They started down and—winding their way along the descending ridge—at last reached the bottom. By then, Skip’s back was killing him, and he gratefully dumped his pack on a grassy flat above the river—a beautiful, shaded campsite. It remained cool at eight thousand feet of altitude, and the summer rains had generated an explosion of wildflowers.
“Four hours of daylight left,” Edison said. “Plenty of time to explore!”
Dumping his pack next to Skip’s, he set off practically at a jog, binoculars in hand, stopping from time to time to scan the canyon walls, benches, and hills above the river, full of excited chatter about the Gallina and their mysteries. It was, Skip thought, like a fairyland for him.
They forded the river and began scrambling up the steep prominence on the far side, Skip struggling to keep up.
“The roomblocks where the Gallina lived,” Edison panted as they reached the height of land, “will be concealed and hard to find. Most of them are probably up various side canyons.” He scanned the landscape with his binoculars for a moment, then pointed. “See that slot canyon over there? I guarantee there’s a ruin in that.”
He charged down the far side of the slope. Skip, barely recovered from the climb after the river, followed. Crossing a grassy floodplain, they reached the rock wall in which the slot canyon lay, little more than a crack in the sandstone façade—carved by flash floods, the walls sculpted and smoothed. It narrowed still further as they moved up it, enclosing them in shade and cool stone. A thread of water wound down over a bed of light sand.
“Whoa!” said Edison, stopping and bending down. Lying on the pale sand was a perfect arrowhead, knapped from black obsidian.
“Wow,” said Skip, “that’s a beaut.”
Edison slipped it into his pocket.
“Um,” said Skip, “you know, we shouldn’t be taking anything.”
“An arrowhead?” Edison gave a snort. “Everyone takes arrowheads. I mean, if I didn’t, the next person up here would. Or it’d be washed into the river and disappear forever.”
“Right,” said Skip dubiously, reminding himself of the many arrowheads he’d found—and kept.
They continued up the twisty canyon, jammed with fallen fir trunks and boulders. The stream of water created a cool, fragrant ambiance.
Suddenly, Edison pointed. “There!”
Skip looked up and was amazed to see a perfect little cliff dwelling in an alcove about thirty feet over their heads, built on a wide, flat ledge. The sandstone face that rose above it was covered with petroglyphs pecked into the rock—spirals, images ofdeer, and a spectacular stylized bear with four-pointed stars on its body. A steep crack led up to the ruin, evidently used by the former inhabitants. It was incredible—beautiful.
Without another word Edison started up, making his way along the narrow ledge that slanted upward. Skip followed. At one point the ledge had fallen away, forcing them to step over a yawning gap, but within a few minutes they had arrived. The structure was recessed into the alcove, leaving a flat sandstone patio in front as a kind of work area. Edison crossed it, removed the headlamp from his day pack, and walked over to a dark door leading inside. Putting on the headlamp and ducking, he entered, Skip following.
“Holy crap,” Skip said as he looked around.
It was as if the inhabitants had just walked out, leaving their stuff behind. In the rear was a row of corrugated clay pots with stone lids. A small black-on-white bowl stood in a niche, filled with carbonized corncobs. Broken potsherds were scattered on the stone floor, and the roof was dark with ancient soot.
“Let’s go into the inner rooms,” said Edison. His face was shining with excitement.
Bending lower, he went through a still smaller door in the back that led into rooms wedged beneath the lowering ceiling of stone. As Edison shined the light around, Skip froze.
“Holy mother of God,” breathed Edison, his headlamp illuminating a sprawl of human bones, including a human skull split in two. Lying next to the pieces of skull was a hafted axe, wooden handle still present, the blade made with the same shiny black obsidian as the arrowhead they’d come across earlier.
Edison knelt and reached out for the axe.
“Better not touch that,” said Skip.
But Edison ignored him. He grasped the handle and lifted it,turning it around in the beam of his headlamp as it glittered and threw flecks of light around the small room. He looked at Skip. “This is an incredible artifact. Just look at the knapping—and with an intact handle!” He took off his day pack as if to put the object inside.
Skip swallowed. “Taking that is a felony.”
At this, Edison began to chuckle. “You don’t think I’m just going to leave it here?”
“I do, actually.”
Edison gave a sigh. “All right.” He laid it back down among the bones. “I’ll just leave it here like this, okay?”
“Thanks,” said Skip, feeling awkward. He didn’t like being put in the position of artifact cop, but taking something like that was illegal as hell, and wrong—and Edison knew it.
“Hey, will you look at this?” Edison cried, his light landing on another object—a stone mountain lion fetish, broken in half. He reached out and picked up the pieces, examining them with reverence, while Skip looked on in dismay. “Don’t worry, I won’t take them.” He put them back. “Let’s keep going. After you.”