Treasure of the Anasazi Read online

  * * *

  Smith and Jones navigated the dirt roads on the map. They pulled up and stopped when they sighted the Dugan house. It was very small, more like a shack. From where they were parked, it appeared to be three to four hundred square feet at most, pieced together with wood pieces and corrugated sheet metal. The roof sloped in one direction like a lean-to, most likely how it started.

  They sat and watched for a minute or so. There was no activity. Smith pulled the car up into the entrance of the drive, blocked by an iron gate. There was a barbed wire fence running both ways from the gate. There still didn’t appear to be any activity. Smith gave two quick blasts on the car horn. They saw the curtain in one of the windows move.

  “Someone’s in there,” announced Smith. “I just saw the curtain move in that corner window.”

  “I saw it, too.”

  Still no one came out. Smith gave another quick blast of the horn. The front door opened, a dog came out, and then the door shut. The dog was a large version of a shorthaired Heinz 57. It pranced out to the other side of the gate and stood motionless like a statue, no barking, no growling, its tongue wasn’t hanging out and its tail wasn’t wagging. They didn’t know whether it was friendly or not. It had been their experience that when a stranger approached a dog’s turf, it usually barked its head off as a warning. They decided to get out of the car to find out. As soon as both car doors opened, the dog turned aggressive, barking, growling and charging as one would expect a guard dog to act. Smith and Jones stayed behind their doors, ready to jump back in the car if they needed to.

  It would have been easy to pull out their guns and just shoot it, but first they would try to talk to the old man. Smith honked the car horn again, waited and repeated. Finally the old man stuck his head out of the door.

  “Mr. Dugan. We’d like to talk to you if you’d call off your dog,” yelled Jones.

  “I’m not buying anything,” he replied.

  “We’re not selling anything. We just want to talk,” said Jones.

  “I’m not interested. Go away and leave me alone.” He pulled his head back inside and shut the door.

  “Now what?” Smith asked Jones.

  Jones pulled out a .38 and fired into the air. The dog yelped and ran back to the house.

  “Cowardly flea bag!” yelled Jones at the dog. “I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble with him.”

  They hadn’t noticed a rifle barrel that had appeared in the corner window of the shack. A shot rang out, startling both of them. They ducked down behind the car doors. Smith pulled out his revolver too.

  “That was just a warning, now git,” Dugan called out.

  “What do you want to do now?” asked Smith.

  “Why do I have to always come up with a plan? You think of something.”

  It was just one old man and he wasn’t going to get in their way. Besides, they were out in the middle of nowhere, no one around for miles, no witnesses.

  “I’ll keep him talking,” said Jones. “You go around and come in from the back of the house.”

  “What if he’s not alone?”

  “You’re a big boy. Handle it.”

  Smith shot him a look with daggers in it. They had been partners a long time and usually were in agreement. But every once in a while, Jones took his leadership role a little too far. And it didn’t help that during this venture everything had gone wrong that could go wrong and it was wearing on both of them. Frustration led to short tempers. Jones realized what he had done as soon as it came out of his mouth, and regretted it. They had been partners a long time and probably would be for years to come.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I know you can handle it.”

  That’s all it took. Smith was ready to move on. He slipped to the back of the car and began to make his way down the fence line to a place where he could cross over. Before he had taken two steps away from the car, a shot rang out and a cloud of dirt and dust shot up at his feet.

  “What the …?” He jumped back to the cover of the car.

  “He’s still just shooting to scare us away. Get in!” yelled Jones as he slid behind the wheel and fired up the engine. Smith, staying low, followed Jones direction and leapt back into the car. Jones backed the car to the middle of the road then jammed the shift lever into drive and floored the gas pedal. A cloud of dust shot out behind the car as the rear tires started to spin. The car leapt forward, slamming into the gate, coming to an abrupt stop with a jolt. The gate was much sturdier than Jones had anticipated. He struck his head on the steering wheel, drawing blood and dazing him momentarily. Smith had braced himself against the dash with both arms just before impact.

  “You all right?” Smith asked Jones.

  He answered with a scream of anger. He threw the car into reverse once more, backing into the dirt road, as far back as he could go without going into the opposite ditch. He slowly and deliberately placed the cars shifter into drive, paused for just a moment, took a deep breath, then looked at Smith who could only shrug his shoulders. He floored it again. This time Jones held the steering wheel firmly with both hands, elbows locked, bracing for the impact. They hit the gate even harder this time with the jolt of the gate feeling even worse than before, leaving Smith with his teeth hurting. Other than that neither suffered any injury, but Jones’ face had turned a crimson red from anger.

  “That’s one tough gate,” observed Smith.

  “Yeah, I got that,” said Jones.

  The old man stepped outside the door of his shack. He began to dance a jig, kicking up dust as he spun and stomped. He was laughing his head off, slapping his knees as he danced in circles. A calmness came over Jones. He pulled his revolver, got out of the car, laid his arms across the top of the car for support, took careful aim and fired. The old man stopped dancing. A puzzled look came over his face, eyes wide and mouth open. He looked down at his chest to see a dark red spot growing through his shirt. He touched it with his hand. His mouth formed a sick grin as he fell over backward to the ground, dead.

  The old man’s dog poked its head from around the corner of the shack. Slowly it crept toward the old man, tail between its legs. He sniffed his master’s head. Another shot rang out. The slug struck the ground immediately in front of the dog. It jumped and yelped simultaneously, running away.

  “I don’t think we need to worry about either of them again,” said Jones, with a big smile. “You know, this is actually turning out to be a pretty good day after all. C’mon.”

  Jones climbed over the gate followed closely by Smith.

  “Check the shack,” instructed Jones.

  Smith pushed the door open with his revolver ready. He disappeared inside but soon returned to the entrance, holstering his gun.

  “Nobody here.”

  “Good. Come here and give me a hand,” said Jones, as he grabbed one of the old man’s hands. They dragged Dugan’s body behind the shack.

  “What are we going to do with him?” asked Smith.

  “Nothing. The coyote and other scavengers will take care of him tonight.”

  “That’s not right,” said Smith. He wasn’t comfortable with leaving him out like that, but he wasn’t going to make it an issue

  “Since when did you grow a conscience?”

  “We just can’t leave him out for the animals to get to.”

  “If you’re so concerned, you bury him.”

  He wasn’t going to make it an issue with Jones. They had been partners a long time, and he had learned when to make a stand and when to leave it alone. Dugan was dead, and that wasn’t going to change, no matter what he did. He would bury him though, if he could find a shovel.

  At the back of the shack, they found a run down shed and a small corral with a lean-to. A horse was at the edge of the corral watching them. He appeared to be alert, ears straight up and head held high, probably curious about the commotion out front.

  “I just had an idea,” said Jones.

  “The horse? Why do we nee
d a horse? We have the realtor’s car.”

  “For one thing, we can’t get it through the gate and second, it wouldn’t do very well trying to go across country.”

  “I thought we were just going to lay low here.”

  “I’m not ready to give up on the treasure yet. We just need to stay away from the public side of the park,” said Jones.

  “Dawson knows where we are. Aren’t you afraid he’ll turn us in?”

  “He’ll keep his mouth shut. He knows what we’ll do if he doesn’t.”

  “Okay. So, you know anything about horses?” asked Smith

  “How hard can it be? And it’ll be better than walking. We can use it to cross over into the park from here.”

  “But there’s only one horse?” replied Smith.

  “I guess we’ll have to take turns.”

  “Have you even ridden a horse before?”

  “All you have to do is sit there, tell him which way to go and let him do all the work. Now, why don’t you look around and see if you can find something to get that front gate open. The old man should have a key around here somewhere.”

  Smith couldn’t find the key, but he did find a set of large bolt cutters in the old shed along with an old truck, apparently not driven in quite a while. In the tack room at one end of the lean-to he also found a saddle blanket, saddle, bridle and a shovel. The bolt cutters easily took care of the lock on the gate. Smith pulled the car behind the shack and closed the gate. He grabbed the shovel, went out back of the corral and started digging.

  Jones walked out to him. “You can do that later.”

  “No. I’m going to do it right now. I may not get another chance.”

  Jones also knew Smith. When he saw that look of determination he knew to let it go. He went into the shack and brought out a rug. He spread it out near Dugan and rolled his body into it, then walked over to where Smith was digging.

  “Do you think that old truck will run?” asked Jones.

  “I think it’d be a miracle,” said Smith

  “Thanks for helping,” said Smith. Jones nodded. They grabbed the end of the rug, dragged it to the shallow grave and rolled it in.

  “Feel better?” asked Jones.

  “Yeah, actually I do.… I found a saddle in the tack room. Think you can put it on?”

  “I’ve seen enough westerns that I think I can handle it,” said Jones.

  “By all means then,” said Smith, motioning for him to go ahead. “I’ll finish up here.”

  Jones brought the saddle from the tack room. He motioned for some help with the gate to the corral. Smith opened it for Jones and watched as he walked toward the horse. Just as he was within a few feet, the horse, skittish, jumped back, running to the other side of the corral. He approached again with the same results. The horse’s wide eyes and alert ears showed that he was nervous. Smith had a hint of a smile on his face, but it vanished when Jones looked over at him.

  “Get in here and hold this horse!” yelled Jones.

  Smith started for the tack room.

  “Where are you going?” asked Jones.

  Smith held up his index finger gesturing Jones for one moment. He came out carrying the bridle and blanket. He didn’t have much more experience than Jones, but he had ridden horses at his grandparent’s ranch when he was younger. He approached the horse slowly, talking softly. He reached out slowly for its nose and rubbed it gently. He could sense the horse relaxing. With his other hand he worked the bit into the horse’s mouth and the bridle up over its ears. He attached the reins to the fence.

  “Now try it, but you need to put the blanket on before the saddle.”

  “If you know so much, you put them on,” said Jones, irritated.

  Smith went back into the lean-to and returned with an old blanket. He patted the side of the horse’s neck, and then with his other hand carefully slid the blanket across his back. The horse responded to his soft voice by standing motionless and calm. When Smith picked up the saddle, the horse watched closely as he lifted the saddle onto his back. He reached underneath, grabbed the cinch, pulled it tight and fastened it. Jones was impressed, but he wasn’t about to tell him.

  “There you go,” said Smith. “Want to take him for a spin?”

  “No thanks. You go ahead.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Smith as he grabbed the saddle horn, placed his left foot into the stirrup and casually swung into the saddle.

  “How do I look?” asked Smith, obviously proud of his accomplishment.

  “Out of place,” said Jones, removing the smile from Smith’s face.

  He promptly got off the horse. Changing the subject he asked, “So, when are we going back into the Restricted Area?”

  “Now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Billy pulled out onto the highway heading straight for the Cozy Inn. He stopped just up the road from the motel, close enough to see all the units, but far enough away not to be obvious should someone come out. The pickup Smith and Jones had been driving was nowhere to be seen. For his own peace of mind, Billy needed to know for sure that they were gone. As before, they only saw the manager’s car parked next to the office. They waited in silence for several minutes. There was no activity.

  “Billy?” asked Donny.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t want you to go to jail.”

  Billy let out a short laugh. “What are you talking about? I’m not going to jail.”

  “If you shoot those men, you’ll go to jail.”

  “Calm down. We don’t even know if they’re still around.”

  Billy hadn’t considered jail as a consequence. He wasn’t thinking about consequences at all. His first responsibility was to take care of his brothers and make sure nothing happened to them. If he didn’t do something, he was confident that Smith and Jones would do harm to one or all of them. Now that Donny had mentioned jail it didn’t really change anything. As Billy saw it, it was either him and his brothers or them to come out of this. He would put his money on the Hightower brothers. A saying heard on old western shows popped into his head, ‘This town’s not big enough for the two of us.’ Though hokey, it was true in this case.

  He put the truck in gear and pulled up to the office. The clerk, leaning his chair against the wall reading a comic book, saw him coming and panicked. The chair slipped out from under him and he crashed to the floor. As Billy came into the office, not seeing the clerk, leaned over the counter to find him sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chin.

  “What are you doing?” asked Billy, puzzled.

  “I was looking for something.”

  “Get up here. I need to ask you something.”

  The clerk slowly stood, his back against the wall.

  “Yes, sir? Can I help you?” he asked timidly.

  “Have you seen Smith and Jones recently?”

  The clerk swallowed hard. Even though Billy had an intimidating presence, he wasn’t prone to violence, but, based on his earlier experience, the clerk didn’t know that. He stayed back from the counter.

  “They took their suitcases and left earlier, not too long after you were here.”

  “Did they say where they were going?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t talk with them. They drove off without paying their bill.”

  “Quit calling me sir. You’re making me feel like an old man.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean okay.”

  Billy pulled out a couple of twenties and threw them on the counter. “Maybe this will help fix that door.” As he turned to leave, the clerk grabbed the money and slipped it into his pocket, sure that the owner would never know and that the insurance would cover the cost of repair anyway.

  * * *

  When Rudy, Sam and I returned to the park office, I placed a call to Joe at the Sheriff’s Department. I told him about our run-in with Smith and Jones and their attempt on Sam’s life.

  “Where are they now?” asked Joe.

  “I don’t know, but I can
tell you that they have been staying at the Cozy Inn out on Highway 160.”

  “Yeah, I know where it is. Now let me handle it and don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Sorry, Joe. Can’t make any promises.”

  I asked Sam to stay at the park office while Rudy and I went to meet Joe and check out the motel.

  “We’ll be back.”

  “You’re not planning on leaving me here after what we’ve been through, are you?”

  “Wait a second,” said Julie, concerned, “if you all leave, then I’ll be here all alone.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Why don’t you put out the closed sign, lock up, and send Julie home for the day? You got a problem with that, Sam?”

  “Not me,” said Sam.

  “Me either,” said Julie as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

  * * *

  We arrived at the motel before Joe. As we pulled off the highway, we noticed that the Hightower’s pickup was already parked in front of the office. I drove up behind it and stopped. The Dodge Power Wagon was a monster compared to my jeep. I was sure it could go places I wouldn’t dream of going. It probably came in handy in their line of work.

  Billy was inside talking to the clerk while his two brothers remained seated in the truck. Billy saw us pull up and we exchanged glances.

  “What do you think they are doing here?” asked Rudy.

  “There’s only one way to find out. Why don’t you two stay here while I go check with the clerk.”

  Billy stepped back as I entered the small office. I ignored him, going straight to the clerk.

  “Are Smith and Jones still staying here?”

  The clerk and Billy exchanged glances.

  “No, they checked out earlier.”

  I noticed their shared glances. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Ask him,” the clerk said with a head motion to Billy.

  I turned to Billy. “So, what’s going on and what are you doing here?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but it sounds like the same thing you are.”

  “Looking for Smith and Jones? Why?”