Journeys of Abigail

Tommy's Abode

2011-09-30T09:40:00.000-07:00

This is a church we flew by on our way to Tommy's on the Long Island.

So the first order of business is Long Island and the records they had found. We don't move the Caribbear to the site because they don't want to tip their hat any more than they have. We fly the slick over... me, Lou, Chris, the local that was briefing us, and some local official that is supposed to pave the way. He came out on a launch just before we lifted off. Kind of a smarmy guy, a glad-hander... like he is running for office or something. He starts talking, telling us who he is and how important he is on the island. Chris interrupts him like he is a blabbering child... just starts talking to us, drawing our attention his way and the guy is left talking to no one and he stops.

"The storekeeper's log... we have only heard what was written in it but we need to see it first hand. The family still has a presence on the island. They run a place called Tommy's Inn. Tommy has an estate at Dawns Bayview Point. We will run the operation out of there and find out what we can."
Chris looks out of the window as we fly over one of the smaller Cays. "He has a boat at our disposal... and diving gear."

The slick flies for twenty minutes or so further, past a dozen small Cays that are uninhabited, and then we see Long Island. We take an aerial tour before we touch down. There is a beautiful church we fly by and the tourist in me snaps a shot.
"If we have time it would be cool to pay that place a visit."
"If we have time it will be to find some little honey to hold and a beer to drink, Nancy."

We come upon a small marina with a half a dozen large boats. On the shore are a couple of large homes. Across the access road is another wide path leading to what looks to be some new construction... that is where we set the slick down.

Before we get the door open on the slick a van pulls in and two rather large gentlemen get out.

"Ah, those must be Tommy's guys." Antonelli states as he heaves himself out of the helicopter.
"And what if they aren't?" Lou says quietly, ever-aware of the possibility of danger.
"Don't worry about it, Lou... they are Tommy's guys, I swear it."

We take our gear from the slick, what there is of it, and it lifts off and heads back to the ship. The downdraft of the chopper is replaced by the trade winds, the sound of slapping rotor blades by the calls of seabirds and the hush of the surf.

"Chris?" One of the two men steps away from the van and towards our position.
"Yeah, I am Chris. Did Tommy send you to grab us?"
"You got it. Put your gear in the van. We're just heading down the road."

I can feel Lou's discomfort. I am sure it is because he has no weapon, none that I know of anyway. Lucky for them they take us to the large house near the marina. It isn't stately by any means. Practical from an island standpoint, and I am sure it is safe in any type of weather. Almost as though he is reading my mind, the driver announces that the structure was made to withstand a category 4 hurricane.

"Why not make it able to withstand a cat 5? Then there would be nothing to worry about." I ask, knowing there must be a reason.
"There would be nothing to come back to... total destruction, you know?" The man riding shotgun says as the van stops and he hops out.

We are in a covered drive... like something you would find in front of a home improvement store. There are a pair of ornate doors, old wood planking with a couple of stained glass windows behind thick Plexiglas.
The design of the blue, brown, and amber glass in the window is that of two ships... wrecked on a reef, or beached. As I am looking at the doors, they open and there is a man our age, drink in one hand and a cigar in the other.

"Welcome, welcome, I'm Tommy." He looks passed me at Chris as he gets out of the back of the van.
"Hey Tommy, nice to see you, man." Chris gives him a hearty handshake and then gestures to me and Lou.
"These are my good friends, Jake and Lou."
"Jake." I offer, shaking his hand.
"Welcome, Jake." He looks at Lou, "and you must be Louis?"
"Lou will do fine."
"Lou it is. Come on in, boys and take a load off."

Tommy excuses himself for a moment and has a word with the other two that came with us. There is a look of surprise on both of their faces, and then they are whisked away in the van. Where they are going I don't quite know.

The inside of this industrial looking structure is anything but stark. Inside the door is a waterfall from ceiling to floor, bordered with lush tropical growth. At the base of the falls is a pool with exotic fish that should be swimming off of a reef somewhere. The water continues along the wall, then cuts back across our path and under a small bridge to a larger tank that is below our feet that looks as big as our living area back at El Corazon.

"Watch your step." Tommy warns as he starts down a sweeping staircase.
We end up in a massive room that is below ground level. One whole wall is made up of the fish tank we walked by after the little bridge. Inside there are hundreds of wildly colored fish, a sea turtle, puffer fish, several small reef sharks, and God knows what else.

"That's some aquarium." Chris remarks, standing in front of it. The face of it is as large as a movie theater screen.

"Well, it isn't exactly an aquarium. Twenty years ago there was a blow-hole between my home and the beach. I had the "basement" dug long before construction started on my home. They actually tunneled back toward the blow-hole until they broke through. Then some ingenious diver friends of mine figured a way to plug the sea-side of the blow-hole so we could open the access a little more and then install this wall of twelve inch thick Plexiglas. We transplanted the seaweed and and coral into the tank, and then deflated the plug and towed it out of there."

"No shit. That is amazing." Lou watches a shark glide by and then turns back to Tommy.
"So the fish just come in through the passage?"
"Well, some of them do. Most of them we take off the reef and dump them into the tank. They stay for a while because we feed them. But they eventually cycle back out into the sea. The sharks, they stay. Lately they have been eating pretty well."

As he says this I see a shoe lazily turning this way and that with the sway of current from the blow-hole passage. I tips for a moment and I can see that there are the remains of a foot inside. I know he knows we see it, and whatever message that sends is understood.

"You boys want a drink?" Tommy draws our attention away from the aquarium wall to a bar that runs the length of the far wall. There must be a hundred bottles on display, lit from below by soft neon through the glass block tiles that make up the shelf on which they sit. Near the middle is a familiar sight.

"Well I'll be damned. You like the Muerte Verde, Tommy?"
Tommy cracks a wicked smile, "Now you're talkin', friend."
Before long we are in the grips of a Muerte binge, the first skull falling early, making way for a second from a free-standing freezer behind the bar. Cigars are offered and we hold the prize Cubans in our hands.

"Shoulda brought this one up first and put the other down in that freezer. This shit is way wicked when it is ice cold."

I can see the look on Chris' face. He is anxious and hasn't touched his first shot when we have down three or four already. Lou is irritated at this disrespect to our host.

"We should take it easy, boys, we have work to do."
"Fuck that, this is what we are doing now." Lou tosses back what must be his fifth shot. Tommy chuckles drunkenly and throws down another, as do I.

"Now... come on, guys, my mother is expecting a progress report in a couple of hours."
"Hey FUCK that... dragon woman." Lou burps.
I shake my head, "come on, Lou, that's the boy's mother."
"I ain't on any time schedule here. We are enjoying the hospitality of our fine host. This fucker wants to be rude and not drink... then fuck him. Let him tell his mommy on me. I don't give a flying... " he stops to move his shot glass toward Tommy, who is once again pouring.

"Chris, relax my friend. We can't do anything today. Those two that came with you, they have to go back to Cuba to retrieve the shopkeepers log."

"But I thought the log was here, with you." Chris is confused at this point.
"Yeah, it was in the safe at the lodge, but they took it."
"Who took it?" I ask.
"You do know that there is another party interested in the Grifon?"
We nod collectively.
"They managed to bribe my night manager into "having a look at it" last night. They ended up taking it and my night manager managed to be beaten, cheated, and lost his job all in a matter of fifteen or twenty minutes."

"So why Cuba?"
"That is who took it. I checked the surveillance cameras behind the counter and in my office. I recognized one of the men who works for one of the government officials there in Cuba."

"So they are going to take it back?" Chris asks, knowing that the two men they sent for the job weren't the right two men.
"Buy it back. Whatever they wanted it for they have got their information. They will sell it back to me just because they are money hungry motherfuckers. But whatever you are looking for they might find first."

Lou puffs his cigar to life, "That... " he puffs a few more times until it is really smoking well, "that will make our job easier if they find it first. Let 'em, and then we will just take the prize right out of their hands."

Tommy taps an inch long ash from his cigar and then pops it into the corner of his mouth. He gives Lou a long look, then me, then settles on Chris.
"Do you boys know what it is you're looking for?"

"You know what we are looking for, Tommy, that is why we came to you. The wreck of the Grifon, the treasure."

"Come on, Antonelli, you're looking for those tablets. The ones with the diamond as big as your fist."

The Low Down

2011-06-01T20:07:00.000-07:00

Apparently money goes a long way here in Cuba to circumvent any type of inconvenient government involvement. We landed, stepped over to the slick that will took us out to the ship and never saw a customs agent, machine gun toting security agent, or anyone with a uniform what-so-ever.

Once we had landed aboard Caribbear we were escorted to our staterooms and told that we would meet with the "team" in the morning. That was all I remembered, that and the fifteen hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Like sleeping in the thighs of an angel. I know nothing until one of the ship's stewards actually has to shake me awake.

"What? What is it?"
"Breakfast, sir. The others are assembling up in the main salon."
Others?

There is a shower in my stateroom so I take advantage of that and the other complimentary toiletries. So many of these little expeditions end up with none of these niceties... so I will take advantage of them while I can. In the closet I find what you might think are local togs and put them on. I feel refreshed and comfortable.

As I step out of my stateroom, Lou is already in the passageway.
"This is some comfortable shit."
"It's a guayabera... also known as a Mexican wedding shirt."
"Thanks Pat Sajak."
"I think you mean Alex Trebek."
"Don't tell me what I think, Nancy. Isn't a guayabera is one of those huge rodents that you find in South America?"
"That's a Capybara."
"Fuck you."
"And good morning to you."

We head up to the next deck and into main salon. Chris, his mother, the surviving members of Goldfarb, Stinkle, and Abramowitz, and what looks to be a local are seated in the lounge area drinking coffee. Ollie is up behind the bar with a plate of food, shoveling hash browns and sausage as though someone might try to take it from him. Chris stands when he sees us come up the steps.

"Hey boys... welcome aboard." He sits down and gestures to a couple of the empty seats. "We are just talking about the tablets and the treasure map." He looks toward the steward then back at us, "You guys hungry?"

"We can wait." Lou looks toward Ollie, who doesn't show any signs of slowing.

We make the rounds, shaking hands as we go. Chris' mom's hand is like a lump of cold granite. Still scary.

"Gentlemen... " She starts, taking her seat. We follow her lead and sink into the virgin cushioned leather.
"I appreciate you finding Mr. Stinkle and arranging his transportation back to his wife and family."

I look at Lou and his eyes are as wide as my own. A quick glance at Abramowitz and we get a nod of assurance that this is exactly what happened.
"We... we are sorry for your loss, Ma'am."

She looks at me for a moment. It lasts until it is uncomfortable and then she looks to Chris.
"Christopher feels that in order for this project to proceed we need your assistance. You both were vital in the retrieval of the precious metal for the Clarok. I hope that the re-numeration was adequate?"

Again a look from Lou.
"Yes, Ma'am, thank you. Our compensation was more than enough." I offered.
"Not quite enough for that re-entry shit. I'll tell you that much." Lou throws in.

Now it is Mrs. Antonelli that has a look of confusion. Abramowitz is to her left and he leans in and speaks in low tones, hopefully explaining about our issues after our return from the Old West. How could she not have been informed. Hell, we died and everything.

"I am sorry to hear of your unfortunate issues during your return."

Unfortunate issues? I look at Chris, who is wholly aware of the torturous weeks we spent in the blink of an eye. What I see in return is a "trust me" look. Lou must be looking as well, because I hear him scoff at the unspoken request.

"Gentlemen... " She begins again, "we have found a much deeper meaning within the glyphs on the Mayan temple walls, there is more to the story and ability of the Clarok, more than we had imagined."

Goldfarb pulls two identical folders from a briefcase and places one in front of each of us. Inside there is a copy of the map, a glossy photo of what I assume is part of the Mayan Temple to which these people continually refer, and a drawing of a tile from that wall that has a translation penned at the bottom.

"Okay, I'll bite. What does it mean?" Lou holds the drawing of the tile one way and then another.

At the bottom are the words "never setting sun". Several other translations are abandoned beneath thick scribbled lines. On the tile itself is a stick figure holding a tablet aloft with what look like rays of light or something emitting from the center of the tablet.

Now one of the locals stands and introduces himself. He speaks with a thick accent and it is nearly impossible to make out what he says without watching his lips move.
"The Clarok is more than the alter basin that you are familiar with. The further translation of the glyphs have shown us that the Clarok was a priest, not the material object that you have seen."

Lou gives this guy a look, "Seen? Hell boy, we did more than... "
He is stopped in his tracks by a look from Mrs. Antonelli. One that relays the fact that our trip with the Clarok is on a need to know basis, and these two guys don't know shit. Even though they were listening to our comments earlier about re-entry, it is obvious now that they are not aware of our use of the Clarok and its abilities.
Needless to say, Lou stopped talking and the man continued.

"We have been able to translate more of the glyphs with a better understanding and have found that the priest, or "Clarok", had the Alter Basin and two tablets as the tools he used to perform his rituals."

He continues on to tell us that along with the tablets, the Grifon was carrying Governor Torres' retirement fund in chests marked with his family crest. Just three days ago they brought the top of one of those chests to the surface off of Samana Cay.

"If the tablets are in the waters off of Samana Cay, we want someone familiar with the Clarok and its abilities to handle their recovery." Mrs. Antonelli looks right at Lou when she speaks. Lou then looks at me.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"
We get up from our seats and walk out toward the aft deck.
"I told you... she wants us to go on another of those trips with that thing."
"What happened to Chris needs our help and that you were going to go no matter what?"

Lou's gaze narrows, "That was help help... not space time continuum help. I could spend the rest of my life not tripping through time like that ever again."

We feel a cold presence as Lou speaks. Chris' mother puts a hand on Lou's shoulder. An uncharacteristic move and reception for both of them.
"What happened to you boys was an anomoley that we shouldn't see again. Our team has worked out the process and what went wrong with the initial experiment."

"Experiment?" Lou turns to face her. "No disrespect, Mrs. Antonelli, but we aren't some rats in a maze here. What we experienced was real. Every shot felt real, the blood loss was real, the broken bones and watchin' my buddy here die in front of my eyes. That was all REAL. Not some experiment."

I am hoping that he is done.

"And another thing... how is it that we didn't effect what was going on here when we were killing people back in the old west. We rearranged history back there. Something here must have changed."

His voice was getting louder and louder. Mrs. Antonelli gestured to Chris and he went back and cleared the room. The briefing would have to wait until our fears were satiated. Once the others had adjourned, we took a more comfortalbe posture back in the lounge.

Chris takes a turn now. "Guys, I know that things got rough." Lou rolls his eyes a little, and Chris continues.
"First of all, the timeline... it seems that in the grand design of things we are supposed to be doing what we are doing."

"Now that is an explanation. Can you work the words "thingy" and "do-hickey" in there somewhere?" Lou is getting more impatient.

"Yes, we were part of several battles, yes we took out Arlis Keene's gang, yes we killed a lot of cavalry, but it was all going to happen whether we were there or not. This Clarok is part of the fabric of history. What happens while we are under its control is also part of history... our history. That is why there was no effect when we returned to our timeline."

"Why did we get off our timeline when we came back?" I am hoping for a real answer.

"As close as we can figure it was because Lou was pretty much unconcious when he came through and you were supporting him. They are studying the alignment factor and applying what they have learned. Dr. Adams has developed a chip that can be injected under the skin that should help in the energy alignment and prevent the alternate ending you guys had on your last trip."

"That's right, Chris, our LAST trip." Lou gets up and walks, "how you get off this fucking ship."

I look at Chris, who shrugs back at me.
"I don't know what to say. I was there too, you know. I took a chance riding that lightning just like you guys. What is he so bent out of shape about?"

"It wasn't that trip. It was the alternate ending... bad, very bad. I'm with him, Chris. If your people can't guarantee that won't happen again, then we are heading back home."

I find Lou on the back of the ship, leaning over the railing puffing a hand-rolled Cuban from the complimentary case in the bar.
"I'm not doing it."
"That's what I told them."
"I don't need this shit."
"That's what I told them."

Chris comes out, followed by one of the wait-staff who is balancing a platter of breakfast meats, fruit, scrambled eggs, and hashbrowns... like a walking breakfast buffet.
"You guys didn't eat."

The plates are placed on the aft deck outside table and we sit. Lou loads his plate and starts in, I as well. Chris, on the other hand, keeps talking.
"I don't remember anyone asking you to take any trips."

Lou looks at him as he works his way through a mouthful of sausage and hashbrowns, "Don't play us for fools, Chris."

"I'm serious. The reason I had Stinkle come find you guys is because we need your skills. We have a treasure hunt on a tropical island... women... Caribbean rum... ganja?" Chris looks at him like he is trying to get his Daddy's car keys.

I look at Lou and nod, waiting to see his reaction. A slow smile sneaks in and he plops his loaded fork down on his plate. He shakes his head and looks my way.
"How do I let you get me into this shit?"
"I am pretty sure you got me into this shit."

"Good, so we are going to find these other pieces of the Clarok and then we will let Dr. Adams go take the next trip. He is due, don't you think?"

"Now your talking. Doctor my ass."

We spend the better part of breakfast talking about where we needed to go and what we needed to find. Ever since they found the Atocha off the Keys, the real treasure hunting was done in the research. Records that were turning to dust with each passing hour are the real clues as to what is on board, where the ships were heading, when they were expected to arrive at their destinations. Every port of call had two references; one in the log book of every ship, the second with the harbor master or official that would log every ships entry and collect the port fee.

The Grifon was not part of the treasure fleet as so far as to be carrying treasure that would attract the efforts of modern day hunters. The local that was speaking in the salon was a local historian that had unlimited access to the archives in the Cuban National Library in Santiago de Cuba. It was there he had found the copies of the Grifon's cargo manifest, and some interesting follow up facts that seem to have evaded the history books.

Grifon, after separating from the Spanish Treasure Fleet, Captain Antione Dare decided to return to Cuba, skirting the Bahamas and the possibility of pirates. His luck did not hold and it was rumored his ship was taken by Calico Jack Rackam, a theory backed by the fact that it was found run aground on a Cay off of Port Royal.
But the ship was empty of cargo.

"So... " Chris takes the last sausage from the platter and bites it in half and chews it twice and it is gone. "What happened to the cargo? We had to go to each and every little port that might have kept a shipping log and hope that those documents survived long enough for us to track Calico Jack."

"Well?"
"We found a storekeeper's log in a little port town of Clarence on the island of Long, just northwest of Samana Cay. John Fenwick, a member of Calico Jack's crew, signed the stores manifest. Along side that entry were the items that were "on order" and were to be picked up within the month. If they didn't return for them, the storekeeper was to deliver these to their anchored ship off of Samana Cay or face their wrath."

Lou shakes his head in disbelief, "Who the hell are you, a goddamn Rhodes Scholar now?"

"It is all in the history, Lou. We know where to look, and have already found the top of one of the chests."

"Then what do you need us for?" I ask... realizing that the treasure hunt is already finished.

"There seems to be another party that is watching our every move. We need to protect our interests. My mother can get you guys anything you need. We just want to salvage the tablets from the site and be on our way. We need a security team that can deal with our little friends out there and keep the secrets we want kept."

He gives us both a hard look, "Are you in?"
I look at Lou, and he gets a smile on his face, "Anything we need?"

`

The Map

2011-04-29T20:38:00.000-07:00

The hum of multi-million dollar transportation covers the drone of conversation between Abramowitz and Jerry as they pour over the copy of the pirate map that is now in our possession.

The decision to go came quickly. None of us need to work, but we do. None of us need the money, but it is promised just the same. We will be paid handsomely, whatever that amounts to, for our services. We wanted to take Abigail, but a combination of things had us leaving her chocked in the compound. Nestor's cousin Tali will stay at El Corazon while we are away. Tali is a head taller than Ollie and as silent as a pier piling. I have never heard him speak in the times I was in his company... but when he does it is strictly mother tongue.

So with quick arrangement we all piled onto the helicopter... no bags of any kind. Everything would be provided. All we took was a pile of cash, a pistol a piece with extra clips, and Lou brought a little Nogales Window Box and the little Hula Girl over loud objection by Abe's pilot. Some how he felt his license would be in jeopardy... bullshit. Lou just started to get off the slick, the three of us ready to follow. Abramowitz grabbed Lou's arm, and when he received "the look" he released it as though he had grabbed a hot coal. Needless to say his apology and then pleading for us to accompany him followed... so we did, Hula Girl in tow.

The slick went west to Hautulco, and then we caught Chris' G-5 east toward Cuba. It is better this way. Ever since Lou and I died in Abby in the netherworld flying in her for long distances gets kind of creepy. That and the fact that Cuba is corrupt as hell and we might just lose her over there. So... I am sitting across from Ollie, who drank half a fifth of Jamison, His head tips slowly at an odd angle until it has gone too far and he jerks it back up straight and creaks open his eyes to see if anyone sees it happening. I see it and he gives me a little tick of a smile and then his eyes slowly shut and the process starts all over again.

Lou has joined the others around the map. He took the Hula Girl into the bathroom and was there with her for several minutes. When he returned he tried to get some shut-eye, but was unable to do so. Now he is gesturing me over to join the party. I move forward in the aircraft to the conference table and sit next to Lou... across from Jerry and Abe.

"The land borders match nothing on Samana Cay. We used satellite photography of all of the surrounding land masses and have found nothing that could remotely match the drawing."

Jerry looks at the map and taps his fingers on the shipwreck in the rocks.
"I remember something I was told a long time ago by a friend of my father who was a cartographer by trade, and an ancient map enthusiast in his spare time. He mentioned the fact that the treasure map in itself was fairly basic. Most pirates weren't part of any think tank or brain trust. The bulk of them needed simple instructions on a map to guide them. So the map itself and the instructions upon it had to be easy enough to understand. Finding the island or land-mass that it referenced... now there was the trick. The border of the island itself isn't important, it is what is in the water and its reference the the markers on the map that are key."

Lou taps the shipwreck, "How about the rocks? There looks to be five or so that have a distinct pattern."

Abe nods, "We are working on that now. Very difficult with tides and limited satellite photo opportunities. The wreck is in thirty to fifty feet of water as you can see by the fathom markers."
He takes a sip of tea, long since cooled when offered to him by the attendant.
"We have an opportunity for a more defined hint on the ship's location. Most of the ships that wrecked onto reefs or got caught in the shallows were off loaded before they were broken apart by heavy seas. With those efforts came logs and bookkeeping that should still be a matter of record. We have arranged for access to governmental archives in Cuba."

Lou smiles, "Now that's a trick. You got access to a communist country's government archives?"

"For what we are looking for, which is the manifest and any off-loading of the Governor's cargo from the Grifon. Even if she broke up on the rocks, they would have salvaged the cargo. The archives are routinely accessed by treasure hunters and historians."

The plane jolts as we encounter turbulence. After the second hit, we all take our seats. Abramowitz holds the map high as his tea spreads across the small table. The sweet little flight attendant races back with a towel just before it reaches the edge. I reach for the map."
"May I?"

He hands it over and I survey the layout. "What about the palm trees. There is one that is leaning way over."

Lou shakes his head, "Palm trees only last about a hundred fifty years. Those trees are long gone."

"Who the fuck are you today, Arborist Andy?"
"Don't be an asshole. Just because you don't know shit from apple butter doesn't mean I don't know about palm trees. Look it up."

Abe nods, "He is right, you know. Any reference on that map regarding the trees is useless."

Jerry takes that under consideration. "What about the formation in the center of the map. What if those are tree stumps from a clutch of palm trees? By this time they aren't going to be anything more than a lump under the overgrowth."

Ollie, whom I thought was sleeping, joins the conversation.
"Qué tal el caballo rojo?"
Lou leans forward and takes the map from my hand. He holds it up to the courtesy light and then looks at Ollie and shrugs.
"He wants to know about the red horse."

On the map near the scale key is what looks to be a drawing of a horse or animal of some kind. The color is barely noticeable, but it isn't the same dark pigment used to color the rest of the map. It seems to be deliberately different.

"We don't know what it means." Abe wipes the bottom of his teacup and then gestures for a refill. "I am hoping we can realize some significance when we look in the archives."

The plane flies on. We break through some low clouds and the lights of the island. Had we flown in Abigail we would have stopped for fuel and taken more than twice as long to get here.

So far it seems as though the effort to find this "treasure" is in its infancy. There has to be more than we are being told. The last time we got involved with this ongoing expedition we found out there were other interested parties. We managed to protect Antonelli's interest when we didn't even know what they were. Moreover I am afraid that we may find these tablets and that they will expect us to use that salad bowl and go on another journey. All I know is that they better have that re-entry figured out so we don't end up living in the twilight zone again.

When the plane touches down I open my eyes. I had managed to fall asleep for a few minutes and it seemed like hours. As the plane decelerates I look over at Lou, who is looking out the window at the darkness. Beyond the runway to either side is complete darkness. The city of Playa Santa Lucia is a mile off to our right. By the looks of the scattered jewels of distant light it is not a big town. I doubt that this is where the archives are housed.

We taxi toward a terminal building. There is a man with wands marshaling us to a stop and the pilot shuts down the twin engines.

"Gentlemen... " Abe stands and gestures to the front of the plane. I walk behind Lou, who waits with a little smile as the flight attendant opens the door and lowers the air-stairs. I think with a little more time he would have had her flying the friendly skies.

As we set foot on Cuban soil a familiar shape appears in the darkness. Chris Antonelli steps out of the shadows from the Caribbear's helicopter.
"Hey boys, welcome to Cuba."

The Storm of 1715

2011-04-02T08:13:00.000-07:00

The compound is dark... so are the living quarters, with the exception of the stereo whispering a little Santana at Woodstock. We have passed that little Hula Girl around like a hooker at a bachelor party and none of us has moved since the sun went down. We do manage to have cold beer in our hands... how it gets there I haven't a clue.

"You know what I miss?" Jerry says with a stoner drawl.
"Sex with a woman?" Lou smiles.
"Delivery pizza." That gets a nod from all of us except Ollie, who has no concept of delivery pizza.

How we made it through half an ounce of this local shit without getting the munchies I have no clue. But after that comment we all started feeling it in the pit of our stomachs.

Now, time out here is not really applicable to any event or happening. It is a broad indicator of whether or not we can eat or starve at this point. The Cantina in town is usually dark in a couple of hours after sunset. We honestly couldn't tell how long it has been dark, but we area hoping it is a recent event.

"Do you think the truck will make it into town?" Jerry is up and takes a long stretch.

"Where is the Landcruiser?"
"Nestor's"
"A lot of good that does us."
"Well? The truck?"
"Yeah... I guess. We better grab some extra jugs of water."

Now Jerry has driven this road to town a thousand times, eighty percent of the time he has been fucked up... so no worries.

Lou and I are standing in the bed of the truck, water from the jugs sloshing around our feet. He has the roll-bar lights ablaze, lighting up the road ahead like a solar flare. They are hot between our hands as we tighten our grip for the holes and bumps that Jerry is taking with a little laugh each time we leave the ground.

The edge of town is upon us and Jerry slows down to a crawl. The children of Nogales are like the kids of my generation, one bereft of video games and computers. They play outside until they are forced to come in, and even though it seems like they are all inside now we don't want to take a chance.

As we make our way up the main street it seems that our hopes will be dashed. Nightlife in Nogales is people blowing out oil lamps and climbing into hammocks.

The road rises slightly as we approach the Cantina, and to our relief the smell of carinitas still fills the street at the corner. They are closed, but will open to feed us. Jerry and I have funneled a lot of quetzals into their business. Well, quetzals, Mexican pesos, even American dollars... it all spends down here. If all that fails a little gold in your pockets will work.

We eat carnitas and some special rice they cook and drink a couple more bottles of cold beer. It isn't until we have satisfied that hunger that we talk about the lawyer and his message.

"Cuba?" Jerry lets out a belch that lasts a good three count. I hear one of the girls giggle in the back.
"I don't know anyone in Cuba."

"We don't either." I think for a moment, "well... except for Antonelli's people."

"We will need to make a couple of fueling stops. Or at least one in the Yucatan. We already found an airstrip... Roberto Yaguero. That puts us right in Playa Santa Lucia."

Jerry stands and stretches, "You boys have done your homework."
Lou stands as well, "We're gonna go, Jerry. We just want to go together."

We water the truck and head back to the compound. It is a much nicer ride on the way back... not trying to beat the clock this time. I am in the cab this time, with Ollie and Lou holding the rollbar in the bed.
"You need to go, Jer. We should do this together."
"Last time I was on one of these expeditions those Yanamami Indians nearly killed us all."
"Not a problem. They don't have Yanamami Indians in Cuba."

About a quarter mile from the compound we can see that the security lights are blazing. Something big has come in through the fenceline. I reach back and pull the rifle from the rack behind us and check the load. Jerry turns off the headlights and we use the light from the compound to navigate. Before we get to the back gate we can see what has tripped the security system.

The helicopter is still winding down, nav lights still on. As far a we can see no one has had time to get out of the passenger cabin. We shut the truck down before the tree line and make our way to the back gate without being seen.

"What do you think?" Jerry says, crouched down.
As he speaks the passenger door slides open and a man in a three piece suite climbs down. He straightens up his outfit and by the blazing lights in the compound we can make him out.

"Hey ABRAMOWITZ."
He jumps just slightly and shields his eyes from the lights in the compound. He steps back to the door of the helicopter and talks to someone inside, then steps back out.
"Mr. ALLEN?"

We all end up in the living quarters, Abramowitz with his head on a swivel as we sweep a jungle tarantula off the counter and out the open window.
"Damn spiders." Lou tisks.
"Gent... Gentlemen." Abramowitz starts, "We sent Mr. Stinkle here to meet with you several days ago and have not heard back from him."

"That's because he's dead."
"Jesus, Lou, let's not sugar coat it." I shake my head at him.
"What do you want me to do, hold his hand while I say it?"

Abramowitz drops down onto one of the barstools, "Dead?"

"Yeah, he didn't quite make the airstrip and dropped into the jungle south of here. We wouldn't have even known he was out there if it weren't from Lou here test flying a powered glider."

"Oh my." That is all he says. Apparantly ties run deeper than a letterhead in the lawyer business.

"I don't think he suffered. It wasn't like there was a fire or anything. I am sure as soon as he hit he was gone. We were able to find his identification and his bags. They're over there." I gesture to the bags near the door.

After a moment Abramowitz collects himself.
"Did you gentlemen open the envelope he was bringing to you?"

Lou and I nod.

"Then you know that your services are required?"

Now, it is all in how you ask somebody in my book. And by the look in Lou's eye this guy better rephrase that last statement.

"We don't work for you, or her, unless we want to... understand?" Lou says with unintended menace.

"Now... I am just relaying the request of the dispatch the was delivered to you."
His hands are shaking slightly as he shows them palm forward, like Lou had pulled a gun on him.

"Just what is it you need us to do?"

Abramowitz looks over to the bag, "May I?"

"The documents aren't in the bag."
We walk over to the table and I open the atlas to the Bahamas where the documents hold the page like a bookmark. Abramowitz pulls the treasure map from the book and points to the waters off of Samana Cay.

"We need your help locating what is at the end of this map."
"And what might that be?"
"I... we are not prepared to discuss the details until you have signed on."

Lou takes the map from his hands and closes it in the atlas.
"Look, Abe, we aren't going anywhere until we know everything you know. If you can't manage that, then get the fuck on that slick and get out of here."

Abramowitz weighs that statement for a beat or two and then re-opens the atlas and slides the treasure map onto the table.
"Do you have more light?"

Jerry grabs the desk lamp and pulls it over to the table. The light pours onto the atlas as Abramowitz flips back through the pages for a map that favors depths and reliefs of the oceans and land masses.

"In 1715, King Phillip of Spain ordered his treasure fleets to the New World...Vera Cruz and Cartagena to be exact. Spain was in need of a great deal of wealth to refill her cophers after the costly War of Succession ended with England and the Dutch. When the ships had their fill of gold, silver, precious gems, and other treasures they headed for a rendezvous in Havana before heading across the Atlantic."

Abramowitz paused and pulled a handkerchief from his vests pocket and dabbed the sweat from his brow. "Would you gentlemen have a glass of water?"

Lou pulls a beer from the ice chest, opens it, and sets it on the table in front of him. Abe sighs slightly and takes a pull. It must be better than he thought. He takes a long draw off of it and then continues with his story, placing his finger on the map... tracing the probable route from Havana back to Spain.

"Aside from the treasures of value to run the country, King Phillip had decided to marry the Dutchess of Palma. The ten ships of the treasure fleet were ready to depart Cuba in mid May of 1715, before the danger of hurricanes in that region. But because he ordered this treasure of "crown jewels" to be assembled for her, it delayed their departure until late July.

Don Casa Torres, the Governor of Cuba, had his hand in the delay as well, trying to get his personal wealth back to Spain where he was now headed. It is the ship he had hired, a French ship... the Grifon, that we are concerned with. The Clarok was among his possessions at that time.

When the ships left Havana they skirted the Florida coastline, trying to avoid the ominous weather to the south east. But it was too late in the season. A hurricane broadsided the treasure fleet and dashed them on the rocks near what is now known as Sebastian after a valiant effort to weather that storm. The loss of life was tremendous. Very few of the seven hundred men on those ships survived. Over fourteen million pesos in treasure lost."

I looked at Lou and then Jerry and Ollie, "So we are looking at a lot of treasure on the coast?"

"No," Abe continues, "ships were dispatched from Havana after word of the shipwrecks and they recovered two thirds of the treasure in the next several years."

"So there is still treasure... a third of it."

Abramowitz looks up from the atlas at me, "No... that is not what we are after."
Lou claps him on the back, "Well Abe, that's what we're gonna be after."

"Gentlemen, please, the Grifon, that is what we are after."

Jerry points to the east coast of Florida, "You said they went down off of Florida, Abe. What does that have to do with Samana Cay?"

"Exactly... " Abe takes a draw off of his beer with the looks of a man that might want a second.
"The Grifon was the only boat that escaped the storm. It was captained by Antione Dare, the only true Caribbean captain in the fleet. He saw the storms, read the sea, and departed the treasure fleet before they were trapped in the shallows."

"So the Grifon had the Clarok on board and they ended up somewhere off of Samana Cay?" I look at the distance between Sebastian Florida and Samana Cay. "That's in the opposite direction from their original course."

Abramowitz finishes his beer and Lou has another open for him. He seems to have softened that pole up his ass.
"Gentlemen, we thought the Clarok was the only piece of the puzzle. When Mr. Antonelli had the item brought up, we assumed that was all we were looking for. It wasn't until we researched the history of the actual shipment that was put in the holds of the Grifon that we found out there was more."

Abramowitz excuses himself and heads back out to the helicopter. When he returns he has a folder in his hand. He lays it on the table and opens it. There is a picture of the Clarok, all nice and shiney as it was when we took our little trip. Then the next page he shows us is a bill of lading of sorts, ancient scrawl... in Spanish, that is translated in pencil above the writing. It lists the Clarok and two "tablets" in the same chest. There is a brief description of both. The tablets they describe as jeweled.

"It wasn't until the team found the manifest that we realized that Mr. Montoya had missed something in the translation at the Mayan ruins. Not so much missed something, but misinterpreted. He believed the reference to the tablets at the ruins were speaking of the actual tablets in the walls of the ruins, the ones he was actually translating."

He stops for a moment to see if we understand what he is saying. We don't.

"Gentlemen, these missing tablets must have something to do with the use of the Clarok. We have researched shipwrecks in the Bahamas and believe that pieces of the treasure aboard the Grifon have been found in the waters off of Samana Cay. At great expense to the Antonelli family they have aquired the map, a copy of which my associate had flown up here to show you."

Lou narrows his gaze, "If the Clarok had been found, and it was in the same chest as these tablets, then why wouldn't they be in the same place?"

"The Clarok was an obvious find, large, encrusted with jewels and gold. It may have traded hands many times from the location it was discovered. The tablets, we hope, remained unnoticed by pirates or collectors, and are part of the treasure that we seek."

Abe take a long pull off of his second beer and reached up opened his necktie a bit.
"Gentlemen, I have said too much already. The Antonelli family needs your help. We don't trust anyone else with this information. Three of you have already been involved with the first experiment and know of its use and power. We and are not ready to dispense every last bit of information, not to even you, until we know you are with the project."

Getting Back on the Horse

2011-03-13T09:17:00.000-07:00

We stand for a moment, looking at that envelope. Can't be good news.
"Open it?"
Lou shakes his head just slightly.
"Man... I just want to get my kite down out of that tree and head back to the compound."

I put the envelope back into the satchel and then look in the side pockets for anything that might tell us who the skypilot might be.
"Nothing but this envelope."
"So we need to pull these pieces out of the cockpit to find out who this guy is?"

With much trepidation we start to push and pull on the wreckage. The body is in a tropical shirt and slacks. Lou calls it first... probably a lawyer. After wrapping our hands in some of this guys clothing from the carry-on, we are able to free enough of him to check the pockets. Not the afternoon I was looking for.

"This is either a wallet, or a large colon polyp."
"Lou... "
He is elbow deep in wreckage when he withdrawls his arm, a bit bloody, but I am sure it is all his. In his hand is a thin billfold.

"Well?"
Lou opens the billfold and pulls out a two gold cards and an Oklahoma Drivers License. All of which held the name Alan Stinkle.
"Stinkle? Stinkle... Stinkle... Where have I heard that name?" Lou tips his head like a dog.

"You have heard it in the middle of Goldfarb and Abramowitz. He is one of Antonelli's lawyers." I look at the mess in the crumpled metal... "Was one of his lawyers."

Okay, I realize that we have had some down time since last year. I realize that Antonelli is a very good friend of ours. I realize that we may be two of the only six people on the planet that have gone back in time... I think. But I am done with this shit. I just want to stay here in the jungle. Get back to flying cargo in Abby, drinking beer, smoking the occassional Walker.

Lou gestures to the satchel and hands me the wallet to put with the envelope.
"Let's not open that until we get back home. I don't want any bad news without a buzz."

We are unable to get Lou's kite out of the tree without another twenty feet or so of ladder so he can grab the drop line. Even then I doubt it will come out of there unless we tow it out, and then it won't be worth a damn.

The truck surprises me. It starts and sucks up all the water Lou pours into the overflow bottle, but gets us home just the same. This little incedent reminds me that we need to fix the damn radiator. I pull it onto the pad near the hanger.

After two cold beers, a short story of Lou's miraculous flight, and a couple of pulls on the hula-girl bong Lou brought back from Hautulco, we decide to open the envelope.

I undo the string from the little windy things on the back and pull out three sheets of paper. The heading on each is Goldfarb, Stinkle, and Abramowitz. That will have to be changed.

I read the first page and then hand it to Lou, who waves it off. "I don't want to read it. Just give me the hilights."

"It's from Chris and his mother."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"They need our help."
"Like I said... "
"The Bahamas."
"Better."

Lou holds the cold beer up to his brow and rolls it across his forehead for the cooling effect. He can read between the lines.
"So they want us to meet them? Where have they got that monster anchored?"
I look at the cover letter, then up at Lou... "Cuba".
"No shit?"
"Playa Santa Lucia."

I look at the next page. This one talks about the history of the Clarok, the ship
Timandra that sank on the voyage to Buenos Aires. The deep water salvage that took place. All of this part of the tale we had heard aboard Chris' mother's yacht. What we didn't know is all recent discovery... part of the Clarok shipment that never came to light when Bear was making arrangements to salvage the artifact. The last page is of the Bahamas and a couple of outlying cays with one circled... Samana Cay.

"That's it? Hell, they could have sent that on the back a postcard." Lou takes a pull off of that beer until just foam slips down the sides of the bottle.
"They send a lawyer all the way up here, without warning, to tell us this little bit of crap? Hell... if he hadn't wrecked I might have shot him if he actually landed."

I grab the papers up and shake my head.
"Well, that can't be all. He wouldn't come all the way up here... with just this."
I look at Lou, "They know we like a little more meat with our messages by now."

Lou cracks another beer, "You sure you checked every inch of that bag?"

I have left the satchel inside the hanger. While retrieving it I also grab the carry-on bag for good measure. We empty the contents of both on the table and spread it out.

"Clothes... " Lou shakes each shirt, under garment, pair of socks, "socks... this guy was wearing socks out here in the jungle. If I could have found his feet I bet he had black socks and sandals."

The satchel has a few other documents, none of which seemed to have anything to do with the Clarok. I check for a false bottom... nothing. The sides of this leather satchel are thick, but one might think it is just the hide. I pry back the seams on one side but find it is tightly stitched. The other side, however, proves to be a little more revealing.

"Here we go." I manage to get the tip of a fingernail in the stiff opening under the border. With a quick thrust I get my fingers in the breech and pull open the hidden side panel. Inside is a copy of an old map. It is non-descript... an island, trees, a stand of rocks or statues or something, some kind of barbaque spit, and a few landmark items like broken trees and strange trunked palms.

"Let me see that, Jake." Lou takes the map and gives it the once over.
"This could be anywhere. No clue with the exception of this shipwreck here, and that might just be artwork to show a reef or something."

He tosses it back to me. I look at it again.
"Your right. I don't see anything here that would indicate a location."

We have an atlas on the shelf. Since our first encounter with Antonelli's people we have dog-eared the pages off of Puerto Barrios. After leafing through the eastern side of the Carribean, I find Samana Cay. It's maybe 30 miles back from a horseshoe shaped sliver called "Crooked Island" which is in turn about 170 miles from Cuba.

"Well... that treasure map doesn't look like any part of Samana Cay." I spin the treasure map on the table next to the atlas as though I were trying to find a fit for jigsaw piece. No matter how I turn the map, the land-mass does not fit the shape of any part of Samana Cay.

"Maybe it ain't Samana Cay." Lou turns the atlas toward him and puts his finger down on Playa Santa Lucia.
"I'm thinking we find out some of the missing pieces of the puzzle when we meet Antonelli and his mother." He shakes his head slightly. "That woman is a little scary. It's like they say... they make an offer that you can't refuse."

We take a little time of silent reflection. Are we really going to go do Cuba and get neck deep in this shit again. At least it isn't to go on some fucking mind trip again. Not yet anyway.

It is a ten minutes before we say another word. Lou packs the Hula Girl again and we take several hits before looking at each other.
"Well, Nancy?
"Jesus."
"Look, Jake, Antonelli is our friend... and he needs us. That is enough for me."
I crack my fourth beer and take a pull.
"Yeah, I know."
"It's Cuba, man... I always wanted to go to Cuba."
"Yeah, Cuba, and then what. The last time we ran into pirates we all got shot and had a boat sink under us."
"Well, me and Jerry got shot. You got scratched."

My hand goes to my ear.

We are well on our way to being totally fucked up. The Hula Girl dances five or six times more before we hear Abby's engines as Jerry does a fly-by. That is the nice thing about the local shit, it doesn't paralyze you. We walk out with a cooler packed with cold beer, and the little Hula Girl, packed with Nogales window box.

There she comes... those big, beautiful radial engines putting along like a highway line of Harleys parading by. Jerry gives a wave out of the window and slides her in through the gates.

Lou and I close the compound gates and throw the padlock on. You wouldn't think that was necessary, not out here in the jungle, but it is peace of mind to have the compound locked down. Since we brought our gold money back from Mexico we have a pretty nice solar powered security system here at El Corazon that will light up this place at night if something really big comes through the fenceline.

The side door opens and Ollie's big mug is smiling. He jumps down and grabs the two of us by the neck and gives us a playful shake. When he sees the cooler and the Hula Girl, you can tell he can't decide what to do first.

"You two are like... what? Ten sheets to the wind?" Jerry smiles and hops down out of Abby. I open the cooler and hand him a cold one.

"I deliver freight in the jungle all day and all you have to give me is... light beer?"

I feel a little beer eject out of my nose on that one.

"So what's the haps, gentlemen?" Jerry takes a long pull on the cold beer and then waves the Hula Girl away from Ollie while the bowl is still glowing.

"We have a decision to make."

New Beginnings

2011-03-03T11:56:00.000-08:00

So, it's been a long time since I have posted our adventures. Actually it has taken all of this time to put the past in the past. The life we lived in the minutes of our travel back from the old west put a bender on our minds that has taken all of these months to clear.

We never went back to get the gold, me and Lou. We let the others go. Done that, been there... if it turned out different we didn't want to know. Our share would be safe with Antonelli. We wanted to get home to El Corazon, to see Jerry... to fly once more in Abigail. It took three days for us to make contact with Jerry through the airport radio to Tapia. He was confused and a little pissed off that he had to make a run all the way down to Puerto Barrios when we had a perfectly good aircraft sitting right at the airport. But we had to see him, to have him fly us back... at the controls. This nightmare of three minutes that saw Jerry dead and us bleeding out at the controls of Abby was too recent of a memory. You wouldn't believe how real it felt, the detail... the pain.

So we have Jerry come pick us up like a couple of spoiled kids and fly us back to El Corazon. I fought the urge to hug that fucking hippy. It would be weeks of night terrors and a few screams that cleared the monkeys out of the compound and shut that jungle noise down for ten minutes at a time. That is how real it was.

But with everything, time heals those wounds. Someone once likened the death of a loved one to a sharp-edged stone in a flowing river. After a while those sharp cutting edges dull with the passing of time until they are as smooth as the last trip to grandma's house for Christmas dinner.

I can only speak for myself. I would spend entire days sitting outside the fenceline on an old plane wreck... tail section. The verticle and horizontal stabs sit at a pretty comfortable angle and provided a good meditation spot. I never have been into that kind of thing, but when you have visions like those from Anahuac, it isn't easy to put them behind closed doors.

Lou, on the other hand, has been a rock. Some time ago he was able to reckon with death and the sights of mutilation and destruction. I know it haunts him... I can see it in his eyes. Just for a second there is a pain in those eyes that is quickly sheathed, hidden like a dagger that has just cut the throat of God. I feel his pain, it is deep... but sudden, like a chilling flood water that will consume you in an instant. I think he worries about his soul. But I know his heart, and God will know as well. The world is full of bad men and things that go bump in the night. Believe me, God put people like Lou on this Earth to let us sleep at night and wake to see another glorious sunrise.

So, enough of this shit. What has been going on all these months? Well, not all that much that you might find interesting. Abigail was down for a month for a complete inspection, prompted by the fact that we had to change out a cylinder on her starboard engine after she sucked a valve. We really missed having Naomi on hand. It took two weeks and a whole lot of time on the shortwave to arrange to have her brought up here. But once she was on deck, the parts runs started. We flew sixteen sorties out to the coast to pick up parts. It would have been nice to make it all in one trip, but that isn't how it works with these things. You get one thing fixed and then find another. I think it was just Abby's way of getting back at us for putting her in harms way so many times.

Most of the time it was Jerry on the parts runs. He and Ollie would fly for parts while Lou and I turned wrenches. There was plenty of cold beer, marinated pork and chicken from the girls at the cantina in town. Aside from the usual problems... fasteners not coming out, bolts snapping off, there were unique jungle issues that only we face. Monkeys stealing wrenches and parts, beer and food. It is funny at first, but then... after the tenth time, it becomes trying at best.

They stopped doing that after Lou threw an old grenade to one of them. He found the thing in the corner of some box in the hanger that he brought back from Santa Cruz so many months ago.

"Here you go you fucking monkey." He pulled the pin and threw it. That monkey must of thought it was a treasure because for a moment or two he was victorious at keeping his buddies away. Then there was a messy explosion... then nothing. They didn't come around after that.

Once Abigail was back in the air with a fresh motor and everything else running like a Swiss watch, we tried to get back to normal. It was lucky that Ollie was here with us, ready in an instant to take a run with Jerry when we didn't feel up to it.
The fact is that none of us need to work again. We have enough gold to spend in six lifetimes. With the prices today... hell, they are almost twice what we got in Mexico City so long ago. It is a fortune, we know. But we aren't the types of people that have cared all that much about the money side of things.

Lou took a run out to his old stomping grounds at Santa Cruz Hautulco two days ago. He came back with a case of Cuban cigars, ten bottles of Havana Club Dark, and an orange hang glider with a motor and a helmet. Just one more thing to break his neck with.

"Course I know how to fly it. Damn thing flies itself, Jake."
"You better stay close."
"What now?"
"Stay close... to the ground and to the compound."
"You're not my mother, Nancy."
"Thank God for small favors."

I look back over my shoulder at the PowerWagon. There is a small plastic bucket under the radiator that catches whatever coolant is left in the system every time we stop. She took a hit out on a Jungle Mart parts run a week ago and we haven't found the time to braze it or find a replacement. If he goes down anywhere but here, it will be a short ride or a long walk.

"Don't sweat it, Nancy. I'll just take her up and catch a thermal right over the compound."

There is an hour at least of set up and staging as he checks and rechecks the glider assembly. I would have helped, but I know Lou... he doesn't want to be bothered when he is in this mood. So I find a lawn chair and a grab a couple of beers.

Finally, after triple checking every connection, Lou heaves the glider up and checks the way it balances. He actually dawns the helmet, which is a sign of personal growth for Lou. He sees me looking and then flips me off. Still, though, the Lou I knew would rather piss in that helmet than put it on and admit he is infallible.
Even as I am thinking that last part he yanks the helmet off and throws it my way in defiance.

"That's a bad move."
Once again the finger.
I crack a beer and settle back for the show... or so I think.
"Nancy... come start this thing."

This thing looks like a combination of box fan and leaf blower. He is in a hanging harness so the motor will be at his back to give him thrust. There is a kill switch on one of the handles. He checks to see that it is on.
"Ignition on."
"Funny."
"Just pull the fucking starter."

I set the choke and pull the handle, hard so it jostles him.
"Easy, Nancy."
After about five pulls it sputters. I ease up on the choke and pull it again. That did it, the motor comes to life. After a moment or two I take the choke off and we let it run for a minute.

I give him a tap on the shoulder. I point to the helmet and Lou nods. Good, I don't feel like spoon feeding him when this flight turns him into a vegetable.
After he straps on his safety equipment I settle back into the lawn chair and watch the show.

He takes a couple of moments while he shifts the glider around... checking the weight I presume. Then the throttle goes up and he starts to run along. Now that alone starts me smiling, but when he gets enough lift he runs he is up and down a few times, his feet running in mid-air before touching down, then up, then down.

It isn't long before he is all the way to the end of the strip.
"WE'LL CALL THAT A TEST RUN..." I yell his way, but he doesn't hear me. I can't see his face from here, but I know the determination is cut in stone.

I hear the throttle go up and see him running, then he pops the nose of that glider up to the point that it might just stall. His feet come up off the ground by ten, fifteen, then twenty feet. He drops the nose just a bit but loses altitude so he once again flirts with a stall. Half way down the strip he tries a turn, very slow and sweeping. Good thinking to keep his climb in the middle of the strip in case he has to abort there is ample clearing to glide back down.

I'll be damned if he isn't doing it. Slowly he is climbing in this turn. He lets out a whoop as he makes his altitude. He calls down to me but I can't make out what he says. After about six or seven complete turns he is up about fifteen hundred feet and pretty small. I hear the motor cut back and he straightens up and starts on a course over the compound.

Well I'll be damned.

I am two beers down before I hear the engine stop. He has been out of sight for a while, high and nearly a mile to the southeast of the compound. He had stayed in one spot, making several figure eights... examining the jungle south of our airstrip before heading further south. I would have expected him to go toward town, drop into the cantina and make me come and get him. But that isn't the case today.

I'll be damned if I don't have to water jug the radiator on the Dodge. I fill up a couple of the empty anti-freeze jugs that are on the trash pile and throw them in the back.

She turns over slowly and then finally catches, making me work at getting her to idle. By the time I get out on the airstrip I can barely make out the "life jacket orange" fabric of the glider before it is swallowed up by the triple terrace jungle.

"Oh for Christ sake. I told him... I told him." I start down toward the end of the airstrip and try to go quickly before I run out of water.

The parts run trail at the end of the strip is nothing more than a couple of ruts competing with each other. I am buffeted hard, like a prize fighter getting pummeled on the ropes. I try to keep visual toward my last sighting. When the trail takes on a different direction, I shut the truck off and step out.

The jungle noise is at a minimum this time of day.
"LOU... " I reach in and hit the horn button, but it just clicks... typical.
"HEY LOU... WHERE ARE YOU, MAN?"

I strain to hear him, but the low hum of bug life out here might just be enough to...

"Jake?"

It is faint and far off, somewhere south east of where I am. There is enough clearing through the jungle that I figure I better take the truck as close as I can get.

As I rumble deeper into the jungle, I can see orange in the shadows above and ahead. In another hundred yards the glider is visible, caught in a rather large tree. Lou is dangling from a thin white cord about twenty feet off the ground. He looks none the worse for wear. There is blood dripping off one of his arms and he has a shoe off.

"Pull under me."
"Hello to you, too."
"Put the cab right under me."

I pull up so he is twirling above the cab and shut her down. I just get out and down he comes, after the first bounce he is on the jungle floor and there is another dent in the top of the truck that we have to push out.

"Welcome to Earth."
"Stow it, Nancy. There's something about two clicks over that way." He points deeper into the jungle.
"They're called trees... or monkeys. I don't know which of those you were looking at."

"God damnit, where is my other shoe?"

I aid in the search and we find it in the other direction. It is already covered in ants. Lou fires it back toward the truck and then beats it mercilously on the bumper until he is satisfied that the intruders have left. After he dons the shoe he is ready to go.

"You're bleeding."
"It'll stop. I think we can get the truck in through these trees."
"Yeah, just keep in mind we are probably going to run out of water before we can make it back."

I start through the trees, hoping that the trees don't choke down to nothing. I at least want a place to turn around if that is at all possible. Backing all the way out of a dead end sucks the...

"STOP."
"Jesus, you startled me. I'm right here you motherfuc... "
"Look."

On the jungle floor off to our right is a small plane, a single engine... probably a Cessna 182. There is a tear in the canopy above it from when it came through the trees and the light is shining through, illuminating this pilots last resting place.

We get out of the truck and make our way over. This is a fresh crash site. I can smell fuel, so there was no fire on impact. But that is little consolation to whomever was inside. It is a fatal impact... you can tell from just looking at it.

"Just the pilot." Lou is squatting next to the flattened cockpit. He stands quickly and starts wiping the ants away from him. The jungle has already started to claim this prize. First the ants, then the blow flies, then God knows what else.

In the passenger compartment we find a carry-on bag and a satchel.
"He was traveling light." I pick up the bags and pull them out for examination. Lou takes the suitcase and I open the satchel. What I find makes this more than just a crash site.

I remove a sealed envelope.

"Whatcha got?" Lou asks, rifling through the shirts and neatly folded undergarments.
"I don't know yet, but it has our names on it."

Into the Sunset

2010-07-10T21:13:00.000-07:00

"Oh... what the fuck." I work the throttle and spin the number two. It is excruciatingly slow. I flash to Jimmy Stewart in "The Flight of the Phoenix" with his last starter shot. The motor catches near the last of the juice. I breathe a premature sigh of relief. Hand starting an engine this size is pretty much out of the question. As I squeak the fuel into her, not wanting her to quit on me, I hear the report of Lou's AK as he tries to keep them off of me while I get her going. There is a moment when the gunfire halts for maybe a five count. Lou jumps aboard.

"GO GO GO... "
"But I don't have the number one started."
"FUCK THAT... GO."

I push the throttle for Abby's number two to the stop and she powers up. It takes a four count on the way up to about 75% when I release the brakes and we lurch forward.
"Lou, get up here. If we are gonna leave the ground we need that number one engine. I can't fly and start it at the same time."

I hear him scrambling up behind me, then several shots and I hear him fall. Somewhere near the pit of my stomach I panic, but then he is pulling himself into the right seat.

As we roll away and head down the dirt runway we feel dozens of impacts from small arms fire. My window shatters next to me. The next shot I feel rather than see or hear. My chest is on fire and it feels as though the wind has been knocked from me. I keep at the controls and am aware of the number one engine as Lou gets it started and on-line.

"Now we're cooking with gas." I choke and feel blood in the back of my mouth.

More gunfire, several rifles to our right firing at us as we pass. A round blows through the floor at the right seat and catches Lou in the leg.
"You MOTHERFUCKERS."

I pull back on the stick and we begin to lift off. Several more shots pierce the cabin and just behind us. I feel a stinging in my lower back and then realize that I am in big trouble.

"Lou... give me a little right rudder."
"Can't, one of those bastards got my right foot."
"You better use your left then, I can't move either of mine."

I feel the cold numbness of paralysis below the belt as we lift off and are airborne. Lou give it his best effort on the rudder and we manage to bank over and out of range of those on the ground.

My breathing his short and painful. The blood I tasted at the back of my throat is now coming up and out onto my shirt every time I breath. I fight the urge to cough, knowing the pain might black me out. Then there is the acrid smell of urine. I have no control of any function below the gunshot wound.

Climb... climb... climb. We make it above a thin layer of cloud that has formed in the last fifteen minutes and are now at about a thousand feet.

We are up and away, safe from ground fire. But I don't think that matters. The damage has been done. This will be the last time Abigail takes us up.

"What the FUCK?" Lou's head goes back and he closes his eyes, then opens them wide and reaches down to his damaged leg. He stifles the pain, a sound I haven't heard in all this time with him.
"Awe... shit."

"What?"
"I'm bleedin' out, Jake... too much, too much."
"Tie it off."
"Can't get to it. They hit me in through my right side. I think they got my liver. There is a hole the size of a shot glass."
"Well... shit."

We fly in silence for a second or two. Long enough to realize that we better say what we want to say before we both give up the ghost.

"How did you manage to get on the plane without getting nailed?" I've got nothing.
"The... " Lou takes a sharp breath. I feel that panic again. He is on his way out.
"The boy, the hand grenade paperweight. They thought it was real. Must have... "
He draws up tight for a moment and makes another sound I have never heard him make before.

"Hey, I get it." I look over at him and he is looking at me like we are saying goodbye.
"It's been a fucking blast, Jake. What a run, man... what a run. These last years have been the best I've spent."

Now that is something coming from Lou. I always see this guy like a super-hero and don't expect to have him die right in front of me. But it's coming.

"Hey... Lou, thanks brother. I would have been dead a hundred different times if it weren't for you saving my ass."

"Yep."

Time passes without a sound. Only a minute... maybe two, but it seems like an eternity. It isn't until I hear his voice that I know he isn't dead yet.
"How much fuel does she have?"

A good question. I look to the gauges and for the first time realize that the circuit that lights them is shot out.
"Your guess is as good as mine. But if I know Jerry she's full."

At the mention of his name we both go silent. Oh man... Jerry. We didn't have time to grieve him, and it doesn't seem as though we will now either.

"Jake... "
"Yeah?"
"I could use a Walker."
"I would have to chew it, Lou. I think I took one through the chest."

I hear the Zippo and then the sweet smell of Lou's Walker. He draws in a hit like it is his last. Then passes it to me.
I know this isn't going to work, but I take a toke out of honor. It stays put... no choking. We both exhale at the same time.

"Hey Jake... "
"Yeah... "
I never know if he responds, or if I am dead when he does.
Abby flies on. I trimmed her out just before I passed out. Even with the fuel bombs on board the old girl will find her balance. She will find a way to stay aloft until the very end. It shouldn't be hard to find the wreckage. We fly her last flight... two warriors on ride into the sunset, and with us we carry honor, kinship, and memories worth more than any treasure can be to a man.

THE END

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I hear the murmur of voices. I is as though they are behind the glass in an aquarium. I feel a thud, then another. Like someone is slapping a canned ham. Again, panicked voices, then... calm and reassurance. Light... brighter than the sun to me. I feel a hand cover my eyes, then the feeling, it is my own. If this is heaven, then I think I have been ripped off.

"Mr. Allen... Jake, come on Mr. Allen."
I feel my breathing, no pain. I think I wiggle my toes and then thrash my legs a bit.

"He's coming around."

I gasp and draw in a huge lung of air as though I were near drowning.

My eyes fly open. I can't focus, but I think I see the fuzzy familiar faces of Dr. Adams and Angelica.
"What the... ?"

"You and Louis were not conscious when you came through. The others seemed fine, but you two have been out for a few minutes."

"A few MINUTES?" I sit up, and to my surprise I am not in any pain what so ever.
"We have been living another life for weeks. We were killed trying to rescue our friend."
"Well, Louis came to just before you and we have sent him back to his room to change. You may join him in the lounge if you wish. The others are there waiting. I have already sent news that you are awake and doing fine."

Oh my God.

I am escorted to my room and I find the clothes I had left there weeks before. My body is prickly, like your foot when it falls asleep and then the feeling comes back. I... I can't believe this was all a matter of seconds from our return from the old west. JERRY, that means Jerry is still okay. That means Corazon is still there, my t-shirt collection, those fucking monkeys, Naomi, oh... God, thank you God.

My door opens and there he is.
"You okay?"

"That's what they tell me." I wipe my eyes, "I can't fucking believe it."

"You too? I thought it was just my dream."
"Dream? Did we get shot up rescuing Jerry in northern Mexico?"
"You know we did."
"Oh man, it was as real as you and me standing here."
"That was a fucking nightmare, man. One that I would rather not re-live."

We both walk to the lounge. The last time we were in here was just before we left for the old west. Seems like years.

Inside we find our friends, some welcome handshakes and several bear-hugs, whiskey and Muerte Verde, even a tray of hand rolled Walkers. Stories start, laughter and back slapping, tall tales that stretch the past to the thinnest veil of reality. I close my eyes and listen to the voices. A feeling of happiness and contentment wash over me. Then I feel Lou tapping on my arm, the Walker. I take it from him and draw a long hit into my healthy lungs. I look at him and nod as I let the smoke out in a thin stream. He smiles and nods. It is like we died and went to heaven.

I want to thank those of you out there that have taken this Journey with us. Keller Texas and Santa Barbara deserve mention for their persistence. And for the rest of you, there have been 4500 visits, dozens of full time readers, over 7800 page views.

We will be checking in later in the year. If you want to shoot us an email and give us an email we can drop you a note on I will let you know when we are starting back up. Lou and I are thinking of heading back up to the states and starting a P.I. agency. Should be a few tales to tell. Thanks again out there.

The Sun also Sets

2010-05-05T17:35:00.000-07:00

"So what are we doing?" I open the action on the old Berretta in the hopes of finding a lone round in the chamber. No such luck.

"We need to get Jerry." Lou winces as he works the arm that he took the shot through.
"If I had a round in this gun I would try that gunpowder trick you used on me in Modoc."
"Yeah, like we have shots to waste."
I know he is serious, but I can see the idea working on him. Six shots or not, if he bleeds out we are done.
Taylor is confused as he watches Lou break down the spare shot gun shell and tap the powder into the hole in his arm.

"I need a light." He hisses... the gunpowder stinging the open wound as it sits in there.
I tap my pockets, know full well there is no lighter in there. Taylor reaches for his shirt pocket but comes up empty. Just when Lou feels like the fool for wasting the shell, the boy understands what we are looking for and pulls out a Bic and flicks it to life. Lou grabs his hand as he holds it and draws it to his packed wound until if flares off. The boy's jaw drops as he looks at the fireworks.

"SHHHHiitt... " He almost passes out, but manages to fight it back and stay on his feet. The smell of burned meat and smokeless gunpowder stings the nostrils. There are only two of us standing here that knows what that feels like. I wish I wasn't one of them.

"Okay... alright, I'm alright." Lou shakes it off and stands tall.
"We need to get Jerry." He looks at the boy and says something to him in mother tongue. The boy nods and Lou puts a hand on the slight shoulder.
"Junior here will watch the men at the plane. He will run back to the main house to alert us if any of them start back here."

We send him on his way and we start toward the house. It is pitch black now. Taylor leads us, having been back and forth several times. We find several lights on at the far end of the structure.
"Is that where Jerry is?" I whisper.

Taylor's hand points through the darkness, "He is on that side."
No light, no guard... at least not outside the building. They must have assumed that Taylor had run away. Hell... I would after knowing what he knows about what they did to these people here.

Lou's trained eyes see something I don't.
"One man, under the overhang of the roof where it drops down."
I see nothing.
"Wait for it."
A tiny orange light grows and then dies.
"No shit."

Lou goes left, staying low in the arroyo. We are left to create a small distraction so he can get close enough to dispatch this guy without making any noise. We count to fifty and then throw a couple of large stones out away from the house... toward the lighted side. When they clack down to the ground the orange light hits the ground and the man emerges. We can barely make out his shape, but we can see the weapon as it comes up.

There is a pause, then he calls a name. I am hoping it isn't loud enough to bring anyone out of the house. Before he can call again, he is brought to the ground. There is a short burst of a struggle, and then nothing. Slowly one man rises to his feet, then drags the other back into the shadows.

"Come on, let's go." I grab Taylor.
"What if that wasn't Lou that got up just now."
"It was Lou. If it were the other guy we would have heard about it by now. And why would he drag him off like that? He wouldn't give a fuck."

We stumble through the darkness until we are close enough to whisper a call.
"Lou?"
"Come on."

In seconds we are next to him. He is winded. There are more to his injuries than he is letting on.
"We have an AK." He hands the shotgun to me. I hear the clip come out of the machine gun and then lock back into place.
"Feels like a full clip."
He kneels down and frisks the body for a back up. Nothing.
"This night is getting better already."

We gather at the door and Taylor slowly turns the handle. It opens with little fanfare... or noise. We slip inside.

The only light is emminating from the cracks around a closed door. There is a foul smell in here. Not quite the stink of death, but pretty damn close to it. The floor is sticky.

"What the hell is on the floor?" I whisper, immediately feeling Lou's grip on my arm to silence me. We stand motionless for a beat to see if we might be discovered. Nothing.
"More like who is on the floor." Taylor whispers in response.
"Will you two shut the fuck up." Lou hisses.

We approach the door and brace ourselves. There is a moment where we wait for any sound... breathing... anything. When it seems we have waited long enough, Lou lifts the latch and tries to silently open the door. The hinges squeel, ruining any chance of surprise. He flings it open and we burst into the room, ready for a fight.

There is no enemy, not in here anyway. What is in here brings even Lou's solid demeanor to its knees. I feel my stomach churn and I turn and vomit, causing the two of them to do the same.

Jerry, or what is left of him, is tied above the opening at the top of fifty five gallon steel drum overflowing with a viscous fluid. It looks to be only his head and clavical, suspended by a leather harness that cups under his chin and then is hooked to a chain hanging from the rafters. His facial features tell the horrifying tale of his last moments of consciousness.

"Jesus... Jerry." I feel my emotions in my throat, replacing the sickening evacuation from moments ago.

"We're done here." Lou turns and exits, realizing that we may end up in the Pozolero's stew pot if we didn't get out of here. I turn to follow, but Taylor stands transfixed on the terrifying sight of Jerry's last moment.

"Come on, Taylor, we gotta go."
"He's gone... he's... How do we get out of here? I can't fly that thing."
"I will fly us out of here."
"You?"

I grab his arm and tow him out of the room. As soon as we close the door, he turns and leads the way out.

Lou is crouched down outside the structure, motioning us down. In a matter of moments I can hear it too. Someone is coming.

In the darkness the boy sprints across toward us from the buildings near the airstrip. He doesn't see us and when he passes us, Lou snatches him and holds a hand over his mouth.
"Easy... easy boy, it's us." He let's his hand drop and immediately regrets it.
"Están viniendo, ESTAN VINIENDO"

Lou puts his hand back over the boy's mouth, but it is too late.
"They're coming."

We hear voices, alerted to the kid's outburst. He had survived all of this... his grandfather and all of those around him murdered, the terror of watching and hearing the torture. It is too much for a boy to handle. He squirms and wrestles free and disappears into the night.

"Great... just great." Taylor says under his breath. "He couldn't just run by and whisper that they are coming?"

We see two men making their way around to our right. Whether they see us or not isn't as important as the fact that is only two of the eight and we don't see the other six.

Lou taps my shoulder and he leans in.
"You boys let me do the shooting if we mix it up. We need to conserve as much ammo as possible. If I have to drop one of them, get their weapon. We will arm as we go."

The two on our right walk on by our position about twenty yards off.

"Taylor... " Lou whispers so lightly that I wasn't sure if I heard him at all, but Taylor did. He moves next to Lou.
"How is your throwing arm?"
Taylor nods... "Good."
Lou places a good sized stone into his hand and then looks at me.
"When Taylor throws that rock at the house and it hits, you run like the fucking wind to Abigail. I have a feeling that the rest of these guys are hiding in the dark out here. The noise will flush them out, or at least draw their attention."

He puts a hand on my shoulder, "You might have to cap a couple of these guys. If you do, the rest will come running." He takes the pump shotgun from Taylor and trades the double barrel, handing the pump to me. I also get the extra shell and slide it as quietly as I can into the bottom of the gun.
Lou gives my shoulder a squeeze, "You be careful."

I am facing the other way when Taylor throws the rock. I can hear him make his move and it is a three count before it hits. I don't even look. Like a guy running 50 yard dash, the rock is my starter pistol. I bolt from my position and run like hell towards the buildings that hide Abigail from view.

Behind me the alert sounds as a half a dozen men pour from the house. No shots fired, not yet. I stay as low as I can in the wash and scramble toward the structures near the runway.

In an instant they are in front of me, running... make more noise than four men should. I drop and try to flatten out into the arroyo. They are heading right for me. One of them steps inches in front of the shotgun barrel.

Gunshots... pistol, I think. Not ours. I make the buildings in front of me and skirt around the side, low and quick. I can make out Abby in the darkness, her beautiful lines... like a statue at the Louvre.

Behind me, gunfire erupts... volley after volley. I hear the two blasts from the shotgun. They must be close to their position and desperate for Taylor to use the two rounds he has in that shotgun. AK fire is rampant. In the seconds I am focused on the gun battle I can hear the trigger-happy cartel guys... and then I can hear each single shot that Lou peels off. Deliberate and direct, he is culling them out and evening the odds.

I make the plane, winded and surging with adrenaline. The gun battle has done what he thought it would and has drawn the men away from Abby. I am alone with her. She is cold and still.

Inside I see the fuel bombs. No time to do anything about it. Before I hop up into the hold, I pull the chocks and toss them. Don't want to forget and have them hold us fast. As I scramble to the flight deck the gunfire is fully involved. I hear more shotgun blasts. Taylor has used his rounds which means someone else is chasing them down with a scatter gun.

I do a spot check of the controls, no time for checklists. Just as I am about to spin the number two engine, I hear the gun battle approaching. Single shots as Lou conserves his ammo, picking off the dark shapes that chase him toward me.

Abby's number two turns over very slowly. Someone has left a switch on and has sapped her battery power. I play with the throttle, hoping... praying that she will catch. If I can't start this engine we are through. This nightmare is going to end badly, I just know it.

The Buzz

2010-04-03T08:35:00.000-07:00

The sun has set on this hellish high desert. There is enough light to see our surroundings, but that is of little help and even less reassuring. Our backs are to the wall of the building we emerged from... a farm house or equipment barn or something. Off in the distance is a much larger structure, beyond which I am assuming is Abigail and the air strip.

Whomever was ahead of us, leading us out of the basement, is nowhere in sight. It is just me and Lou. He takes a knee, his good arm touching down to give him support.

"Lou, you okay?"
"This from a man with eight digits and a broken back."
"Yeah, funny... huh? I feel better than I look."
I put my good hand on his shoulder.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine... just feel a little light headed."
"You lost a lot of blood back there."
He looks at me in the shadowing darkness, "You are losing blood right now, Nancy."

I look at my hand for the first time. I have been avoiding it up until now. Just dealing with the numbed fire of pain. Shouldn't have looked.

I feel the ground at my back... it knocks the wind from me.
"Come on, Nancy."
I feel a pretty hefty slap on the side of my face. I open my good eye.
"What happened?"
"You fainted... like a school girl."

He has torn off the lower part of my shirt and wrapped my hand with it. I feel a little better... bleeding has stopped, but...
"You look like a pansy with that half shirt on."
"Thanks."

We hear footsteps, more than one person. It is now that we realize we are unarmed and fairly helpless. Lou holds up a finger in my direction and we near the corner of the building. When the shadowy figure emerges from the corner Lou snatches him with his good arm and before he knows it the little man is on the ground with a knee in his back.

"Soy su amigo... SOY SU AMIGO."

He is just a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen.

Lou takes his knee out of the boy's back as Taylor rounds the corner with two old shotguns in hand.
"He is one of ours, Lou. We need him to help us out of here."

"Sorry, Amigo." The boy is helped up and he winces with pain. He pulls something out of his front pocket and drops it to the ground at his feet. Even in the darkness we can see it is a grenade.

"WATCH IT."

We dive away, except for the boy. He bends over and picks up the grenade and holds it out in his hand.
"Es un peso de papel."

Lou tips his head and repeats back to him what he just told us. The boy nods.
"It's a paper weight. Not a real grenade."
"No shit... it sure looks real."

Before we move another step, Lou takes the boy aside and he and Taylor listen and ask questions. I, on the other hand, am content to take the translated version from Lou when they are finished.

Turns out the boy was the grandson of the man that had owned this farm. Because of the airstrip and its relative proximity to Nuevo Laredo, the Sinaloa cartel decided it was of value to their trafficking operations. Joseph Guzman, an escapee from the Mexico Federal prison system and head of the Sinaloa cartel, decided to make an offer to this boy's grandfather that he couldn't refuse. But the grandfather was a good sort, the kind of man a grandson can look up to, and refused to allow the take-over of his property.

Even outlaws feel the need for legalities, especially when it comes to deeds and sale of land. One by one the grandfather's workers were tortured in front of him. At first they used the high speed and electrocution that I had endured. Then they started a sort of crucifixion where they were nailing parts of the workers bodies to the sides of the barn and letting them hang there. But when this wasn't effective, they brought in a Pozolero to convince him... and it did.

Pozole is a tasty stew made with corn and beef and a few other ingredients. It is a Tijuana specialty that had taken on quite a different recipe when it comes to the Cartels. In this case, a Pozolero would dip his victims in a vat of acid... commonly and in this particular case lye, and boil them to death. The torment would last for mere moments, but the terror of watching someone dissolve before your eyes was quite a motivator. He signed the papers and then he himself was dissolved. The only person to survive was the grandson, this young man in front of us. He bore witness to cruelty that no man should have to witness.

Lou takes the grenade from the boy and examines it.
"World War II era... I've seen cigarette lighters made out of old grenades."

Voices, shouting coming from behind the larger structure. Lou pockets the paperweight and grabs a shotgun from Taylor.
"There are eight men around the plane." Taylor reports as he ejects the shells from the pump shotgun. Only four rounds. Lou's is a double barrel. He cracks it and finds both shells unfired.
"You better give me one of those rounds, then we each have three."
Taylor tosses on his way and then loads the other three. He still has the pistol he used to rescue me tucked in his belt, but it is empty. I motion for it.

"Give me the pistol. I might be able to convince someone that I mean business."
"Not a good idea, Jake."
"I know, I know... don't point a weapon unless you mean to kill someone with it. Well, I do mean to kill someone. I'll just have to beat the hell out of them with it."

Taylor gives us the buzz... tells us what he saw and what had happened before we arrived. Apparently two days ago Jerry's brother Mike came aboard in Mascoala when they on-loaded the product... six hundred kilo's of cocaine. As soon as he said that I knew that we were not dealing with our Jerry, not any more. This Jerry is more reckless. They picked up armed escort at their next stop, the planes that we had shot down upon our arrival. They would keep the cargo safe until its arrival in Anahuac, then patrol for any DEA or like authorities.

Once they had landed, there was supposed to be a simple off-load and payment. They made Jerry, Taylor, Mike and his two body guards all get off of Abigail under the pretense of having a couple of cold ones with the cartel boss Guzman. It all seemed friendly enough.

After introductions Mike and Guzman left the room. Mike's boys were not allowed to follow. Their guns were taken and they were removed to another room. We never saw them again. A short time later we heard a plane take off. When we tried to go outside...see what was going on, but that was not to be. We where held at gunpoint, prisoners.

Guzman didn't return and his men were getting a little nervous. It seems they were instructed to off-load the cargo and keep the payment as well. Whatever Guzman and Mike were doing was not known to his men. They still wanted the payment and the coke. They had other plans than just letting this plane fly out of here.

"We managed to overpower the two guys that were guarding us. Jerry stuck them both with a knife he took off of one of their sides. Once we had their weapons we thought we might be able to make it to the plane." Taylor shakes his head.
"I really don't know what Jerry was thinking. There was still the matter of those two armed escort planes."
"Taylor... where is Jerry?" I was getting impatient.

He told us that Jerry had a plan. Taylor would take his weapon and head to the other side of the barn and create a distraction. If it cleared the guys away from Abigail, then Jerry would fire it up and get ready for take-off while Taylor circled back around. Even this Jerry new to park his plane in a way that would promote a fast departure.

But the plan didn't work. Even though Taylor's sporadic gunfire and a small explosion and fire courtesy of a couple of old gas cans drew the men away from the plane, they managed to thwart the escape attempt.

"I never made it back to the plane. As soon as they heard the engines start, they returned to the plane and pulled Jerry from the cockpit. They beat him senseless before taking him inside."

"Where?" Lou asks him.
"The main house. I was on my way there when I ran into the boy here. He was like an animal, fought me with everything he had until he realized that I wasn't going to harm him."
Taylor reaches out and tousles the boy's hair.
"He showed me a pretty good hiding place and then told me what had happened to his family. We tried to go in after dark to find Jerry, but they had the place sewn up tight."

"So he is still in there?"
"We heard screaming, the nasty high pitched kind coming from a room in the back. The boy says it is his grandfathers storage room... no windows. They think he has the money. They weren't privy to the fact that no payment took place and their boss and Mike had left the area."

"It doesn't make sense," I shake my head. "You would think they would want Jerry to make dozens of runs for them. It just doesn't make sense to do it this way."

Taylor nods, "I know what you mean. I think it has more to do with the fact that Guzman was here... that we saw him. He is a very guarded man. He came here to make this spot his, to set up camp for his operations. I don't believe he meant to be here when this all went down. It was easier to keep the payment, kill the crew and torch the plane."

"Torch the plane?"
Taylor sighs, "I managed to get a quick look inside when these guys were chasing after you... you know, right before they shot you down. There are seven drums of gasoline loaded into the cargo bay. I think they mean to shoot her full of holes until she blows."

Well, there you have it. Our pal Jerry is either dead or near dead at the hands of these guys. The only hope for escape is loaded with enough gasoline to make it turn to dust after the explosion. And we are three men and a boy with six rounds and a paperweight. I hate to say it, but I have seen worse.

Our Darkest Day

2010-03-13T08:19:00.000-08:00

Not enough time or distance to keep us from harms way. It would have been the men on the ground if not for Lou's make-shift aerial bomb. But the bomb itself sufficed in knocking us out of the sky... a two for one if you will. We eliminated the danger below, most of it anyway, assuring us that those armed men wouldn't be the first responders to our crash site.

That blast... it seems to move Naomi sideways a couple of feet as I am in my turn. The concussion along with the fragmentation has not only eliminated the threat below us, but all maneuvering and lift capability. It is all drag from here on out. I am aware of more light in the aircraft, the stillness of Lou's body, the ground as it displays in front of me... as though I am a limp cloth tumbling in a dryer. Somewhere inside my mind I say goodbye, and then the most horrendous hit in my life as Naomi collides with northern Mexico.

All is black and silent. I wait in this limbo for a sign that I am dead. So far this is a pretty good indication.

I don't know if time has passed. I know nothing. I can't see anything but don't know if I have my eyes open or can open them for that matter. I hear very little. What I hear I almost feel, that is how numb I am. Somewhere in this I worry for Lou... but I am helpless to find him.

Feeling comes back to me in spurts. I am being dragged. Light flashes in my eyes, then it fragments and scatters... then it is back as bright as the sun. There is a great deal of pain, but I cannot pinpoint the source. One thing for certain is that I am not dead, not yet anyway. I tumble, long and hard, as though someone rolled me off a cliff to dispose of me. Then I hit the cold rush of current. Somewhere behind me I sense another body touching down.

I had no idea that when this day started I would be shot down, blown up, dragged and dropped... only to drown at the end of it. Just as I am resigning myself I am collected and heaved up on the bank.

"Come on... WAKE UP fella... " I feel a slap... no pain or sting from it, probably no more of an effect than slapping an elephant. I am shaken and slapped again. From deep within me a sharp stab of pain makes itself known.
"hey..."
"That's it... come on, wake up." He shakes me again and the pain increases.
"stop... shaking me."

I am cold now, and the feeling comes back to me as quickly as dreams fade to an awakening man.
"I think something is broken."

"You should be dead."
"Where is Lou?"
"He's gone, Jake."

He knows my name. This stranger knows my name. I open my eyes, well... one of them. The other is swelled shut from my impact with the inside of Naomi's cockpit.
Before me is the man in some of the pictures that Babe had on her walls.

"Are you Taylor?"
"Now your coming back, Jake."
"Jerry... "

There is a pause... bad news.
"They have him."
"Lou."
"He's gone man."
"No."
"Yes."
"Get him... bring him here."
"Dude, there are still men up there. I barely made it out of there with you. There is no way he is still with us. He fell from that plane before you dove in. He had to be dead."

I feel for any confirmation on this. Would I know if he were dead? I sure as hell thought he was on more than one occassion. One thing for sure, I am not leaving him up there to rot. I try to struggle to my feet. From the jolt of pain I receive for my efforts I can only gather that my back is broken.
"Get him... please go get him."
"You're fucking crazy, man."

I fight through the pain as I grab the collar of his shirt and drag him face to face.
"Lou risked his life to come to save your ass. You go and GET HIM."

When I let him go, the pain takes me and I am out. It is an odd thing, the immense pain that blacks you out... but you fight like hell to get back to where you can feel it again. That is my quest, to get back to consciousness and find my friends. I already don't like this Taylor. He isn't one of us. Doesn't have the commitment.

I creak open my good eye and as far as I can tell I am looking down stream from where we entered. It seems like I am laying here for an eternity. I slip in and out of consciousness. While my eye is closed I hear distant splashes... more than one man. I am hoping it is Lou coming with Taylor, but when I hear the voices I know this is not true.

"Es el piloto."

I feel the water surge around my legs as they gather around me. I am heaved off of the ground and hear one of them emit a horrifying scream. Only when I feel the black out come that I am aware it was me. What happens now I do not know.

I am cold. There is no warmth. I feel my body convulse, a hard hit that makes my teeth crunch. It is now that I realize I am not in good hands.

"El se recupera."

I can smell ozone, something... "

"Golpéelo otra vez."
This time I go rigid and feel the current through my body. Whatever is broken is set by the contraction of my muscles. The hit is only seconds long, but I can smell burning flesh and hair.

I open my eyes and I am in a barren room, cracked and stained with years of neglect. Above me are high, shallow windows, and a single light bulb hanging from its wires, tape in place of wire nuts that would make it a...

"DONDE ESTA NUESTRO DINERO?"
I am hit again with a blast of household current. I close my eyes tight. In the back of my mind I hope that these guys know how long you can do this without killing a guy. Me... I don't know. Never had a need to electrocute a man in my basement before.

A strained voice comes from my throat, "I... don't... know about the money."

As if the room had to agree on a response to my statement there is a pause before the next blast of current. I am wracked with pain... from the current, from my injuries, from the cold I am feeling to my bones. I wonder if this is paralysis I am feeling.

Then, in a bone chilling moment I hear the sound of some sort of tool, high speed... the kind of tool they would use to cut through bone. I keep my eyes closed and wait for the end, no matter how agonizing that end might be. I think of nothing else. I have already made my peace and said goodbye to those I love or have loved. Those I wish to take with me in my memories of this Earth.

There is emotion mixed with the voices. My Spanish is not working for me here and now, but I can hear it in them, the apprehension. Only one voice drives them too cut into me, to continue until my voice will be quieted, even when it says nothing of importance.

As I wait to die, I think it is something I wish... not reality, that happens next. Gunshots in the distance, screams as men go down. The retaliation drives toward me, more and more men cry out as the invading force comes near. I keep my eyes closed, knowing to open them might only fuel my captors cruelty. The high pitched sound of the tool changes to a scream of the same nature, only it is my voice that fills the room as the pinky and ring finger are separated from my left hand.

Then, like an angel from heaven, a voice that puts a smile on my tortured face.

"JAKE... "
There is a blast... shotgun from the sound of it, then the sound of someone throwing the pulp of a watermelon against the wall of this place. I keep my eyes closed and feel a liberating hand undoing the straps that bind me to this place.
"Grab his legs."

More gunfire. I am dropped to the ground, my body numb and eyes clenched tightly closed I can only sense what is going on around me. There is a flurry of movement and I sense a struggle. My feeling returnes when something heavy and hard lands on the side of my face. Had I been on my back rather than my side I think my jaw would be broken from the force of it. Whatever it is partially blocking the view of my good eye.

A body lands next to me, no... two men, locked in battle. I see the reflection of a blade, slashing against the force that holds it fast. I taste blood on my lips and then see the eyes. It is Lou, looking directly at me. It is his blood I am feeling, his struggle that is near its mortal end.

Now I know Lou, I know his voice, his heart, his loyalty, and beyond all... his look.
He cuts to the ground below my head and back to his attacker. In this instant I can see that he is pumping blood onto the ground like a gored bullfighter. If I don't act now this will be it for the both of us.

I muster everything I have into the burst of energy that I summon. It moves my body, like pushing a beached whale with a bulldozer, I shove myself into a position where I can grab the gun that has landed near my face. In a fleeting moment I relish the fact that the prick didn't cut off the fingers on my right hand. I aim and squeeze. I think there are five shots before the weapon just clicks in my hand.

"Lou?"
"Nice shootin' Tex."
"Are we dead?"
"Not yet, pal, but the night is young."

Minutes pass. Lou manages a tourniquet to stem the flow from his wound. I have managed to see through my swollen eye and have overcome some pretty good pain to sit upright.
"Jake... you doin' okay?"
"Jesus, Lou, I thought you were dead."
"When that bomb went off, I thought I was dead too." He stands and I can see that he has been shot through the leg as well, a belt from some anonymous donor strapped tightly around his thigh above the wound.

"We have to get to Abigail and get the fuck out of here, Jake."
"Where is Taylor."

I see Lou look toward the hallway, then back at me.
"He is going to find where they took Jerry."
"I don't trust him, Lou."
"He pulled my ass out of the wreckage and helped me get you out of here. You should trust him."

I try to focus on standing, it is monumental. Lou sees my efforts and jumps up to my side as I cry out with the pain.
"You're pretty broken up, Jake. Best let me take you where we're going."
"I... "
"Just shut the fuck up, Nancy, and let me carry you."

It is a painful process, but in the end I retain consciousness as Lou uses a firemen's carry to take me out of the building.

There is someone ahead of us, guiding us. While we bound along, something in my back gives an audible crack and I feel the lightning flash of feeling in my legs and feet.
"LOU... Lou, put me down. Something popped."

We stop and I am slowly lowered to the ground, feet first. I can feel the earth beneath me, and when I put my weight on my limbs... they hold.
"What ever happened in the wreck just went back into place."

I stand on my own and take a step or two. I can feel the need to wince with the pain, but don't. Lou has been dropped from the sky and shot through the leg and he was carrying me. I can surely withstand this discomfort in order to get us out of this place.

The Escort Service

2010-02-19T09:25:00.000-08:00

For some reason Naomi's autopilot system isn't working, and I don't have the time or energy to fix it or even reason out what might be wrong. Why that is on my mind I don't know.

Lou took over at the controls a while ago, hours... and I thought I would be able to get some shut eye. That isn't happening. My eyes are closed, but that is the extent of my relaxation. I take what I can get, however, and just sit there... head back... seeing nothing. Lou is fiddling around with something, I can hear him, and then the one cassette we have comes to life and we are listening to Los Lonely Boys once again. I don't mind. You can barely hear it over the WASPS but it is comforting just the same.

There has been no discussion about what we are flying into on this trip. If Jerry is heading up this close to the border, I can only hope that he has taken every precaution. You see, that's the thing... it doesn't matter about the guy you know. It is the guy you don't know, the crazy fucker that comes along with the buyer who is more than willing to gut you to see what you had for lunch, that is the guy I worry about. The more I think about it this Taylor character is probably the heavy influence on the decision to make the trip. I already don't like the guy and I haven't even met him.

Lou seems to have a bit of a premonition. He took most of the grenades in the box and used the cord we had to make a sort of aerial cluster bomb. There must be fifty or sixty feet of straight cord with a loop tied on the end. This he has tied through some structure near the aft hatch. At the other end he has twenty or so individual lanyards that go out another ten or so feet... kind of staggered lengths so they aren't all hanging together. These are individually tied around the pins for each grenade. So if and when the time comes to use them he can throw the whole bundle out of the cargo door. Then, if all goes well... which means that the pins pull out of the grenades and they don't blow before we are out of harms way, we might see an advantage from his inventive streak. I see plenty to go wrong; early detonation... tail blows off and we die, pins don't come out... and the wind stream beats the little bastards on the tail section until it falls off or blows off, OR they drop okay and Lou forgets to cut the cords loose and they foul up the flight controls and we crash and die. All in all it sounds like a plan.

We fly for quite some time before Lou gives me a shove.
"Grab that apple juice out of the box, Jake, I'm fading fast." He takes a hand and rubs his eyes.

I grab the plastic jug... only about a pint left. I open it and take a hit before passing it on. Lou up-ends it and just before the last couple of swallows he passes it back and I finish it. Most of what-ever is in the bottom of that jug provides a nasty finish.

"Oh, Christ... that is some nasty shit."
Lou sits straight up in his seat, "But it works."
"Jake, take over for me. I want to check my rifle."

I take the controls and Lou goes back and unwraps his rifle. I can hear him working the action.
"Should have grabbed some gun oil." He mutters. The actions on the pistols go next and after he is satisfied, locked, and loaded he returns to the right seat.
"We are as ready as we'll ever be."

The air traffic is still clear, which is strange to me. With Felipe Calderon's war on the drug cartels up here I would have thought we would have been under the watchful eyes of the Federales as we get closer to the States. Lou must be on the same train of thought.

"Jake... we should take a turn and see if anyone is on our six."

I do a Crazy Ivan... a snap roll and pull around. Lou reaches up to the window frame for support. "Jesus, Nancy."
We come around fast and in our turn we see something just before we get back on course.
"I see... two of them."

We both see them, a couple of camo chase planes below us and spread apart so they can corral us like lions on a zebra in the Serengeti.

"That cat is out of the bag." Lou starts looking back. "They moved on us, mine is coming up."

I look over my shoulder. My chase plane is just below my wingtip and off about a hundred yards. With just a glimpse I can see the gun pods hanging off the wings.
"Oh, that's just great."

"You see those gun pods?" Lou cranes in his seat as he talks. "Looks like they have a couple of fifty cals." He turns a looks at me, and there is it... that steel look of determination. "I can kill the pilot on my side."

"Yeah, and then his buddy over here will dust us off." I start to descend. Ahead of us is the city of Anahuac. Once again, on the chart it showed there was no discernable airfield. But I have a feeling that these guys know where they can land.

"Hey, look at this."

The plane on Lou's side has moved up and the pilot is looking at us. Single seater, some foreign job. "I don't see any markings."

I look to my side and see that the other plane hasn't moved.
"I don't like the looks of this, Lou. If these were Federales they would be marked, wouldn't they?"

"Should be." Lou looks ahead of us. Something is brewing in that head of his.
"Jake, I don't think they mean to let us go on our way. And if they don't shoot us down right now, then someone will be pulling our fingers off in some dirt hut down there. I bet these are cartel planes... probably have their own fucking army."

"So what? What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking it's time to dance. Start climbing real slow, and then give it a little left rudder and see if they let us turn."

"And...?"

"We get away from wherever they wanted us to go, we get this guy on my side right next to us and I cap him."

"And this guy on my side makes confetti out of us."
"Can you do a barrel roll?"
"This isn't some Six Flags fun park."

I can feel him looking at me.

"Oh, come on man."
"You barrel roll, keep him right under us, or along side us if I can't get him with the first shot... I will sure as hell hit him with the second."

Don't you think you're jumping the gun? No pun intended."
I start to climb just a bit. That part makes sense. We might as well see...
"He's back."

The chase plane on Lou' side is right next to us. He motions to the ground with a gloved finger. His buddy on my wing is still behind and now has dropped just slightly. All he has to do is trigger that gun and pull up slightly and he will rake us.

"What are we doing, Jake?"
"I don't know... stall him for a second. Hell, give a thumbs up and make him think we are going his way."

Lou smiles and gives him a thumbs up for a moment and then drops back into the passenger compartment.

Oh shit... I can't believe we are going to do this.

I hear the bolt jack in the sniper rifle.
"Give her some gas, Jake."
I throttle up and hear the rush of air when he throws open the back hatch. Then the sharp report of the rifle, the push of concussive air.
"NOW JAKE".

It occurs to me that I have never done a barrel roll in my life. But in the fractions of a second after he shouts I pull back slightly, give her some left rudder, and do a hard over to the left and we are moving. It all seems like slow motion. I can see the chase plane that Lou fired on as we invert, falling off it's course... the pilot fatally wounded. Below me and now coming over to the Naomi's right side is his surprised companion.

Whether he knew what happened to his partner, or what was going to happen to him, is a mystery. I can only assume his first thought was to his buddy as he seemingly peeled away from the escort. Maybe he was on the radio... I don't know. What I do know is that Lou is a fucking ace with that rifle.

As we are inverted, I hear a second, then a third shot that follows moments later as I level off. The second plane falls back and then there is a tremendous shudder.

"SHIT... shit shit shit."
"What happened, Lou?" Naomi is shaking all over the place, and I am seeing some fading oil pressure on number one engine. "Did you get him?"

"I got the fucker. But he must have had his finger on the pickle switch 'cause he just peeled off about twenty rounds in our direction."

I turn and can see light through a dozen holes. One of them seems to be in Lou's arm.

"You're hit, LOU."
"Awe settle down, Nancy, I'll live."

I look back to the instruments and then out to the left wing.
"ON FIRE... WE'RE ON FIRE."

Lou hussles up to the cockpit. His arm is crimson.
"You better do something about that bleeding."

Somewhere behind and below us are two massive explosions as the chase planes touch down. Don't seem 'em, but we feel it when they hit.

"You better cut fuel to that engine and pull the bottle."
"Yeah... got it."
I go through the check list in my head and secure that engine. Fuel, fire bottle, feather the prop.

All of this happens in a matter of minutes from the time he fires the first shot at the first plane. Now we are flying with one engine, and now... I gently try the rudder and elevator, I realize we have very little response from either one of them.

"Well son of a bitch. That was a last great act of defiance on his part. Took out an engine and our ability to manuever."

"Hey, your still flying, aren't you?"
"Yeah, but once we land, we are down for good."

Our eyes pan the landscape below for a clear landing spot. We have left the city of Anahuac to our east. Five or so miles from that scrub town is a scratch airstrip.
"What is that... is that Abigail?" Lou grabs the field glasses. "Oh hell."

"What?"
"It's Abby, and small contigent of armed men."
I tip her as best as I can and try to circle around so we can see if Jerry is among the men.
"No sign of Jerry... " He sweeps along the air strip... "WATCH IT".
There are five sharp pops and we have new holes in Naomi.
"Motherfuckers."

"We can't stay up here all day, Lou."
"Oh I am NOT standing for this shit." He bails out of the right seat and into the cabin.
"Jake, you head back down the other way like we are going to land... draw them away from Abby."

"They'll shoot the hell out of us." I try to pull her around, but what is left of our rudder makes the move sluggish and slow. Another few pops and an spray of sparks as the wiring gets hit and arcs to the framework. Our instruments go flat.
"What ever you have planned you better make it fast. These guys are coming after us."
"PERFECT." Lou calls from the back.

I am giving it all I've got to hold her level. I can see the wingtip on my side is torn apart by a lucky shot. I look back over my shoulder and Lou is going from side to side like a rabid pit bull as he follows their progress.

"Okay, Jake, Give it all she's got and pull her up... give us a thousand feet."
"We have very little elevator and only one... "
"JUST DO IT!"

I push the throttle to the stop and pull with all my might on the control wheel. She shudders hard and is slow to respond, but her nose reaches for the sky. As the engine wails and we slow, I hear the rush of wind as he kicks the box of grenades out of the door.

"It's working... YEAH." He cuts the holding cord and slams the door shut."
"GO GO GO."

I put her on her wing and try to turn out of harms way. We have one engine down and blowing black smoke, one wing tip gone, no instruments, and a tail that probably looks like an old mop head. If we don't get killed by the blast the landing will probably do it. If we make that, God knows what we will face on the ground.

The Welcome Wagon

2010-01-24T20:12:00.000-08:00

Man this is some nerve racking shit. This isn't the scene I had hoped for... abandoned "airstrip" if you can even call this fucking farmer's field an airstrip. A fuel truck that could have easily serviced Lindbergh's plane, and now what I am sure are some type of revolutionaries coming to engage us in battle. To think I could be sipping on a cold beer, swinging in a hammock somewhere.

"Grab the hose, Nancy."
Lou throws me off of my train of thought and I land on my feet next to the truck. He tosses a loose coil of fuel hose from the top of the tank and I let it drop to the ground in front of me.

We watch the dust trail grow as the vehicles... yes, it looks like more than one, approach.

"You think we can get her fueled and get the fuck out of here before they reach us?"
"Not if you just stand there with your thumb up your ass."

I get into position as Lou restarts the truck and engages the archaic power take-off that will pump the fuel up to our wings. Before I put this shit into Naomi I let a little of it fly into the air. Smells like AV-GAS, fingers to the tip of the nozzle and a sniff, texture... "I think we'll be okay, Lou."

"Great, just fuel the damn thing."
"Oh... sure, you would just pump away without testing it first. Just like you to charge ahead. What if it was water, LOU? What if it was insecticide?"
"What if I climb up there and kick your ass?"
"Point taken."

Even though the truck is old, the fuel is moving fast. I look at our approaching welcoming committee. You can plainly see two large stake-bed trucks rolling at the front of the dust cloud.

"How many liters are in a gallon?"
"What?"
"Liters to gallons? We need to leave some cash, don't we?"
"Let's just double what we normally leave for filling her tanks. That should be plenty."

I get a thumbs up and he leaves his post for a moment to grab some cash from the duffel in the cockpit.

My hand goes to the pistol tucked in the small of my back. I check the load and shake my head. I just want to fuel and go, no problems, no shooting, no killing... especially if it is going to be one of us.

Lou is back, putting the money on the ragged seat of the truck. Once he is back at his post he looks at the liters pumped and back at me.
"How we doing?"

The fuel is visible as it nears the top of the tank. Leaving room for any expansion I think we are done.
"Good... we are good. Shut her down."

The trucks are only a mile away now, but are driving up the same tracks we followed to land here. If we want to get out of here without any trouble we will have to time it right. I toss the hose down to Lou and close her up.

He has the truck parked in a way that we don't have to move it to depart. Lou muscles the rolls of hose over behind the tanker and is about to join me in getting the hell out of here when he spots something. He disappears behind the truck.
"LOU... COME ON."

He comes back, a spring in his step as he runs the short distance to Naomi's tail, a weathered envelope in his hand.
"This was stuck in the visor."
"No time for that now."

I am in the cockpit and have her engines fired when the trucks roll up behind us.
"They have us blocked in." Lou says, dumping the chocks and joining me at the controls.

We are blocked if we were to turn and try to exit the way we came in.
"I think we can make it around the back of the barn." I put the coals to her and the Wasps pull us forward with a lurch. Lou cranes around to see men climbing down out of the trucks.
"I don't... see any guns. Looks like about twenty men."

The path around the back of the barn is rutted, stacked with lumber and old tires, and has a rotted wire fence that runs the length of the barn and then some. We make the turn and leave the trucks behind.

"Two guys... " he turns and leans to look out my window, "no... five are waving us down. The are going to get in front of us, Jake, probably moving one of the trucks."

I push the throttles to the stops and and kick up a cloud of dust behind us that will surely slow the men on our tail.
"Oh... fuck."
I don't see the hole or ditch or rut that we drop into... but Lou does. He braces himself and we drop hard enough for the starboard float to catch the wire fence. No time to reflect on our bad luck. There is no feeling from Naomi as we snap fence posts and start to drag the remains of the fence behind us.
"Well son-of-a-bitch."

As we drag more and more of the fence, unplugging it from its anchorage in the hard-pan earth, Naomi finally shows the strain and I am afraid we may loose the float.
"Lou, in the tool bag... DIKES."

He bails out of the cockpit and I hear the bag being up-ended into one of the cabin seats behind me. I feel a quick clap on my shoulder to signal his success and then the door opens. Naomi's engines wind down a bit as I retard the throttles.

We're moving slow enough that he can run alongside as he clips away at the wire. He doesn't try to remove it from the float... it would take too long. It takes fifteen seconds or so and he is on his way back in.
"THEY ARE RIGHT ON OUR ASS."

I take the cue and as we turn the corner around the backside of the barn I give her both barrels and we are rolling hard. They have moved one of the trucks and are alongside us as we clear the barn and line up on the dirt strip.
"What are they doing?"
I expect gunfire, yelling, screaming... "
"Waving."
"Waving?"
Naomi picks up speed quickly and we are wheels up within moments.
"What do you mean waving?"

Lou looks at me and then pulls the envelope from his back pocket.
"It's got Jerry's scrawl on it."
He tears it open, reads the first few lines and then slumps in his seat.

"What?"
He looks down at the letter and re-affirms what he had just read.
"It says... hey boys, Mr. Juarez will greet you once you have arrived. His wife makes some kick-ass carnitas and corn fritters. She packs a mean basket... usually has a bottle of the family mesqual tucked in there too. Juaraz and his sons and nephews will get you fueled and send you on your way."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

It takes a while for the memory of the lost carnitas and corn fritters to leave us.
We have three or four hours to Anahuac and home cooked food like that would have made the trip palatable. Lou pulls out the jerky and a box of Wheat Thins with a look of defeat. Without a word we tear at the jerky, following it up with the crackers.
"Unbelievable luck, us barely escaping a delicious meal and friendly handshakes."
"Shut up, Jake."

The day has turned crisp and clear. The sky is ours with the exception of several distant contrails criss-crossing above us and out on the coast. I am glad we didn't have any home-made mesqual. We would have finished it, most likely, and that wouldn't bode well with what we might face when we land.

Just the blaze of sound from the Wasps fill the cockpit. No music, no conversation. I think we both feel like we are going to land in a shit-storm. After Lou slices up a papaya and we finish it, he goes back in to the cabin and does a weapons check. I remember the duffel we took out of the other Naomi.
"Stay out of those Walkers... and the tequila.
"What are you, Nancy, my damn mother?"
"You know what I mean."

After fifteen minutes or so he comes back up front.
"I don't know about those grenades. We should have tossed one to see if they even still work."
"Why wouldn't they work?"
"Shit gets old... it doesn't work, at least not like it's supposed to. Those are, like fifty years old. Who the hell would have a case of fifty year old grenades, anyway. I don't even know why we loaded them on the plane... probably so unstable they will blow once the pins are out."

Lou stops and thinks for a moment. Then he nods and heads back to the cabin.

"Come on, Lou, I was hoping you would take her for a while. I want to close my eyes for a bit."
"Give me twenty minutes or so, and I will take her all the way to Anahuac."

Whatever he is doing back there, he is very industrious. He pops back up to the cockpit.
"Don't we have some cord or something? I remember a roll of packing cord, or line or whatever the hell that shit is."
"Yeah, there is a roll of it in the tail access, you have to move the fly-away kit. What do you need cord for?"

"Weapons improvement."

What Dreams Are Made Of

2010-01-08T09:54:00.000-08:00

"Over the hill by the river."
Lou is whispering... it is dark with the exception of a mist of quarter moonlight filtering down. I smell the forest, but it is wet and cold and rotting. There is something else... a stench that is brought in on a damp breeze from some far way place mixed with smoke from some distant fire.

"Five of them."
"So?"
"You take the two on the right, I'll take the three on the left."
I am all question and no action.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
He slides a broad sword from a scabbard. The metal shines dull in the moonlight. He is up and starts over the rise.
"Hey... wait." I whisper after him, but it is too late. I reach to my side, surprised to find the same weapon. Across my chest is another scabbard that holds a dagger. I scramble after him.

Over the rise and next to a small brook are the five men. They are not like Orlis' Keene's men. These men are dressed in much more ancient garb. That is when I see Lou, who is a good eight yards ahead of me, leap into the firelight... sure that I am at his back. I am not.

The men are quick to react, all of them with weapon in hand in the blink of an eye. Lou heaves his sword in a broad arc and slices the man nearest to him nearly in two. It is way too ambitious a move when facing four other men.

I run as fast as my feet will carry me and plunge my blade into the nearest man. Because of the way they are grouped I manage to stick two of them... like martini olives on a toothpick. To my surprise this does not kill them, and as I withdraw the blade I cringe for them. I can hear the sound over the action of the battle, their breaths draw in, the meat releasing the metal as I pull it out.

There is a cry of pain. It is my own. One of these men has taken their dagger and stabbed me with it just above my collar bone. I pull my own dagger and shove it into his gullet up to the handle, then I twist it as I withdraw. He drops to his knees, but his friend is on me, the wound I gave him flowing crimson in the moonlight. He swipes one way, then the next, his sword cutting through the air with the sound of angry hornets.

I watch as a blade appears from his chest and extends toward me, then pulls back. He falls and I watch as Lou takes on another man. I join him and swing wildly, hacking arms and legs. Before long we are standing alone, the five of them writhing on the ground in the throws of death.

"Oh... SHIT, oh shit. You would think I would be used to it by now."
"What is that, Nancy?"
"Killing people."

Lou puts his fingers to his lips, then changes his grip on the broadsword. He creeps over to the bushes alongside the brook and reaches in. With a yank he hauls out two people in his grip. They look familiar... and they are eating ice cream cones.

"Andy? Mike? What are you guys... "

"JAKE... JAKE PULL UP... "

Immediately the view changes around me and I am looking at jungle... well, the ground specifically, spinning slowly and closing in at about two thousand feet. We seem to be in a dive. Lou is pulling back on the wheel.
"PULL US OUT OF THIS GODDAMNIT."

I pull back as well and we give it full right rudder to boot. The spinning slows and as we both pull back it stops altogether and we begin to level out.
"What... the FUCK, Jake?"
"What happened?"
"Well I don't know, I was sleeping. Usually only one of us sleeps at a time."

We gain a little altitude, check time and distance. It takes a while before we fly over a landmark that we can place. After an hour or so on the correct heading we pass over Patzcuaro Lake.
"Mascoala is about a hundred and fifty miles ahead of us." Lou puts two fingers on the map, holding position over both places.

"Want a something to eat?" Lou reaches into the box Babe had prepared and pulls up a wax paper wrapped chicken salad sandwich. I nod and we eat. The fatigue that put us out is gone and we augment that with a couple of pulls off of the super apple juice.

After we have eaten, Lou shakes his head and smiles.
"So what the fuck were you dreaming about?"
"You... and me, killing a bunch of people at a river."
"When we killed Orlis and the boys?"
"No... this was different, midevil times, something like that."
"That is what you dream of? Man, I was in the middle of a beach, Sea of Cortez I think. Bronzed beauties all around, sweet cheeks moving as they walked by in the sand. I got one of them to stop and she was showing me her tattoo, then we started into that dive and I woke up."

"Sorry, Lou. If it is any consellation you kicked some serious ass."
"I would have rather slapped some serious ass."

Before long we see the expanse of Guadalahara over the mountains off to the west. It is just like Jerry to pick a place like Mascoala, smaller and less conspicuous.
"You know there aren't any airports or landing fields on this chart." Lou holds it up to show me.
"That's odd."

We see the city of Mascoala ahead of us. In a matter of minutes we over-fly the small expanse and have to circle around to see what is what. There is no airport, airfield, or even a road that would take a plane the size of Abigail. We, on the other hand, have several options. But it is Lou that makes the discovery.

"There, the tracks... they are wide enough to have been made by Abigail." He points out of his side window and we bank so I can see as well. It is a set of tracks in a field just outside of town. It is one of the only fields that hasn't been tilled up, so the ground is uniform and mostly flat.

We fly low and make a pass over the tracks in the field. Two become three where the tail wheel finally drops. The path leads up toward an old barn, beyond which are parked several trucks... including what looks to be a fuel truck.
"Well, that looks like the spot they touched down." I turn Naomi around in a long arc and line up on the tracks.

We drop the gear and touch down half way into the tracks that Abigail left and then taxi up toward the barn. Once Naomi's engines are silenced we wait for a beat or two for someone to greet us, but no one appears. When we step out of the plane there is no sound but that of the wind and somewhere the bleat of a goat or a sheep nearby.

"Can't beat the hospitality." Lou leads off, walking toward the back of the barn where we saw the fuel truck.
"Hold up, Lou."
I hop back into Naomi and grab the two 9mms. With a move of the slides I see that they are both ready for action. No sense in going off half-cocked.

We tuck the pistols away and walk around the barn. There is a structure beyond that looks to be abandoned. Lou heads for the fuel truck and I take a quick look around the back of the barn.
"This truck is nearly full of fuel." Lou calls back as he slaps a hand on the side of the big tank on the flat bed.

I step up to the cab and open the door, "No key."
Lou gives me a shove, "Let me see."
He hops up and in onto the bare springs of the seat. He turns a knob on the dash and then feels around on the floor until he finds what he is looking for. The old truck engine churns and grinds until it starts... like waking a hibernating bear.
"There we go."

He puts it in gear and we drive around the barn toward Naomi. As we back into place I can see a couple of dust trails coming up from the end of the field where the tracks started.

"We have company."

Bungle in the Jungle

2009-12-11T10:34:00.000-08:00

We are in a bit of a quandary as to what to do. I think there is some mental catastrophe associated with burying your dead body and then flying away as though nothing happened. I have the urge to salvage any fuel left in the tangled wing tanks and burn this mother down.

I am standing over my body as Lou comes up beside me, his foot... his dead body's foot, in his hands as he drags his corpse to a stop. The look on his face is one that you might have seen in an Nazi death camp newsreel.

I point to my body,"Does my ass look big in those pants?"
Lou looks at me and in a moment and that horrible look on his face is replaced with a smile and then a quick laugh.

"You're sick, Nancy." He drops the foot and we drag what is left of me from the cockpit as well. "We can't just leave ourselves here."
"We bury the bodies and we can burn the wreck. Or we just burn the bodies in the wreck."
"Won't the fire draw someone's attention?" Lou asks, looking at our surroundings.
"It's not like they have a police department that will be able to check our dental records."
Lou looks skyward for a moment, "I don't even have dental records. Not in this country, anyway."

Even though the wings are a mess, there is still a half a gallon or so of fuel to start things off. We don't have the time to strip the wreck of identifying markings. I doubt anyone will come before the plane is cooked and our bodies are just dust in the wind.

Inside of the folded fuselage we find a case of ammunition for the Fifty. The big gun itself is nowhere in sight. I am hoping it is with Abigail. There is half a case of what look like Korea era hand grenades... the kind with the segmented wire wrap around the explosive center, then wrapped in a smooth, round case. There is a duffle with two .45s and what looks like Lou number two's handy work of rolled Walkers, a bottle of tequila, and a roll of hundred dollar bills as thick as a soup can. We take all of it with the agreement that we don't touch the happy stuff until we have met up with Jerry and all is safe.

We take the goods and walk them back toward the trail, then go back to stage the bodies on the remains of the wing tanks to provide a thorough burn.
"Man, this is fucking bizaar." I heave my headless corpse up on the wreckage, lifting the legs and shoving as hard as I can. It slides on its own gore like an oyster from its shell.
"Think fast." Lou throws my head and I manage to duck away just in time.
"That's not funny, asshole."
"Stop being a pussy and grab the other end of this."
Lou's body is bloated and soft, like a man size piece of liver in a flannel shirt.
"You stink more than you usually do."

We grunt as we sling the carcass up on the wreckage. The stink of death is all around us, on us, up our noses and in our clothes. The fire is lit and there is the whoosh of combustion. Before the meat begins to cook we let the heat bake the smell out of our clothes and hair, then we walk back to the head of the trail.

"I sure hope we wake up from this fucking nightmare soon."
Lou reaches down and picks up the grenades and the duffle and I grab the Fifty rounds.
"This isn't going to get better, but it is liveable." I reposition the ammo box in my arms.

"Wasn't to liveable for those two bastards."

When we get to the plane we realize that their might have been a little more AV-Gas in the flora and fauna than we expected. There is a blaze twice as high as the treetops and probably three times larger than the wreck. Nothing we can do about it. Nothing we want to do about it.

We fire Naomi and try to sight the best piece of the road to use for our take-off. We head up the road a piece. The hole thing is shit, full of holes and washboard, but we give ourselves enough room to go with full take off flaps. I hold the brakes and throw the coals to her. The Wasps fill the cockpit with a deafening roar and I feel her skid just a bit before I release the brakes and we jolt down the dirt road.
Our speed doesn't improve the fact that this road is just a collection of holes
"She's gonna shake apart, Jake."
"No... no, she'll hold. We'll get her up where the road turns."
"The road... turns?"

I gesture ahead of us, both hands holding onto the controls for dear life. Fifty yards ahead the road makes a lazy turn to the left and the path ahead drops off and down a bit of an arroyo. We will either be airborne or we will be the second set of bodies and Goose to loose it in this part of the jungle.

To our right the blaze from our inadvertant scortched earth policy has grown to the size of a football stadium in a matter of five or so minutes. I glance down at the fuel gauge for a split second as the turn in the road fills our windscreen... more than two thirds of our fuel. That plane must have soaked the ground with enough fuel to cook the Mall of America.

"UP" Lou pulls on his control wheel.
"Not so much, we don't want to stall... "

There is a tremendous shudder as we leave the road and engage the burm as it makes the turn. We leap into the air, judging the tree tops ahead and the ground dropping away below us. The old girl responds to our urging and lifts us up and out of the jungle, scraping the gear in the tops of the trees as we pass.

"Jesus Christ... "
"What I wouldn't give for a little community airport next to a nice green golf course." I pull the handle for the gear and Lou moves the flaps to full up.
"Well, we don't have any of those out here in the jungle, Nancy, no tee times or pro shops either."
"I'm getting too old for this seat of the pants shit."

We decide to bank around and do a fly over of the crash site. As we line up for our fly by we can see that the fire has subsided a bit as the fuel burns away. It will probably burn itself out soon enough. In the center of the blaze the wreck is a slurry of blackness and pooling metal. Our bodies are no more than large chunks of charred bone.

We leave it all behind us and get back on a heading for Mascoala. We have brought along all of the pertanent cargo from the other plane. I can only hope that slight delay didn't put us out of reach to help Jerry and this Taylor fellow.

Time will tell.

Through the Looking Glass

2009-12-01T07:33:00.000-08:00

Sleep comes easy, and although it is only for six hours we feel pretty rested.
Babe tries to wake up with us, but we say her goodbyes while she is still in bed. A silky soft hug on that warm body will stay with me for a few days... keep a smile on my face. Lou goes one step further and plants a kiss on her for good measure.

We want to be wheels up while it is still and dark outside. We discover the gun safe from Corazon out in one of the hangers. Inside we found two 9mm pistols and an ammo case with 9mm and .45 rounds. We took both types. No M16s, no grenades, no big Fifty door gun. I am hoping those things are with Jerry, but I fear they are not. Over the top of one of the workbenches, wrapped in an oily tarp over clean linen we find Lou's sniper rifle, the one he had when I first met him in Santa Cruz Hautulco. With it is a bandoleer with each of the fifty spots holding a round.

"Hello old girl" Lou gives the stock a smooth run of his palm before wrapping it back up. He slings it over his shoulder, hand on the wrapped barrel, bandoleer

Most of the tools I would have taken with me are missing. They must be on board Abby. I do find a couple of five gallon containers of oil that I grab and stuff in the back of the plane. You can never have enough oil. There is also a ten gallon can of av-gas that I throw on board for good measure.

In the gun safe is plenty of money. More than I remember leaving here. We off load the gold into the safe. Lou makes a pretty good suggestion to bag up a little to take along just in case cold hard cash doesn't do the trick somewhere. We find pipe tobacco cans, must be Taylor's unless Jerry has a new habit. Each holds five pounds or so. Thirty grand in gold will take us here or there if we need it. That and the ten grand in cash should cover all bets.

Babe has put together a box of supplies for us. The white powder is now mixed into the apple juice, a nasty paste at the bottom of the amber liquid. You have to shake the hell of it to make it mix. There are papayas and bananas, some jerky, a couple of chicken salad sandwiches, and two boxes of Wheat Thins. It will help us through this first day and we will be able to make some time.

We get her fired up and once Lou pulls the chocks he makes his way to the right seat and settles in. Naomi runs like a top... no problems. She took a quart of oil on the starboard engine, port was fine. I took the oil for Abigail. I don't know who this Taylor is or how well he manages on Abigail, but if he let's her engines go low on oil I think I will beat the shit out of him.

Monkeys scoot off the runway ahead of us in the reaching beam of our taxi light and then we are up. Through a canopy of low clouds we surface and see the light of dawn approaching to the east ahead of us. Lou looks at the chart and gives me a heading. We bank to the north and take her up to a thousand feet. Old habits die hard... I like to stay close to terrafirma.

We fly in silence for the longest time, each of us reflecting on what has happened to us. Ollie, dead in this time line, is certainly causing panic in the village. We shouldn't have left him there. These people are unyielding in their religious beliefs. They might think he is an evil spirit or something. They might just kill him to put things right.

"He'll be alright." Lou tells me as he looks out his side window.
"Are you thinking about Ollie?"
"Yep, but he'll be alright. He will find some way to explain it to them. Besides, we don't know how he died. What if he was blown up, burned, drowned... hell, they might not have been able to be sure who they buried was him anyway." He uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe condensation off the window.

A sliver of sun pulls over the horizon and once it climbs the cloud cover below thins in the heat. Lou reaches behind him and yanks up the gallon of spiked apple juice. He shakes the hell out of it and then uncaps it and up ends it for a couple of mouthfuls. A quick nod of approval and chugs it again before handing it to me.

It tastes just like apple juice but with a pasty, clay like quality. I take the same amount Lou has and then we stash it back behind us. It isn't a minute later that we feel the effect.

Chatty Cathy, that doll from the late 60's, pales in the face of the babbling brook that Lou becomes. It is only ten minutes later that I too am wading into the conversation. This shit is great.

We talk about Babe, Lou saw her naked when she came out for a drink of water last night. He rambles on about tits and ass for a while. We both figure we have fucked her from the greeting we received when we landed.
"I think I will take her to bed when we get back. Let her re-experience the best sex in her life."

Lou reaches back and grabs the apple juice.

"You fag, the best sex would have been with me... and you aren't invited. Fucking Nancy lookey-loo pervert mother... "
He stops his own diatribe with a hit on the jug. He hands it to me and I do the same.

For the next half an hour or so we talk about what's going on. What has changed and what we can do about it. Obviously the kills we made in the Old West have have had a moderate effect on our time here. I wonder what might have changed with Antonelli's world, if anything. Or Andy and Mike's lives back where they came from.

We both fall silent for a while. Lou looks out the window as the jungle gives way to more of a high desert fauna below as I sweep the gauges. She is running like a top, pressures and temperatures right down the middle. Just as I re-settle into my seat and begin to relax... it happens.
"BIRDS" Lou shouts.

I see them as well and yank up on the stick as we fly through and above what look like a couple dozen yellow nape parrots. In all my time flying I haven't experienced a flock of birds this big. Naomi strains with a near stall condition as I pull up and out of the green flurry. The birds tuck and dive, I climb and turn.

"Holy shit that was close. Did we hit any? Any damage?" Lou looks back at his wing.
"I think we're okay, Lou... I think we're alright." I take a quick look over my shoulder as I tuck her wing over and head back down to get out of this stall. When I look back out the windscreen Lou is pointing, "Look at that... unlucky bastards."

Below us in the trees is the wreck of a plane. You can see the white tail at the end of a scar of a clearing made by the crash. I make a wide back, right wing down and circle the crash sight. The only thing you can really see is part of the tail section and then the jungle/forest swallows it up. Lou shakes his head as he looks, "No fire... but there ain't no way those fuckers got out alive."

"If that were us and we were still alive down there we would want us to stop."
He looks at me.
"You know what I mean." I look out at the scene below. There is really no where to land at the sight, but up a half a mile away is a clearing, probably a farm at one time, bordered by a road that will accommodate a safe landing. We both take a bearing on the crash sight and then drop her down on the road.

From above we couldn't see the condition of the road, but once down we realize that it is carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey. We bounce and almost touch a wingtip down when one of Naomi's wheels finds a rut. But in the end we manage to stop her in one piece.

"Wow... " Lou give's Naomi's dash a pat, "that's my girl."

I pull the hand-held compass from the flight bag and we grab the pack shovel, which folds and also has a serrated edge, and we are on our way. The plane should be fine, and we won't be gone for long. We slog through the field in a matter of ten minutes and then into the bordering trees. It is not a lush green jungle like we have back home, more of a tangle of trees and bushes. About five minutes in on the the heading I took and we see a flash of white paint in the growth ahead.

We make our way through until we hit the crash path that is torn out of the terrain. At the end of the path is the tail, well part of it anyway. From what must be the cabin entry door back, with a stabilizer/elevator and the vertical and rudder intact. As we approach there is complete silence. This type of jungle/forest doesn't seem to generate the same living noise that we hear in Guatemala. Either that they are much more aware and afraid of our presence.

"Would you look at that." Lou points at the wreck as we come up to it, "Is that a Goose like Naomi?"
"Looks like one." I walk forward, Lou by my side. The wings and engines have broken off and are just a twisted mess.

Ahead in the trees is what is left of the plane. There is a body, or I should say half a body sticking out from beneath part of the cockpit. We approach with reverence, listening for breathing or groaning, but we both know this one is dead. Lou gives the foot a little kick... nothing.
"Dead."

Leading away from the crash, deeper into the brush is a blood trail. We follow for about twenty feet and find another body. Both of the legs have multiple fractures from the looks of them. Lou kneels by the body and feels for a pulse on the man's neck but he pulls back. Just touching the flesh tells the story. Then Lou looks at the body with a renewed interest. He shakes his head just slightly and then rolls the man over.

Half of the face is badly mangled, but the other half raises questions that we can't answer.
"That guy looks just like you, Lou."
"No shit."

We look at each other and then go back to the cockpit and pull the metal back. There is gore and green feathers on the borders of what is left of the windscreens. I catch my breath... it is me, my head nearly torn from my body by the collapse of the overhead panels as the plane had folded around me.

"No fucking way, Jake."
I am speechless.

The plane had suffered a massive bird strike. They... we... weren't so lucky in this time line.

The Energizer Bunny

2009-11-11T10:30:00.000-08:00

Before we can slap the dust out of our jeans the girl in the window runs out of the house and dashes toward us. I look at Lou and he at me... who the hell is she? She runs straight for us as fast as she can go and then she leaps into Lou's arms and knocks him to the ground.

"Ohhh Baby, you're back, you are BACK."
At first he looks at little shocky, like she hurt something when she plowed him over. Then she plants one on him and it starts to look like it just might be a contest of some sort, like the kind where you win a car if you are the last couple locked in an embrace. When she lets him up for air she looks my way and I become her next target. She is on her feet in a split second and her arms lock behind my head as she pulls me in. It is obviously not a monogamous relationship. I am slightly repulsed at the thought she was just swapping spit with the pirate/cowboy over there.

"Where have you guys BEEN?" She lets me go and then hauls off and slaps me hard on the chest like I just pinched her ass in an elevator or something. "You were only flying up to San Cristobal. How long does that take? Five or six hours round trip? Eight if you sit in the hovel of a bar at the air strip?"
She falls silent, looking first at me, then Lou. It was obvious she was waiting for an answer. All I have are questions.

"We... uh... how long have we been gone?" I step back just a little, still stinging from the whack I had received.
"Three fucking days, assholes, THREE DAYS." She turns to Lou and as their eyes meet she socks him in the arm. Good jab for a girl.
"Hey, Baby, don't... "
"No, not this time, don't Baby me Lou. You have a radio in that fucking plane. I have been calling you on it for two goddamn days now." She starts to cry as she talks. "You never met up with Jerry. The plan had changed... about you just making a drop. The guys that were to fly shotgun bailed on him. He needed you two to go with him up north. You know Jerry hates flying up there without protection."

She plops down in the dirt, cross-legged with her hands holding her head. I take a knee, as does Lou, and we try to comfort her.

"Look..." I try to make something up that might make all of this right.
"Look, we made it to San Cristobal. We went to the bar and... "
I hesitate for a split second, trying to formulate a story that is sensible, but Lou pushes through the hole, "We were dosed."
I look at him... dosed?
He pauses so I can finish what he started. Not this time. I just give him a blank stare.
"The guys in the bar, we had never seen them before. They put something in the salsa. We were tripping harder than Timothy Leary at an Alumni Dinner. It was bad." He looks to me for re-enforcement.

"Yeah... babe, it was a whole day of tripping our balls off before we started to come down off of that shit. I'm surprised we could find our way back here."

She struggles to her feet and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.
"You're not bullshitting me, are you?"
"No baby, no bullshit. It was a bad trip. Once we came down we didn't even know why or where we were. All we could do is scour the plane... we recognized that at least. We found a chart and headed here. Give us a chance to rest a bit and get our wits back. We'll be alright."

We gather her up and she leads the way inside the home. As soon as we step inside I feel like we are home. Most of the things we have... or had at El Corazon are here. I walk through the room and see pictures on the wall and in frames, something we never had back at the compound. There is Jerry on a horse, Jerry on a golf course with some guy... which is funny because my Jerry hated golf, Jerry and this girl that just got done kissing the two of us. Another shot of them in a bar, recently I would suspect, and they have company at the table. I am there, looking off toward what must be a stage or something, smokey eyes, half a bottle of whiskey in front of me. And then there is the crazy bastard sitting next to me.

"Lou, take a look."
He comes over and starts to look at the collection of photographs.

"You boys want a beer? I bet you're thirsty after all of that."
"Yeah, sure."

Lou gives the bar picture a good once over. He is sitting between the girl and me, a slick smile on his face. She is kind of sideways with Jerry's arm all the way around the front of her from over her left shoulder.
"Check it out, Jake." He points to the table. In a moment he sees that I am not looking at what he wants me to see. "Under the table, Nancy."

Beneath the table our little lady has one leg in his lap and his right hand and forearm disappear under her long skirt. Above the table Jerry has an arm around the top half, but under Lou is petting her cat.

"She is like a groupie or something." I tell him.
"I could use some of that action." He whispers as she approaches with two Dos Equis.
"What are you guys looking at?" She focuses on the bar shot.
"That was a fun night. That was the only picture Taylor got in focus."
"Taylor?"
"Yeah, funny, Jake."
"No... Taylor, who is Taylor?"
She looks at me in the eye, a quick study, "You boys must have been dosed if you don't remember my brother."
"No, no it isn't that I don't remember your brother, I... I'll be alright. I think I need some sleep or to sit down or something."

She hands us the beers and then plops down on an over-stuffed leather sofa. Not from our place. I take the other end and Lou sits in the glider/rocker, another piece we never had.
"You guys can't rest too long. Jerry is going to be in some deep shit without you boys backing him up."

I take a draw off of the beer and shoot a glance over to Lou. His eyes must be seeing the same blank stare I am giving him. It's like Rod Serling should be standing over behind him in the corner.

"Forgive me, uh... babe" it occurs to me that we don't even know her name. To ask her might be too much, so we will just pretend we do and go from there.
"Where is Jerry going again?"

Her jaw drops slightly and a moment later she rolls her eyes, "You've got to be kidding me." She looks at Lou, who is busy peeling the label off of his beer.
"Some shit-hole near Guadalahara." She moves some papers on the old coffee table from El Corazon.
"Mascoala", she points to it on a make-shift flight plan that Jerry had sketched out on an old chart.

I slide the chart over toward me and silently breathe a sigh of relief. A flight plan, and it shows this Mascoala as the first stop of three going north with the last stop of Anahuac.
"Anahuac?"

"That is where he offloads. He picks up in Mascoala and drops it up there. I told him not to fly it, not to go north. That fucking Mike, he got him into this shit."

"His brother... Mike?"
"You know what, Jake, this shit isn't funny any more. Yes, his brother Mike. Who do you think lined this... oh fuck it. Just sleep on it and I won't have to explain all of this crap to you. It's like talking to one of these fucking monkeys out there."

She gets up and storms into the other room. If there were any doors in here I think she would have slammed it. Lou takes a spot next to me and we both look at the chart.

"Mike?" Lou says the name and we both shake our heads. Mike was gunned down in our timeline up on the border. I knew and worked for Mike before I met Jerry. Lou had never met Mike, but had heard Jerry speak of him when he still had the bar.

The chart is just landing spots and nothing more. There are two dates with times written in the margins. The first is tomorrow and it is in the margin near Guadalahara, the second is north about five hundred miles north at Anahuac... the date is two days later.

"Jesus, Jake..." Lou shakes his head and then rubs is face with his hands, "That looks like, what, thirteen hundred miles? I gotta tell you, I'm beat. I was hoping for a hot bath, a bottle of whiskey, and big sleep."
I look at him without saying a word.
"Man, was that my whiney bitch side or what?" Lou smiles and tries to look ready to go.

I know how he feels... like somebody has kicked the shit out of the Energizer Bunny and expects it to keep on going. It seems like we have been rolling non-stop for months now. I don't think I can go anywhere, not right this second. We need a good night's sleep and some of that guarana root or something to make the trip. As if on cue, Babe emerges from her room with a shoebox, a small zippered pouch, and a plastic jug with what looks like apple juice.

"I know you boys are tired. I know you are. But if you don't leave by first light then Jerry and Taylor are going in unprotected. We might as well make plans to bury them tomorrow." She sits down between us on the couch and grabs each of our legs and holds them tight.
"I have a couple of B-12 doses left. Then there's this." She opens the shoebox and we see a large Ziploc bag filled with white powder.

"No coke... " Lou waves it away.
"Not coke, it is refined guarana root. Mix it in this apple juice and do a couple of shots to start out and then just keep hitting it as you go along."

She looks at the two of us, "I stayed up for a week on this stuff and never crashed on my way down. It's better than coke or speed and isn't illegal... anywhere."

I hear a sigh escape me, then feel a calming hand rubbing my shoulders. We are going to go, first light, on a desparate run to find and help Jerry on a border run that is sure to get us all killed.

We tell Babe to start cooking. We will need to cover a lot of distance and that won't leave any time for much more than fuel when we touch down, then it's wheels up for the next run.

I tell Lou to hit the hay. I will follow as soon as I check Naomi's oil tanks... has to be done within an hour of landing. We will be up in about six hours to find tools, guns, oil, and whatever else we might need on the run. I try not to think too hard about all of this, how... where... why, well I know why. It occurs to me that there might be two of the both of us here in this timeline. What might happen if we stumble across them on this mission I keep away from my thoughts like a circling wolf on the outskirts of the firelight. There will be plenty of time to think about it tomorrow when we are flying.

Home Is Where You Hang Your Hat

2009-10-27T20:33:00.000-07:00

The house is the same, or at least that is what Ollie says. I don't think it looks the same, but then again I haven't approached it from the water before. We beach the plane as best we can and slog out of the lake and up to the deck.

The only sounds we hear are from the jungle around us. No voices or noises of any kind coming from the house. Ollie calls Consuela's name several times as we stand at the sliding door by the kitchen. Nothing.

Lou cups his hands to the glass to look inside, "You don't suppose anything has happened to them."

"At this point I wouldn't doubt that Groucho Marx is living here." I am still stunned at the absence of El Corazon. Where are all my concert t-shirts, my tools, my meager possession, our money... shit man, we had a fortune.

Ollie tries the sliding door and it doesn't budge.
"That's odd... I didn't think this place had locking doors." I try it myself... locked tighter than Red's Buttons.

"NO MUEVA NI YO LE DISPARARE."

The voice is deep and menacing. Both Ollie and Lou understand what is said, I just hold my hands up because that tone of voice works in any language.

What happens next is quite astonishing. Ollie turns because he recognizes the voice, the man with the shotgun looks like he is in shock and then breaks down crying and runs to hug him. Ollie recoils as though the man were going to throw up on him or something but cannot move because the guy is on him like Oprah on a baked ham.

After a long exchange between them, much of which even Lou has a hard time translating, they finally take a breath and Ollie relays to Lou what has happened.

"This IS the fucking twilight zone."
"Good, great... good explanation."
"This guy is Ollie's cousin. He thought Ollie was dead, killed a couple of months ago. They buried him, he says." Lou looks a the guy once more for good measure. The guy just blinks teary eyes at him and listens to him talk like a dog would listen to you reading War and Peace.

"That was all he said?"
"No, Nancy, that wasn't all. He said they buried Ollie, and that Nester has been away for many months. Consuela is gone too. Her mother needed to go to a hospital for treatment for some fucking thing."

Ollie has the man unlock the house and we go in for water and to use the facilities. Lou asks him why there are locks on the doors and the guy gives him the Labrador look again and offers no explanation.

On my way back from the bathroom and a healthy shit I see something that makes stop.
"HEY... Lou, take a look." I pic the picture up off the table where it sits in an old wooden frame.

"Oh shit." Lou takes it from my hands and shows it to the man.
"¿Quién es el hombre en la imagen?"
"Eso es Nestor y el hombre que vuela el avión grande."
Lou looks at me, "He says it is Nestor and the man that flies the big plane."
"We know that much, Lou."
"Right."

After a bit of an exchange Lou finds out that Jerry keeps his plane about three hours ride from here on horseback, about 15 miles north along the river that feeds the waterfall. In all the time we have been living and flying here I don't think we have over-flown that area and I damn sure know we never have driven there. The jungle gets pretty thick to the north.

Our new friend is Nejo, and he is one hell of a cook. Just local town fare, probably goat meat, veggies, and a brown sauce dropped into corn tortillas. We devour it. Ollie eats enough for a high school football team. He is really out of sorts with what has happened, his death and all. While we are making plans to go up river, he decides to stay and see his aunt and family. His parents are long since gone, but his aunt has been the one to raise him. He can't leave here with her thinking that he is dead. I don't bother bringing up the fact that this whole time continuem thing might have had them burying Ollie and now he is back from the dead.

After we eat we weigh the possibility of flying Naomi out of the lake and up to recon this landing strip. If it is big enough to take Abby, then we should have no problem spotting it. We have enough fuel to make it to one of several landing spots if need be.

We leave a nervous Ollie after some heartfelt bear hugs and head out to the plane. Ollie's share of the gold stays with him. With us we bring two large plastic jugs of water and some dried fruit from the house... just in case we don't find what we are looking for.

It is late in the afternoon before we are locked and loaded, both engines running and the jitters about getting out of the tree lined hole we are in.

"Run it up to full throttle before you go, Jake. That will give us a little sling-shot effect."
"I'll give you a sling-shot effect... we are on the water, Lou, there is no sling-shot effect."
"Oh... right."
"But you do give me an idea."

What we do is get her as far across the water as we can and push drag her back on the beach to where the floats are dragged up a bit. Now we can throttle up and be in the power curve before we start to move.

It works well enough. We get to full thrust for a moment or two before the floats break free and start our run.
"Holy shit, that worked." Lou checks out flap setting and then holds on tight. We get out of the water two thirds the way down the lake and I try to climb as quickly as possible without stalling.
"Come on, baby, up... UP." I have enough speed and I pull back and clear the trees.

"Three birds." Lou says, barely audible.
"What?"
"There were three birds in that nest."
"I knew it... you finally have permanent brain damage from all of those Walkers."
"Hey, that was fucking close and you know it."
"Yeah, I know it."

I think we burned more fuel on the way from Puerto Barrios than we first thought. I flick the fuel gauge and don't see any change. I think I can make an alternate landing about five miles south of where El Corazon should be if we don't spend too much time looking for this new location.

Below us we leave the waterfall to the south and follow the river. The cloud cover we flew through to get down here is closer to the ground up here and it forces us to fly extremely low.
"This isn't going to work if we can't get up a little higher. The damn airfield could be a half a mile off and we would fly right by it." Just as I finish talking a tree top scrapes at the bottom of the fuselage.

"Jesus Christ, Jake, pull her up or we won't have to worry about finding an airfield to land on."

I gain altitude and we are immediately in the clouds.
"Damn it." I pull and out of the clouds and leave them below us. We make it into clear sky at no more than 300 feet. We are now ten miles north and below us the clouds are thinning.

"Hey, I think our luck is changing." Lou looks out over the landscape below. Through the veil of thinning clouds we can see the unnatural scar of a man-made clearing.
"No shit." I bank and drop a little altitude as we make a wide circle and do a fly-by.
"Two hangers... hey, I see the Power Wagon."
That is enough to convince me that this is the place. I go down range and then make a turn back toward the runway.

"I didn't see Abigail." Lou tells me, but I already know.
"He'll should be home tonight. This is the beginning of a new month and he does the runs from the river farms, but those are all day runs."

We drop the gear and flaps, then throttle back and get on glide slope. Landing is sweet relief. Even though this should be "home", I feel like a stranger in a strange land. In less than a minute we taxi into the compound and spin her around toward the entrance before we shut down.

As soon as we step out of Naomi we hear the moment of silence abate and the sounds of the jungle fill the void. Before us are two large hangers, a ranch-style house, and a few other outbuildings. While we look at the house we see a young woman waving at us from a large picture window. She isn't waving at strangers. But we are.

These Times they are a Changing

2009-09-12T14:31:00.000-07:00

As the helo lifts off to ferry Antonelli and Dr. Adams back to the ship we stand watching. It has been such a wild ride that we don't know what to make of it. I am tired, Ollie and Lou are tired, and we have a long flight ahead of us tomorrow. With the bags of gold safe in Naomi's hold, we decide to make sure they stay there. We get a few cots from the terminal building they keep there for canceled flights and we stay on the tarmac under Naomi's wings.

She had been fueled and serviced by our local ground crew. We do a walk around just the same. When we are satisfied with her condition we hop in and fire her up. Lou has opted for the right seat today. I suspect he has more sleeping to do. We had a quick visit from Loco this morning. He brought breakfast, coffee, and he stuffed a paper bag in the back of the plane. Local produce, I assume. Another reason for Lou's right seat. A Walker is much more enjoyable when you aren't having to fly the plane.

We climb up into cockpit. Ollie stays outside until we get both engines fired up. Once we are satisfied, he pulls the chocks and tosses them inside before squeezing through the door and closing it behind him.

Her engines create a very reassuring vibration.
"Number two temp gauge is sticking."
Lou gives it a sharp flick with his finger and it springs to life.
"Better."
I look back at Ollie, "Hey big boy, move forward a little."
He moves up and straddles the bags of gold. We have decided to split the gold between the six of us. We have eight on board. They are small bags, about thirty pounds apiece. We left Antonelli with Mike and Andy's share. He will contact the boys and let them know what we found, then fly it up there for them.

We amble down the taxi way and get lined up at the end of the runway for take off. I set the brakes and throttle her up until the vibration is at its peak, then release. With a lurch we are off. The emerald green of the forest to our right becomes a blur. To our left, as we leave the ground, are the red clay tiled roofs of the neighborhood. We cross over the houses at the end of the runway and then back to the west.

"She feels good." I look over at Lou for any input. He has a fat Walker in his hand and is feeling his pockets for a lighter.

"Hey... how about a little co-pilot effort before you get so fucked up you will be of no use to me."
"There we go... " He pulls an old Zippo out of a small leather pocket on the side of his seat. For the next five minutes he flicks and slaps and taps on that lighter before realizing it is out of fuel.

"Sonofabitch... " He digs in the pocket and pulls out a little yellow and blue bottle of Ronson lighter fluid.
"Hey, before you get too far into this job of yours, let's set this thing on autopilot and we can both have a little fun."

"Now you're talkin', Nancy." Lou looks at the gauges, "Where is it?"
I point to the autopilot.
"What do I do?"

It would take too long to explain, so I dial in the coordinates.
"Did you see what I did there?"
"What now?"
"You were looking right at it, you didn't watch me?"
"Sorry, Jake, I was thinking?" He says as he squirts the lighter fluid into the bottom of the Zippo.
"Thank God."
"I wonder if I can get that Harley started."

I check my altitude and gauges, then flip the switch for the autopilot and slowly relinquish the controls. This was the first time I used the autopilot. Abby doesn't have that set up, so we never really checked it out on Naomi the first several times we flew her.

"You won't be getting near that bike. No... wait, you will be buying me a new one. That's right, you can do what you want with that bent piece of shit."

There is a couple of sparks from the flint and then the sweet smell of Guatemalan produce. Lou puffs on it a couple of times before he holds his hit and passes it over to me.
"Do you realize we have a couple of million dollars worth of gold on this plane?"
I take a long draw and then pass it back to Ollie. Before he takes it I hear the pop of a beer beer can and a cold one comes our way.
"More than just smoke in that bag?"

Loco set us up with a six pack of ice cold local brew, some jerky, and of course the smoke, enough to make it through the next month if we were careful.

Lou finds the tape of Los Lonely Boys and before long the trio is competing with the twin Pratt Wasp engines for cabin superiority. There is little said between us, just the passing of the Walker and a few drawn out coughs are all we emit. Too much has happened to discuss. In turn we all take a long stretch and about six hits before the Walker is spent.

It is a partially cloudy day and the green of the jungle below comes in patches between the cotton white clouds. I see the Mujer Silvestre off to our right. It is off to our starboard side about ten miles. Our course will parallel the river for a while.

"I want to go into town when we get home and have a home-cooked meal."
"I don't think we have anything to cook." I tell him, breathing out my last hit for a while.
"Not you, Nancy, the Cantina. I want a home cooked meal from the Cantina." He closes his eyes and smiles, "I think those girls like my action."
"I think they think you are a rodeo clown."

Time passes. I fight the lulling from the engines that want to have me drift off to sleep. The Walker was a bad idea. There is no caffiene in the plane and I have to get us back down on the ground eventually. I make myself inspect the gauges every couple of minutes. Not much to see out of the windows. What had been hovering on the horizon is now cloud cover about a thousand feet below us. That is a little bit unnearving. The weather reports are anything but reliable in this part of Central America. I turn on the radio for the first time this trip and try to find someone out there that might know how deep the cloud cover is below us. I get two pilots and a FBO somewhere in Mexico. The pilots are in blue sky above and below them and are heading north/south. The FBO checks the latest weather report all the way to the Pacific and tells me that the ceiling is about 500 feet. This makes me nervous.

Ollie is snoring like a wounded grizzly. I don't have the heart to wake him up to this boring shit, so I let him sleep. My illustrious co-pilot is out as well. If I had a magic marker he would wake up with glasses and a mustache. But I don't. Just as well... if my laughter didn't kill me he certainly would.

I think of Jerry, of Abigail. No one has been servicing her. Jerry knows how to oil and fuel her, but there is a lot more that I do to keep her flying. I will probably have to take close to a week to get back on top of the maintenance. It really doesn't sink into my thoughts that I don't have to do any of this shit any more with the money we have. I could retire. But where would the fun be in that?

This autopilot is unnerving. We have been flying on this heading for just long enough. Without being able to see the ground below us there are no reassuring landmarks to pinpoint our position. Five hundred feet, huh? We'll see about that.

I turn off the autopilot and pull back a bit on the throttles. We start to drop and drift down toward the cloud cover. I think about our position and the jungle below. We should be fine if this stuff starts at five hundred feet off the ground. If we fly too far west then we would be in a little trouble with the mountains near Nester's waterfall. As we sink into the clouds sleeping beauty awakens in the seat next to me.

He looks out the window, then over to me. There is zero visibility. He reaches out and grabs his control wheel with a start.

"Easy now. Hands off that wheel."
"Get her down out of this shit."
"I am, it can't be more than a... "
We break through and below us is the jungle. I can see the thin line of mountain on the horizon ahead before they are swallowed up in the low clouds. Perfect. We just turn a little to the north and below us will be...
"Holy shit."

Lou looks at me and then out the window.
"What the fuck?"

I bank Naomi over on my wing and search the jungle floor. I fly a long lazy eight, banking from my wing and then over on Lou's side to use his eyes.
"Where is the compound?" I ask him.
"That's not funny, Jake."
"I don't think it is either, but our compound should be right below us."

We fly east again and turn about two miles down range to make our approach, one that I have made in Abby a thousand times. There doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary. The jungle breaks at one point and there is a meadow of sorts, then it gets thick again before it stops right where our runway begins.

But there is no runway. And as we pass the spot where El Corazon sits, with our big gates, the hanger/home that Jerry and I have shared all these years, my tools, our guns and money, our clothing and personal belongings, even those pesky monkeys... gone. Not there. All that is there is jungle, undisturbed as though it hasn't seen human involvement since the days of primordial ooze.

"What the FUCK?"

I fly toward Nogalas. Something is different. There aren't quite as many buildings or roads. The bulk of it is the same, but changes have taken place.
"This is like the fucking twilight zone."

Ollie is awake and leaning on the backs of our seats to see what we see.
"Permítanos volar al lago y hablar con Nester."

"He says we should go and talk to Nester."
"It's a damn good thing we are in a seaplane."

We bank over toward the mountain range. The lake is not big enough. It is going to easy enough to land. It's taking off again that worries me. Like that is the only thing. What happened to El Corazon. It is like it never existed. This has to be the result of this trip to the wild west... to the men we killed.

As we make our approach, we get the flaps down and drop as much speed as we can. Just a make a little flare, we feel the water on the hull. I try to keep a little pressure on the controls to let us down gently, but that doesn't happen and we do a little bit of a plunge, shooting water up and over the wing. I hear the engines start to sputter, but with some quick moves I keep them running.

We idle toward the beach near Nester's home. It looks different as well, not as grand as it had looked the last time we had seen it.

"This is like the goddamn twilight zone."

The Honored

2009-09-04T11:56:00.000-07:00

We send Dr. Adams packing. None of us want anything else to do with him, not even Chris... who has the pilot of the Skycrane radio to Antonelli's helicopter to come and pick the four of us up from the plateau. We have the good doctor fly back with the Skycrane, the Hummer, and the gold. We keep Seedling and Ole' Bess with us and will try to find the high ground that the tribe had been seeking out when we left them. It seems a fitting place to put the two of them to rest.

The pilot gives us a smoke grenade to use to signal our ride. Then he fires up the twin T-73 Pratts and gets them up to speed.

As the throttles up for takeoff we can see Dr. Adams, the look of a kid that had just taken a slap from his daddy on his face... even though Lou never hit him. We don't need his shit. The chopper blades lift the craft up and away with a heavy thumping that rocks the air we stand in. Even after it has gone I can't hear a damn thing.

Nothing is said for a moment or two. This whole thing has us spent. We really haven't had much rest after all that has happened. Then that prick pushes our buttons. He is lucky Lou didn't have a blade... I think it would have been just an impulse and then... "Uh oh, I accidentally gutted him."

Before the Skycrane disappears from sight we see the approaching helo. Ollie pops the smoke and tosses it toward the center of the plateau and we watch as the chopper stops forward motion and begins to hover for a landing. Within a minute after touchdown we are up and away from the plateau.

"Where to, Mr. Antonelli?" The pilot asks, dividing the bulk of his attention between the horizon and the instruments.

"We want to follow the trail down below there." He points to the ribbon of pathway that winds its way up through the mountains. We tip forward and are on our way. At times the trail is lost behind a crag or two, then we pick it up again. We don't know what to expect at the end. Even as the trail narrows, it is obvious it is still well used. That is reinforced by the sight of a caravan of four wheelers that are slowly making their way in the same direction we are headed.

"Campers?" Lou remarks, looking down at the rigs below.
"Probably."

"There is another plateau." The pilot directs us to a spot up ahead. It is well after sunset and I believe our pilot is just a little nervous about our mission at this point. "Do you want me to set it down?"

I take a good look around at the shadowed landscape. It looks as though this may have been the destination of the tribe. The rest of the mountain range is formibable with no sign of a more welcome spot. This is at least fifteen miles from the Crystal Cavern and would have been a long ride, much of it a steep grade. From what the Chief had told us at the celebration they had a long day's ride ahead of them.

Lou signals him to set the chopper down and we descend into what seems like a caldera of sorts. The Superstision Mountains rise up around us as we lower toward the ground. By the time we touch down we are surrounded by towering peaks except for a gap that looks out onto the valley far below. Even the largest bonfire set at the back of this caldera would not be seen from the valley below. It has to be a good twenty miles before the valley shows itself. Our observation is fleeting. The sun is gone and the view is nothing but darkening shades of grey.

Our pilot checks his systems and then checks with Chris before he shuts the engine down. We will be staying for a while. The conditions here are to his liking.

Lou dons his headlamp and flips the switch. The boys and I follow his lead. Lou and I walk about thirty or fourty feet toward the valley view and stop. At our feet is carpet of desert grass dotted with piles of rock. There must be hundreds of them dotting the landscape.

"What do you make of that?" I cast my light in a wide arc and the piles go on and on.
"Not natural." He says, taking a knee. He draws a rock off the pile and looks at it, turning it over in his hand.

Chris and Ollie call to us from the back side of the caldera. They have found something. Toward the back of the caldera the piles of rock aren't present. There are the remains of fire pits, about four of them. At one time there had been great care in the placing of containment stones, the sides facing the fire blackened from heat and soot.

We are trying to reason out what we have seen when the sound of approaching engines are carried to us with a light breeze. Below the mouth of the caldera lights reach for the sky and then dip down out of sight, illuminating the ground for a few seconds before they go wildly skyward once again. Before long the first of four Jeeps crest the top of the trail and slowly approach our position, making sure to stay against the back side of the caldera as they move.

Lou watches as the first of the Jeeps stop the procession and the driver emerges.
"Chris... are there any weapons in the slick?"
"Pilot has a piece."
"Go get it."

The driver turns and pulls a rifle from the back of the vehicle. He waits for the other three drivers and their companions to assemble. The first man, he is alone and must be their leader. He slings the rifle and motions for them to stay put before walking toward our position.

Chris returns with a nine millimeter. Lou has him pocket the pistol as the man approaches.
"You are trespassing on private land... Indian land."

"I'm sorry." Lou puts on a friendly face, "we didn't know."
He holds out his hand but the man doesn't take it.
"Maybe you can help us. We are looking for the place that the Apache around here called the Spirit Mountains. There is some high ground around here where they set up camp."

At hearing this the rifle comes up, cocked and ready, along with his friends in the gallery. They approach us with caution and then fan out to surround us.
"Easy now... easy." I try to smile.
"He is serious, we are just looking for... "

"We know what you are here for. There are no artifacts for you to steal. Others like you have desicrated this burial ground... dug up our ancestors, removed their talismans, their necklaces, their ceremonial weapons. Our tribe has come up to this sacred ground on each anniversary to be one with the spirit tribe, and each time we find your selfish destruction."

Rifles are shouldered and aimed, a few of them cocked for effect. "It is time for you to leave."

"Anniversary?" Somewhere the fog is lifting. "Anniversary of what?" Chris asks.

The rifle comes down a bit and the tale is told.
"One hundred and twenty eight years ago on this day our tribe was slaughtered by troops. Here, on this sacred land, they fought and died. With the exception of three young braves, our tribe was murdered. It is only through their stories that we even know of this place."

Son of a bitch. That's right. It was only yesterday that we came back. Only yesterday that we watched the Army column marching towards this place. They killed them, all of them but three young boys.

"You are members of what is left of this tribe?" I ask.
"Our numbers have grown to nearly one hundred through the years." He hoists the rifle once again. "It is time you leave."

"Did your elders tell you about the group of white men that fought as Warriors along side your tribe?"
The rifle comes down.
"Yes, this is in the stories."
"We are descendants of those men. This is why we are here." Lou tells him.

From the darkness beyond our headlamps an old man walks toward us. He has listened to all of this. As he comes into the light we can see he is probably in his seventies or eighties. His hair is white. Pulled together and braided it flows down his back to his waist. He is wearing a dull blue windbreaker with an Elks lodge emblem. In one hand he holds some desert foliage... an arrangement of sorts, tied in two places with strips of rawhide. In the other a long pipe, tied with feathers and ornate with beadsWhen he stops he asks in a low voice for us to repeat what we said.

"Your Warriors fought with the Army... the Cavalry, down at the base of the mountains on this side of the valley. We, I mean our ancestors, helped them to stop the soldiers. There was a celebration at the river. Then we... they left your tribe and went their own way."

You could hear a pin drop. The lead man with the rifle... his mouth drops open and he looks to the elder, who motions him to lower his weapon. The others follow suit and we seem have an accord.

We are asked to join the lighting of the ceremonial fire. There is a saddle bag, old and worn, but cared for as though it is an heirloom, filled with charcoal that is religiously laid in the makings of the bonfire. They take their places around the fire. We are asked to stand with them. Something in Apache tongue is spoken by the old man and the fire is lit.

"The saddle bags? What is that all about." Chris asks, taking a seat on one the long burms that border the fire pit.

"In the bags is charcoal from the fire of last year's fire. When tomorrow comes, we will mix the remains in the fire pit. Only when are certain then that we have the past and the present together do we place it in the saddle bags. This has been the tradition since the three braves returned the next year to this place to remember and to honor the dead."

With the fire totally under way the old man lights the pipe and it is passed. We tell the story of meeting the tribe, well... our "ancestors" meeting the tribe. We talk about Seedling, about the ash ceremony, about the ride to the Spirit Mountains.
When we get to the part about the Crystal Cavern, the old man's eyes light up.

"You have been to the sacred cavern?"

"We had to bring our friend, his remains, to be buried properly. He and Ole' Bess, that was Seedlings... "

"Old Bess was a donkey?" He asks, knowing the answer.
"She was Seedling's best friend."
He stands slowly, as though he supported the weight of the world on his shoulders. From a pouch around his waist he pulls something wrapped in tattered cloth.
"Do you know this?" He hands the item to Lou, who unwraps it.

We look at it for a moment... history from more than a century ago, and yesterday. It is the lense that Seedling let us use to focus the light.
"How?" Is all I could muster.

The elder starts with the story. His father was ten years old when the tragedy took place. He had been tasked with tending to the horses for the tribe. He was one of the survivors, one of the three. The tribe had made the trip to the sacred lands. They thought the were safe, that the soldiers would not follow. They were wrong. As the soldiers poured into the caldera, the Warriors fought them back. It was only when they had run out of arrows and spears, and ammunition for the white man's weapons, that the soldiers began their slaughter. Even the three braves fought the soldiers, but when it was certain that death was upon them they lay on the battlefield as still as the rocks you see there now. The soldiers left the dead for the buzzards. It took most of the next day for the boys to bury them, to collect the stones to cover the bodies. They made their way off the mountain. The only person that they could think of that might help them was Seedling.

"My father knew where he was. He had tied off Ole' Bess to the side of the canyon on an old ring that Seedling had pounded into the side of the rock. It was the trail to the Crystal Cavern, a sacred place for the tribal elders"

We all exchange glances at hearing this. We had seen this man's father just days ago as a boy.

The old man continued with his tale. They couldn't follow the trail down to the cavern, there were stragglers... soldiers taking their time getting back to the valley. They would be spotted. They hiked on the rim of the trail. Soon the Cavalry retreated back to the valley below and re-assembled for the journey back to their forts. The three braves returned to the trail and made their way down to the spot where they tied off Ole' Bess. The path to the Crystal Cavern was no more, choked with rock and soil it was not to offer them a way up. They scaled the side of the canyon, their feet cut and bleeding, and made their way up and around. Below them they could see the destruction and death on the plateau, the remains of soldiers emerging from the avalanche of rock.

It had been nearly two days since the destruction of their tribe. They were tired and hungry. The entrance to the cavern was not an option. They skirted the plateau and looked for the "kenooshii"... the spirit entrance. This is where the spirits that the elders communed with would enter the cavern. In total darkness the boys made their way down and into the cavern. In the light of a new day they found Seedling's stores of food and water, and Seedling himself. He was injured beyond help protecting the sacred place from the soldiers. The donkey Bess was in the cavern and there was no way to get her out. The braves left them both to the safety of the spirits and made their way out of the cavern and back down to the valley.

"Eventually they were taken along with Geronimo's tribe and placed on the reservation." The old man's eyes are clear and bright as he relays his tale. It is stories like this that are the history of the tribe even now when written word can be used.
"My father had always regretted leaving Seedling and Bess. There was no way to save them, not by three young boys. No one to help aside from soldiers who would just as soon slaughter them and leave the sun to bleach their bones."

"Well, sir... " Lou starts. He stands and motions Ollie to go to the chopper and retrieve Seed and Ole' Bess' remains.
"The reason we came to your Spirit Mountains was to lay Seedling and Ole' Bess to rest along with his tribe."

We all take time out to place their remains on the sacred ground, burying them with rocks off of each of the piles. Once their bones are covered, we listen to a prayer that they say on each anniversary. It is a beautiful closer to this whole episode.

When we return to the fire we drink and smoke and feel a brotherhood between us. After an hour or so conversation wanes and we are all left with our thoughts. Something still hangs out there for me.
"Sir?"
The elder passes me the pipe... good shit by the way, but that isn't why I called to him.
"What made you take Seedlings crystal?"
The old man smiles, "A young boys reasoning. When I saw the crystal hanging there it was lit up like the sun. I thought it would provide us light in the darkness. Imagine my disappointment."

Our pilot reminds us that we have to depart. Dr. Adams is not able to return to Puerto Barrios without us, and he has urgent business, according to him anyway.

We leave with peace in our hearts, an open invitation to share in this sacred gathering each year, and a renewed friendship with the Apache nation. As we ascend into the night, we see the battlefield and the honored dead in the light of the bonfire. Tonight we will sleep well.

Ashes to Ashes

2009-08-17T16:02:00.000-07:00

Lou takes up position on the deck behind the four seat enclosed cab. We hang on to the roll bar and the Hummer rolls with Chris behind the wheel. Dr. Adams can be heard droning on about something before the sound of the engine drowns him out.

As we ride toward the main trail... I remember my thoughts from this spot on the map in 1881. Riding toward certain death, insurmountable odds, pain and anguish, the terror of the murder we had just committed and were charging towards. I shudder at the thought of it.

"Hard to shake the fact that we were just hear." Lou says, staring out at the low lying range in front of us. He points to a bare spot in the desert, one that holds secrets that have not been whispered for over a hundred years. We thundered toward their flank, those troops. They didn't see us coming until they had engaged the Warriors, and then it was too late.

We turn toward the Sacred Mountains on the main trail. It is still used, from the looks of it. There are hundreds of tire tracks, some hoof prints off the main trail. I am sure there are plenty of vehicles that explore out here. The trail that was soft, high desert sand and brush is now hard pan and stiff. As we drive, Lou, myself, and even Chris sense our location. Even before Lou taps the top of the truck Chris is letting off the gas and turning.

The Hummer peels off the trail and we ride out about fifty yards or so and he turns it back around and throws it in park. We jump from the back as Chris and Ollie step out of the cab.

"Gentlemen, we should press on." Dr. Adams is talking to himself at this point, we have all tuned him out.

"Yeah, yeah... stay in the car, rattlesnakes."
"What? Did you say... rattlesnakes?" He searches for the lock on the door.
"Pussy." Lou seems disgusted as he walks ahead of us.

We all stop near the same spot, each of us with their memories of the battle. The sun catches something ahead of me about ten feet, just a glint of gold nearly consumed by the desert sand. I step over and reach down, brushing the earth from around it until it pulls up. It is a brass button and what might have been uniform cloth. I turn it over and use my thumbnail to remove the rock hard sand. When I uncover the initials I nod. Lou's back is to me, but he knows.

"What did you find, Jake?"
I toss it to him as he turns. He smiles when he sees it, then grips it hard... like he is pressing a thought into the metal. In his eyes a soldier that dies in battle, no matter what he is fighting for, is a hero. I agree. I am sure that this carnage was hard for him to bare.

Ollie walks to a spot and takes a knee. He shouts something to Chris, who returns to the Hummer and comes back with a folding shovel. Ollie hacks at the soil and then starts in on a tug of war which ends with him on his ass and a rusted piece of metal in his lap. He takes it in both hands and holds it over his head as he stands. It is the remains of a rifle, the wood long gone, the metal slowly returning to nature.

We all look at it and remain silent in our rememberance. Then we all get back into the Hummer and Chris pulls back out onto the trail.
"Oooo, an artifact. May I see it please?" We can hear the good Doctor ogle over the rifle. He keeps going on and on and finally Ollie must have grabbed it out of his hands and it comes up to us from the side window. I grab it and set it back behind us.

What had taken an hour to ride back in the old west takes minutes cruising in the Hummer. We ride over a ditch that I can only thing was the brook where we partied with the Indians. The trail before us is larger and wider than it had been. Time and modern transportation had changed this landscape. I try to remember the ride, some type of landmark that might...

"HOLD IT." I hit the roof a couple of times and Chris lays on the brakes.
"What the FUCK." I hear him say. I am sure I startled him.
"Back up, Chris... I thought I saw something."

The Hummer whines as it backs up. He goes about fifty feet and I have him stop. I reach out and point at a round iron loop above a bit of a ledge in the canyon wall to our right. It is a good six feet above our trail and doesn't look like it would serve any purpose.

"What is that?" Lou asks, wiping the sweat from his eyes. Even though it is late afternoon it is hotter than hell and stagnant.
"Could that be where the little brave tied off Ole'Bess?"
"Hell no, it's too high to be... "
Lou stops himself mid sentence and thinks about it, "It just might be."

We jump out of the Hummer and stand on the trail looking up at the loop. Just before it on the trail there is a spot where the trail through the rock might have been, but it is now filled with earth and dotted with scrub sage.

I walk back down the trail a bit and shield my eyes from the brightness.
"Lou... "
He joins me, squinting in the direction I am looking. "What have you got, Nancy."
"Is that the look-out position that Chris and Mike were in?"
He takes a moment. "Now we're talking."

We pull the gear out of the Hummer; climbing rope, LED headlamps, and the shovel. Ollie puts the rope over his neck and shoulder. We each don a headlamp rather than carry it, and I take the shovel.

"Uh... gentlemen? I was hoping we could drive to the site of this cavern. You mentioned a trail." Dr. Adams is out of the Hummer and straightening his suit coat.
"Yeah, this is the trail." Chris points to the steep grade above us.

We leave him behind as we carefully make our way up to the ledge and then over the rubble that has now become part of the canyon wall. He is still talking when as we climb up out of sight.
"Can't we just hit him with the shovel and leave him out here?" I mutter. The boys have a chuckle and we move on.

When we reach the top, Ollie drops the rope to the ground, unties it, and then anchors one end to an outcropping of rock. He tugs hard on the anchor to test its strength and then heaves the remaining line over the grade back down to the Hummer. We hear acknowledgement from Dr. Adams. I am sure he expects some assistance.

The spot where we are standing is the plateau. Lou looks to the left at the trailhead. It still holds pain. This is where he was shot so many times. I turn and walk toward a spot on the ridge and look over. I climb down and look back at what was once the trail that led up to the cavern. Then I turn my eyes to the ground at my feet and look for it. Even after one hundred and twenty some odd years this part of the desert remains the same. Choked in the beargrass and half covered in earth is the Spencer... right where I dropped it after my lucky fifth shot covered the trail. I pull it up from the shallow grave and bring it back up to the plateau.

"No shit... " Lou takes it from me and looks at it. It even has part of the walnut stock intact. He forces the lever action and with a couple of tries he gets it to move. There is a moment of silence and Lou gets a tear in his eye. We say nothing, no jokes. This is hallowed ground for all of us. Lou lays the rifle at his feet and we move on.

The entrance to the cavern is gone. In its place a flow of rock and rubble that would take weeks to clear.
"Well hell... what do we do now?" Chris bends down and picks up one of the ham sized boulders and tosses it aside.
"Well, that sucks." He rubs his back as he stands straight again.

Ollie looks up and over the entrance, stepping back and shielding his eyes for a better look. He moves twenty or thirty feet down from the entrance and is still looking.
"What are you looking for, big guy?" Lou asks him.
"La otra entrada."
"That's right," Lou remembers, "there's another entrance." Lou walks the line of the mountain down to where Ollie is standing, looking up at the face for any spot we can climb. In the mean time we can hear Dr. Adams pleading for help on the rope. He must be on his way up here. We ignore him and find a spot where we can top the rise and begin to look for Seedling's escape hole.

It takes five minutes of each of us scrambling around above the plateau before Chris finds something.
"OVER HERE."
Chris is twenty yards away looking down at his feet. We join him and see a rectangular hole at his feet about the size of a couple of phone books layed end to end.

"Is that it?" I ask... as if they know.
"One way to find out." Lou drops down, sitting on the edge of the hole long enough to flip his headlamp on. He lays flat on his belly.
"Hold my legs."

He lowers himself into the hole, inching his way down until he is consumed from the waist up.

"Hey, I found a rifle." It is Adams. He must have made it up to the plateau and found the Spencer we had left there. "Boys? Gentlemen?"

"WE ARE UP HERE." Chris shouts down to him. "Putz."

Lou drops down into the hole and we don't see him for a minute, but we can hear him. Finally he calls up to come on down. I look at Chris and he shrugs.
"I'm not going to fit in that hole."
I look up at Ollie and he shakes his head.
"Well, here I go."

I shimmy through the hole and make my way down into pitch blackness.
"Come on, just another ten feet or so."
Lou's voice is a cushioned echo in the tunnel below. I keep making my way down until I feel his hand on my foot, guiding me down. When I am standing next to him he turns on his headlamp.
"Not a lot of air in here."

I begin to question this but then realize that we are both breathing fast, like a panting dog. I switch my headlamp on and look down the tunnel. It is a sharp angle and heads in the opposite direction that we want to go.
"What do you think?"
Lou looks at me for a second and then turns his light away from my eyes, "Sorry."
He turns the beam down the damp darkness of the tunnel, "Whatever we are going to do, we better hurry up. I don't think we can breath down here too long."

Down the tunnel we go. We have to stoop as the opening begins to narrow. Pretty soon we are turned sideways and crawling/stepping our way along.
"This can't be it." I am ready to turn around and try something else.
"No, I think this is it." Lou stops and we are both motionless, as though he is listening for something. He reaches up and turns off his headlamp.
"Turn yours off, Jake."

With a click we are in darkness... for a moment. Then ahead in the tunnel there is a slight illumination.
"Keep going." Lou says as he starts the crawl once again and I follow, lamps off with only the glow ahead to guide us. As we go, the luminescence grows. Lou emerges from the fissure in the rock and I follow. I straighten up just as my muscles are about to cramp up.

We are standing in a small chamber, dully lit by light from an adjoining chamber. Lou flips his light on and looks around the small cavern. The walls are crossed with veins of quarts, many of them intersected by deep cuts through the rock where gold might have been harvested.

"Do you think this is... " Lou stops when he trips and falls to the ground. Something he kicked on the way down clatters off into the shadows.
"Motherfucker." He rubs his knee and we both shine our lights down on the ground. There on the floor of the chamber are several saddlebags on top of a pile of sticks and what looks like firewood.

"What the hell is this?" I pick up what I am sure is a piece of wood. Lou's expression says otherwise.
"That is a rib bone."
I drop it like third period French and look down at my feet. It isn't wood under those old leather bags, it is a skeleton.
"Is that Ole' Bess?"

"It ain't a German Shepard." Lou looks for the skull and sees it laying about ten feet away.

We walk the short distance to the glowing adjacent cavern. There in the ceiling, just as we had left it yesterday, are the crystals that make up the roof of the sacred chamber. Directly below is the pedestal we had created, laying on its side. The late afternoon sun gives a faint florescent light to the inside of this chamber, lighting a grim scene.

At the what was the entrance to the cavern is a wall of boulders. At the base of the pile emerge the remains of at least ten men, crushed when Seedling brought down the opening to defend what was his. In the light of the headlamps we see the amber bones of the fallen, the barrels of rifles poking out of the rock. We turn and search the rest of the area. To the side of the avalanche are more bones and the remains of weapons, leather belts and bandoleers. Lou drops to a knee and from beneath one of the skeletons he pulls at a piece of leather. It breaks in his hands.

"What are you looking for?"
He reaches under the bones and pulls a gun holster from beneath the remains. It is stiff, like a piece of wood, but from inside it he pulls Orlis Keene's pistol.
"Holy shit." Lou holds it up and examines it in the beam of his headlamp.

We stare in silence at the weapon. It puts it all into perspective. We were here, this did happen. It makes me wonder about the time line... the effects of all we had done.
Lou tucks the pistol in the back of his belt and we look to the remainder of the cavern. The crystals were damaged in the blast. They are darker, fractured... almost smokey. There are skeletal remains at the pedestal as well, fragments of uniform cloth, buckles and buttons. Our lights cast over the floor of the cavern, scorched from a blast over a century ago. On the far side of the crystals there is a shape on floor.

"Is that... ?"
"Seedling."
Lou points to an old piece of leather, "You can still see that little pouch he had the crystal in. The femurs are broken, the bones in his arms are broken..." He scoots the head around, "even the skull is fractured."

I can only assume the blast bounced him off the wall.
"That explains what happened to Ole' Bess."

We can hear shouting outside on the plateau, it's Dr. Adams whining about not having a flashlight and that the sun was going down. His voice was too clear, as though there was an opening somewhere here in the main chamber.

"Turn off your light, Lou." I switch mine off and he does the same. The waning light of day still illuminates the crystals, but there is something else. On the wall across from us is an irregular pattern of faint light about the size of a garbage can lid. I go over and look at it, putting my hand in the light's path, then my head. Above the fall of boulders and cavern rock I see the hole. It is only after we make sure it is safe to climb that we emerge from the hole.

We call the boys down from the top of the mountain and tell them what we have found. Orlis' pistol is passed from hand to hand. They boys treat it with reverence. Dr. Adams treats it like it's the Holy Grail.

"Oh my, oh my God. This is going to a museum, wait until I... "
Lou snatches from his hands and tucks it back in his belt. "It's not going anywhere, Doc."
"See here, Louis, you were on an expedition funded by Mrs. Antonelli and the corporate branch of... "
For the final time Dr. Adams falls silent, this time with Lou's hand around his throat, "You're gettin' on my nerves, Doc. This gun, that gold, it is ours, not yours or hers or some fucking corporations. You get it?"

"Come on, Lou, put him down. That's my mom's cousin."
"I don't give a fuck if he is father time. We killed for that gold. They got their precious gold for the Clarok. We fulfilled our commitment to your mom, Chris."

After cooler heads prevail, we agree to allow the "corporation" to exact any claim to the geographical area. We, on the other hand, will take and divide up between us any and all gold that Seedling has stashed in the adjoining caverns.

By nightfall we have summoned the Skycrane and have the Hummer ready for transport. We retrieved sixteen bags of gold from the caverns, Ole' Bess and Seedling's remains for a proper burial.
It would take some doing, but we think we can find the Indian's place in the Spirit Mountains to set them to rest.

In the Heat of the Moment

2009-07-29T06:56:00.000-07:00

I am hot, but in a cool place. I can feel the chill of something other than desert and rock under the side of my face. It almost feels as if I have been flash frozen, like a piece of whitefish on some factory ship. I have my eyes open... I think, but see nothing but the white flash that was burned into my sight when the Clarok went off.

There is movement at my feet, a hand grasps my ankle, then pats it.
"Jake... is that you?"
It is Andy's voice.
"Yeah. Can you see?"
"Nothing but white... you?

"Well shit." Lou joins in. "Either we all made it to hell, or we made it off that mountain."
"Can you see anything, Lou?"
"Nope."

As the conversation goes we realize that we are all in one place. But what place we aren't sure. No one can see anything but flash in their eyes. The one thing I realize right off the bat is that I am no longer in pain.
"Lou, do you feel all right?"

"Never better, Nancy."
"For being shot three times, I mean."
"Hey... I'm not shot any more."
"Me niether."

Where ever we are, things change. A door opens and a familiar voice sounds.
"We have no event. I repeat, no event. Log the time down. Let's get the artifact back into hermetic storage."

It is Dr. Adams from the ship.

Footsteps enter the room. "Gentleman, I am sorry. We had hoped this wasn't going to be for not, but it looks as though we might have built this whole thing up for nothing."

There is a pause while he looks at us laying about the floor.
"Gentlemen, are you okay?"
"Just blinded, but I am hoping it is temporary."

I feel a helping hand lifting me to my feet, then that hand as fingers lift first one eyelid, then the other.
"Interesting."
"To say the least, Doc."

Lou struggles to his feet and then reaches out for something to steady himself. There is nothing but the Clarok, and Dr. Adams is quick to keep him from touching it. It is then that he lets out a little... well... shriek.

"Oh my God. Oh my God, the inlay... you got inlay. How?"

Chris starts to speak, then pauses as he gets to his feet.
"We played hell... getting that gold. Next time you want someone to go on these little journeys, you can pick someone else."

"Journey? But you haven't gone anywhere. The artifact vibrated, then flashed, and you all ended up on the floor."

I don't know about anyone else, but shadows are making their way back into my vision.
"Listen, we just spent four days and nights tracking down that gold. We were shot at, blown up, almost hanged, robbed, taken for outlaws. Hell, I bet we killed a hundred men just trying to get through this thing and back home."

There is stunned silence in the room.
"Doc?"
"Yes... yes, I am here. Oh my god."
"Yeah, you said that." Chris tells him, "What the hell is going on here?"

"Christopher? Are you all right?"
It is Antonelli's mother, and by the smell of the perfume that waifts into the room... Angelica.

"Fine. I think that damn thing flash blinded us, but my vision is coming back." He tells her.

I rub my eyes and it seems to help. Slowly shadows become more defined. I can make out everyone in the room and in the doorway.

"Would you gentlemen mind coming into the conference room where we can get you some refreshement and then debrief you." Mrs. Antonelli seems a bit anxious. She leans into Angelica.
"Have all personel vacate this deck. I want security on the doors leading to the lounge."

"If you mean refreshment as in something from the bar then let's have at it." Chris tells her. There is quite a bit of enthusiasm for this idea, so we are all led out of the room and back to the lounge where we had gathered so many days before. We were finally back and I can hardly believe it.

In the lounge we have the run of the bar. Chris' mother pleads with us to not go to quickly with the alcohol before we have had a chance to explain ourselves. Everyone is anxious to tell their part of the story, so the first couple of gulps go down quickly, but then we are all involved in telling the tale of our journey.

Our audience is awestruck as we relay, in detail, what transpired. There is a digital camcorder taking it all down to be analyzed later. Each of us fills in their part as the story goes on. Two hours... while it is all fresh in our minds. Google Earth and map overlays are put together. There is a David Rumsey map that is pulled up that shows Arizona in the time we had been there. With that and the current aerial satellite view from Google we can show them where we had been.

"There is too much detail to be mass hypnosis." Dr. Adams says to himself.
"Mass hypnosis? I was shot twice and blown up. That wasn't mass hypnosis. Lou was shot three times just before we came back. Hell, not more than an hour ago." I look at him and he nods.

"This is amazing."

"I met some Indians." Mike reports, "Showed them a thing or two about cooking."
He looks at Andy, "Andy used a bow and arrow better than some of their warriors."

"Indians?" Dr. Adams is beside himself.
"Same Indians that harbored Geronimo in the territory. They were a tough group. I just hope the Army didn't get to them. That is who they were going after when we blew the trail and vamoosed it out of there." Andy tells him.

It goes on. Three bourbons later and Lou and me are taken down to another part of the ship to be x-rayed. Once they snap the shots we are returned to the lounge. Chris, Andy, and Mike are no longer there... just Ollie and the bottle of blue agave he is holding.

"Dónde están los chicos?" Lou asks him.
"Ellos fueron a bañarse y ser vestido." His words are strung together in a building tequila haze.
"The boys are cleaning up and changing their clothes." Lou translates.
"That sounds like a plan. Why aren't we doing that?"

"Because I wanted to ask you a question."
We didn't see Mrs. Antonelli sitting in the corner of the lounge
"Certainly, Ma'am." Lou replies.

"Would you gentlemen be willing to make a short expedition tomorrow afternoon? I will have the G5 readied for a hop to Sky Harbor in Phoenix, then one of our helicoptors to fly you to the site."

"The sight of what?" I am bourbon slow to the subject.

"The site of your return. These "spirit mountains", the cavern with the crystals. Do you think you could find it again? It looks as though developement in that area is minimal. There should be very little change."

The question was already put to Andy and Mike. They have declined and need to get back to their lives for a while. Chris and Ollie are on board. I am excited at the prospect of what me might find.

We freshen up and are take the launch ashore. It's just me, Lou, and Ollie for drinks and dinner. The rest of 'em are "too tired" from our ordeal and want to stay on board in the lap of luxury. I just want to have some Muerte Verde and a big fat Walker and look at the boat from shore.

"Pussies." Lou is slightly disgusted.
"Mike looked worn out." I tell him, "Now Andy... he is just whimping out."
"Chris... él es justo una niña." Ollie chuckles.
"Ya, he is acting like a little girl all right."
"Pussy." Lou shakes his head.

We take the steps up to the entrance and immediately see a problem.
"Where is everyone?"
There is a note in mother tongue on the podium beyond the velvet rope that is supposed to forbid us entry. Lou snaps it up and reads it.
"Closed for a funeral... better be someone fucking important."

This place has no doors to lock, so it is basically the honor system. We do have honor... but we have money to spend and definately a need for Muerte. I step over the rope and immediately I hear an alarm go off.
"Must be an electronic eye or something." Chris states.

"No shit." I reply, stepping back for a moment.

From around the corner there is a flash of blue uniform and a shotgun comes up with a shouted warning to freeze. Then the gun comes down and smiles all around.
"HEY... Loco, I'm sure glad it is you." I tell him as he comes over.

There are a few heartfelt handshakes and a bearhug or two.
"The owner's grandson fell from the rocks at the falls. He is closed for today for the child's funeral. No food, not for cooking. There are some shrimps and chilled lobster meats for you boys."

Lou pulls out a wad of cash and hands it to Loco. "This should cover anything we eat or drink, my friend." Whether it makes to the owner, or Loco uses it for other means, we are covered.

Before long it is the four of us, a table overlooking the bay, a skull of near frozen Muerte Verde, Negro Modelo, and a large platter overflowing with three bite shrimp, two lobster tails each, and scallops the size of hockey pucks.

Loco tells us that Whitey is out on a charter with three beautiful blondes and a photographer. He got to see two of them naked before Whitey took them out and that was enough to hold him for the rest of the year. We ask after his family, what has been going on in town, how Whitey is doing... but we don't talk about where we have been. I don't think we ever will unless it is among ourselves.

The night falls with our second skull. Loco sleeps in his chair and Lou takes up his shotgun and lays it across his lap. We are full of seafood and there is still half again as much as we consumed on the platter. Ollie asks if we will be eating more and we both shake our heads. He carries it back to the kitchen and then returns with a bowl of grapes. After putting in reach of us, he plucks a few and munches them down.

"You don't suppose that was all some kind of dream, do you?" Lou says almost in a whisper.
"First of all, I don't think we could all have a dream that vivid and have it be the same among each us, and this was." I take a shot of Muerte and let the effect wash over me.
"I guess we find out tomorrow."

I do remember the boat coming for us, stumbling down the stairs. My pants are wet from my knees down, so I didn't load on from the dock, I must have climbed in from the surf.
Now I sit on the edge of my bed, my head in a Muerte fog that will take much of the morning to clear, I am told through the door that our flight will be leaving in fifteen minutes. Time enough to shit, shower, and shave. I do the first and leave the other two for our return.

We helo in to the airport. Naomi is still in her chocks. Abigail is gone, of course. Jerry has business to tend to and we won't see him until we return to El Corazon. Chris' G5 is fueled and waiting for us as we land. It is not more than a minute from when we all get on board that we are taxiing for take-off position.

"You do have coffee on board?" I ask from behind closed eyes.
"We have a full bar and coffee selection, sir." The flight attendant replies.
There is a quick announcement for take-off and then seconds later the surge of power and we are airborne. I literally remember nothing after this until I feel us touchdown in Phoenix.

I feel rested after the flight. Turns out none of us were awake for the flight and this perturbed Dr. Adams, who is along for the ride. He had maps and charts and our x-rays and wanted to plan out our expidition as we flew. As it turned out he had to read a couple of magazines instead.

"Gentlemen, I am glad you are awake. We would have played hell getting your large friend here off of the plane and on to the helicopter." Dr. Adams tried a weak smile at the end of the weak attempt at humor. It didn't play.

"Lets get this over with." Lou tells him.
The plane comes to a stop fifty feet from one of the Antonelli family helicopters. There is a black limousine parked off to the side. Dr. Adams gathers his things and leads us off the plane.

"I thought you two should know... " He is talking to Lou and me, we are at the front of the procession with him. "You both had metal fragments in your bodies that seem to match the locations of the wounds you told me about." He stops and turns and looks at Lou, "You, sir, have a broken rib at the location of one of those spots, broken and healed long ago."

Lou grunts, "No surprise to me. You should have been there."

We say our goodbyes to Mike and Andy. It is funny, but we all know it is just for a while and we will see them again. Lou makes sure he gives Andy a big hug, a little longer than a manly hug... and he follows it up with a kiss on his ear. Andy pushes him away, red faced but smiling.
"You are one fucked up guy, Lou."
"Andy, you are a warrior, my friend. Thanks for having our backs out there."
"Ditto."

Mike says his goodbyes as well, two hands on the shake, a hug following it up. He seems to have lost a little of his innocense in this whole thing. But the guy can still cook.

As we watch them head toward the limo to take them to the main terminal, Dr. Adams feels the need to interupt.

"Gentlemen, we are as they say "burning daylight". We need to get going."

We load onto the helicopter and fly out of Sky Harbor. Phoenix is one hell of a big city and it seems to stretch out of sight. Five minutes of flight and I realize that we are near the edge of this metropolis and out over the desert. From the air, landmarks are not the same.

"Ahead there on the left is the Rio Salinas." Dr. Adams points to the ribbon of water below us.
"That doesn't help much." Chris tells him.
"Why don't we trace our way from Ft. McDowell. Is that on the map?"

Dr. Adams pulls one map on top of the other. "Yes, it is part of the parks system now and a museum." He shows the pilot the chart and the river below and we bank off to the north. He hasn't stopped talking since we landed in Phoenix and it is starting to get on my nerves.

After hovering at the park and actually landing in a spot across the road we are able to get our bearings as to which direction to head. We take off again, land further down the road and take another bearing. This happens at least a half a dozen times before it seems that Dr. Adams is going to give up.

"Gentlemen, I had hoped this would be easier than it is working out to be. Perhaps we should just rest on our laurels and head back to the ship."

"Put her down here." Lou taps the pilot, who drops the thousand or so feet and we touch down in the middle of what looks like nowhere. This time we get out, the four of us, leaving chatty Cathy behind.

"Look familiar?" Lou shouts over the sound of the chopper. He points toward a low lying valley that rises up to mountains ahead. I look at him, then back behind us in the opposite direction. We are standing near in the valley where I was shot in the back by the troops. Ahead of us would have been the company of soldiers that we had slaughtered with the help of the warriors.

That means to the right of us, those peaks... that is the entrance to the Sacred Mountains, or Superstition Mountains by modern terms. It is chilling to be standing here. There is no evidence to support our claim of a battle that took place nearly a hundred and twenty years ago, but it is as fresh in our minds as though it happened yesterday, and it pretty much did.

We tell Adams about this and he has the pilot radio back to Sky Harbor. The pilot shuts the chopper down and we wait.
"What are we waiting for?" Chris seems impatient. None of us has had anything to eat since last night and I think it is past feeding time.

"Our transportation, Chris."
Minutes later there is the deep thumping sound of a huge helicopter. We turn toward the sound and pick out the growing dot in the sky of a Sky Crane helo with a H-1 Hummer dangling below. It is on site in a few more minutes and drops its cargo within a hundred yards of us. When it departs, we converge on the vehicle.

"Gentlemen, please... lead the way."

And the Monkey pushes the Button

2009-07-22T21:13:00.000-07:00

There will be no sleep tonight. After the encounter with the two soldiers, and the rest of the whole damn army camped in the valley at our feet, we are charged and sleep is the farthest thing from our minds.

We all mill about camp, taking turns watching the valley below or any sign of movement up the trail. Lou is doing an inventory of weapons and rounds in case we have another encounter. Andy has taken it upon himself to guide Seedling through an inventory of anything that will explode. Turns out that list is long. It is a nervous energy that drives us. Hope that tomorrow night this place will be a distant memory.

I am worried about the Clarok... about the light, the pedestal, the possibility of discovery and the fact that we are extremely outnumbered if things go bad.

Ollie and I stand in silence and look out at the encampments. You can hear conversation when the wind is right. Too far to really see anything worthwhile. Behind us Chris comes up through the rocks and stands for a moment... taking it all in before he speaks.

"Motherfucker."

I look at him for a moment and then back at the valley.
"You took the words right out of my mouth."
"I found a spot that overlooks the trail. I think I will take Mike down there and we will keep an eye on things."

"Puede ver usted el rastro a la cueva?" Ollie asks.
"No, man, just the main trail. If we see them come up the main trail we can move over and monitor the trail going to the cave."

As we discuss the night watch, Lou comes up through the rocks. He stands with us and takes in the view.
"Well... you know we're fucked if they find us."
"What do we have to fight them with?" Chris asks, taking a long stretch in the cooling night air.
"We have the two Spencers and what's left of that ammo... forty three rounds, we each all still have both rifles from from our horses and six bandoliers with about two hundred rounds collectively."
"What about pistols?"
"Whatever cartridges you have in your gun and on your belt."

We left the wagon with the Gatling gun behind at the river camp yesterday. On it was the extra ammunition. We didn't anticipate this response, we were too busy with the thought of going home.

"What about Seedlilng's end?"

Turns out Seedling has enough explosive to take the top of this mountain clean off. We didn't think he had any the way he was talking when we picked up those bundles at the general store. But then again we didn't think he had any of the gold we needed either. With bags and bags of it, and now the multiple crates of dynamite, we realize that there is quite a bit more to Seed than we thought in the first place.

We all get together in the cave, with the exception of Chris and Mike, who have taken up their posts above the main trail, and we lay out a protection plan. When Lou brings up setting some sticks to take out the trail to our position, Seedling puts on a wide smile.

"Already got that done. I have enough dynamite and fuse on that trail to bury anyone that ain't welcome."
"No shit." Lou looks at him, "show me."

We all go in tow. There is a full moon tonight and we don't have to chance any torchlight and possible discovery. About half way down the trail, just shy of the spot where we met up with the two soldiers, Seedling stops us and points to a spot under a long overhang of rock. There is a fissure in the rock that nearly runs the length of the trail back to the cave. Lou runs his hand along it until he finds what he is looking for. When he touchs the first bundle he stops and his eyes go bright.

"Did you find a snake?" Seedling asks, "they like them cool spots in the daytime. Not so much at night."

"No snake. How old is this stick?"
"Oh... I think I put that trap down about three year ago."

Lou pulls his hand out very carefully. Even in this limited light, we can see his fingers glistening.

"Did it get wet? Darn stuff ain't worth a thing if'n it's wet."

Lou tries to reach the handkerchief in his back pocket, "Jake, grab that out of my pocket."
I hand it to him and very gently he wipes his fingers off. He let's out a breath he was holding.
"Damn it, Seedling, you could have said that before I put my hand in there."
"Wet, huh?"
"No, old. The nitro is weeping out of it. We're lucky... hell YOUR lucky that you didn't blow yourself up coming up this way. Just a couple of pebbles falling on that stuff would set it off."

"Well, good thing that didn't happen."
"Where does the fuse go?"

Seedling scratches the side of his face and then does a short three point turn.
"I don't remember where it all goes, but the end of it is up yonder." He points to a spot in the rocks near the trail head.

"That's a lot of fuse, Seed. That will take minutes to get down to the stick."
"I didn't care when I set it. I just wanted a way to blow the trail down if'n I didn't want anyone to find the cave."

Lou looks at the run from the spot where he says the fuse is to where we are standing.
"How many sticks did you use?"
"Two cases."

We all step back, except Lou, who is still calculating.
"Two cases? How many sticks."
Seedling works his hands like he is fingering a violin.
"Sixty."
We all step back even further, Lou along with us.

"Jesus, Seedling, you could create another Grand Canyon with sixty sticks of dynamite. Where do they start."
"At the base of the trail... as soon as this fissure in the cliff face begins I started jamming bundles in there, two sticks per bundle."

Lou takes Seedling up the trail and they find the fuse, working their way down to the first bundle. There is thirty feet of black powder fuse cord. Lou snips it off to about three feet to Seedling's dismay.

"If we don't have to set this off before we leave, I suggest you dowse every bundle you have stashed on the trail with a bucket of water and carefully remove it. If a snake curls up to one of those weeping bundles and you are anywhere near this trail they'll be finding bits of you at Fort McDowell."

We stage a Spencer near the top of the trail and mark a bundle mid-range on the trail. Who ever is watching the trail will light the fuse and run back to the Spencer. If it doesn't go off then one shot should ignite the entire trail. Chris and Mike take up position overlooking the trail. The rest of us ready weapons and ammo, then go to the ridge to look out over the valley. We are all nervous as hell. Even Seedling is running an internal dialogue that spills out in mutterings and verses. Thankfully he returns to working in his chamber of the cavern.

I would think with this energy level that sleep would be impossible. It is the heat of the sun that wakes me, that and the ever present throbbing from my gunshot wounds. I hold a hand up to block the sun out of my eyes. To my right Ollie and Andy are sound asleep. Lou is nowhere to be found.
"Wake up." I give Ollie's foot a little kick and he stirs. He nudges Andy and the both of them struggle to their feet.

"What time is it?" Andy asks, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
"I don't know, Lou has the pocket watch. It looks like mid morning to me."
"Where is Lou?"
"Good question."

I walk to the cavern. It is silent, and extremely bright. The light from the crystals is already focusing a pretty decent shaft of light into the Clarok. Lou is leaned up against the rock, eyes closed but not a sound coming from him. I suspect it is a little jungle training at work. I give his foot a tap and he opens his eyes.

"Your still fucking ugly."
"I wasn't sleeping."
"Okay."
I look around the cave, "Where is Seedling."
"Gone."
"No shit."
"I think all of this freaked him out. It's fine by me. He would just be in the way."
Lou gets to his feet and pulls a stretch. He looks at the light focusing into the Clarok.
"Hell, another couple of minutes of this and we can leave early."
"we should get the boys."

I take the path through the rocks and make my way down to Chris and Mike. The path goes down steep with no sight of the valley beyond, then there is a sharp rise to their position, beyond which is the trail leading up from the army encampment.

On my approach I can hear Chris snoring. If there were any bear in these parts that is what I would assume it was. When I walk up on them, they are nestled together like Kentucky cousins. I kick Chris' foot and up comes the forty four, hammer drawn.

"Whoa whoa whoa, Chris... it's just me." I think I might have soiled myself.
Chris shakes Mike loose and they both crawl up to peak over the rocks. As soon as they do they drop back down and quickly turn.

"What?"
"They're hear."
"What do you mean hear. They're starting up the trail?"
"No, they are on the trail. They are up the trail."

I scoot up the rocks and look over. There is a column a mile long, two abreast, winding its way up from the valley. They are moving with some stealth, no talking, even their horses seem to know to be quiet. I drop back down to the boys.
"We need to get back to the cave. The light is building in the chamber... we might leave early."

As we make our way back up the side of the mountain and at one point are in view of the trail below. We are high up, though, and hopefully not in the view of someone looking down the trail they are riding. A rock comes tumbling down, nearly catching me in the head. Mike looks back down at me on the path and mouths
"sorry". As the rock falls it catches another, and another, and now the soldiers on the trail are looking up at the small avalanche and what might have caused it.

All hell breaks loose. I have never heard a hundred or so rifles and pistols firing in my direction. It definately motivates you to climb faster and run farther. We make the top of the ridge and break for the cave. Lou, alerted by the volley of gunfire, comes out as we start in.

"You guys get your robes on and get ready. The light is good."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to blow that trail."

He runs off, rifle in hand and a bandolier over his shoulder. Inside the cavern the light is so bright you can't look right at it. We all pause for a moment, in awe of the spectacle.

"HEY." Ollie is already in his robe. He throws the others to us one at a time. We remove our old west garb and get back to nature, then put the robes over us and get in the order around the Clarok.

There is a volley of gunfire from outside... a little too close to be Lou firing at the dynamite. I break and run, grabbing two of the rifles near the entrance. As soon as I exit the cavern I am fired upon. I can see Lou off to my right trying to give me cover so I break left so we might catch them in a cross fire. I can hear the rounds trying to chase me down. Lou is dropping them like flies. There are a good dozen that have poured onto the top of the mountain from the trail below, and who knows how many waiting.

"JAKE... GET TO THE SPENCER AND BLOW THIS THING."

He is on the wrong side of the trail. I hear him blasting away with some covering fire, and then it is down to single placed shots as he loads individual rounds from the bandolier... no time to waste.

What I see when I get to the overlook makes me shudder. There are hundreds of men, rifles at the ready, many of them off of their horses and readying to climb the sides of the cliff face to join in the attack. They have not spotted me, but the first shot from the Spencer draws their attention. I am a sitting duck. Behind me I hear a thunderous volley of shots and a clutch of soldiers retreat from the mountain top. I can only assume that the rest of the boys have joined in the fight from inside the cavern.

There are only five rounds for the Spencer at this position. I am sure Lou thought he would be taking the shot there would be four rounds left over. I have fired three so far and not hit pay dirt... four.

"GODDAMNIT... give me a break for Christ's sake." I line up on the stick and stone marker that Lou placed for the fifth and last shot and then realized that he didn't mark it for this angle. I line up just ahead of the marker. Rifle shot is pinging off of the rock all around me, peppering me with fragments of stone. I hold her steady and behind me I hear Lou.

"BLOW THE FUCKING THING."

The shot peels off and the trail is consumed in a chain reaction blast that makes the rock look like a crashing wave on the ocean. The shockwave throws me back. It liquifies the men and horses on that part of the trail and they are part of the rock, dust, and smoke. I struggle to my feet and run back toward the cavern. When I top the ridge the smoke and dust from the blast is thick. I have emptied one rifle and throw it down, the other I fire at anything in a uniform. There are only four left standing and between me and Ollie we take them as well.

"WHERE IS LOU?"
Ollie points to a body near the trail head. Oh fuck... not again. The two of us run to him. Grabbing arms and legs we take him back to the cavern. We can't chance changing the dynamic, so we strip him and then get his robe over his body. He has at least three wounds, two of them look really bad.

"Lou... come on Lou." I slap him a little bit, then harder. His hand comes up and stops me.
"I will kick your ass."
"Can you stand."
"Let's do this thing."

We get into position. All of us are praying that we make it. No booze, make-shift light source, hand carved pedestal, shot up and pursued. I feel Andy's hand on my shoulder as I place mine on Ollie's. The light is unbearable now. I can hear people yelling outside the cavern. They are coming.

"Ready boys?" I yell. "ONE... "
We all lift the Clarok. "TWO..."
I can hear someone yell out that we are in the cavern. There must be hundreds assembling out there.
"THREE."
We drop the Clarok and the resonant tone begins and builds, the light blazes... surrounding us. Through the intense light I see soldiers pour through the opening, weapons that were at the ready are lowered as they shield their eyes. The vibration on the Clarok nearly shakes me loose, the sound is deafening inside the echo chamber of the cavern.

Then, as we had arrived, we vanished with an uncelebratory pop.

Preparations

2009-06-27T16:43:00.000-07:00

This is what is sacred to the tribe, this spiritual light that fills the cave. We learn from Seedling that the gold he has been mining is off in another cavern that is beyond this one. He has an old broken mirror on a crude stand that he has used to reflect the light into the chamber he works. It looks as though he has been working this place for years. There are stacks of little burlap sacks... gold I imagine. Why he hasn't turned them into cash is beyond me.

Seedling and Antonelli work with the gold, stoking the fire and melting enough of the gold to fill the two spots in the Clarok. All the time he is working with it Seedling caresses the gold inlay that is already in place. He marvels at the diamonds and the artwork that make up the basin of the Clarok.

We set to work building a suitable pedestal. Four of us grabbed the handles of the Clarok and held it in position, then Andy took a measurement. Seedling has shoring material in the cavern to work with and an old saw that will do nicely.

In the main chamber, the light is a different story. Even though the quartz crystals transfer the sunlight into the cavern, it is still not focused enough to do the job. Lou has an idea to suspend the smaller crystal that Seedling has and use it to focus the light.

"Just hold on to the rope, don't move it." Lou takes the second rope and crosses over my rope. The other ends are tied off to the stalagmites at the far ends of the cavern. We are crossing above the spot on the floor where Seedling had his kettle... where the light is the strongest.

"Now all we need to do is nest that lense in the cross-hairs and then we can adjust up or down on the stalagmites."

"So... we have to wait until high noon tomorrow just to make an adjustment on this thing?" I don't want to stay here another day. I was hoping for Muerte Verde and scallops tommorow night.

"Relax, Nancy, I think I can get it adjusted with the light we have right now. It will just intensify at high noon. We'll be home before the cocktail flag is up."

We work for hours. Lou makes a cradle for Seedling's lense out of a few fancy knots and a length of rope. It takes some doing but we get him to give it up... even though the offer was there before.

The pedestal is finished shortly thereafter. We all stand around it, holding on to the Clarok... judging the height against the one and only time we utilized it. We all agree that the height is sufficiant. With that complete, and the lense focusing the light in place just waiting for the noon sun to come, we wait for tomorrow.

"So that's it?" Andy puts both hands on his hips and looks up at the lense that we suspended above the pedestal.

"That's it. Let's hope it's enough." I tell him.
"Or what? We're stuck here?"
I look at him, knowing that it was a serious question masked in sarcasm.
"Don't even say that."

Ollie puts a hand on Andy's shoulder.
"Trabajará. Estaremos bien."
Andy looks at the toothy grin and then over to Chris.
"He says it will be okay... we will be all right."
"I just want to get the hell out of here."

Lou looks over from the side of the cavern where he is checking ropes.
"You turned into quite the bad ass, Andy. You can have my back any time."

There is silence as the comment is digested. I don't recall Lou ever paying that compliment to anyone, not in english anyway.

"What are we gonna do for dinner?" Mike asks... I am sure imagining a creation with cactus and scrub grass.

"Someone mention vittles?" Seedling emerges from the adjacent cavern, a pool of sweat and granite dust.

"Yeah, just wondering what the hell we were going to eat tonight." Andy tells him.

"My tribe left me with a couple of venison straps. We can cook those up if'n you boys want."

Mike steps up and empties his pockets of a few weeds and sprigs. Looks like tree trimmings or something you would rake up, but if Mikee has it it must be something good. He walks over as Seedling lifts what looks like a bloody pillowcase up from the saddlebags that had stretched across Ole' Bess.

"Should be good eating." Seed sniffs the bag and then extends it to Mike.
"You're the fella who makes it tasty. Them red-skins don't know your magic, friend."

Mikee pulls one of the straps up out of the bag. A dozen fat flies boil up along with it and all of a sudden I'm not so hungry. But this is the old west and you would have flies on your banana split or a nice piece of pussy, so I let it go.

We spend the rest of the afternoon checking and rechecking. Positioning the Clarok under the waining light coming through the crystals overhead, making sure that we are perfectly centered beneath the focusing lense.

Antonelli brings up an important point about the pedestal we have created out of the shoring material. It is fairly rough on top and we have to lift the Clarok and drop it back down for the resonance. There is work to do to make it a better receiver, rounding out a better well in its surface.

As we work Mike builds a small fire outside and we can smell the beginnings of another masterpiece as it sizzles beneath the night sky. He laments over the fact that there are no vegetables. Seems like it might be a little spartan until Seedling digs back into the saddle bags and pulls out an old tin container about the size of a cake mix box.

"I ain't never tried this.. " He holds it up and looks at the label. "These here are potato flakes. S'pose to put water with 'em and heat it up and it makes mash."

"No shit. You have freeze dried potatoes?" Mike takes the box from Seedling.
"Don't know 'bout the freezin' part, but the dried part is right, I reckon."

"Ohhh man, we are cooking with gas." Mike pops the top of the tin and gives it a sniff. He shrugs. Must be okay.

It is an hour later that our work is done with the pedestal. We have staged our robes and have all marked our positions. The gold that Seedling and Chris had poured in place looks perfect.

I feel bad that Seedling won't be getting the Clarok in return for his efforts. But he has a fortune in gold here already. I think he is too possessed to enjoy it, though. Whatever end he has in mind when he is finished here... when it is "enough" is most likely going to materialize with his death and no one knowing he was even up here.

Mike has taken the venison and diced it up small. The juices and spices he mixes in with the large pan of reconstituted potatoes and the results are worthy of a ten dollar tip. Seedling takes one bite and closes his eyes as though he is having an epiphany of sorts. When he opens them he chews and swallows.

"How'd you do that? Your like one of them big city fellas that cook in those fancy restaurants. But they have a whole building full of stuff and you ain't got none of that."

Mike smiles wide. "I'm glad you like it."

"Now all we need is a little whiskey to wash this down with." Antonelli motions toward the saddle bags. Lou puts a hand up.

"We need to save that until morning."
"Morning?"
"We don't have the full potion that your mom gave us to drink before our journey here, but the bulk of it was alcohol. So I think we better save it until tomorrow and then drink what we have evenly among us."

We still have plenty of water, so we drink that instead. Seedling tells us that the light is brightest just before noon. So we plan to do our drinking at ten or so in the morning and be ready and in place by eleven-thirty.

The fire is down to coals and we are all with our thoughts under the night sky when we hear it. A distant noise, carried a ways with the light breeze. It draws us to our feet and we scramble up the rocks to look back out over the valley we had battled in the day before.

There are almost a dozen camp fire blazings several miles away. From what we can see of the there must be a whole battalion of men. Three of four times the force we encountered the other day.
"Ohhh shit." Lou says in a whisper.
"Well, I don't think they can hear us." I reply.
"We need to get down to where this trail breaks from the main path and cover our tracks. They make it up here before we leave we're as good as dead."

Seedling scrambles up beside us and sees the force in the valley below. He starts to mutter a little song, something about wooden soldiers. Lou turns him and has to give him a little shake to clear his eyes.
"Seed, if you have to blow the entrance to the cavern... seal it up, is there another way out?"

"Blow the entrance?"
"Is there another way out?"
He just stares at Lou for a moment and then nods his head. "It ain't much good for nothing, have to climb up and out, but it'll work if'n it has to. Why, you boys want to blow the entrance now?"

Lou looks back at the flickering fires in the valley.
"If we're lucky we won't have to worry about a thing. But if they discover us we will have to take harsher measures."

Me and Lou, Mike and Ollie, we grab an old straw broom and a rake he used to draw through the granite and quartz he chips out of the cavern and we head down the trail. We intend on covering up our steps, maybe roll a couple of larger chunks of rock or something across the path that leads to the sacred cavern. As we make our way down, we fail to hear or see what is coming up the opposite direction.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE... " We hear the click as hammers are drawn back.
"Hands up, drop what you have there and hold them high."

There are two men on horse back, two soldiers I should say. They aren't suprised to see us.

"Orlis Keene, I don't think we'll be taking you back to town so some judge can hang you. I am thinking that will happen right back at camp here tonight."

We say nothing. I am hoping that Lou is formulating a plan, but from the look he has I suspect that well is dry for the time being.

One of them opens his mouth to say something and he stops short... the whisling of an arrow catches him right through the throat. His rifle drops and his hands go to his throat. Luckily the rifle doesn't fire to alert anyone else.

Before the second man realized what is going on he catches one in the chest, the shaft buried half way in. He looks down at it for a moment, his free hand grasping it, then he falls out of the saddle drives it the rest of the way through as he hits the ground.

"You boys are always getting into trouble." Andy says as he shows himself from his place above us in the rocks. "I thought, what the hell, I'm already a mass murderer here in this place. What's a couple more."

Lou gives him a smile, "You're a warrior, Andy, you would make the tribe proud."
Andy nods.

I start to strip the weapons and ammo and Lou stops me.
"Wait a second. We should take these guys up the trail before anyone misses them. With Andy's handiwork they will think the Indians got them and continue up after them."

"I knew there was a plan in there somewhere."

"Ollie, you set them back up in their saddles. Jake, set those hammers on those weapons to a safe position, then you, Mike, and Andy start brushing your footprints away and see if you can cover the trail with some scrub and rock so it looks like no one has been up that way. We will cut back over the rock when we drop these boys off and meet you back at camp.

We watch as he and Ollie mount up and take their soldiers and horses up the trail. Then we sweep and rake away any evidence of our being here. With any luck at all, they will pass us by and we will be back on the boat for lunch tomorrow.

Going Home?

2009-06-11T14:15:00.000-07:00

As parties go this one was most likely memorable, but I can't recall. I plowed my way through cactus juice and venison, Walkers and Red Eye, like there was no tomorrow. But there is a tomorrow, that being today, and it is framed in one hell of a headache. Seedling was right about that one.

I open one eye and lift myself to an elbow. It is only the six of us that are layed out. The rest of the tribe has packed up and seem like they are seconds away from bugging out.
"Where are they off to?"

Lou gets to his feet and pulls a long stretch, one arm first... then both.
"Probably moving further up into the mountains. From what I heard the chief say last night, their ceremonial grounds are still a day's ride from here."

I look at the faces around camp, "Where is Seedling?"
Lou pans the crowd. "He couldn't have gone far."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because he was more fucked up than any of us."
He points to the clutch of stock animals the tribe is using.
"There's ole Bess tied to the back of that painted pony."
"Well... " I rub my eyes and try looking out of both at the same time, "let's not lose him."

We get the crew on their feet and by the time we are up in the saddle we have to trot to catch up to the pack ponies and Ole' Bess. It is only a mile or so later that one of the young braves, maybe twelve years old, comes on back and unties Bess and hitches her to an old iron loop pounded into a pinnicle of rock. He turns to us and gives a little smile and a wave and then runs back up to the rest of the tribe.

"What do you make of that?"
Ollie takes his horse up a small path that gets steep about a hundred yards away.
"El debe estar arriba ese rastro."
Chris nods, "He thinks he is up this trail."

"Well, we... " Lou starts to say something and is interrupted by a muffled explosion. Smoke, dirt, and debris take flight in a sharp plume that shows itself over the top of the mountain ahead of us.

"I guess we found him." Andy takes his hat off and wipes his face with his sleeve. It is already getting hot and it's still morning.

Lou dismounts and unties Ole' Bess and we start up the trail. After ten or fifteen minutes of up hill climbing there is another explosion. We must be getting closer because we feel the grit at the edge of the blast. Lou is behind us now, but he is thinking what we are thinking.

"Ollie, fire a round from that Spencer to let him know we are coming."

With that Ollie hoists the rifle and peels one off. The crack of that Spencer is undeniable.

"That'll let him know to stop with that blasting, eh?" Mike says, starting up the trail.
"Let's hope so."

We top the ridge and take a look. To the northwest is the valley we had fought in, the Salinas river beyond. To the northeast is Orlis' Keep. It is a crisp view this time of day. To the west on this mesa of sorts we see the dust settling from the most recent explosion. It is emanating from a cavern in the crags ahead.

Chris pulls his pistol and fires off a shot, making Andy jump... who is the only one ahead of the group.
"Goddamnit, how about a little warning."
Chris smiles and looks back at us, "You guys saw that I was going to fire off a shot to warn that little bastard so we don't get blown up... didn't you?"
We all nod. Andy tisks.
"Oh, that's funny, very funny."

With the pistol shot we see Seedling emerge from the cavern. He has a shotgun aimed in our direction without a the look of recognition we hoped to see.
"You are on sacred land, private sacred land. Now GIT." He plants the shotgun against his shoulder and draws the hammer back.

"Now HOLD ON Seedling." Lou dismounts and walks with Ole' Bess from the back of our little group.
"It's just us."

Seed keeps the gun at the ready until Lou closes the gap a little. As the recognition takes over the gun comes down and a smile returns to his face.
"Where'd ya find her?"
"We followed the tribe up to the cut-off and then we said our goodbyes. We told them we would bring her up to you."

"Oh." He shakes his head a little and a small dust cloud surrounds him for a moment before it settles to the ground.
"I think a rang my own bell on that last one. That dang rock is hard to get through."

Mike dismounts and picks up some of the small rock that Seedling shook out of his hair. He rolls it around in his fingers a bit.
"What ya got here is coarse-grain granite, some indurated conglomerates and breciated granites. That is, well, hard as a rock to get through."

We all look at Mike, who up until now was the only one of us who had a deviled egg recipe.
"What the hell, Theo, where did that come from?" Andy asks, a little amazed like the rest of us.

"Four years of college, I guess. I was a geology major. I kind of sucked at it. That's why I like to cook."

I look at Ollie who shakes his head a little.
"Yeah, don't worry Ollie, I don't get the connection either."

We all dismount and let the horses have the run of the mesa. Ollie heaves the Clarok down and a couple of us grab it. Heavy son of a bitch for one man, unless he is Ollie. Something occurs to me as we set it on the ground.
"Where are the robes?"

Andy opens a saddle bag and pulls out a ball of white silk and tosses them into the Clarok.
"Good thing you remembered."
"Who could forget those things. Like a damn hospital gown." He says, following it up with a tisk.

We step up to the cavern entrance and Seedling turns and stops us.
"I'm afeared I can't let you boys come in here."
Lou puts a heavy hand on his shoulder, "Don't start with us, Seedling, you know we need your help to get out of here."

Seedling get's that suspicious look in his eye, the same one he displayed the day we met him. Lou gives him a little shake and the look goes away.
"You know we need a little of that gold. Just enough to pour into the form on that Clarok and then we are out of here."

"Not that story... not again. Do I have a root growing out of my head? You boys are after my gold, plain and simple."
He goes to hoist the shotgun but Lou tears it out of his hands and throws it.
"Now you gone and done it, that was my pappy's."
"Look you jackass, we need that gold."

Lou takes him over to the Clarok.
"That there is a nice bowl." Seedling drops down on a knee and runs his hand over the gold inlay." Lou sees the look in his eye.
"You help us and you can have it when we leave."
Seed looks up at him, measuring the level of trust. When he stands he is a different man.
"I kin help ya."

We are still not allowed into the cavern, but are told to wait while he gets a few things. When he returns there is an old bellows mounted in an iron stand, a sack of hard wood for the fire, and a small cauldron and a stand for it.
"This is what you boys'll need to melt your gold. That is oak, burns hot with the bellows. That and some of this rock as a bed you can melt about five bar before you need more."

Lou looks at him in expectation. "And the gold?"
Seedling grimaces slightly, as though he hoped we wouldn't ask him for it. He pulls a small bag from his trouser pocket. Before he can think about it, Lou takes it from his hand. He passes it over his arm and then tosses it to me. I to pass it over the chip and the tingling is pronounced.

"You think it's enough?" I toss it back to Lou, who looks in the bag.
"Seedling, it has to be enough to fill two of those inlays."
Seed looks at the Clarok, running his hands along the empty pattern. He looks at the identical one on the other side.

"It's enough with some left over." He stands, hands on his hips. "Now you say I get to keep this salad bowl thingy when yer done?" He gestures down to it, "Are those sparkly stones diamonds? I heard of them, but never seen one before."

"Oh... shit." It's Andy who remembers a crucial part of the puzzle.
"What is it?"
"Concentrated sunlight. We need concentrated sunlight to set this thing off." Andy shakes his head, remembering the blinding light on the ship that was focused into the Clarok.

"What is he yammering 'bout?" Seedling asks.
"The gold is only part of the picture. The pedestal we can make, that won't be a problem. But concentrating that sunlight into the center... "

"I might have ya covered." Seedling reaches for a heavy pouch tied to his belt. From inside it he pulls a doughnut sized piece of quartz... clear as can be with the exception of a crack inside of it. He holds it up and aims it so the sunlight throws a dot of light on the ground.
"Don't tell no one, but I can light fires with this. I use it to look for gold flake when I pan. Handy dandy."

"No shit. A magnifying glass... the man has a magnifying glass." Chris reaches out for it and Seedling draws back.
"It's mine."
"I'm not taking it. I just want to look at it."
"Mine."

Lou looks at the palm-sized quartz piece and then at the Clarok.
"I don't think it will be enough... not enough light."

Seedling looks at him a little sideways, sizing him up for the tenth time since we met him.
"Not enough light?"
Lou looks at him and gives him a friendly pat on the back.
"It is really neat there, Seedling, but we need a larger light source, bright and focused."

He takes Lou aside, but we can all hear what he is saying.
"If'n I show you somethin', you can't tell no one."
"Who would we tell? If whatever you are going to show us helps us get home, then we wouldn't be telling anyone anything."

Seedling thinks on that for a moment and then shrugs. He starts toward the cavern and Lou follows him. They are back within the minute.

"Oh... you guys gotta see this." Lou tells us, waving us in from the cavern entrance.

We all file in, one by one. It is dark at first and then there is a blaze of light.
When we stop we are in a chamber with quartz crystals hanging from the ceiling like stalactites.

Seedling points to the crystals, "When it is high noon there is such a scorching light from these crystals that I can't work in here. You can boil a kettle the light is so bright."

I look at Lou. "You think it will work?"
He sizes up the crystals and then floor of the cavern. He looks back at me and the rest of the boys.
"It's going to have to."

Cowboys and Indians

2009-05-29T14:07:00.000-07:00

"I'm through with this shit." Chris uses his hat to dish up the water from the brook and he dumps it over his head.

"No shit... " I tell him, "You can keep this cowboy and Indian bullshit."

Mike nods, "They got nothin' good to eat, or cook for that matter." He looks over his shoulder at the deer they are skinning. "They don't spice a darn thing here, and there is sage and rosemary, heck I even saw some cumin back at that river by their first camp."

"Jesus, Mike, who are you, Julia fucking Child?" Chris hasn't been on the receiving end of any of Mike's cooking except at Orlis' Keep, and that wasn't shit.

"Oh yeah, she's a good one."

"What the... "
"I'd listen to him, Chris, he can make a gopher taste like filet mignon." I tell him.

Mike smiles wide, "Ya think? I don't know about that one, but I betcha I can make it taste better then those squaws over there."

Chris stands and puts his hat on his head while it is half full of water. It washes the sweat and sand off of the top half of the tattered shirt he is wearing.
"Why don't you go over there and show them how it's done."
Mike nods a couple of times and then slowly makes his way over. On the way he picks off pieces of plants and herbs, twisting them in his fingers. The ones he wants he keeps in his left hand, the others get discarded after he sniffs them.

"I hope they have salt. Everything here needs salt."
"You don't need salt, Nancy, that shit'll kill you." Lou says as he walks back from his horse. He has a small hide pouch in his hand.
My eyes go wide, "that... that's just wrong." I find a dry spot and plop down, "You can say that to me after all of this?"
"Sissy."
"Sissy?"
"You heard me."
"Let's just get back home. Next trip we let the "scientists" go and we hang back. I have had enough of this trailer park Disneyland bullshit."

"You're living history, Jake. No one has done what we have done."
"There's a reason for that... it sucks."
Lou shakes his head. "So you got nothing from this whole experience."
"I got shot... twice, thank you very much. And blown up... twice."
"What about the peyote ceremony, your guide... you found your spirit guide."
I hear myself tisk in Andy's absence, "A bunny, a god damn bunny."

"Andy got the shaft on that one." Chris chuckles.
"You guys have to look at the experience in as a whole, not these little pieces you are picking at."

Lou stops talking long enough to light the Walker he has rolled while we were complaining. After a long draw he holds it in his hand and doesn't pass it on.
"Hey, Bogart... "
"This shit is for warriors."
We stand in silence. He eventually hands it over.

A long draw it is passed. Eventually we are all holding and letting out our hits in procession. The silence is golden. We pass it once more for good measure. Everything looks better through red eyes. Before long we are all smiles and getting hungry.

Mike is busy over at the fire. The squaws had looked at him funny at first, but when he let them in on some of the spices and herbs he had collected on the walk over they let him near the meat. They pulled a couple of deer hide pouches up and he opened them each, giving a sniff. He dipped a finger and put it on the tip of his tongue... his eyes light up.

"Must be spicy hot?" I say, nudging Lou.
"I sure as hell hope so. The grub here is as dull as dishwater."

Chris emits a sound like a badger in a burlap sack. Luckily it comes from his stomach and not out of an orafice.

"Jesus, Chris."
"I'm fucking starving."
"We all are. It's just you that sounds like a fucking farm animal."
"Fuck you."
"No, fuck... "
"Both of you shut the fuck up, you're ruining my buzz."

Lou gets to his feet and takes a short walk with a destination in mind. When he returns he has a boda bag with cool water and a third of a bottle of whiskey. I reach for the water and take a draw.
"Sissy." Lou takes a gulp of whiskey.
"Give it to me." I grab the bottle and take a pull. It burns going down. "I would kill for a shot of Maker's Mark right now."

"I could go for that." Chris says, reaching for the bottle.
"I hope you have a vivid imagination."
He takes a gulp and winces. "Let's get back to the boat and leave this shit in the history books."

Lou pulls a second Walker from behind his ear and we all continue to put on a stretch and wait for dinner.

In this tribe, when a warrior returns from battle his comfort is paramount. All around us the warriors are catered to by their families and members of the tribe. We sit, our backs against the burm that preceeds the river bank, whiskey eyes and walker vision. We are comfortable enough to doze off... and we do.

Night has fallen, but the darkness is lit with a large fire that has come to life before us. We are yards away but the heat warms us. It has been going for some time now. There are red hot coals at its base. There is venison being tended on the other side of the fire. The smell of it is enough to get us all to our feet in anticipation.

"I guess they aren't too worried about any more troops attacking." Chris gestures to the fire, the light of which is probably visible for many miles.
"Superstision Mountains 'er just that." A slur of a voice reports.

The four of us turn to see Seedling standing with an old metal plate with several large tasting pieces of deer meat. Over his shoulder is a boda bag, its contents most likely responsible for the silly smile and rubbery lipped responses.

"This here deer meat is the best I done tasted that ain't city bought." He holds the plate at arms length and we all take a piece.

It is tender and tasty. There is a hint of whiskey, black pepper, salt, and a couple of other spices that I am not sure of. The secret is revealed as we watch Mike a couple of the squaws take a portion of the meat that is hanging over a bed of coals and bring it down to a make-shift table. The portions are then rubbed down with spices then wrapped in burlap that has been soaking in Red Eye. They then bury the tightly wrapped, bourbon soaked meat in the coals and let it sit there for a while.

"Well I'll be damned."
"That guy could make a piece of formica taste like sirloin."
Seedling sets the empty plate down and takes a draw off of the boda bag. He winces just slightly and then passes it to me.

"What is it?"
"That there is my own recipe. Make it from cactus."
I take a draw and almost throw it back up. It tastes pretty vile, like it turned some days back.

"How much of this have you had to drink?"
"Not much, maybe half the bag. Gives you a helluva headache come mornin', but for now it's some fun."

The Chief asks us to sit with him for the feast. Before we eat there is a commotion and half the warriors leap to their feet, weapons in hand. They are at the head of the trail from whence we came and I fear that there may be more cavalry on our tails. There is a call from the darkness.

"That there is your giant friend... that Aztec fella."
"Ollie?"
"I reckon, he and that buttoned up fella as well."

Sure enough, Andy and Ollie ride into camp. Ollie has the Clarok slung over his back like a turtle shell, the lip of it tucked into the back of his saddle, the rest tied with rope over his chest.

"Didn't expect to see you boys until tomorrow." Chris tells them.
"The Keep wasn't too far way. Nothing there but death and this salad bowl. So we snagged it and headed back." Andy looks at the fire, "You can see the light from this fire for ten miles."

Ollie takes a deep breath and lets it out, then says something in Mother tongue.
"That would be Mike's version of venison."

I take a couple of pieces from Seedling's tray and hand it on up to them. They devour them in seconds... savoring the taste and wanting more.

Once they have dismounted we are all seated with the Chief and the Warriors that had fought so bravely. A small ceremony takes place and the six of us are "branded" if you will with the symbol of the hawk, we are told, and it means that we are one with the warriors... protectors of the tribe. It is not a red hot brand, but a tattoo of sorts that is under the skin. No ink is visible, but the skin is interlaced with whatever medium they use to create the image. It is no more than a shape of bumps that represents the shape of the hawk.

After the feast there is a ceremonial dance and we see the young women assembled for the first time. They dance for us, for their tribe. The beating of the drums is quite entrancing.

Lou gets up and sits down next to Seedling who has been quite active since the first time we saw him here at camp. They have words, Lou taking Seed's arm at one point before letting go. There seems to be a consensus before he rises and comes back to us.

"So?"
"So he has bags of the shit."
"Bags of shit?" Andy smirks.
"You know what I mean, bags of the gold we need. He had already been mining up here before he realized it was on sacred land."

We digest this fact for a moment.
"So... we can go home?"
"Any time we want to. Just have to liquify it and get it to harden in the Clarok."
"No... no shit." I am awestruck.
"Kind of like Dorothy and her ruby slippers."
"Sissy."
I look at Lou and smile, "Dominicans for dinner tomorrow?"
"You're on."

Clash of the Titans

2009-05-17T07:03:00.000-07:00

We watch as the cavalry rides to meet us. I suspect they must have used a telescope and have seen the standard we carry. They are confused at best, having had the one escapee ride up to them and give his report... one surprise and slaughter with he the only survivor. But now, as we ride to meet them, their commander has surely identified the company flag. Survivors riding in to join in the fight. I can only imagine the scornful look our escapee will have to deal with if he survives the day.

It is only minutes, but they move by like the seasons. I am numb to the pain now, just me and my horse trying to make it through. I give a thought to Mike, who has taken a much worse hit than me. He may still be in danger, like I was in Modoc. Hopefully by tomorrow we will be back on the ship and in good hands.

I ride up to Lou, who looks like he is locked and loaded. I manage to get a nod and a wink, but I can tell he is in the zone. From here on out anyone that looks into those eyes will see the reaper. I long for the days of Walkers and Muerte Verde at Dominicans, of beer and marinated pork from the girls at the store in Nogales, for the cool mist of Nester’s waterfall and a Cuban cigar. These thoughts comfort me as I ride to my death… or theirs.

Lou picks up the pace as they approach. We go from a trot to a gallop and then he pours the coals to it. I can hear Mike call the team on behind me as the wagon lurches ahead, the horses knowing that the charge is on. All eyes on Lou for the draw. When his rifle comes out we all bring out the hardware and the fuses are lit on the first set, and we dance.

I take a quick look back at the boys. In that instant I see a flurry of preparation; Mike moves his rifle to his lap, Ollie rides from the side of the wagon up passed me, Andy has propped rifles into the corners of the wagon within easy reach, Chris swivels the gun a few times to check the movement and then jacks the loading lever back. Both he and Andy get ready with the dynamite. When I turn back I see the full charge of cavalry fill my view. Lou’s rifle is drawn.

It is a complete look of surprise on their faces. They have slowed and slightly scattered, processing the information; the Company Standard, the uniforms and cavalry horses, the rifles aimed and fired in their direction.

We blast through their ranks, killing five or six as we pass. Andy and Chris find the thick of them with the dynamite, Andy lighting and Chris throwing one after another as the wagon clatters through them. The explosions are deafening, peppering us with sand and rock even as we ride away.

With the dynamite spent we slow and turn, the wagon stops and Chris lights off the big gun. We take to the sides of the wagon and fire on the remaining cavalry soldiers… brave men, still firing at us with arms or legs blown off, crawling to the remains of the fallen to retrieve a rifle or a pistol and continue the fight. But we are too much for them, the element of surprise too great an allie to overcome. It is nothing short of a blood bath. I try to tell myself that this isn’t real, that I haven’t murdered these men, or those before them. But the pain that racks my body tells me that this is my reality… for now.

Voices are muffled and I have to look right at mouths to even begin to understand what is being said. Lou is talking. I think he repeats himself five times or so before he shakes his rifle and then the cartridge belt he has over his shoulder. We need to strip them of ammo and continue.

We scatter like birds and grab up as much as we can and throw it on the wagon. Lou recognizes and takes a couple of Spencer rifles, putting one in his scabbard and handing the other to Ollie. Their spares go to the wagon. The whole operation from us riding up to meet them takes all of ten minutes and then we are off. We still have the company flag and uniforms. The trick worked once. I don't want to be wearing this shit when we finally meet up with the Indians.

There is a cloud of sand and dust where the remaining cavalry has engaged the warriors. We are far from them and our horses are spent. Lou senses this and we take a slower approach, knowing that without our mounts we will never see our way home. We come in at the cavalry's flank and we see them wave us in one direction. That is as close as we want to get wearing this shit, but to remove it now would get us killed just a little quicker. We open fire on them with rifles, the wagon riding down the side of them with Chris cranking away. Our uniforms and the flag hit the dirt as we thin them out. It is another slaughter. About ten or so try to retreat by horseback, riding quickly into the desert.

I wonder if any of the Indians have survived the attack, having been outnumbered ten to one. My question is answered as the escaping cavalry is pursued by half as many warriors. Ollie rides off, Spencer at the ready, and picks off a couple as they try to elude their pursuers. Before long he and the warriors ride back to us.

They have lost many warriors, at least half their number. We manage to save a couple, bringing them back to the wagon so our field medic can work on them. What might have been a mortal wound in this time can be treated. I don't even want to think about the timeline and the effects of all of this death and life saving. We may have no boat to come back to, or have an Apache nation that covers our country. At this point it is too late to worry about it. We have a job to do.

Quiet has once again filtered onto the desert. No more gunshots or dynamite blasts. My hearing is starting to come back. Ollie has the bottle of Red Eye out of his saddle bag and we pass it along. Even the warriors take a pull as the bottle passes. After the bottle makes another round, we are feeling some effect and we congratulate each other on the battle in a sort of "charades" kind of communication. It's all good. The message is there... thank you.

With some effort we manage to get the general direction we are heading to meet up with the Chief and Seedling. Looking back from where we came we can make out the entrance to the canyon country and Orlis Keene's keep. Plans are made. Ollie will take an extra horse, courtesy of the U.S. Cavalry, and he will be accompanied by Andy. Lou trades his Spencer over to him, that and an extra cartridge belt. We manage to find some hard tack and jerky in a few saddle bags. Their commander even had two apples, a little bruised, but a rarity in these parts. We send it with the boys and they ride off after confirming the land marks for the trail to the Superstition mountains. Lou tells them he will mark the trail if there is any confusion at all.

When we start up the trail toward the pass and into the Indian's "Spirit Mountains"
it is late in the afternoon. Our stomachs growl and our thirst is growing. We have no water, the bags we had were ruined in battle. The whiskey didn't help our thirst or hunger. The warriors don't seem to worry about it, which makes me think we are going to see water and food before long.

An hour later we meet up with the Chief and the rest of the tribe. They are extremely pleased to see the warriors and our small group. The Chief notices Ollie and Andy's absence. His men assure him that they are safe. I think he can see it in our faces that we are parched and starving.

We are escorted through camp and it is then that we see the deer and rabbits that the braves have killed for the feast. There is a small brook that runs along side the trail behind us. There is wood being stacked for a fire. The only thing I don't see here is Seedling.

When we ask after him, the Chief seems as surprised as we are that he isn't with us. With much effort he tries to assure us that he will be at our final destination.

On the Heels of the Wind

2009-04-22T20:13:00.000-07:00

We gallop the horses up to the river and make our way over to Seedling, who is filling some boda bags with water. Lou dismounts and grabs Seed and spins him around, pointing to the dust trail in the desert.

Seedling looks for a moment and whistles. Ole' Bess ambles over and he takes her reigns. "Trouble" is all he says.
"Yeah, so tell the Chief. We need to get out of here and get on the defensive."
Seed seems a little catatonic, "Gotta run, gotta go, here we go, don't go slow." He repeats his little song, monotone... muttering. Lou grabs him by both shoulders and shakes him.

"SEEDLING... go tell the Chief."
Seed reels it back in, his eyes focused on the steel of Lou's stare. He drops the reigns and the two of them walk over toward the Chief who is already back on his war pony.

Andy is focused on the dust trail. He hasn't looked away since we stopped at the river. I think he feels me looking at him.
"They are going to cut us off before we get to the mountains."
"I don't know, Andy... they're back there a ways. If we ride fast for this last leg, we might get out ahead of them."

There is a moment of silence, then Chris jacks the loading lever on the Gatling gun, "Let 'em come."
Ollie grunts, "Permítanos terminar este y regresar a casa."
Chris nods, "Amen, brother."
He looks at me and sees the unaswered question. "He said Let's finish this and get home."

Lou comes back by himself. We look back at the Chief and he has already rounded up the Warriors to spread the word. Their movement is swift and sure. The whole group mobilizes quickly. It takes us quite by surprise and we are left, still assembling, when the tribe fords the river.

We wait for Mike... nature call, with paperwork. By the time he scurries back from the mound he was squatting behind, the tribe is out of the river and heading up and over the rise of the far bank.

"Jesus, Mike, what the hell took you so long?" Andy asks impatiently.
"Well, I had... "
"It wasn't a question, Mike."
"Well sure it was."
Andy tisks as Mike gives the team of horses a little nudge, leading the way into the river.

By the time we have crossed our Indian friends are no where in sight. We make the rise and scan for them, nothing.

"What the hell?" Lou shades his eyes from the mid day sun.
Ollie says something in mothertongue. Lou rides up ahead of us and makes the top of the rise. Instead of looking straight ahead he looks to the east. Without looking away he waves us up.

"They are moving fast."
We look to the east and realize that any chance of beating the cavalry to the pass is gone. Ahead of us is another rise that looks to be a half a mile away, but no Indians. It seems hard to believe that they could have ridden away from us this quickly.

"Come on... there is no time to lose." He spurs his horse and we all leave with a lurch. It seems our animals realize the urgency of the situation. Our line spreads thin, with Mike cracking the reigns over the team on the wagon to keep up. When we make the next rise we see our Indian friends off to our right about a hundred yards away. It is the warriors, most of them anyway, riding hard and fast. They seem un-daunted by the sheer number of troops riding to meet them.

Beyond the first band of Indians we see the rest of the tribe, farther off... a buffer zone between them and the bulk of the warriors. It is hard to tell, but it looks as though the Chief, a few braves, and the women and children are heading off and away from our destination.

"Do you see Seedling? We can't get home without Seedling." I shout over the galloping hooves and clattering wagon noise. It isn't until now that I think of the pack horse and the cases of dynamite. All of this motion wasn't part of the plan.

"What about the... "

Before I finish my sentence, something whizzes by my head. Another and another now followed by sounds like the cracking of a whip. It is then that I hear the Gatling gun firing. I turn in the saddle and see cavalry in hot pursuit.

"Behind us. Hey... LOU." I ride up beside him and yell, watching him as he turns in his saddle. Without as much as a nod of acknowledgement he peels off and now Ollie and I are leading. I grab a rifle from the scabboard and turn in the saddle.

Lou has fallen back to the pack horse and is galloping beside it. Chris is peeling off short bursts with the big gun, using his ammunition sparingly. Now the rifle fire from our pursuers is getting thicker. They mean to kill us. We have lost sight of the intersecting troops as we ride down and into and an arroyo. Ollie keeps us going forward, our only safety is in the range of the Gatling gun.

My horse lurches and slows, then goes down altogether. I am thrown to the ground with terrific force, feeling the air leave my lungs... the blue sky above me replaced with flickering points of light. I feel the wagon pass and slow, the big gun blazing now, Chris determined to keep them off of me. It is then that the desert floor is rocked with several explosions. I am literally lifted off the ground by one of them, close... very close. The pack horse must have been hit.

Then I am dragged by the back of my collar, hard and fast with no care of cactus or sharp rocks. One of the whistling shots hits me hard, like a stone fist, then another. It is now, with little fanfare, that I realize I am going to die.

Next to my head is a sputtering fuze, then another... and another. Rifle shot is hitting the ground around us like hard rain. The dynamite is thrown, each bundle thrown in quick succession. Chris cranks the big gun with a fury only found in desperation. He will not go down without one hell of a fight. I can see them on the wagon in the seconds before the explosion. Andy switching out the big clips within heartbeats of the next round of shots. Mike firing as quickly as he can move the cocking lever, Ollie beside him now... firing with equal speed and accuracy.

I don't know the number of men following us. I know Lou does from his time in service; a company, a squad... who knows. What I do know is that dozens of them are on the ground, some in pieces from the single sticks that Lou had thrown to deter them. But when the bundles that he had thrown went off, it was the end of all of them.

The explosion is so great that I take flight, both Lou and I in a tangle of arms and legs as the force of the blast launches us as if from a cannon. We end up on the ground, face down, a good twenty or thirty yards from where we were. There is no sound, and for a time I wonder if I am dead. In this moment I try to count the times I have been blown up with Lou, shot with Lou, shot by Lou, drunk with Lou, drugged with Lou. It is odd. Then all goes dark.

"Put pressure on it."
"I am... I am, it is a lot of blood."
"Oh... oh hell, that ain't shit. Just stuff that piece of shirt in there until it stops. Then I'll cauterize it."

I feel nothing, so the voices can't be talking about me. It isn't until I hear the gun powder ignite and I smell my own flesh sizzling that I bolt into consciousness.

"Oh SHIT that fucking hurts. GODDAMNIT."

"He's alright." Lou reports.

Before I can focus I hear single gunshots from beyond the wagon, back toward our pursuers. I look up at Lou, who's face is framed by a blast of sunlight. He sees my question.
"We got 'em." He looks back passed the wagon, the sun glares back in my eyes, then he turns back. "Ollie is puttin' holes through any of the rest of them that are still clinging to life."

I am helped to my feet. I took a couple of rounds, one on my waist just above my left hip, and one on the side of my chest just below my armpit. Both of them just seared closed by "Lou the Field Medic" here. It is going to hurt like hell for a while.

"Now what?" I wince with just about any movement.

"We gotta ride, my friend. Those warriors are completely outnumbered. They are the first line of defense for the rest of the tribe." He shades his eyes and looks out over the desert.

The advancing column of cavalry looks as though it has stopped or slowed from its feverish pace. We can see the warriors have nearly converged with them. But now the column seems to split. Half of them continue to ride to intercept the Indians. The other half are riding in our direction to meet up with a single rider that is blazing a trail through the scrub sage and desert grass.

"Sonofabitch." Chris points to the thin line of dust that marks the path, "We missed one."

Lou looks quickly for the horses. None in sight save the ones hitched to the wagon.
"He will report this little massacre and we will have a shit storm to deal with."

Ollie comes back over the hill with a couple of horses. They are cavalry horses, but they will do in a pinch. He shouts something to Lou, who makes his way to meet him. As they talk, we look back over to the approaching soldiers. They have closed the distance by half.

"They will be here in ten or fifteen minutes, don't you think?" Mike says, the worry in his voice is not disguisable.

All of us turn to the wagon and the Gatling gun. There are only two cases of cartridges left for the clips. Andy had made quick work of reloading the while Chris mowed them down. It seems as though we have enough to take on a group half the size of what is approaching. It is Ollie who comes up with the answer.

Since we have been here we have worn everyone's clothes but our own. We had donned Army uniforms before, and it looks like we are going to do it again. There are enough uniform jackets and hats to do the trick. That and the standard and staff that identify the small company of men. This will be crucial in our attempt.

Within five minutes we have all donned uniform jackets and hats. Lou has a cavalry sword and pistol belt for effect. We empty the remaining bundles of dynamite from the pack horse and separate them into smaller pairs, fused together.

"These are mighty short fuses, Lou." I tell him, holding the sticks up to examine them.
"Short is what we need, Jake, short and fast."

He outlines the rest of the plan. We ride directly at them, banner flying so they can see us coming. They will think it is the company they set at our heels, coming back to join the rest of the Battalion. We will ride slow at first, to save the final burst from the horses. When we are on them, in the confusion we will ride through their ranks. It is doubtful they will fire until we have passed through them and they can see we are imposters. As we break through we throw the dynamite in stages, taking out the bulk of them with the explosions. Then Chris can clean out the rest with the big gun.

It sounds like a good plan, the only plan. We have already eased the coming attack on the warriors by half. Now, if we can pull this off without being killed, we can continue toward the warriors and take the other company at thier flank.

It is all we have.

We are ready and head out, starting out with our horses at a fast trot. With every heave of the saddle from my beast I feel sharp pain. I must be wearing that pain on my face, because our Aztec giant rides up next to me and pulls a bottle of Red Eye from the Army saddle bag. He takes a pull and passes it to me as we head into the breach. I welcome the burn and the mellow hit that follows. I take another long pull and pass it back. Ollie rides up to the wagon and it makes the rounds there.

I feel the heat and my pain joins the aching in my joints. All I can think of is Tennyson;

Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Into the Valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Coyote Whisperer

2009-03-26T16:33:00.000-07:00

The Nagual moves around the edge of the fire, keen eyes piercing... burning... searching until they lock on Lou, then they cut to me and I feel my skin blossom in goosebumps. The Nagual steps slowly up to Lou, as though Lou is not aware. He glows... to me, like he did in the desert so long ago. His spirit guide steps into the light of his aura and sits, content and comfortable.

There is communication with the Nagual. Neither he nor Lou talk, but you can see the words between them like heat waves off the dancing flames. I am envious, curious... a lonely wanderer in this world, confined by the light of this flame and infinite thought. As I watch Lou's Nagual, all around me fades to the black of space and there is just the firelight, the Chief, and me. He looks my way and I am bound to his stare, unable to look away or blink the disbelief from my eyes.

"You are a Warrior" He says to me, lips not moving, eyes locked on me like a hawk and his prey.
"You have lived many times on this Earth. You have fought for justice, for those who have been wronged by powerful forces, for innocence robbed and love sacrificed for greed and material things."

I feel myself nodding, acknowledging this sacred communication. Then I hear him tell me to close my eyes. I don't know that they are open, but he does. I make the effort to close my them... like a heaving portcullis in a castle keep my eyes close one at a time and I listen to the voice that speaks to me.

"I am here as I have been here, before and after, today... yesterday, and tomorrow."

There is silence and I feel a presence that has not been with me moments ago. I keep my eyes closed, afraid to open them... to see what might be before me.

"Open your eyes."

Oh shit, I knew this would happen. I slowly open my eyes. The blackness is breached by a sliver of light. This light gathers before me, taking form and size until I am looking at a small white rabbit. My brow rises as I look at this bunny, crouched and unmoving before me. The voice I have heard all this time emits from its little pink lips and I am told that this is my spirit guide and that it has been with me for all time. I have died many deaths, most heroic and in battle... some as an unsuspecting bystander. But in all of my former lives I have had a constant, unwaivering dedication to those close to me.

A pipe is passed to me and when I touch it I am back at the fire and all are here with me. I hit the pipe and look over at Lou. He smiles back knowingly, the Nagual by his side like a faithful pup. My bunny is nowhere in sight, but I can hear him.

When I look toward the Chief I see my spirit guide in his lap like a content. He is surrounded by animals; the Nagual, my rabbit, a hawk, a smaller... might be a fox, a big, black spotted lizard, and a tortoise. There is a communion of sorts between the animals and the chief. My guide no longer speaks to me, but seems to speak collectivley with the rest of the animals through the chief.

He chants, continuing in a low hum until a Apache song emits in a stepping rhythm. The warriors stand, as do we and all of us begin around the fire and the chief. Our feet move and within seconds the unbroken group of warriors around this ceremonial fire are in step, moving with a single voice. The night goes on, our minds speak to the chief, our bodies move with the cadence of age old ritual. We loose ourselves in this, give ourselves to it.

With the dawn of a new day, we greet the sun still in the grips of the peyote, but now using the trailing effects to stimulate us, like a powerful brew. We watch as the warriors prepare for their journey and the women break camp. As all of this happens around us, we realize that we better be ready to roll in the next ten minutes.

We gather at the wagon. The boys have the gun bolted to the back of the buckboard, the mount moves a hundred and eighty degrees. We load the weapon and ready clips for quick loading. Andy and Chris will take gun duty. Mike will take the reigns on the wagon... should be an easier ride for him. There are extra rifles and rounds at the ready in the back of the buckboard. Lou, myself, and Ollie will ride alongside, the boys horses in tow. We all have extra rifles lashed to our scabboards for a quick change up. Guns are loaded and checked... but not a word is spoken. The ceremony is still with us... with me. I feel no urge to speak, but feel communication taking place. If you calm the voices in your head, you can hear direction, you can hear the chief... his words pressing you forward. Like an ant in a vast colony, we feel the words that drive us.

Within the half hour we watch as the warriors lead the tribe out of camp, a slow but steady and purposeful pace. We take up the rear, our heads on a swivel. Even though we are looking at the remains of the camp, we feel on edge... ready for a fight.

The warriors lead us through the small hills and valleys, keeping out of sight of any well traveled path. I feel that this shelter from the coming storm is only a temporary thing. This movement of the tribe is a seasonal thing, a traditional thing. One that can be expected... anticipated.

We ride in silence for a while. Then Mike breaks the calm.
"My spirit guide, it's a lizard... a talking lizard. You boys have anything like that happen to you?
"Mi guía del espíritu es un halcón." Ollie says.
"Ollie's is a hawk." Chris offers the translation, "Mine is the fox." He adds.
"Mine is a rabbit." I tell them.
Lou smiles as he pulls a fresh cigar from his vest, "Mine is the coyote... the Nagual."

There is silence. Andy refuses to take possession of his spirit guide.
"Hey, Andy... what is your spirit guide?" I ask him.
"Yeah, Andy, which was yours?" Mike asks, as though he doesn't know the answer. Maybe he doesn't, I don't know.
"Right, Andy, we haven't heard from you." Lou adds between puffs, "What is it, man, a mountain lion? The mighty buffalo?"

There is silence for a beat.
"Andy?" Mike asks.
"Fuck you guys."
"ANDY, don't be upset. A tortoise is a... a... well it's got an armored shell." Mike tells him.
"Kind of like a shirt buttoned all the way to the top, right Andy."
"Like I said, fuck you."

The sun rises in the sky and continues until we begin to melt in the light of midday.
Lou and Ollie ride up to the warriors near the front of the column. We watch as they try to converse with them. Seedling is there, ambling along on the back of Ole' Bess. I assume he is helping with translation, but I don't see his arms or hands moving... a must when he is communicating.

After a minute or two, they slowly make they're way back to the end of the column to our position.

"We are going to cross the Salinas near a village called Coco Marikopa. Should be across in a couple of hours. Then it is probably midnight until they make camp at their sacred spot in the mountains."

"No shit. Since when did you start speaking Apache?" I ask him.
"I didn't have to. The Nagual translates."
"Is that what Seedling is going by these days?"

We ride for what seems forever. The sun beats down on us and we realize that in our peyote haze we didn't bring any water from the river... not that we had anything to put it in. Even before the thought has taken root, a squaw on a pony rides up with several boda bags made from hide, bulging with water. She leaves one with the three of us on horseback, and one on the wagon. We all realize that this may be our only ration until we get to the Salinas, so we gulp it sparingly.

Some time down the trail, when the sweat is stinging our eyes and our horses seem to have lost the spring in their step, we see him. A lone rider, or at least we hope, off to the east. He remains long enough to assess our number and our bearing, and then disappears.

"Did you see that?" At this point I feel the need to question what I believe is reality. Even though I have sweat out several gallons I can still feel the effects of last night's ceremony.

"Yep. Probably a tracker for the infantry. They know the habits of these folks... know where to find them and when. They are not compliant with the wishes of the government to put them on the reservation. From what the chief tells me, they have helped Geronimo more than once... and would do it again in a heartbeat."

"Thee Geronimo?"
"No, Geronimo Jones. He has a barber shop in Prescott."
"Now... fuck you, Lou, and the coyote you rode in on."

A few hours after noon, as the sun crawls, we get a call from the wagon behind us. The three of us stop our horses and turn to face them. Andy is gesturing to the the vastness to our east. There is a cloud of dust, dirt, and sand boiling along about ten miles away. It has to be infantry, a lot of them, make that much of a mark on the desert. We watch for a moment, each of us gauging distance, time, and numbers.

"Here they come." Lou says, looking up at the sky for a moment, then back at the trail.

There is commotion in front of us as well. We have reached the Salinas River and the column has stopped for refreshment and replenishment. They don't know of the danger behind us. We have to warn them.

The Warrior Way

2009-03-02T05:31:00.000-08:00

Mike is in quite a bit of pain, but up and moving. He has a tremendous thirst and spends the next several minutes drawing handfuls of water out of the river.

The elders that we followed from the sacred ground are still with the warriors. There is gathering interest in our presence to the point that all activity with them has ceased and they are all looking our way. It is unnerving.

"What do you suppose they are looking at?" I mentally check my moves, not to reach for my gun or rifle... even if it is just to take off the gun belt.

"Good idea." Lou tells me.
"What?"
"To not touch your weapons."
"Knock that shit off."
"These guys are ready for war, all painted up like that. One false move and we might be target practice for them."

I am surprised to hear this coming from Lou.
"You think they are a match for all of this iron?"
Lou stares back at them for a moment.
"These guys are hear to protect their tribe... at all cost, Jake. They wouldn't hesitate to kill us all and take our scalps to hang off those war ponies over there."
I hadn't seen the ponies up behind the clutch of teepees.

He digs a couple of cigars from that general store out of his pocket and hands me one. We bite off the ends and he strikes a long match.
"They aren't all done up like that for us."
He puffs his cigar to life and then holds the match out while I light mine.
"They have business with some unfortunate souls. Unless it is well armed cavalry they will probably win the day."

We watch as the elder motions toward us and then he one of the meaner looking warriors start walking our way.
"Hey, boys... don't make any sudden moves or reach for a weapon." Lou says out of the corner of his mouth.
Mike struggles to his feet and is steadied by Andy and Ollie. Chris is the only one absent, having headed over the rise to take a shit.

The old man steps up and starts to talk to us. Lou removes his hat and we do the same. I don't know if this is expected but it seems to be the right thing to do in his presence.

While he talks the warrior is burning holes through us, one at a time, sizing us up like we were cattle for sale. The old man keeps talking and we don't stop him. Not one word that we can understand, but the warriors examination seems to give direction to the old man's words. He looks each of us in the eyes. He stops with Andy and they have a bit of a stare down until the warrior moves on to Mike. He grabs his arm and Mike winces but does not cry out. This seems to please the warrior and he slaps him on his good shoulder. Just before Mike's eyes roll back and the boys have to support his weight the warrior moves on.

When the inspection is over and the old man stops talking. We turn to Seedling who is standing off to one side but has heard and seen everything that has transpired.
"Ohhh... you did it now, you did."
"Did what?"
"You're little interuption in my ceremony... they think you are spirits. Ole' chief here called you "piishii"... the Nighthawk. That there is what they consider to be their spirit warrior."

I look at him, "So what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"From what I can hear they think you boys are sent from the spirit world to lead them into battle." Seedling stops for a moment then cackles.
"You boys put yourselves in a big fix. They think your boy here was dead and you brought him back with your powers. That you are here to protect them as they move through the valley to the Sacred Mountains."

Lou looks at the ground and shakes his head, "Oh for Christ's sake, what else can we stack on this shit pile."
Chris comes back from over the rise and sees us all together, the painted warrior and the elder are returning to the camp. We fill him in on the latest development and he turns around and heads back over the hill.

We are all tired, hot, hungry, and still thirsty. The river cools our bodies and quenches our thirst, but we are still hungry. Tonight we will sleep, but for now we need food. Seedling tells us that this won't be a problem. They will feast tonight on the eve of battle. We will be honored guests.

There are concerns. We only have so much ammunition for our weapons. The one thing we do have is dynamite, but this will have to be saved primarily for cracking the Spirit Mountains. Seedling brings our concerns to their Chief, who shows us a flatbed wagon that they had taken in an attack on a supply column months ago. There are boxes of cartridges, a couple of cases of rifles, and another large crate with a couple of smaller crates banded to it.

"What about those?" I look at Lou, pointing to the banded crates.
"Only one way to find out."

Under the seat of the buckboard we find a couple of tools used to change a wheel, namely a mallet and pry bar. With a little work, we peel off the top of the crate.
"Holy shit... is that a machine gun?"
Lou pulls some of the packing material aside. "Gattling gun."
We both take an end and pull it clear of the crate, setting it on top of the rifle crates.
"With a Bruce loading system... that's new technology for this era."
"Bruce loading system?"
"It uses two cartridge loaders. One can be reloaded while the gun keeps firing."

We go through the crate. There is a mounting system for a pull behind cart that can be modified to mount straight to this wagon. The smaller crates banded to the gun are the cartridge loaders, already stacked with rounds and ready to go. Chris finds four small crates of .45/70 cartridges.

"We can fight a small army with this gear." He says, holding up one of the giant clips for display... shaking it a little.
"We just might have to." Lou tells him.

After talking to the Chief through Seedling, Lou gets an idea of what is going on. These Indians are ready to move up to the high ground in the Spirit/Superstition Mountains. They have been supporting Geronimo and the Apache from Turkey Creek in the New Mexico territory. They have helped his men to fend off the pursuing Cavalry from Fort McDowell near that trading post, and Ft. Whipple near Prescott. They will not be able to make their way to higher ground without meeting up with patrols, and once that happens they are only a messenger away from a full attack.

"How far is it to their Spirit Mountains?"
"Not more than a day's ride from where I found you fellas." Seedling says, pulling a piece of salt pork out of a paper wrapper and consuming it.

Between the six of us we come up with a plan. Ollie and Chris will mount the gatling gun to the back of the wagon. Whatever hardware they need they will have to rob from the wagon itself, or Seedlings gear. We are going to ride out with these warriors and the scattered tribe, their men up front and us bringing up the rear with the wagon mounted gun. The Chief has no idea what he has here and we aren't going to waste any ammunition showing him how it works. We do, however, have plenty of rifles so we will have a little demonstration once we are gathered with them.

Once we near the Salt River Canyon, Ollie and one other man will head to the Keep and grab the Clarok. He is the only one among us aside from Lou who can track well enough to find us once again when he has the device. Plus he is the only of us who can lift the damn thing by himself.

Before long we have the rifles uncrated and loaded. There are enough rifles for each of the braves with four to spare. We arrange for a group of the Warriors to come to the river's edge where we are hard at work. They look bothered by what is being said to them through Seedling's tongue.

"They don't need to know how to fight from nobody no how." Seed says, looking at the tops of his boots.
"We aren't here to show them how to fight... just how to shoot." Lou tells him, grabbing one of the newly loaded rifles from the back of the wagon.

Two of the Indians turn to walk back to their camp. Lou picks up a rock about the size of a golf ball and hands it to Seed, then gestures at the man that had come up with the chief earlier. He sets the rifle back on the wagon and straightens up his gunbelt.
"Tell this man to throw this rock as high and far as he can."
"What fer, he ain't in no mood no..."
"Just DO it."
Seedling says something in Apache to the Warrior, who takes the rock from Seed and launches it high and far. He then turns and looks Lou in the eye, as if to question him on this silliness.

While locked eye to eye with the man, Lou draws and fires twice, looking away for just a split second. The rock frags into dust and the Warrior's expression changes. As the gunshot echo fades, he calls the departing Warriors back to the river and we give them a crash course on the rifles, their gunsightes, and distance. All in all it is a successful exchange of information. We show them the guns and how to use them, they show us a little knife and tomahawk throwing, and how to use their bow and arrows.

Andy steps up when they are demonstrating the bow and he gestures for turn. They hand him the bow. He takes it and gives it a quick look with admiring eyes. Once he has an arrow in place, he looks out at the landscape.
"Seedling, ask them if they see that flower on the cactus out on the rise."
Seed looks and laughs, "That little yaller one out there?"
Andy nods.
"You ain't gonna hit that thing if'n you were standing ten feet in front of it."
"Just ask them."
With a giggle, Seed translates. The Warriors have a little laugh themselves. Then they say something back to Seed.
"They said One who is Stiff in Shirt should stick to scaring with guns."

Andy lets the arrow fly and pops the blossom off of the cactus that has to be seventy or eight yards away. The Warriors stop talking... and then they let up a whoop and a holler, gathering around Andy and showing their appreciation at his skill. This turns the next half an hour into a contest of sorts. Their best Warrior against Andy. They each, in turn, would tell Seedling of their target and he would translate. Each of them hit what they were aiming for each time. Near the end, Andy seems to be besting "Big Dog" as we started to call him. He is the one that was with the Chief earlier.

It isn't until we realize that Andy is making Big Dog look bad in front of his men that Andy manages to aim off target, letting the Warrior beat him. There is heartfelt admiration from the Warriors for Andy's skill, and they take him away to camp to the gathering celebration of tomorrow's move to sacred lands.

"Looks like One who is Stiff in Shirt has made an impression on our hosts."
Lou gives a smile, "Good thing he threw the match. I don't think those guys take to being beaten at their own game."

In the Indian camp there is a blazing fire. A handful of children run around the base of it, throwing things in to burn. On one side of the fire, the coals are red hot and harvested for several large pieces of meat... buffalo I would assume, but it could be horse for all I know.

We sit with the elders and the Chief. Lou has been invited to sit with him, to smoke with him. With Seedling at his side in case there is a need to translate, he takes the long pipe and looks as though he belongs here... in this scene, in this life. The steel in his eyes is softened in the firelight, the ghosts of days past are not in this time to haunt his sleep.

The meat is passed by and you tear away what you want. There is that and some kind of vegetable or river grass or something. A couple of handfuls of it, that and the meat and I am stuffed. Time passes, I watch a couple of the young women as they look our way... talking, smiling. It isn't until I feel the hand on my shoulder and turn that I see that the boys are no longer behind and beside me. In fact none of the young men and the painted Warriors are at the fire.

I am led away from the gathering and brought to a teepee where all of the young men are standing outside. Inside I find the boys, the Chief, and all the painted Warriors sitting around a small fire. They seem to be waiting for something. That something is me.

When I sit, the Chief begins to speak. Seedling was not invited, so whatever he is saying is lost to the smoke of the fire. As he speaks, a couple of vessels pass around the fire, with each Warrior taking a swallow and then passing it on. The cups are passed in each direction, so you are taking two swallows before they end.

It is a familiar taste. I look at Lou who smiles back through the fire light. It is the same taste when we took that journey in the desert crossing from Mexico. The fire grows in intensity, if only in my mind. The Chief's words become clear to me, and I see in the light of the fire Lou's coyote, the Nagual that is his spirit guide. He is here in this time as well.

The Flim Flam Man

2009-02-14T08:09:00.000-08:00

Seedling mutters something about the rock of the great gods, POOF... more gunpowder on the fire. He takes a small cloth bag and pours a bit of its contents into his hand. He turns with the substance in his hand, turning slowly to show his audience... those who are there and those who are there in spirit. He does a little dance on his way around the flickering fire light and we see a flash of gold. On his way around he sees us and for a beat we see the recognition before he continues.

We watch as he throws the gold in the fire and it flashes wildly. He must have had gunpowder in his hand before he dumped the gold dust on top of it. Quite the showman.

Lou moves slowly back to Andy's mount where Mike is still out of it. He whispers something to Andy and they take Mike off the horse and they carry him slowly toward the fire. As they walk by each of us, we join in to carry him up toward the show. I don't know what Lou had planned.

With a slow, almost trance-like movement, we proceed toward Seedling. He sees our approach but doesn't miss a beat. I think it is important that he doesn't let this thing fall apart, so anything we do is going to play into what he is doing. When we are in the cast from light of the fire we can see his audience a little clearer. Indians, the lot of them, covered in ash. By the looks of them they are the elders of whatever tribe Seedling is trying to flim flam.

We lower Mike to the ground near the fire and Seedling moves over his body. There is a look in his eye that questions our presence... and a slight panic at what we want him to do with Mike. As though he had his own part in this production, Lou reaches into the gunpowder bag and grabs a handful. He tosses a whisp of it into the flame and the flash silhouettes our gathering to the ash covered Indians. For a moment Lou looks at me, then the gunpowder he holds in his hand. Then when he holds it over Mike's body I know what he wants to do.

I take the cue and remove Mike's shirt around his wound. While I do this Lou gives Seedling a chance to "bless" the gunpowder in his hand with a couple of with a couple of passes. He tries to sprinkle a little of the gold dust into the mix, but Lou moves it out of the way and the dust falls on his sleeve and on the ground.

The rest of the boys look on, not realizing what is about to happen. The only one among them that has a clue is Ollie, who holds Mike's passive body down. Lou sprinkles the powder in the wound and I grab a nice sized stick from Seedling's little fire. As Seed hovers over Mike like a witch-doctor, chanting and dancing about, I touch the fire to the powder.

Now, I know know what is going to happen and it even scares the shit out of me. Mike howls like a wolf, Seedling nearly jumps the fifty feet to the rim of this box canyon, and the general startling the rest of the crowd leaves the gathering electrified. The acrid smell of burnt flesh is carried away with the whisp of smoke that rises from Mike's body. He is up on his feet now, doing a little dance now that his wound is smoked and sealed. Seems cruel but it will be effective. Unlike my wound in Modoc, his is just a deep graze and this should cauterize it well enough.

The show must go on. As though this was all part of his production Seedling dances over to Mike, who has stopped moving... but is very much awake. He takes the arm on his good side and slowly makes his way around the perimeter... showing Mike to the elders, as though his magic brought him back to life.

Whatever it is he is after with this dog and pony show he must have gotten. It is over. We all file out of the canyon with Seedling in the lead. What was thought to be a box canyon has a hidden exit at its end. The elders left first... seemingly walking through the solid rock. When we finally see this hidden exit, it looks as though the horses will not be able to pass, but they just fit through the short tunnel. I don't know much about horses, but Lou does. He continually talks to his, reassuring it as we make the short walk. We all do the same with our horses and when we see the light of day it seems that they breathe a little easier.

The elders have their ponies waiting with a young brave. They mount up and start down the trail. Ole' Bess is nowhere in sight, but the brave holds one pony for Seedling. We all mount up and follow behind. Not a word is spoken.

It must be a hundred and ten out here. The sweat on my face washes the ash from my skin. Right when I start to worry about the fact that we have no water, I see the river and the Indian's camp. Lou spurs us on so we arrive as one group with the elders. No sense in getting everyone in an uproar thinking that we are total outsiders.

We see Ole' Bess chewing on the long grass near the bank of the river. Seedling's bedroll and gear are all layed out like he had rented a camping space from these guys. There must be twenty some odd teepees, a dozen kids, lots of squaws, and what looks like a shit load of warriors getting painted up for battle.

Once Seedling dismounts, we join him at his little campsite. The elders dismount amidst the warriors and there are looks our way. I am hoping they are approving our presence here.
"What the hell was that about?" Lou asks, scratching his arm as he talks. He takes his hat off, wipes his forehead on his other arm, then replaces the black hat.

"That there was a blessing ceremony that you boys near on ruined for me." Seedling kneels at the river's edge and catches some water in his hands to wash the ash off of his face and arms.
"These Apache are caretakers of the Spirit Mountains down south of my mine. They call 'em Spirit Mountains, we call 'em Superstition Mountains."
"So?"
Seedling looks at me with that untrusting look he showed us when we first met him.
"So I want their blessing... their permission."
"For?"
"You boys are sure a curious lot, ain't ya."

Lou squats down beside him. "What the fuck is going on, Seed?"
He rubs his arm and is about to dip it in the water but Seedling grabs it.
"Hey now, let me get that gold dust off'n ya before you put it back in the river."
"Gold?"
"Yeah, gold, I was trying to sprinkle it in that gunpowder for some effect, but you moved."
"No shit... " Lou looks at me and I pause for a second.
"Do you think?"
Lou shrugs and pulls his arm away from Seedling for the moment. He holds it out to me and I put my arm next to his. Immediately the chip in my arm begins to itch.
"Oh... shit. We found it."

The boys gather around, each taking a turn with Lou's golden arm and then rubbing their own. Smiles all around, smiles and arm rubbing. We might just be going home.
"Where did you get this gold? It wasn't on you when we found you the first time."

"That there is Spirit Mountain gold from the tribe here. I found it in a gulch up in them mountains. It is sacred ground to these Apache. Better to ask first before I end up donating what is left of my scalp."

"So all of this is so you can go after gold on Apache land?" Chris asks.

Seedling gives him a narrowed look, "I want to mine the gold in he Superstition Mountains. That there land belongs to no one by law, but the Apache lay claim to it as a spiritual place. I had to show them I was as spiritual as them... that I can respect their sacred grounds and still look for the gold."

Lou finishes washing the ash from his face and then stands. "Well, my friend, when do we get started?"
"We? Ain't no we no how."
Lou puts a firm grip on his shoulder.
"Oh, there's a we... the six of us need to help you mine that gold. We need to get back to where we came from and you are going to help us do it."

The Spirit Trail

2009-01-25T09:08:00.000-08:00

My ears are still ringing from the blast. It is like I am holding two pillows over my ears. I stumble behind Lou who is bleeding from somewhere. I can see it dripping from his right arm as he holds the lantern.

"Hey."
I might as well be shouting into a mattress. I reach up and put a hand on his shoulder. When he stops and turns I point to his arm. He shakes his head... what a bother. With his other hand he probes around until I see him wince. Then he pulls a long piece of splintered wood from below his collar bone and throws it to the floor of Ole' Crystal. With a few select words he turns and proceeds into the darkness with me on his heels.

The glitter of quartz is gone and now this is just a dark hole. Not even a cool dark hole. It is hot and the sweat is beginning to sting my eyes. We hike along about a half a mile and then start up at an angle. It isn't too long before we see the preverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

"This couldn't have gotten us too far from town." Lou's voice is a whisper as it echoes in the tunnel. Our ears have adjusted from the blast.

We see the opening ahead. The light of day has the three or so feet of this end of the tunnel illuminated. As we approach we tuck up against the side of this exit until we can get a good view of what is outside.

Nothing.

No one, no horses, no townsfolk, no cover of any kind. I poke my head out and back in like a fucking squirrel or something, waiting for the shot that might be waiting. A few seconds pass and we emerge from the shaft, guns drawn and our heads on a swivel. The tunnel opens into a slight canyon or wash. We will be easy targets for anyone up on the sides.

"What the fuck?"
Where did they...
There is a slight whistle ahead and to the left. Then we see Ollie peek around the corner and wave us over.

"Mire lo que encontramos." Ollie whispers. As we round the corner we see our horses.
"No shit. That's a neat trick." I grab the reigns to my horse and give him a couple of pats on the side of his neck. Ollie tells Lou that he found them near a patch of green grass about a hundred yards further down the trail.

I nod, "Orlis must have planted a little of their favorite seed so they would come running if they got separated. Some kind of reverse "Pavlov's Dog" kind of thing."

"Let's mount up." Lou says quietly. He winces as he yanks himself up into the saddle. He starts bleeding even worse. He motions to the saddle bag on my horse.
"Hand me that rag, Jake."

I look... it is an old bloody shirt that someone didn't want to get rid of. I pull it out and find a semi-clean spot. With a couple of tears I hand him a good piece of it. He stuffs it in over the wound. We are all up on our horses, Mike sprawled over the back of Andy's steed.

"Where to?" Chris asks, looking at the arroyo.
"Well... anywhere away from here is good. We've been east, let's go west." Lou says as he sets his horse in motion.

We go slow at first, making sure not to kick up too much dust. This arroyo is just deep enough to cover a horse and rider to anyone looking our way. It isn't until we have been riding for a good five minutes that we slope upward to the desert floor and are exposed. By this time we are out of sight of the trading post and at the base of a small range of crags cut with narrow canyons and caves.

"I'd be willing to bet they had another hide-out up here." Chris says, taking his hat off to wipe his brow. The heat of day is building and the sun is climbing. We have very little water, and no food. Even more than that... we have Mike with a gunshot wound.

"What are we going to do with Mike. We need help. Maybe I ought to take him to the Fort back there so he can see a doctor."

Lou cuts to me with a narrowed gaze, "Jake... this isn't the fucking movies. There isn't a doctor in that Fort that is going to take care of an "outlaw" that those fuckers at the trading post have already reported shooting." He shakes his head and calms himself a bit, "they would throw the both of you in the stockade until the noose was up, then they'd hang you sure as shit."

"This sucks." Andy says, then silence for a moment and a tisk that follows. "Let's just get the hell out of here and get back to the boat. I'm done playing cowboys and Indians." He gestures with a tip of his head to Mike sprawled out behind him, "How am I going to explain this to his wife?"

"He's okay, it is only a deep graze. The worse for him is over. He is still alive and it looks like the bleeding has stopped. He just needs that wound cleaned and dressed... a few stitches." Lou says while he checks on his own condition. As he pulls the wadding from the area below his collar bone he nods and throws it to the ground. Must be okay, I would assume.

Without another word we head up the larger of the canyons. The trail is well used. Lou points out that most of the tracks are unshod. Only a few of the tracks show the familiar horseshoe pattern in the soil.

"So?" Andy seems indifferent.
"Indians?" Chris asks. Lou nods and then pays a little more attention to our surroundings as we proceed.

As we go, Lou starts to see things and begins pointing them out. At first I think he is full of shit, pointing out plants and little piles of rocks, claiming that they have been placed there by Apache. We tell him he's stoned, or fucked up from loss of blood, Ollie calls him a homo... if I heard that mother-tongue correctly.

He stops in front of us and turns in the saddle. "Look, you idiots, we may be in some trouble here. I think we are riding on a spirit trail. It leads to where ever they bury their dead. They usually aren't to receptive to a bunch of dumbasses riding up to desecrate their most sacred land. So from here on out, let's ride in silence."

With that he turns and heads off up the canyon and we follow. I am thinking we should probably cut and run at this point. This little trip has already seen us robbed, shot at, nearly hung, blown up, and now we are marching straight into an Apache burial ground. I think I will fire my travel agent.

It is Andy that sees it first. Ollie is behind him, bringing up the rear. When Andy sees the shadow of a figure on the ridge above us, he whispers to Ollie without turning around. Then Ollie calls up to Chris, who is ahead of me, and tells him in mother-tongue that we have visitors. That information is passed to Lou who is on point. None of us give away the fact that we have seen this. But now all of us are looking at the shadows as we ride.

The one shadow turns into three, then eight, then twelve. Oh shit. I am waiting for the sound of an arrow or some blood curdling war cry. But instead I just see movement from somewhere above us.

Ahead of us is another pile of rock, this one with two black feathers protruding at odd angles and a pile of what might be moss. Lou stops and dismounts.
"Follow my lead." He whispers back to us.

We all dismount and remove our hats. When Lou takes a knee, we follow. He puts his hands in the pockets of his vest and comes up with that old knife that Seedling gave him before we took Orlis' gang at the Keep. He grabs some hair between his fingers and cuts the locks with the knife, setting them at the base of the make-shift alter on the pile of "moss". Without looking he passes the knife back to Chris. Now Chris' head isn't shaved, mind you, but the hair is barely long enough to grab between his fingers. He does his best to look like he cut some off and placed it with Lou's before passing the blade back. Before long we have all done the same and are waiting for our next cue.

Lou takes reigns of his horse and leads him on foot. We follow, making sure to do exactly what he does. The trail is different here. It seems... cleaner? There is no loose rock, almost as though it had been swept. Lou stops and we all remove our boots. I am thinking this isn't fooling anyone, but is seems to be working for our shadows on the ridge. They haven't attacked us yet.

Now, with boots off and hats on saddle horns, except for Mike, we walk up the trail leading our horses. There are small clutches of "offerings" here and there... rock piles adorned with feathers, some beads. But now the feathers are white, not black. This has some significance. Everything is turning an ashen grey/white as we proceed, as though it has been drained of color. Even the scrub sage and smaller scattered desert plants are the same color as the trail.

Lou bends down and runs a finger across the rocks. There is a streak of color where his finger passed. He is quick to wipe the track away and cover the spot once again.
"It's ash of some kind, they have spread it out on this entire area."
"Why don't we turn around and get the hell out of here." Chris whispers from behind.
"It's too late for that."

The canyon walls climb high around us. The worry of attack from the shadows from above abates just a little. Unless they start rolling rocks down on top of us, they won't be a threat. That thought scares me even more. I hope they don't start with the rocks.

As the canyon walls climb the light gets dimmer and the effect of the ash becomes more and more surreal. Everything around us is painted in this grey/white. We are a splash of color in the dimming light. The canyon starts to turn and twist, the angles so tight that the horse ahead disappears as it takes the corner. And now the smell of smoke, but not wood smoke... or not only wood smoke. There is an acrid edge to it.

Where Chris was following Lou, I see no one but the bleached stone of the canyon. They are swallowed up in the tightening maze of angles that this trail has become. When I finally see them again, they are standing side by side at the entrance to a huge hollowed out area... like a naturally formed amphitheater at the end of this canyon. A fire lights the scene, a thin spire of smoke makes it's way to the small openining fifty feet above our heads. In this pale light I can make out a man, a slight figure, painted in this same ash. It is not an Indian, or at least I don't think so.

The little man tosses something into the fire. It has to be gunpowder from the look of the effect. In that flash we see that he is not alone. There must be a dozen sets of eyes watching the man work. Their bodies covered in this same ash, kneeling with their backs to the canyon wall that is covered in that same ash. They are almost indistinguishable from their surroundings.

We all take a knee and try to look respectful... humbled to the ceremony that is taking place. One by one we take a small bit of ash and wipe it on our faces. Another flash from the fire, and now a little dance. It isn't until we hear the voice that we know who it is. Seedling.

Ole' Crystal

2009-01-08T08:29:00.000-08:00

As I stand in the doorway, ears ringing from the gunfire, I feel footsteps behind me as Ollie and the storekeeper carry Mike from the front of the store.

"This man needs a doctor." The storekeeper's voice is faint... almost a whisper. Mike had lost quite a bit of blood, but his temporary nurse had managed to stop the flow with pressure and then bandaged him as best she could.

"Yeah... " It is all I can muster.

Chris hands the reigns of the horses to Andy and loads both of his pistols.
"Where's Lou."
I look at Ollie, who nods back to the store. Antonelli and I run back inside and toward the front of the store. Lou is alongside one of the windows.

"Lou? What's going on out there?"
"Two of them went around back... "
"We got 'em."
"There's still two out front here. The rest of the town's folk seem to be happy holding back behind those wagons they were going to hang you from."

I look out through the window from where I am standing behind the counter. There are a good twenty or thirty people out there, all of them men now, and most with guns. They are smart, though, not willing to expose themselves to "Orlis Keene" and his legendary gun.

"We better get the hell out of here before the rest of them find their balls, don't you think?"

Lou get's that narrow look to him... the one he get's where there is a plan in the making. But when he finally turns to me, that look is gone and there is something else there.

"I got us into a helluva fix, Jake."
"Like you never have before? What the... we need to go, Lou. Now."

The storekeeper's wife, who has been hiding under the counter at my feet, clears her throat. I nearly shoot her.
"Mr. Keene? You... you forget about ole' Crystal?" She speaks from her place under the counter.
"Stand up, Miss, you have nothing to fear from me."
She is visibly shaking when she appears from beneath my feet.
"Ole' Crystal, it is just out back up behind the dynamite shed."

"And what is Ole' Crystal?"
She makes a clucking noise in the back of her throat, I think it might just be nervous laughter.
"Ole' Crystal... you've used it before."

She stops there, not believing that she needs to explain further. Surely reminding Orlis Keene about something he knows already will bring his vengance down upon her.

"Chris, go see what she is talking about."
With that Chris moves out of the room and heads toward the dynamite shed.

"What about them?" I gesture to the men out front. The brave two with rifles drawing a bead on anything they can see moving inside the store. Almost on cue, a shot rings out and a hole opens up on the opposite side of the window Lou is standing next to. He moves away quickly and joins me behind the counter. The shot has seamed Lou's thoughts together into a plan.
"Go... out back. Tell Chris to bring in a couple of those packs of dynamite."

I start out back.
"From the shed, not the horses." Lou calls after me.
With a quick stop at the door to check for any more brave souls, I run out to the dynamite shed. Off to the right Andy and Ollie are securing Mike to the back of Andy's horse. Ollie's head is on a swivel for anyone that might try to take a shot at them.

The key is still in the door of the dynamite shed, the door cracked open. I start around back to see what this Ole' Crystal might be, but see nothing rocky hillside that butts up against the shed.
"What the fuck is she talking about." I say to myself.
"It's not outside, it's inside." Chris says behind me. I turn and he waves me inside of the dynamite shed.

I hadn't gone inside when we retrieved the dynamite earlier, just grabbed what was handed out the door. Now that I am inside, I see what she is referring to. The shed is actually covering the entrance to a cave in which they have stored the dynamite. The remaining dynamite is within steps of the doorway so that the light of day will illuminate their location. The smell of wood smoke is heavy in here.

"Help me move this shit out of here." Chris grabs one of the wooden crates that hold the burlap wrapped dynamite. There are only four crates and we have them outside in no time at all.

"Lou wants one of these inside." I start for the store with the last case I am holding.
"Wait." Chris runs back inside the store and then returns with a hand held oil lantern and some wooden matches. Inside the emptied dynamite shed we light the thing and step through the cave entrance. The lantern's light reflects from a thousand surfaces, reflected by crystals in the side of this small cave.
"What the fuck is this?"
"Quartz?"
"Could be quartz."

There are some iron hooks that had been tapped into the side walls of the cavern. The naturally coolness of this chamber must have been a perfect place to hang meat before they put the dynamite shed out front. As the crystals diminish the tunnel continues.

"She can't be talking about using this."
"Sure as hell can't take any horses in here."
"It's got to be a fucking trap. She's... "
"I doubt it. She fears for her life from this Orlis Keene. No one has killed him yet as far as she knows, so she wouldn't be saying this if she thought we would make it back to town some time down the road."
"So what? We go down the shaft and end up on foot in the middle of the desert?"

I take pause for a moment and then try to put the pieces together.
"What if Keene has fresh mounts at the end of this tunnel... or maybe there is a ranch house or something."
"Great. We can have lemonade and sit on the porch."
"No, asswipe, Keene wouldn't use this escape on foot without having horses at the end of it."

We leave the mystery of Ole' Crystal for the moment and bring a case of dynamite back into the store. The men outside the front of the store are trying to secure our surrender without any shots being fired. They are calling out demands and getting silence in return.

The storekeeper's wife sees the dynamite and all of a sudden she's Chatty Cathy.
"Oh please, please Mr. Keene don't blow up our store. It's the only thing we have. It's everything." She falls into her husband's arms and begins to weep.

Lou trys to calm her.
"Ma'am, I have no intention of blowing up your store. We are going to toss a few sticks into the town square out front just to cause a diversion. I apologize in advance for the windows."

As we work to separate sticks of dynamite, I figure this would be a good time to get a few answers.
"That tunnel out back, where does it end up?"

She cocks her head like a dog, "Well... I don't rightly know. Don't you know?"
I look at her and she averts her eyes.
I turn to Lou, "You can't take a horse through there, too low."
He looks her way, "Ma'am... the last time that tunnel was used what did we do with the horses?"
Nothing.
"Ma'am?"
"You loosed those horses and they just ran."

"We loosed the horses and they just ran. Some how this plan sounds like we end up in Boot Hill." I say, separating the bundled fuses.
"Hey, it comes out somewhere. These horses might know what to do. They aren't stupid animals." Lou tries to convince me... but I don't think he is convinced himself.
"No, we're the stupid animals."
"We don't have time for this. Either we try to kill all of these people, or we make a run for it in the tunnel. I, personally, have seen enough killing for awhile."

With the dynamite separated, we have Ollie go out and tell the boys what we are going to do. They are to take the oil lamp and get a head start with Mike up the tunnel. We are going to drive any of the posse back with gunfire and then launch a few sticks of dynamite out into the street to try to minimize any damage to the store. We will make our escape into the tunnel while their ears are still ringing.

Lou checks his weapons and me my rifle and pistol.
"Dear lady, you and your husband have seen us take this escape before and we always manage to make it back to town. This will be our little secret." The veiled threat seems to find it's mark. The two of them respond with a quick nod.

I make a quick run to the back off the store. I see nothing but horses. The boys have started into the tunnel. Gunfire from the street out front draws me back into the store.

"They're making a run on the place."
I join Lou's side and see that more of the men from behind the wagons have now joined the few out on the street and more are following. There are two dozen men now, all of them getting ready to rush the place.
"You throw and I will give you some cover fire. I have cut the fuses short so as soon as you heave them, we run."

I look down at the three sticks of dynamite and the maybe two inches of fuse on each of them.
"Short?"
"Don't be a pussy. Just light and throw, one after the other. We need to beat feet before they go off."

I look back at the storekeeper. "You, light that oil lamp and take the glass off of it."
He scrambles to ablige me and brings the lamp over with trembling hands. Once delivered, he and the wife lay down behind the counter.
I move by the door. Better to throw from there than take a chance of hitting the window frame and blowing us all up. I have the oil lamp on the floor at my feet and the three sticks in my right hand. I tip the fuses in toward each other until they touch.

"Ready?"
I nod.
"Here we go."
Lou starts to fire. I don't move at first, not sure when to... "
"DO IT."
I extend my arm down toward the flame and wait until the fuses sputter to life. As Lou fires, the front of the store is peppered with gunfire. Rifle shot tears through the wood, pistol shot buries into storefront. All hell breaks loose as I open the door and heave the sticks out thirty or so feet into the dirt street.
Lou fires one last shot and then we turn and run.

Two inches of fuse, a half of second to realize they are lit, the next second spent throwing, then next in mid air... I'm thinking it was a three second fuse. All of the sticks must have remained close together. The explosion hurls us to the back wall of the store, the front wall falling inward from the concussion. We try not to stop moving and scramble for the door. We are pursued by a cloud of dust and dirt, the screams from the storekeeper's wife putting an edge on it. She isn't injured, but I am sure she has never been in such close proximaty to an explosion of this size.

Out back we stumble toward the dynamite shed and fall inside. I stand and pull the key from the lock, closing the door and using it from the inside to lock the door. The horses were no longer outside and I am hoping that they might have made their way out before the explosion scared them half to death.
A second oil lamp burns inside. Thank God one of the boys were thinking or we would be standing here in complete darkness.

We are at the mercy of Ole' Crystal, where ever it leads, whatever is on the other side. I am strangely hopeful that we will find our way to safety.

The Hanging

2008-12-25T13:48:00.000-08:00

It is stone silence out in the street. You would think with a crowd this size that there would be murmer of some kind, but they are waiting for a response... any response from inside the store.

Nothing. The pistol in my back rachets as the hammer is drawn back. I am getting nervous.

"Come on, Lou."
The pistol moves in an inch or two and tries to crack a rib.
"Shuddup you."

My captor waits for a moment or two, then... "String 'em up."

The three of us are hustled over to a row of supply wagons. Some of the men lift the tongues of three of those wagons while others grab rope and fashion quick slip-knots. They begin to tie our hands.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Andy cracks. "Get your FUCKING hands off of me." He twists and turns, breaking away for a moment as the men holding him are left with his arrow quiver and bow in their hands. He is quickly recaptured and gets the first rope around his neck.

One of the men hold up the quiver and the bow, "Looky here, we got us one a them albino Indians."
Andy struggles, stomps, and head-butts those around him until a rifle barrel to the back of his skull stills him.
"You bastards." Is all I get out before a rope is sinched around my throat. I look over at Mike, who is quite and calm... like he might look if he were waiting for a bus on the street corner. A rope is placed around his neck and there is a tick of a smile on his face.

I follow his gaze and see what he sees. The crowd has turned their back on the store for the moment with the exception of two men with rifles who are nerviously shifting their eyes from the store to the spectacle of the hanging that is about to happen. Ollie is already out and scrambling up on the roof of the building, a rifle in hand and one slung over his shoulder. Antonelli is two buildings over, outside of the now empty blacksmith's tent, bandoliered with a couple of cartridge belts and two pistols in hand. At his feet is the scatter gun.

The crowd is stirring now, some of them yelling for the posse to hang us, others start to shout Orlis Keene's name. None of the men with the guns that are set to hang us are watching the store, expecting their associates to watch their backs. This, as it turns out, is a big mistake.

Ollie stands, drawing a bead on one of the two men. As the man looks back at the store, he first sees the shadow of the Aztec giant on the dirt at his feet, and then looks slowly up. At the same time Antonelli steps out from the side of the blacksmith's tent, both pistols at arms length. His man sees him instantly and straightens up for a moment... a second or two of calculation before he realizes that he is seconds away from death. He drops the rifle to the ground. His friend sees the rifle drop out of the corner of his eye and he slowly kneels and sets his rifle down as well.

Now the crowd is ready to hang us. The nooses are around our necks, the ropes over the tongues and ready, three men on each line ready to pull us off the ground.
In the seconds before the ropes are drawn tight I watch as Antonelli gathers both of his prisoners and places a gun to each of their heads as he stands between them. The doors to the store are kicked open, the sound preceeds a rifle shot into the air from Ollie as he stands tall.

"I'M HERE, YOU CHICKEN SHIT ASSHOLES."

The crowd turns and falls silent as they take in the situation. Lou stands in front of the General Store, gun in hand... cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. From this distance I can't see the look in his eyes, but I know it is the one that would take the legs out from under anyone it is focused on.

"LET THEM GO AND I WILL LEAVE YOU BE. YOU CAN ALL GO ON ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS."

The foul breathed man that was the spokesman for the lynch mob seems to have lost his voice. He turns to face Lou. Before he does he makes sure his pistol is uncocked and tucked back into the holster.
"You... you... aren't in charge here Keene." His voice cracks, taking any authority away in an instant.

"OH... I THINK I AM." Lou takes two steps forward and the crowd around us falls back until it is just the three of us and the men with the guns.

"We ain't gonna let you come in here and gun down innocent civilians, Keene."

Lou steps forward and covers half the ground between the store and the make-shift gallows. Our captors tighten their ranks and those with rifles... their grip, making sure not to make any move that could be construed as threatening.

"Take a closer look. I'm not Orlis Keene."

The spokesman finds his balls. "I ain't gonna let you go, Orlis. Not this time. Now you have your boys drop their weapons and release my deputies."

"Deputies?" Lou squints, "I don't see a badge, friend. This just a trading post, not a munincipality."
The man cocks his head like a dog. "I am the law here just the same. Now I will say this just one more time. You and your men will lay down your weapons and we will hold you for the territorial judge. If you got a story to tell you can tell it to him."

Lou is calculating, I can see it. Calculating who he might have to kill, who he can save, who he will mame. We didn't come here to kill anyone... and he knows that.

In the split seconds of judgement we see the lawman's head cut to the right... just slightly. I see the other gunmen as their weapons discharge. In that moment I realize that this is what bolstered this spokesman's hand. He drops just slightly as he draws, but it is the move that brings his death.

Lou drops and turns, three shots ring home in the two gunmen that fall from behind the barber's tent. A rifle shot from the roof of the General Store drills the man that stands before me, passing through him and lodging in the chest of the man behind him. Behind me I can hear a man yell and then the rope tightens around my neck and I am lifted off the ground. With the sounds of war blazing around me, my vision narrows, my heartbeat pounds in my ears. And then all goes black.

I awaken to the sound of Chris' voice, warning people to get back. I am being dragged by the collar of my shirt. I begin to cough and choke and can hear him say, "That a boy... I'm not about to give you the kiss of life."
I try to tell him that he would make a great star in the sequel to Brokeback Mountain, but all I can do is cough.

"Get them inside." I can hear Lou... and feel Ollie as he bounds up and heaves me off of the ground and over his shoulder. This is the first time I open my eyes. When I focus I can see that we are back in the General Store. Mike and Andy are on the floor where Ollie sets me. Mike is bleeding badly from a gunshot wound. Andy has regained consciousness and is kneeling over him.

"It's just a graze, Mike... didn't go in. Just a graze, just a graze." He is busy holding pressure to the wound.

Glass breaks as Ollie creates a gun port for his rifle. Two shots ring out as he holds back the gathering crowd.
"Cuatro más, dos con rifles."

"Four more, two with rifles." Antonelli translates.
"Well... shit." Lou stands with his pistol at the ready, the other hand on his hip and a look of disgust on his face. "I sure as hell hoped to avoid this."
He looks at Andy, then at the Mrs. from the General Store.
"Can you please attend to my friend, Ma'am?"
She scurries around the counter with a cloth diaper and what looks to be a first-aid kit of sorts.

"Andy."
He doesn't move from Mike's side.
"ANDY."
Everyone in the store jumps, including me.
"I want you to go with Chris and bring the horses around back before one of those fools hits that dynamite."

Lou steps up to the Ollie's side an looks out the window, "Ollie, usted los cubre."
The big man nods as he peers down the barrel of the rifle. Lou takes up position on the opposite side of the broken window where the scattergun is leaning against the wall. With a nod to Andy and Chris they begin firing.

Both men bolt from the door of the General Store. I can see them frantically undoing the reigns from the rail as rifle and pistol shots blaze from the window. From the opposite direction the four gunmen try their best to draw a bead on the suspected outlaws as they work to free the horses.

When the shotgun blasts ring out, I can see both men and horses flee around the building through the partially open door before Lou kicks it closed. I find my strength and get my legs to hold me up. I have no gun, but find a rifle at my feet. I join them at the window.

"Jake, go around back and lend them boys some cover. There's bound to be more of them."

I stagger through the store to the back door and as I open it I can see a couple of the posse begin to fire on my friends as they try to find cover behind the store. One of them turns and unloads on me when he spies me in the door frame. The splintering wood peppers the side of my face and I fire back, piercing him with a rifle round at point blank range. The other man turns... I am throwing the cocking lever. A shot rings out from the side of the building as Antonelli spends a round, putting a niced sized hole through the side of the man's head. He falls to his knees and then face first into the dirt.

We have our horses, some supplies, and a whole town ready to kill us where we stand. Mike is shot, we have no idea where to escape to, and I suspect we will surely hear the sound of Cavalry before long. All of this and we are still no closer to getting home. I long for the days of Muerte Verde and a big fat Walker.

A Bath, a Smoke, and a Lynch Mob

2008-12-09T11:23:00.000-08:00

I don't know if it is the sun in my eyes or the hurt in my head that wakes me up. Fire is still going, but just red hot embers and a couple of glowing internal infernos. The air is crisp and I am freezing my ass of in this robe and nothing else.

It sounds like a hibernating grizzly pit with all the snores and wheezes coming up from my drunken brothers. Lou is sleeping leaned up against a tree, emtpy bottle in hand balanced on his knee. His eyes are open, just slits, but it freaks me out. I don't suppose he sleeps too easy with some of the ghosts running around in his head.

The rest of the boys are spread around. Mike and Andy are up and down at the river's edge. Their early departure from the party has them both up and chipper. Aside from Lou's bottle I count five empty fifths of liquor on the ground, and I know the two of them only played a very small part in the death of those soldiers.

"Hey... " Lou struggles to his feet. He eyes the empty bottle in his grip and drops it. His hands come up to his face and he rubs the sleep out of his expression.
"Coffee."

We both survey camp and end up looking at each other.
"Where's Seedling?"

Turns out that Seed and Ole Bess cut out while we were sleeping. He took only his belongings and by the looks of the tracks left the same way he came. I was beginning to really miss him when Mike holds up a little burlap sack with ground coffee.

The brew is thick and black as space itself. The effect is nearly instantanious and before long the fog has lifted and we are all wide-eyed. I keep getting a look from Antonelli... not a nice one.

"What the fuck is your problem? Did you not sleep well?"
"You know what, you dumb ass."
"No, really... what are you so pissy about?"

Lou smiles wide and points to a piece of paper stuck to the trunk of one of the small trees. "You almost killed him last night."

I am taken aback. "The hell you say."

For the next few minutes I am told what had happened last night. After downing a bottle of tequila and having sat with the peace pipe, I decided to play with Andy's bow and arrow while he slept. I guess I made Chris a little nervous and he moved away from the fire. Then, without even knowing where had gone off to, I was checking the tension on the bow when the arrow took flight and plucked the piece of paper he was reading right out of his hands and stuck it to the tree. It was a hell of a shot not to hit him in the process, so I don't know why he is so pissed.

"Get over it." I tell him. "I'll let you shoot an apple off of Mike's head later."

Within the next few hours we drag the dead down river and then up and over the ridge where we find loose ground to cover them. We have donned the Keene Gang clothing, gathered and loaded our weapons and readied the horses. It isn't until we are saddled up that one of us asks where we are going.

"Town." Lou says, loosening up his gunbelt one more notch so it hangs a little lower on his hip.
"Town? What town?" I am still wicked hung-over and not in the mood for one word answers.
"Seedling said there was a trading post outside of the Fort. We need food, I need a bath."
"Sissy."
"You need a bath, asswipe." Lou puts Orlis' hat on and pulls it down low over his brow. A perfect fit. It seems that Lou could be this guy's body double.
"We all need to clean up and go find this gold. I don't know about you guys, but this isn't my idea of fun. I want to get back to the boat and the quicker the better."

It is agreed that we leave the Clarok behind in a good hiding place. This canyon is the known hide-out for Orlis Keene and there is doubt whether or not anyone will dare to search it out.

We end up on the trail mid-morning, probably ten or so by my internal clock. About a mile from camp the trail splits and we take the path leading north. The horses seem to know where we are going. I am riding up front with Lou, then Mike and Andy, and Ollie and Antonelli. Ollie is riding in bare feet. The boots he pulled off of the Bull were too short and narrow, and the chopped off corpse shoes we grabbed the day before yesterday left huge blisters on his feet.

"Ollie isn't wearing shoes." I tell Lou as my horse ambles along.
"Saw that."
"Well, isn't that... you know, kind of odd for this place?"
"We'll get him some boots at the trading post."
"Yeah, they might have a Shoe Carnival or something with a size sixteen."
"Don't sweat it. This day and age they can probably make him boots while we wait."

At one point there is a bit of a down hill run and before long we quicken the pace until the horses are at a slow gallop. It is Mike that breaks ranks and races off at a gallop. That's all it takes and we are all in a race with no finish line, tearing up the earth as we go. After a mile or so, Mike slows and we all catch up.

Over the next hill we can see the trading post, and beyond it about a half mile is Fort McDowell. The fort isn't as big as I would have thought. I have been in Department stores that cover more ground. Maybe it's the distance that is throwing it off.

We ride up toward the five by five dirt street matrix that makes up this trading post. Right up front is a bath house. Just a big tent with a handpainted sign, ten cents for fresh water, a nickel for used water. The thought of that last one makes me throw up just a little. When Lou stops and dismounts, we all gather on his position.

"I think it'd be a good idea to get cleaned up. Might not get a chance down the road."
I look at him, then at Antonelli who has a smirk on his face.
"You sound like a sissy." He is looking at me, but he is talking to Lou. Seems safer that way.

Lou takes the high ground and keeps on talking. "We should go in three shifts. Me and Ollie go now. You and Antonelli, then Andy and Mike." He pulls some coin out of his pocket and realizes it is way too much for a bath house.
"Shit... all I've got are gold pieces. Check your pockets... we need no more than a dollar."

Everyone checks their pockets and Mike comes up with the funds. Lou takes the money in to a large, balding man in a dirty apron who starts pouring steaming water into one of four wooden bathtubs. A small boy begins bringing in river water by the bucket and filling two for one to the hot water. In five minutes the first bath is ready and the second is being filled.

"Better have two of you stay here, locked and loaded. We'll have your backs when you're in here."
"You're gonna do what to our backs?" Antonelli snickers.
"I'm thinking you're going to get a knife stuck in yours." Lou doesn't miss a beat.
That seems to wipe the smile off of Chris' face.
"We got your back, Lou. Just hurry the fuck up."

Bath time is about ten minutes... longer if they would have had rubber ducks. We have Andy and Mike ride into "town" and check it out. Me and Chris smoke a couple of cheroots that he found in the pockets of his outlaw.

"What happens if we kill someone?"
"What the fuck?" Chris is caught off guard.
"You know, the time space continuum... shit like that." I take a long draw off of the cheroot and let the smoke out. "We might change something and never get home."
"Are you kidding me?"
"No, not kidding at all. We already killed those outlaws. Figure it out. What if one of them turns out to have some effect on the future. We killed them. It's like that thing about the butterfly flapping its wings, the Butterfly Effect."
"Good movie."
"Not the movie, the effect. We have to watch ourselves. We shoot someone and it may have turned out that they become president and the whole course of the world changes."
"So... don't shoot any Roosevelts. You could shoot some Carters... that guy sucked."

I just shake my head. I know he gets it. He just had too much wise-ass for breakfast. Lou steps out of the tent flap, clean and pressed so to speak. Ollie follows behind him, a long stretch stops him in his tracks until it is finished. He says something in mother tongue and I am pretty sure I know what it is.
"You guys wait for us before you eat. We are all hungry."
Ollie looks my way and smiles.

By the time me and Antonelli are clean, both Andy and Mike have already reported in to Lou about what the trading post has to offer. There are three bars, one of which serves food, a general store, a blacksmith, a guy that repairs all sorts of leather goods, and a bank.
"People aren't all that friendly." This coming from Mike.
"No one would talk to us... most kid of cleared the way." Andy ties his horse to the rail and starts for the bath house. "Come on, Mike, let's get this over with so we can get something to eat."

It's true, none of these people are all too friendly. We all ride up the center street that houses the bars and the bank, the barber shop and the general store. When they see Lou in his Orlis-wear they skitter off the street like squirrels. I can feel the eyes of everyone we pass boring holes in the back of my head.
"So... what are we doing?"
"We need supplies." Lou says through his teeth.

He can feel it too. There is no time to talk about it, not right now. But I know he is thinking what I am thinking. If these people think he is Orlis Keene, then there is going to be trouble, gunplay, and killing.

Lou stops in front of the general store and we dismount. Ollie turns back to the street for a quick look before we go in. He mutters something and Antonelli turns and looks.
"We have fans."
It is like we have our own gravity and are pulling the people in towards us. At the front of this group are about a dozen men with guns. I feel a jitter bolt through me as we walk up the wooden steps into the store.

This is one of the few wooden structures here in this trading post. The rest are canvas buildings or just tents of sorts. When we step inside, the man behind the counter seems paralyzed. He just stands there, hands up on the counter... trembling.
His wife, I suspect, appears from the other room, a stack of small boxes in her hands. She is talking to him and when he doesn't answer she sees the six of us. The boxes fall to the floor and something of a muffled scream passes through her lips.

"Hey now, it's okay... please don't be frightened." I tell her. They look at us like we were the German SS in Anne Frank's neighborhood. "We just need to pick up some supplies."

The woman side-steps over behind the counter with her husband, keeping her hands in sight at all times. The husband tries to smile, more of a nervous tick that brings one corner of his mouth up.
"Take... take anything you want, Mr. Keene."

Lou takes off his hat in hopes that they will see that he isn't Orlis Keene. "We're payin' our way just like anyone else."
He tosses four twenty dollar gold pieces up on the counter. It is probably four times more than anything we are carrying out of here, but I think he wants to make amense for what has occurred in the past at Orlis' hand.

Mike steps up to the counter, hat in hand. "Here's a list of what we will need, Ma'am." He holds the list out. She won't take it... like hand feeding a bird. Mike sets it on the counter, spins it around her way and then scoots it toward her.

Lou points to a case of cigars, "What have you got there?"
The storekeeper tries to laugh but it doesn't come, "That's a good one, Mr. Keene. A box of your regulars?"
Lou nods.

Ollie steps up to Lou's side and whispers something in his ear. Lou nods again, "Tell Chris."
Antonelli listens and then asks if the guy carries dynamite.
"It is in the shed out back. I can give you the key and you take what you need."

We go out and grab four six stick bundles of dynamite, each in a double wrap burlap sack. I really don't want to think about the scenerio surrounding our using this stuff, but better to have it if you need it. Andy, Mike, and I step around the store with these bundles to anchor them to the horses. We are met by the gun toting men in the street. Outnumbered and surprised, we are quickly overtaken and disarmed.
I feel the hard steel barrel of a gun in my back. I look to my left and see both of my friends in the same situation.

"ORLIS KEENE... "
There is no answer from inside the store.
"ORLIS KEENE, COME OUT AND GET WHAT'S COMING TO YA." The man with his gun in my back yells. His breath is a reminder of the lack of any dental hygiene in these times.

Nothing.

"WE GOT YOUR BOYS OUT HERE KEENE. WE'LL STRING 'EM UP IF YOU DON'T THROW YOUR GUNS DOWN AND STEP OUT."

The River Keep

2008-11-22T06:55:00.000-08:00

It occurs to me that this is more than just a place to camp for the late Orlis Keene and his men. As their stinking clothes bubble away in the stew pot, we each take a piece of wood from the fire to use as a torch and look around the immediate area.

Outlaws had their hideouts; Jessie James had Meramec Caverns, Butch Cassidy had the Hole in the Wall, and Orlis Keene had Salt River Canyon. This is what they call home, and is their base of operations for the immediate area. This is where plans are made and wounded are repaired. Where strong boxes are opened and treasures divided.

Orlis Keene had a long run in these parts, robbing everything from military supply wagons to stagecoaches to trade caravans. His keep here in Salt River Canyon is stashed with every manner of loot, with the exception of cash money or gold, which is most likely divided by the men when they come upon it and spent with wild abandon.

We do find gold, silver dollars, and some coin in the pockets of the clothing we have stripped off the men. Then there is the bags they took off of Seedling. All of his stuff is in one pile. Out of respect for his privacy we leave his gear alone.
There are cases of whiskey, several bottles of what must be tequila. While our clothing cooks, we each take a bottle and try to forget the latest carnage.

Mike draws a torch from the flames and starts out into the brush looking carefully at the ground.
"What the hell are you doing." Andy says as he takes a pull from his whiskey. He winces as it goes down.
"I'm looking for a little sage or something for those rabbits."
"Why don't you look in the box over there." He sloshes the bottle when he uses it as a pointer. Mike looks in that direction and sees a large wooden crate.
"What's in it?"
"Now that would be the point of looking inside." Andy takes another pull off the bottle, no wincing, and leans back on his elbows.

Mike makes his way over to the box and holds his torch low. "Hey, there's a fork and a spoon painted on this thing."
"There you go." Andy slurs.

He opens the box and sinks his hand in its depths, pulling out a massive iron frying pan. He lets it drop to the ground and then pulls several canisters from the box and holds them up in turn to the torchlight.
"Hey, red pepper... salt... and dried garlic?"

Antonelli raises his head up from whatever it is he is digging through.
"Now you're talking. Cook up those rabbits... lots of garlic."

Mike digs through the box, setting everything out on the desert floor, taking a careful inventory. Without another word he begins to prepare what will be the first real meal we will eat since leaving the boat.

After an hour of digging through this stash we are eating rabbit seasoned with Mike's find. We have removed the clothing from the cauldron and are now letting it dry at the fire's edge. Each set looks like a macabre scarecrow, dancing with reflecting firelight and the slight breeze cutting up the canyon. At one point we all stop eating and talking, our eyes on the scarecrows... collectively it seems we have heard a voice.

Lou draws Orlis' pistol and waits. We are all on alert, grabbing up guns... Andy grabs his bow and arrow, apparently his weapon of choice from now on. It isn't until we hear the little song Seedling sings. He interrupts himself to call out toward the fire.

"I heard three shots. I heard 'em, clear as day. Thar were all them other shots, but them last three... that was the signal, weren't it?"

He stops at the edge of the fire, apparently talking to one of the scarecrows and not to us. It's not until Ole Bess pulls him along that he sees us sitting on the other side of the bonfire.

"Hungry, Seedling?"
"Can't say that I am. Just ate a slab of dried beef and a little hard tack." He holds his hand up to shield his eyes from the light. "You boys all alive?"

"Alive and kicking." Lou stands and takes a pull off of a half empty bottle of Red Eye.
"What? Camp abandoned when you boys got here?"
"Nope."
"You stand tall in front of Orlis Keene?"
"Yep."
"I'll be dipped."

We tell the story as we all sit around the fire gulping whiskey and tequila. When one of us tells a piece of the story, Seed jumps in with a "you don't say" or "you foolin' me?" He had a hard time believing that Lou got the best of Orlis Keene. It wasn't until each of us told the same story from a different view that he stopped with the denial and decided that we were telling the truth.

"Well that puts you on top. Sure as shit, you must be one hell of a gunfighter."
Lou takes a long pull off of the Red Eye and passes it to Seed, who takes a gulp and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I did what I had to do." Lou tells him.
"If you bested Orlis Keene then my hat's off to ya." He takes another pull off the bottle and passes it back.

We finish the rabbit and some type of water grass that Mike pulled from the river. Seasoned up it was a welcome addition to the meal. Before long Andy is snoring away, Mike joining in within minutes. The whiskey and the days events have taken their toll.

For the next few hours it is a bit of show and tell with the treasures we find in the different areas of the keep. Ollie comes up with a bull whip, cracking it near the fire... making sparks fly. I jump out of my skin at the sound of it.
"Whoa, Indiana... you scared the hell out of me."
"No sea un afeminado." Ollie tells me.

I look at Lou, who looks at Antonelli, who tells me... "I think he called you a sissy."
I look at Ollie and he smiles and shakes his head like that isn't what he said.
"Sissy?"
"Justo bromear, mi amigo."
"Yeah... you better be." I run my index finger across my throat as though that might be the end of him. He just laughs a maniacle tequila laugh and cracks the whip into the fire, the sparks climb high into the night sky.

"That thar Mexican gonna get all liqoured up and start trouble?" Seedling seems a little uneasy.
"That Mexican is from Guatamala and is a descendant of Aztec Gods." I tell him.
"Now I reckon that's just a tall tale. You boys are pulling my... "
The whip cracks twice in quick succession and an over hanging branch, already scorched from the bonfire, is separated from the tree and falls into the fire with a mushroom cloud of sparks and flame. Seedling backs nervously away from the fire and makes himself busy doing something with Bess.

"Hey, I have a couple of things to share." Lou steps into the shadows for a moment and brings back rawhide saddle bags. From inside the first bag he pulls a long pipe covered in places with hand sewn animal hide, ornamental feathers, rawhide stripes adorned with beads and the like.

"You smokum peace pipe?" I ask him. "Too bad we don't have some of that Nogales window box."

"Hey, this comes with all the bells and whistles." He pulls a little hide pouch out of the saddle bag and throws it to me. I catch it and turn it over in my hands.
"What is this?"
"I think it's a buffalo scrotum."
I drop it in the dirt and give him a look. He smiles.
"Open it, Nancy."
I open the pouch and catch a whif of mother natures finest... for this time and place.
"No way."

Antonelli is looking on, "What is it? Candy?"
Lou has me throw it back.
"Candy? What the fuck? This is cannabis." Lou pulls a load out and packs it in the pipe.

"You boys ain't priests, none like I ever heard." Seedling reaffirms from the shadows, interrupting a little song he was singing to himself.

When the pipe is ready, Lou finds a long stick and holds it in the fire until it lights. He puffs the peace pipe to life and myself, Ollie, and Antonelli sit back and hold a few hits of this wraspy shit.

"This shit would make better rope."
"Wait for it." Lou says as he releases his second hit.
Even though this is some harsh stuff, it puts the buzz to you just the same. We sit and pass the pipe for what seems like the better part of an hour.

"Seedling? You want to smoke the peace pipe?"
He ambles out of the darkness, slapping the dirt off of his pants.
"Don't mind if I do. I been known to sit down with guide or two and take a puff. Puts your mind at ease... makes the stars look nice."
Ollie passes the pipe to Seedling and Seed makes sure to wipe the end off before he takes a hit.
"Seen me a starbernard one time smokin' this stuff."
"Starbernard?" Antonelli asks, taking the pipe from him and taking a long, slow hit... now used to the edge it has.
"Big dog, kind of a... "

Lou stands, "I have something else to show you boys."
He pulls a journal from his pocket and opens it up to one of the last pages that has writing.
"This is a Orlis' personal journal." He turns it around and looks at the pages.
"He was a thinking man, a planner. For an outlaw he had some good project management experience."

Lou tosses the book to me. I look at the marked page.
"These are... train schedules?"
"No, I think they are stage coach schedules. There are no tracks near these parts, are there Seedling?"

Seed hits the pipe and passes it Ollie's way. "Well now, I know of a line out of Old Mexico, and one up north a way. But no... no tracks that would be in riding distance for them fellars." He gestures to the bodies at the fires edge.

"So... why would he be keeping a list of these particular stages and times." Lou takes the book from my hands and gives offers it to Seedling who takes it and turns the pages toward the fire light.

"I reckon Orlis was a plannin' to take a few more strong boxes. 'Cept these here stages carry some heavy armor and extra riders on shotgun."

"Why is that?" I ask, breathing out a long stream of rope smoke.
"Cause them stages carry gold from here to the main banks on the rail line."

The Taking of Orlis Keene

2008-11-15T07:18:00.000-08:00

We watch the men as they pass our position. I think I might just piss myself. Good thing we are getting new clothes. I can see where Antonelli took a dive into the scrub. They don't see him yet, but will in another twenty feet or so.

Lou scrambles across the path with Ollie and now I am alone, pistol in hand... hard to hold with sweaty palms. I touch the cartridge belt that is looped around my neck and shoulder, then with a nervous twitch I cock the piece. That slight noise is enough to stop the men in their tracks. Shit on a stick.

The horses turn back on the trail, as they do the man with the holster in front sees Lou and in an instant his gun is coming out. His partner drops the reigns and starts to draw the two guns at his side. In this moment I feel paralyzed, unable to do a thing but watch what is to unfold. But down deep I know that inaction is death.

I stand and in an instant my pistol discharges. I start to drop to one knee... peeling off my next shot like Lou had shown me, trigger pulled and fan the hammer. At the same time the outlaw drawing both pistols takes a round from me and a horrendous blast from behind as Antonelli opens a hole through him with the scattergun.

In this same moment shots are fired by the quickdraw and Lou dives to his left, gun blazing until three shots and have found their mark. In addition, Ollie's Bowie knife gives the man a nice place to hang his hat in the center of his chest. The men fall from their mounts and bleed into the crags and scrub. There is no way of stopping this now. The lid is off and the clock is running.

Antonelli steps up and we try our best in the moment to gather a strategy. Before a word is said, rifle shots ring out from the lookout. At first a scattered volley, but then carefully placed shots as first one rider comes into our view, and then... just for a moment the second. In that instant the second rider falls, taken by the Sharps, I am told by Lou who surely knows the sound. The second rider spurs his horse and gains speed. Another shot from the Sharps and he too is hit and he slumps forward in the saddle... horse blazing the trail back to camp. He is not dead, but from the looks of it he might have taken one in the shoulder or back.

Lou climbs up on quickdraw's mount and I toss him the man's hat. At least in this waining light of day and the shadows that are swallowing up this canyon he might get farther if he at least resembles the man that lay dead at my feet. He pulls a repeating rifle from its scabbard on the saddle and makes sure it is loaded. As we reload our pistols, Andy and Mike run down the trail to join us... Andy cussing up a storm about his rifle.

"These sites are off."
Antonelli laughs, "Is that why you can't hit the ground with your hat?"
"I fired four shots and none of them went where I aimed."
Lou looks up from his gun, "Nice shooting, Mike."
"How did you know it was me?"
"I know the sound of a Sharps... and that was some nice shooting."
Andy tisks.
Mike blushes just slightly, "Thanks."

Ollie grabs the rifle from the scabbard of the two-gun fighter and feeds a couple more rounds into the cartridge trap door on its side. Lou sees what he is doing and asks him to trade rifles. Ollie's has a large loop reloading lever that will allow Lou to use it with one hand. The trade is made without question. He takes another pistol for good measure.

Within a minute or two of the latest exchange of gunfire we have Antonelli on the horse the relief man rode in on. His clothing and the horse might fool someone at a distance. Myself and Lou take the horses that just lost their riders. Weapons are loaded and adrenaline is properly coursing through our veins. Already starting down the trail is Ollie, Andy, and Mike. They will position themselves to provide rifle fire into the camp from a safe but accurate distance.

The three of us ride down the trail and pass the boys. Ahead and to the right is the river. It is knee deep at what looks to be the best place to cross, but exposed to the outlaw camp. If we don't cross here any cover we might have will be blown. If they make us while crossing our shit is hanging in the wind.
Lou takes up point and whispers back to get in a single file behind him.

I give some thought to this Orlis Keene. If he is as bad-ass as we are led to believe, then maybe he won't think anyone could have bested his men. I think this is what Lou is thinking, although there is no time to discuss it. So in we ride, crossing the river, one after the other, Lou in a familiar hat, with pistol, rifle, and a prayer at hand.

We see two men at the raging campfire in the fraction of a second before things get hot. In from the shadows rides the man that Mike has wounded. This alerts the two we see and they pull their weapons as they go to the side of the wounded rider and pull him from his horse. They look through the fire at us as we cross from the river into the camp. One of them calls to us, a name... Grady. From up in the rocks behind them the shooting starts, the third man who is in a position to see that we are not who they think we are.

From behind us and across the river a shot rings out. One of the men behind the fire falls face first into the blaze. We split from behind Lou and each of us cuts to one side of camp, firing at the men at the fire and the man in the rocks. Chris and I jump off the horses and drop, trying to make each shot count as we unload into the shapes on the other side of the flames. Gunfire pours from the direction of the campfire, but slows as the lead poisoning becomes too much for them to handle.

As we dispatch the second gunman and the injured rider, Lou is still on horseback and heading to the rise behind the camp. In one hand he fires the pistol, the other hand fires the rifle, expertly swinging it around with that large-loop reloading lever to jack another cartridge into the breach before firing the next round.

"They say he has Grit." I tell Antonelli.
"That's big talk for a one eyed fat man." He tells me.
"I don't get it." I say back.

Lou fires the rifle both weapons until they are spent. He tosses them and dismounts. It is now that we see Orlis Keene, a legend in his own mind. He shows himself, now certain that he will best this stranger.
"You make a big mistake."
"What might that be?"
"If I were you I would have kept the rifle and fall back. You're in the kill zone, my friend, with no rounds left."

Lou stands and shows the holster and weapon at his side.
Orlis comes down out of the trees and scrub and stands about fifty feet in front of Lou, the light at the fire's edge giving a flickering of illumination.

"Hell... he looks just like Lou." Antonelli says in a low voice.

We watch as the two men face off, Orlis sizing up the man in front of him.
"You ever kill anyone face to face? It isn't for the weak of heart."
"I've killed plenty."

I have the urge give verification on that point, but don't.

"Well now, you think you're man enough to take me in a gunfight? I not too sure you are very well informed."
"How so?" Lou is completely on edge. If the guy blinks his eyes wrong I am sure he'll kill him before he draws his next breath.
"Don't you know who I am?"
"Yeah, I know."

The lack of respect in this whole conversation has Orlis seeing red.
"I AM ORLIS KEENE, BOY."

Uh oh, he called him boy.

Keene flinches. I am sure he meant to go for his gun, but the move didn't get further than that initial start. Lou pulls the gun in a heartbeat and puts two rounds through him. Orlis manages to unholster his weapon and fire, but as he drops to his knees the shots go wild off into the settling night. He stays up long enough to get a good look at Lou, who walks up to him.

"Looks like you met your match."
Orlis chokes a little and we can see the blood pouring from the corner of his mouth.
"Who are you?" He wavers and then falls face first into the scrub, his spirit not waiting for the answer.

Lou removes the man's gunbelt and pulls the weapon from his loosening grip. To the victor goes the spoils. As he stands we all wait for a moment, listening in the darkness. We hear only the rush of the river. This must have been it, all of them.

"Call them in." Lou says in a low, almost trans-like voice. I understand.

"All clear, boys. Come on in."

Ollie peels off three quick shots in succession from his rifle, remembering what Lou had told Seedling. Andy and Mike bring up the rear as the three of them cross the river and come into the fire-light.

There isn't a soul left alive. Orlis Keene's band of outlaws have terrorized their last of the towns folk, soldiers, and Indians alike.

"Man... " Antonelli rolls Orlis Keene on his back. "That guy looks a lot like you, Lou. I mean, you could be brothers."

We all look at him, nodding before we start looking through the gear they have piled up near the fire.
"Hey, look at this." Andy holds up a bow and quiver of arrows.

"It's even harder to hit something with one of those than that rifle you couldn't shoot for shit." Antonelli calls to him as he digs through a set of saddle bags that are on the ground near the fire.
"Alright... now you're talking." He holds up a bottle of what might be tequila.

We are there looking through shit for a minute or two. It is long enough to bring our thoughts back that might have strayed. We hear a sound... like a bull running through the brush. I look at Lou and he at me. The big man, the one that took the Clarok, he isn't one of the men we have seen today. As we process this thought, he comes barreling out of the darkness, a shotgun blast that has pellets whizzing by us. Another blast, this time low. We have dropped to the ground and the blast would have knee-capped us had we not moved.

From behind us an arrow flies, burying itself into the man's chest. Then another, and another, until it looks as though he has them growing out of him. He stops all forward motion and grabs and the arrow shafts, snapping two of them... looking at them before he falls back. When he hits the ground we feel it move beneath us.

Andy stands, bow in one hand, an arrow pulled back... ready to fire in the other.
Antonelli's jaw is hanging open. Had it been able to move I am sure he would retract the comment he made minutes ago.

All is safe for now. We locate the Clarok from where the Bull had made his entrance. They must have realized it was worth enough to keep it hidden and away from camp. We all agree to boil these clothes before we wear them any longer. The corpses are stripped, as well as the six of us. We don our robes and the wicked stew of filthy clothing is bubbling away in the largest cook-pot we can find.

We have horses, guns, and money. We have whiskey, tequila, and even four rabbits that these guys must have killed for dinner. We will wait for Seedling, wait for sunlight, before we continue.

Thinning them out

2008-11-07T04:58:00.000-08:00

We huddle off the trail and listen to a plan that is being hatched in Lou's mind seconds before he speaks the words. He has been trained to think on his feet for moments like this, and what training hasn't provided experience fills in.
"Ollie, you and Mike get that man's body out of sight."
They are still huddled with us, listening.
"Do it now... not time to waste."
The two of them hustle off to the task.

Lou sizes up Andy for a moment. Apparently he sees what he needs to see.
"Andy, you take the rifle and man the guy's post. We need his relief to think he is still on duty."
Lou leans in to verify what I think we all have noticed. Andy stinks like a Turkish prison. In fact everyone we have encountered... Seedling, the dead at the wagon, and the outlaw Lou dispatched.
"We should have burned those clothes."
Andy's jaw stiffens. "No... no way. Just need to wash them. I'll stick it out."
"Okay. If you can bear it I guess we can too. Better head out."

There is no complaint, no trying to get out of it. He just grabs the rifle, checks the load, and heads back to the overlook. I'm half thinking that if the relief gets by Lou that Andy will kill the guy himself.

"Wow." My remark plies a knowing look from Lou.
"He has a whole other set of balls since we left the boat."

Ollie and Mike have moved the body and are now back. We all take our places. Lou runs up to the lookout, having modified his plan and needing to share it with Andy. Me and Antonelli are positioned so we can assist Lou if need be, or take the man out if Lou fails. Ollie and Mike are positioned further back on the trail that leads back to the outlaw camp in case we all fail and they have to take the rider out.

After Lou talks to Andy and then takes his hiding place, Andy grabs the bottle and his rifle, making sure the bottle is visible in his hand before lowering the brim of his hat. He looks like someone who has passed out from a little too much whiskey while fighting off the boredom of watch.

We don't have long to wait before the rider climbs out of the canyon below. He calls ahead, probably just to warn of his approach.

"Henry?" He hits the top of the trail and from our position we can see that he is one of the larger men. Maybe that huge guy that picked up our Clarok. As he continues, he keeps calling the man's name... fucking with him.
"Henry Carter... this is the law come to gitcha. Get off your lazy ass and come up fer yer hangin'."

He rides passed us and then toward Andy, who hasn't moved and is now doing a pretty good job of snoring.
"You bin sleepin' on watch?" He rides up behind Andy and dismounts. "Orlis'll skin your ass for that one." When he is in right behind Andy he seems to notice something isn't right.
"Henry?"
Lou comes up from hiding and is on him before he knows what is happening. The knife is out, Lou leaps up on the man's back just long enough to draw the knife across his throat, then jumps back to the ground. The man turns, mortally wounded but not ready to give up the ghost. He catches Lou with a wicked roundhouse punch that takes him off his feet. I am pretty sure he thought he cut the guy deep enough, but he is just too big. Now Lou is out as the guy falls like a mighty oak. Once he has hit the ground Andy springs to his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His hands shake as he pulls Lou up... who wobbles a bit but then shakes it off.

We assemble around them and pull the man's body so the head is pointing down hill, kicking the outlaw's hat to the side as well.
Andy looks a little puzzled.
"Why did we just do that?"
Ollie pulls the boots and gun belt, saying something in mother tongue.
"We need the clothes." Antonelli translates. "Not the blood."

Lou holds his jaw, moving it this way and that... wincing with the motion.
"It's not broken." He reports.
"You pussy." I make the comment seconds before a punch to my upper arm reminds me that this may not be the time.

Chris seems to be the best fit for the clothes from this recent victim. It isn't the behemoth that we watched as he rode off with out Clarok. He is still down there in the camp.

There is something inheirantly nasty about donning these clothes. It isn't because they are removed from a dead man... that, under the circumstances wouldn't be the bad part. The bad part is that these guys just stink.
"Oh... Jesus." Antonelli wretches as he puts the pants and shirt on. He starts a chain reaction and we all hold back puking up the little bit of food we have eaten. Chris holds up a hand, as if to say "hold on... I've got this". He puts the man's hat on. A little small, so he sets it more on the back of his head.

"That won't work." Lou tells him, taking the hat off his head. He still holds the knife in his hand, crimson where it had sliced into the man's arteries. He wipes it off and then cuts the band out of the inside of the hat.
"Try that."
Antonelli dons the hat and it fits better than it did.

We inventory the man's weapons. The Sharps rifle is a prize. Good for long distance sniper style shooting. The man carried two pistols and a pair of cartridge belts that crossed his massive frame. Last but not least a Bowie knife. Ollie pulls it from the sheath and looks at it for a moment, weighing the blade in his hand. Then he removes the sheath and leather tie from the body.

"Well, I guess Ollie wants the knife." I report.
Lou checks both pistols, trying the weight. He opts to keep the one he has on. Antonelli takes a pistol, me the other. Mike picks up the rifle.
"Do you boys mind if I shoot the rifle? I am a pretty good shot back home."

I look at Lou, who shrugs, "That's fine, Mike."
Andy retrieves the cartridge belt for the rifle he is holding.
"You know how to use that?" Lou asks.
"I am an expert marksman." Andy reports, back in the button up mode of the past several months.

After walking the horse away from the trail and securing it, we follow the trail back down the mountain, slowly but surely. We watch the other side of the canyon like hawks... searching for possible counterparts to the men we have dispatched. We find none. The perch where we found the look-out had a view of the approach for many miles. There must be no need to place a man on the opposite side of the canyon.

Lou's plan to wait until dark isn't going to happen. As we make our way down toward the outlaw camp we can hear a commotion. They realize that the first man we killed hasn't come back down. Two men on horseback are riding up the trail toward our position. Two more are riding up the other side of the river to where they will be able to see and communicate with the look-out. It seems like the two coming up to our position will make it before the others get to where they can yell up to the look-out. If Ollie's count was correct that leaves three in camp. One of them will be Orlis Keene, the fastest and deadliest gun in these parts.

Lou wave's Andy and Mike over.
"You two head back up to the look-out. If these guys make it passed us, then you will have to take them out. If not, then you have those two on the other side of the river. Once you hear the gunfire, you better take them. We need to thin these boys out. If you have a clean shot, then take them anyway. Better two than none."

They sit the for a second, not sure whether to go or not. This is it, time to kill. There is no second place. Andy makes a move and tows Mike out of the gathering. They head back up the trail, rifles at the ready. Lou toys with the thought of sending Antonelli back up to the look-out to pose as their man, but we can't afford to be any more outnumbered than we are.

Ahead of us, the trail comes up out of their camp, winds back around a corner, then up toward us. We watch as two of the men slowly ride up the trail, disappearing behind the corner. We can hear them talking as the ascend the canyon wall. Once they appear we will have about thirty seconds until they are on us.
"We should let them pass." I whisper to Lou, who nods. He is thinking the same thing I am. We have a better chance at surprising them from behind. We look to Antonelli who gives his acknowledgement and tells us he is going to move up the trail to give another dimension to this trap. He will wait for us to make our move, then show himself, pistol in one hand... scatter gun in the other.

Across the river we watch the other two riders head downstream to view the look-out.
They are moving faster than we would like. We don't want them in position before we are able to take out our two riders. That will give us a chance to assess the situation in camp. We are in the only spot on the trail with a limited view of the river below. It may give us a chance to take these guys without Orlis and the remaining men seeing us.

I hope that Andy and Mike don't get antsy and peel off a shot before they are ready.

Around the corner they come. A couple of mean looking bastards cussing up a storm about the fact they were rousted to come up and see what the hell is going on. They don't have their guns drawn, but one of them has his to the front left. A sure sign that he is a quick draw, especially from horseback where the trip from reigns to pistol is a split second away.

Hide and Seek

2008-10-25T07:44:00.000-07:00

We spend the remaining dark hours in a squat position, pouring over a dirt map that Seedling has drawn in on the sprawl of the river bank. It is all he knows about the area, painfully extracted by repetitive questioning. He would keep getting side-tracked, talking about the items they took, mumbling a verse of this song and that. He seems very disturbed by the robbery. It isn't until we actually ask him that we find out he knows who they are.

"Why didn't you tell us you know the bastards?" Andy says in place of the usual tisk in these instances.
"Didn't ask?"
"Are you trying to be funny?"
"Nope." Seedling stands up to face Andy, who has been pacing around. "You fella's loose your hard earned valuables in that there robbery? I been working the soil for months for that gold."

"You had gold?" Mike asks, just slightly behind the curve on this one.
Seedling looks at him like he might be holding a spear and have a bone through his nose. He turns his attention back to the map.
"Them boys are the Keene gang. Orlis Keene, he was the one that stole my keep."
Lou stands and shakes his legs out.
"You know this Orlis Keene?"
"Only knew of him until last summer. Looks a little like you, Louis." Seedling stands and kicks the soil at his feet. "Saw him and his gang rough up the Trading Post, killed two fellas right out in the street."
Seedling is silent for a beat or two, remembering the carnage.

"This guy is a gunslinger?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"The worst... the best." Seedling corrects himself and then explains, "Worst temper, quick and deadly on the trigger."

"Oh... GREAT." Andy seems to have cured himself if the tisks. Haven't heard one for a while now.
"So this guy is like Jesse James or something like that?" Mike asks with a wonder only he can have in moments like these.
"Don't rightly know this James fella. He run in Arizona Territory?"

Lou puts a hand on Seed's shoulder, "This Orlis, he is a fast draw?"
Seedling turns and looks him right in the eyes. Lou finally sees a little clarity in the man's face.
"Orlis Keene is the fastest, most deadly gunfighter they have seen in these parts." He averts his eyes, "He don't care who he kills... woman, little ones, don't matter to that devil."

We watch as Seedling traces possibilities in the soil of directions they went, areas that might serve as hiding places, and their relationship to our original destination of the trading post.
"What's over here?" Lou is off the map to our east.
"That there is the Salt River Canyon, Rio Salinas. There are spots up in there where you could hide a herd of buffalo."
"Then we head that way."

They took Seeds coffee along with his saddle bags. Luckily he had made a full pot before all this occurred. It seems like an hour before we have enough light to move out. It was enough time to drink the hearty pot and boost our energy.

The trail is easy enough to follow. Who, after all, is wants to track a lion back to its den. We all start out in a group, but as the sun climbs we spread out. Lou has taken point. Ollie walks with him, both of them in silence. Apparently Ollie has a tracking talent that had gone unnoticed until now. Every once in a while one of them or the other would take a knee, pointing out broken plant life, the depth of tracks, a pile of horse shit. Lou did everything but take a bite. But with this examination he says he can tell where the horse had been... meadow or sage covered desert.

At one point the trail branches off. Lou points out that two of the gang broke off and head North. There is a ridge that starts maybe five miles off. We surmise that they sent scouts up that ridge to watch for pursuers. It is at this point that we begin to scan the ridges and the path ahead with renewed interest.

"Jesus... where the hell is Seedling?" Lou looks back behind the group.
Seed seems to be in no hurry, not wanting to tax ole' Bess in the compounding heat.
"Come ON, Seedling."
Pretty soon we hear some little song or piece of conversation and there he comes around the bend. He looks at us for a second as though he has never seen us before, and then there is a flash of recognition and he gives a little wave.

"We can't be waiting on this guy all FUCKING day." Andy stands with his hands on his hips.
"What happened to you when we tripped back here with the Clarok? You find your bad-ass in that flash, or what?" Lou asks him, giving him a little shove.
"I just want to get back to the boat. Get our thing back, do what we have to do and get back to our time... that boat." He holds his brow for a moment then puts his hand back on his hip. "I can't believe any of this."

Seed finally catches up. "What? You boys already tired? Well... we can make camp and have a little... "
"CAMP?" Andy is going to pop a blood vessel.

"No, Seed, no camp. We don't camp when it is still morning. What I was going to suggest is that you take your time. We are going to forge ahead and see where these guys went. When we find them you won't want to be there anyway."

"Oh... you'd like that there, wouldn't ya, never'd see ya after that one, eh?"
Lou takes a deep breath and looks up at the sky for a moment.
"Seedling, if you don't stop with this SHIT I'll kill you right where you stand. We don't care about your crap. We need the Clarok. That is all we care about."

Seed looks at each of us for a moment. "There's another of you fella's?"
Lou puts a hand on each of Seedling's shoulders and makes sure they are looking eye to eye.
"You are going to keep walking, follow our trail. We are going to walk on ahead and see where these guys went. If there is any danger, I will make sure one of us is there to let you know."
Lou watches Seedling's eyes and sees them drift back over his shoulder. Lou shakes him. "SEEDLING... are you listening to me?"
"Probably just make your way over to that smoke in the canyon."

We all turn slowly and see the ribbon of smoke. It is coming from somewhere in the canyon miles ahead of us. A fire that can pinpoint your position is one only a fool would start. Either a fool or someone that fears no one; Indian, outlaw, or Cavalry.
I wish we were dealing with a fool.

The canyon walls start to climb around us as we wind our way up river. Lou decides we had better take the high ground. If we get caught in the canyon we will have no where to run. We convince Seedling to make camp and wait for our signal... three rifle shots in quick succession.
"You ain't got no rifle." He says suspiciously.
"If we succeed we will." Lou tells him.
"Well... make sure ya do." He pauses, looking Lou in the eye. "You might need this."
He pulls what used to be a hunting knife from a pocket on the side of his britches above the knee. The blade has been sharpened down over the years until all that exists is no more than an awl with a hell of an edge on it.
Lou takes the blade and runs it up his arm. It shaves a spot where it meets the flesh.
"That will do."
"I wannit back."
"Just make camp... and make the best of it. We should be back for you tonight."
"Tonight?"
"With their numbers I don't want to chance taking them all on at once. Better to thin them out in the dark."

Seedling watches as we start up the canyon wall.
"Don't go gun to gun with Orlis. He kill ya sure as there's flour in biscuits."
Lou looks back at him as he puts his arm around ole' Bess' neck.
"Don't be so sure, Seed. We'll be back for you."

It seems well passed noon before we make the top of the canyon, winding our way toward the smoke in the distance. Lou is on point, waving us on or stopping us when he feels we might be in danger. He is certain that we will find a couple of men,at least one, up here keeping watch on the trail below. It's a good thing we are on the look-out. Before long, Ollie throws a hand up and then motions us to the ground just as quickly. Lou sidles up next to him and Ollie points to a man in the rocks up ahead. He is perched on a look-out that oversees the canyon and the scrub trail we are following on the ridge. I crawl up between them.

"You going to take him?"
Lou looks at the man and his surroundings.
"I was hoping to pick them off in the dark."
"Well... this guy is off by himself. Why don't we start with him?"
In the silence that follows, we see the man take a swig off a bottle.
"Yeah... take him now." Lou looks at the approach.

The man is perched on an overlook maybe five feet above our trail and the ridge. To his back the canyon wall continues up maybe six feet and then crests. There is no way to take him without climbing up behind him.

Lou pulls the knife that Seedling gave him and gives it a quick look. The five of us back off and get into hiding as best we can as we watch Lou scramble up the rocks to our left. Within minutes he is above the man on watch. Even though the man has tossed that bottle back he is alert enough to see the shadows cast from the ridge above him.

As Lou jumps the man turns. He is holding a rifle in the one hand, the whiskey in the other. Nothing but suprise in his eyes as Lou drops in from above. The bottle drops as Lou jabs the tips of his fingers on his left hand into the man's windpipe. His right hand thrusts several times just below his rib cage. It all happens in the time it would take to pull change out of your pocket.

He lowers the man to the ground and immediately begins to remove the clothing, trying to keep the blood off of it. The five of us move up to his position in silence. As Lou removes the clothing from the man, Andy is already out of his dress. He puts on each piece of clothing as soon as Lou has it free of the man. He opts not to don the man's underclothing.

Lou stands, holding the dead man's gun belt and pistol. He fastens the belt around his waist and draws the weapon. A tick of a smile comes across his face. He buries it in the holster.

It is early afternoon. We have a rifle, the shotgun, a pistol, and ammunition. Even though we only have the two rounds in the shotgun, the rounds we have in reserve for the other two weapons make up for it. We back off the ridge and gather to look at our new inventory. Andy even finds some hard candy in the pockets of the vest the man was wearing. He hands us each a piece.

Ollie goes on ahead to survey the situation. Andy is all smiles, tugging the sleeves of the new shirt. There are three bloody holes in the chest of the garment but that doesn't seem to matter. It is gender correct and that is all he cares about right now.

There is a canteen with water, and of course the whiskey. Lou takes a couple of slugs to take the edge of this latest fatality. He passes it to me and I take a pull.
"What now?"
Almost on cue Ollie scrambles back over the hill and gives a quick report to Lou. Antonelli listens, then translates.
"The whole gang is over the next rise and down in the canyon. He counted eight of them."
"Eight? Including this guy here?" I point to the semi-nude body face down in the scrub. Antonelli asks the question.
"No... eight more."

Lou goes with him to recon the situation. When he returns he hustles us off of the trail a ways. "There is a guy riding up from the camp toward us. Probably this guy's relief."

"Well that's perfect then, we can take him the same way."
"Maybe so, but they're going to start missing these guys just the same."
He looks at the five of us.
"Let's just hope this next guy is packing the same firepower."

Shadows

2008-10-17T10:06:00.000-07:00

Don't really know what time it is. Late afternoon, I suspect. It has been about an hour since we left Rio Salinas behind and took up on the bank of the Rio Verde. The going is easy as we amble our way up toward the safety of Fort McDowell.

No one is talking all that much, except Seedling... who hasn't stopped talking since we came upon him. He is a constant flow of questions, answers, songs, and poems. None of them make too much sense. He seems content with the monologue. I get the feeling it's the same banter you would get from a bag lady or a man in an overcoat with a foil hat.

"We'd be there by now if we weren't waiting on this guy." Antonelli leads his mount along the shore as he gestures toward Seedling.
"Yeah, but at least he knows where he is going." I tell him.
"He said the river goes right by the Fort. What is there to know?"
"Pretty much everything, I guess." Lou adds as he walks up between us, the scattergun resting in the crook of his arm. "We gotta watch where we step. Our footprints don't belong here."

We pick through the rocky shore for several hours until we get to a bend in the river. There is a natural camp of sorts here where the river turns. It looks as though it is a regular stop on the road so to speak. Seedling stops in his tracks and takes a long stretch.
"Well, s'pose we ought to make camp, eh?" He gives ole' Bess a pat on the nose, as though it is just the two of them and the rest of us are just other voices in his head.

"Make camp?" Andy looks at his arm where his watch had been, then up at the sky for a beat. "It's still light out, for Christ sake."
"Only a fool waits for dark to set camp in these parts. Libel to set your bedroll on rattler or worse."

"Is he kidding?" Andy pulls on his dress where is has ridden up. "Bedroll? We don't even have clothes, or food. Spending any more time out here than we have to is
a stupid waste of time."

Seedling is unloading ole' Bess. Frying pan, bedroll, a banjo with no strings, a couple of flour sacks that he takes particular care that they don't end up in the dirt. He grabs a leather strapped canvas bag, like one you might find in a bank. He can't help but look over his shoulder at us for a moment, a suspicious squint in his eye. When he realizes we are all looking at him he turns sharply back to his business, leaving the canvas bag and grabbing some other junk he has strapped to the old donkey.

"You don't have to worry about us." I tell him. "We don't want your money."
He turns quickly, "Ain't gone none no how."
"Got any coffee?" Lou asks, resting his hands on his hips.
"Now that I got."

With Andy's objections voiced for most of us, still echoing off of the slight canyon we sit in, a fire is made and like moths to a flame we all find ourselves gathered around it in the waining light of day.

Sundown this time of year must be around seven or so. Before the coffee is done brewing we see the sunset. No one is talking much, except Seedling, who seems to carry on a constant conversation with Bess, taking his cue off of the flick of an ear or slap of a tail.
Each of us is involved in our own inner dialogue... questioning what has happened to us, what we are doing here, and how we will get back. Lou and I had a short discussion about Seedling. A miner... obviously, and we were in need of gold. Could it be this easy.

When the smell of coffee is thick in the air it is finished. Seed produces two metal cups, both of them patched in spots and filthy as hell.
"Don't you wash these?" Andy asks as Seed hands him one of the cups.
"Oooo, Fancy pants wants his cup washed." He slaps Andy on the back, "You ain't in the Ritz, fella. Take the first splash and swirl it around in there. That'll kill anything you're afraid of."

Seedling fills his cup, not about to wash it out, then splashes some in Andy's. Andy rolls his eyes and swirls the brew and then splashes it at Seedling's feet.
"Careful now, don't want you washin' off any of the stains on my boots."
He pours the cup full.
"You take your sip and pass it on." Seedling sits on a rock near the fire and rocks side to side for a moment until he finds a comfortable spot. He holds the brew between his leathered hands, not wasting the heat. When the cup passes to me I try the same, but it is way too hot.

The cup passes to Lou and he walks over to Seedling and squats down beside him.
"Tell me, Seed, where did you come from?"
"Born out Missouri way, north of Hannibal a spell. Come out by wagon two years past. Lost my brother to consumption just after we started working the... "
He stops and looks right at Lou, as though he has tried to part him with a family secret.
"Now I don't believe I'll take to all these questions." He stands, "You folks are the ones that should be answering questions."
"Seedling, you know our story." Lou tells him.
"Story... that's all it is. You ain't no priests. Not the way you all carry on, cussing up a storm. Specially that one in the dress. Mouth like a Teamster."

I can hear Andy tisk from the other side of the fire.

Lou takes the scattergun and rests it on Seedling's shoulder, which has an immediate calming effect... and an even better quieting effect.
"Where did you come from?"
"This is it, huh... you gonna rob me now?"
"No, goddamnit, we aren't going to rob you. We just need to know where you came from. Where do you work your claim."

Seedling pauses for a moment. You can almost hear the rusty wheels turning in his brain as he decides.
"Back down south a spell. No wheres you folks would know."
"Well, I tell you what." Lou grabs him by the collar and lifts him gently. "Let's take a look in that bag of yours."
Seed struggles a bit... coffee cup hits the ground.
"Now you done it."
Lou snaps him up a little harder.
"Okay, okay... don't get jumpy now. We can take a looksee."

Lou guides him over to Bess, who has been standing peacefully at the firelight's edge. Seedling opens the bank bag and peers in, "Can't see much. Best wait till daylight."
"I don't need to see anything. Just grab a some of it and hold it up."
"So you can snatch it?"
"Seed, I could have blown your head off and had the whole lot and the donkey too."

He pauses for a moment and then reaches in, pulling up a small cloth bag.
Lou turns his arm to the bag and I understand.
"Jake... come here."
I walk over and grab the gun from him.
"No, not that, just... do you feel anything?"
I present my chipped arm and try to discern any difference. "Nothing"
"Me neither."

"You fellars are a might queer. You ain't no thieves, I'll give you that."
Seedling replaces his gold and closes the bank bag. "Mind if we go back and finish our coffee."

We sit by the fire for a while longer. Seedling sings a little song to himself about trains, trying to lighten things up a bit. He sips his refilled cup of the black coffee. It is an aquired taste for our twenty-first century pallets. Once you are passed the bitterness and the grounds in every sip, the aftertaste reminds you that you are drinking coffee.

Lou starts in a quiet conversation with Ollie. Antonelli joins in for a moment and is sucked into the conversation. This leaves me, Andy, and Mike with Seedling. He rifles through one of the canvas sacks in the dirt and comes up with something wrapped in brown paper.
"Don't have quite enough for a belly full for each of ya, but enough to take the edge off."
He passes out a little slab to each of us, then stands and walks over to Lou and them and hands them each a piece.

I give it a sniff. It smells like something you might loose in the corner of your pocket for a week or two and then find it again. It is hard, smells a little smokey, and I assume it is meat.
"Buffalo jerky... never git tired of it." Seedling puts a corner of it in his mouth and starts sucking on it. "Once you soften her up it makes fir a mighty long chew."

There is marked silence as we all partake in the jerky. It is completely dark outside of the glow of the campfire. The horses are tied up to some scrub at the water's edge. There seems to be a lot of commotion. Rather than loose them to panick over a coyote or something, Lou and I take the shotgun and walk that way.

"Easy now... " Lou puts a hand out in the dark and finds the withers of one of the mounts. I do the same and find a muzzle for a moment, then some reigns which I hold steady. Just then there are splashes in the water up river from us. We watch from the darkness as seven riders make there way into camp.

"Uh oh." Lou whispers, hiding in the darkness beyond the horses. I join him and we both watch.

The riders don't dismount. They pound into camp, guns drawn. The boys freeze where they are. Seedling stands, hands up... more in the way of welcome than surrender. I can hear pistols cock, a shotgun is brandished and pointed at Seedling. The boys stand, each of them paired off with an appropriate firearm being held on them from horseback. The outlaw on Seedling gets off his horse and proceeds to rob our man of his bank bag and two pistols that ole' Bess had been hiding for him.

Mike looks our way more than once, awaiting rescue I can only presume. There are too many of them for a double barrel shotgun. Better they think there are only five. Mike's constant peering into the darkness at us doesn't go unnoticed. One of the men starts toward our position. We step out into the river and lay on our bellys.

"Found three good horses." The man calls out, jumping down off of his mount to gather the reigns of our three horses. He hops back in the saddle and leads the horses back to camp.

We can hear Seedling pleading with them not to take Bess. They don't. But they take pretty much everything else. As an after thought on their way out they spot the pile of robes.

"Hold it."
The gang slow their horses, then stop.
"What do we have here?"
One of the men dismounts and yanks the robes out of the Clarok. As he uncovers it, Ollie makes a move and catches a rifle butt to the side of the head, knocking him to his knees.

"Looks like a fancy bowl of some kind."
In the dark it doesn't look like much. I am hoping that when they try to lift it they will leave it behind.

"Ox, get over here."
A huge man in a duster rides back from the departing gang and dismounts, gathers up the Clarok, and they all ride off up river.

"Oh SHIT. GODDAMN FUCKING LUCK ANYWAY." Andy is in rare form tonight.

We rejoin the camp, wet and cold. After explaining the strategy of keeping ourselves hidden, we field a flurry of questions from the boys. How, where, when, they all depend on first light and our ability to track.