny pulled it away and placed it next to him on the booth seat, away from Smith.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’d sure like to take a look in it, if you don’t mind?” asked Jones.

  “I’ve already told you everything.”

  “A fresh pair of eyes couldn’t hurt. Maybe we’ll see something you missed,” said Jones.

  Benny thought about it for a moment, then slowly and reluctantly he brought the journal up on top of the table. He handed it to Jones but didn’t release his grip.

  “I want it back,” he said.

  “Sure. Just as soon as we look it over. Okay?” asked Jones, with a smile that made Benny uneasy.

  “I guess so,” said Benny reluctantly, releasing his hold on the journal.

  “Why don’t we meet back here tomorrow about this same time, say one o’clock?” asked Jones, as he flipped through the pages. “We’ll bring it back to you then.”

  “No. You’re not going to take it with you,” stated Benny.

  “Calm down. It’s going to take us a while to look through it thoroughly. You’ll get it back tomorrow,” said Jones. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No. Give it back, now!” Benny said, loud enough for the others in the bar to turn and see if there was going to be trouble.

  “I need to go, so hand it over” said Benny. He sat his beer down and moved to slide out of the booth, but Smith was blocking his way. Jones nodded and Smith moved, allowing Benny to get out.

  “Afraid you won’t see it again?” asked Jones.

  “That’s right. I don’t even know you guys.”

  Jones handed the journal back, smiling at Benny’s demand. “We’re staying at the Cozy Inn if you need to talk to us. Think we can still get together tomorrow?” asked Jones. “We’d like to look at your journal a little closer if you don’t mind.”

  “Yeah, sure, I guess so.” He had no intention of coming back. It was nice for someone to take him seriously, but these guys felt like trouble. They both made him nervous. Now all he wanted was to get them out of his hair. They turned and left. Benny sat back down, grabbing his beer and finishing it off in one gulp.

  These two had been the only ones to show an actual interest in what he had to say. No one else around here had ever done that. And then there was the other thing, he’d never passed up a free drink in his life

  For his own peace of mind he convinced himself that a drive by the Cozy Inn wouldn’t hurt anything. If he could confirm that they were staying there, maybe he could believe the other things they had told him. He drove past the motel slowly but didn’t see either one. He knew it was a long shot. They would have to be outside their room at exactly the same time he went by. No such luck. He didn’t even know what kind of car they had. He drove a little further before turning around on the highway. There was no traffic behind him, so he slowed down again for his second pass. He spotted Smith coming out of the office carrying an ice bucket. Smith looked toward the highway when he heard the car’s bad muffler. Had he recognized him? He wasn’t for sure, but he accelerated away anyway. Smith shook his head and smiled. Benny hoped he hadn’t seen him. He wished he hadn’t made the trip out to the motel. They would most likely be there tomorrow, just as they had said, but he wouldn’t. He still didn’t trust them.

  He wasn’t able to sleep all night, thinking about the journal. Smith and Jones had been the only ones to show any interest in the entries in the journal. Maybe that should have been a clue. The next morning Benny began to reconsider whether he should go to the bar. He parked his old, rusty Ford down the street an hour before the scheduled meeting. He was curious as to whether they would actually show up. At one o’clock Smith and Jones entered the bar. It wouldn’t hurt to just talk to them again. He found Smith and Jones sitting at the same booth as yesterday. He went straight over to them, avoiding contact with any of the regulars. He sat in a separate booth across from them. Mel saw him come in, bringing over a beer. He could tell that something wasn’t quite right. He decided not to tease Benny this time.

  “We didn’t know if you would show up today,” stated Jones.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Did you bring the journal?” asked Jones.

  Benny handed it to him. “I told you I would.”

  Jones and Smith looked through the pages of the journal again, this time taking more time to go through it thoroughly and take notes. There were only a few pages that talked specifically about what was out in the Restricted Area. After half an hour Jones closed the journal.

  “You didn’t learn anything new, did you?” asked Benny.

  “No, everything was just as you had described it,” said Jones.

  “I told you there wasn’t anything else.”

  “I don’t like your tone,” said Smith.

  “Now, now, Mr. Smith. I’m sure Benny didn’t mean anything by it. Right, Benny?”

  Benny gave a weak shake of his head.

  “Now, Benny, we could use your help. Do you think you can get hold of a map of the Restricted Area?” asked Jones.

  “I doubt that there is one. Not available to the public anyway. No one is allowed out there.”

  “Okay. Why don’t you see what you can come up with? And how about one that shows the roads and trails leading up to the area. Do you think you can come up with one like that? We’ll make it worth your time.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but the souvenir maps I’ve seen show only the roads and trails open to the public.”

  “All I’m asking you to do is try. Okay?”

  * * *

  Over the past few weeks Smith and Jones had been forced to familiarize themselves with the trails in the eastern part of the park and surrounding area. Benny had told them he wasn’t able to find the map they wanted, even though he hadn’t tried either. They were impatient with the idea that there was a treasure sitting in the Restricted Area somewhere, just waiting for them to find it. So, each time they came to Durango, they would spend every waking hour at Mesa Verde Park, driving and walking over every trail they could find in and around the Restricted Area. It had all been by trial and error. They did find game trails all over inside the perimeter fence, but there was no way of knowing which one went where until they meticulously tried each one, making a simple sketch. They used the daytime to explore, trying new trails. At night they would come back to make a more thorough search with less chance of being discovered. Up until a few weeks ago they had been lucky, no one had seen them. Then Emitt, on one of his patrols, had come too close. After the shooting they had left town in a hurry, following the news closely. Fortunately, in their favor, the shooting had been reported as an accident. One week later and after the incident had been dropped from all news outlets, they decided it should be safe to come back and continue what they had started. Now there would be one less Ranger to get into their way.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rudy followed the footprints that led away from the pickup. It was fairly easy for him in the sandy soil since there was a full moon overhead unobstructed by clouds. Rudy stopped every few minutes to listen. He thought he heard
a faint sound up ahead. He slowly moved forward. There were definitely voices, but he was still too far away to hear them clearly. Cautiously he edged forward, close to the ground, to the top of a small knoll. He could just make out two silhouettes and the flickering of two flashlights. They were crossing over the fence that marked the boundary of the Restricted Area. As Rudy moved in closer, he could now hear clearly what they were saying.

  “This all looks the same. Are you sure we haven’t been here before?” asked Smith.

  “It all looks like this, but trust me, we haven’t been here before,” said Jones. “Come on. There’s still a lot of ground to cover.”

  “Hold up the wire while I cross through,” said Jones.

  Smith placed his foot on the lower strand of barbed wire and pulled up on the next strand, giving Jones just enough room to squeeze through. Once on the other side, after getting snagged twice on the barbed wire, he placed his foot on the lower wire, ready to do the same courtesy for Smith, but it wasn’t necessary. Smith had already grabbed hold of the closest fence post and had climbed over using the strands like a ladder. When he had reached the top strand, he stretched as high as he could, looking back to where they had come from.

  “I can’t see the headlights any more,” said Smith.

  “We’re just in a low area. You’ll see them again once we get back to higher ground.”

  “I hope so, ‘cause if the battery has run down, we have quite a walk ahead of us.”

  “Don’t worry about it. C’mon. We’re running out of time,” said Jones.

  “I didn’t think it would be this hard to find a spring.”

  * * *

  Rudy listened until he heard what he needed. He backed away and ran back to tell us.

  “They crossed over into the Restricted Area. I moved in close enough to hear them talking. I know what they’re looking for.” He paused.

  “Are you going to make us guess?” I asked.

  “Just making it more dramatic. They’re looking for a spring.”

  “How could they know about the spring?” asked Jack, not expecting an answer.