No Man’s Land
Chapter 18
by Timothy Fogg

"This is not a good situation," proclaimed the stoic Albiethy. His eyes darted to both sides of the canyon as he spoke.

I had seen the figure depicted by the bones in the silver jewelry that was widely made in Arizona. I had always thought it was a good luck charm. Now I was not so sure.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"Depends. For the Aztecs he was the god of mischief. Other small tribes claim his sign is found when their goats are drained of blood. What these bones mean I'm not so sure. There are many tribes I am not familiar with, like the Hopi and the Seri. It looks like it is a sign that the canyon is sacred, or maybe haunted." His eyes kept patrolling every inch of cover.

"Are you afraid of ghosts?" I asked innocently.

"Uh-uh, it's living people that bother me."

It sounded like good common sense.

"Show me the trail of rock chips."

I did so and he started at them intently. "Many peoples use this system. Even my own people did, but I don't think this one was made by them. Ho, what's that over there?"

He led to a rock with a badly weather flat face. Now I could see that it was covered with many markings. How could I have missed such a thing on my first trip through? I had thought myself a skilled outdoorsman, but beside Albiethy I was a child in a strange place.

"Look at this. You recognize the mark? No. Look more closely and relax your mind."

"Why it kind of looks like one of those old Spanish helmets. Do you mean to say that the conquistadors were in this very valley?"

"It sure looks like it, Snake. And now look at all these other figures. All different peoples leaving note of their passage."

"Should we do the same?"

"It's hardly the same thing, is it? I don't think so."

"Stop and think about it. This is a history of the peoples that have stopped in this valley. We are just as much a part of history as they were. We can add to it."

"Well, for a young buck you do make a good point. Okay, I suppose we can leave our sign. On the way out. "

"Okay, I read you. We'll do it when we are leaving."

We followed the trail to its head and looked around at the cliff bases surrounding us.

"Now what?" I asked.

"He must have left some kind of a sign. I hope. There have been some that buried riches and not marked them. Then they die or forget how to find it, and another lost treasure story is formed. Most of them have some basis in fact.

"You take that side and, no, come to think of it, stay with me and maybe I can show you how to look. You don't seem to see what is right in front of your face sometimes."

If anyone else had said this I would have been mad. I liked Albiethy, though, and did not take offense. In fact, I knew he was right and that made it worse. I tended to pass right by sign that glowed like a beacon to the old Indian.

"Okay, look here. What do you see?" asked the old timer.

"It looks like a buffalo there, and, oh, I see, it's a story."

"Right. See the men passing the pipe over the fire? It looks like they made a pact and this is the record of it. That must be what makes this canyon sacred to them - it is a meeting place of the great chiefs. If we get caught in here it will not be good."

"We'll leave just as soon as we find the loot."

"If we find it is more like it. The guy might have used a mark that is supposed to look like an Indian sign. That should be easy to spot."

"If you say so." I was having enough trouble spotting the real thing without looking for fakes.

We pored inch by inch over the rocky surface, finding nothing of importance. Then a slight reflection caught my eye. It was a bit of bronze fashioned on a plate of steel. I pulled back the rocks covering it and saw that it was a Spanish breastplate. More digging produced a couple of small bones that must have been all that remained of this Spanish explorer.

"This fellow died a long way from his home."

"It is the way of the warrior," said Albiethy. "But it looks like this man was more than a warrior. What does this rock look like to you?"

Now that he pointed it out I could see that it was a tailings pile from a hard rock operation. It was very old, for the weathered rocks looked like they had always been there. Human nature being what it is we were both soon at the head of the tailings checking out what was left of the old mine.

"Snake, I've got no use for such things, but you should remember where this mine is. See the raw ore in that vein? I know enough about it to know that is rare. This would be a rich stake. You might need it someday. Take your bearings. "

I was a lawman now and saw no need of riches, but I could see what he meant. This was a heck of an ace in the hole. Just in case.

"I'm thinking the fellow must have gone the other way or he would have seen this mine. Let's look over there." Personally I didn't see where the outlaw would have seen it when I didn't but I went along with the Indian. He was probably correct.

As it turned out I was the one to spot the resting place of the bank loot. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a pile of rock that didn't look just right. Of course! It was newly turned. The shape was that of a small cairn. It was too small for a grave, I hoped, and I started flipping rocks. In seconds the two leather messenger bags appeared. It was no surprise when I unfastened the covers and found cash and double eagles peering out.

Albiethy clapped me on the shoulder. "Good work. You're learning. Another fifty or sixty years and you'll be as good as me." His tone changed suddenly.

"Snake, I think we took a little too much time," and he nodded to the canyon rims as he said it. Puffs of smoke were rising from both sides.

"What are they saying?"

"How should I know, I learned to read and write, not make smoke signals. If I had to make a guess I'd have to say it has something to do with our presence in this canyon."

"All right, we won't even look up. We'll just saunter over to the mine and see what we can find for cover." I had automatically taken charge when trouble appeared. The old Indian didn't argue.

The mine was only cut about fifteen feet into the hillside but this was plenty enough for good cover. Only trouble was - would it turn into a trap?

I piled some rocks up at the entrance for more cover while Albiethy had a look in the rear. "The walls are wet," he said. "It is good."

I thought it was an odd remark to make and the old fellow was just talking. I should have known better. I could now see Indian heads peering into the canyon, first by the smokes and then up and down the rim. Reinforcements were responding to the signals. As darkness approached I could see that there had to be hundreds of them lining the rim. I felt like I was facing a gauntlet.

Now Albiethy dug in his war bag and came out with a wooden flute.

"Oh, that will come in handy." I am afraid I was a bit sarcastic but the Indian ignored me. He went to the back of the mine and started wiping the moisture from the walls onto the instrument. On top of the rim fires were being lit along the length of both sides. Shadows were dancing on the walls and floor of the canyon.

"Come on in back and light a match," demanded Albiethy.

"Light a match? We're exposed enough all ready."

"Just light it," was the answer, so I did as I was told and was surprised to see the flute giving off an eerie glow!

"Good," said the Indian, "Now we'll see if we can't out-superstition them."

He then rubbed the phosphorescent moisture over his arms and legs. When he was satisfied he looked out of the mouth of the mine and nodded.

"Okay, let's see what they make of this. I'll lead off and you follow with your head bent and leading the horses. It will seem natural to them that I have a mortal for a servant. Just follow my lead and don't panic."

Then he led out, with his arms and legs at crazy angles and playing his flute. It sounded like he was playing a hornpipe to me, but how would I know what Cocopelli sounded like? I glanced sideways at the rim and saw it was lined with silhouetted Indian heads sporting everything from single feathers to full blown bonnets.

I kept my head down in a condescending manner as we went down the canyon. Albiethy outdid himself, head, arms and legs in constant movement, occasionally circling with a few steps of a jig. When we reached the sign of the bones he danced a circle around them and then blew his flute at the rim, as if in thanks. We continued out of the mouth and did not stop until we were well away from the reflections of the fires.

Then we took one long look at each other, mounted up, and rode out of there like the Devil was on our tails.

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