Deep Trouble (16 page)

“What?” Tyra charged the man and grabbed his arm. “What’s your business with Doba Kinlichee?”

He turned and she saw, up close, the man looked as tired as she, her pa, and Abe did. Bloodshot eyes. Bristly beard stubble. He smelled to high heaven, too. As she was sure she did. But his eyes flashed with smarts, and he had the squarest jaw and the straightest nose she’d ever seen.

He stared at her for much too long. Then his eyes rose and went past her. “You’re looking for the Kinlichee fellow?”

“Yes,” Tyra said.

“We are,” her pa said.

Buck responded to her pa. “I got a telegraph saying my… my…” He stumbled over the next words, glanced at Tyra, then said, “A young lady named Shannon Dysart was in danger, and she was staying at a settlement north of Flagstaff. She said the place was owned by a man named Doba Kinlichee.”

My what?
Tyra wondered.

Abe came up beside Tyra on the left. “We’re heading out there tomorrow. I’m Abe Lasley.” He extended his hand. “My brother, Gabe, said there was trouble. He mentioned someone tried to kill a young woman and, well, he didn’t say a lot, but I didn’t like the sound of it. We decided to ride up here and help him get shut of whatever trouble was doggin’ him and get him back home.”

Pa appeared on Tyra’s right. A glance told her he was taking the young man’s measure and Buck was coming up short.

His clothes weren’t right for the West. They weren’t wrong, just too new, despite the stains. His Stetson was bent wrong. Most cowpokes broke theirs in with living, tugs and twists that shaped a hat until it shaded the eyes and protected the backs of their necks from the sun and rain. His broadcloth pants were pure black, not faded one bit. His boots, well, Tyra knew boots, and these were expensive ones, but they had barely a scuff on them.

He wore no six-gun, and she saw dried blood on his hands, right where hands would bleed if a man without calluses rode long and hard on horseback. He had a black vest on and a white shirt that had turned almost pure brown with dirt. And the real reason she knew he was a city boy—he didn’t wear any of this comfortably. Somehow it seemed as if he had on a costume. Which meant her pa was right now pegging him for a greenhorn, and there was nothing Pa enjoyed more than tormenting a city boy who was trying to find his way in the West.

Tyra had an almost uncontrollable urge to protect the man. She could size up a man, too, and though he might have a soft city look about him, his eyes were clear and direct. Nothing sly or dishonest about him. “You can ride out there with us.” Tyra felt Pa’s hand land heavy on her shoulder and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. But it was too late now.

My what?
she wondered again.

“I’m Tyra Morgan.” She extended her hand, feeling a bit foolish because she didn’t shake hands often.

The man reached up and shook with such ease she knew even more he was used to city ways. “Buck Shaw.” He held her hand just a second too long then released her and turned to her father, his hand still out. “I would be grateful for any information you could give me about Shannon.”

Buck Shaw. Sounded western. Sounded tough. Maybe he’d toughen up to match his name with just a little help.

“I’m Lucas Morgan.” Pa shook, possibly squeezing a bit too hard, but Buck didn’t flinch. “Gabe didn’t say a name, just called her a young woman.” Then Pa looked at the hotelier. “Any chance you’ve still got some food in the kitchen? Even a loaf of bread, some cold meat. We could make our own sandwiches.”

“Got plenty left from supper. I’ll bring something out. Come in the dining room and sit a spell while I get you fixed up.” The man rounded the counter and hurried through double swinging doors that must lead into the dining room.

“We can sort this out, young fella. If your Shannon is with Gabe, then she’s in good hands. But we aim to find Gabe and fetch him home.” Pa looked at the men surrounding Mr. Shaw. “Looks like you brought some help with you.”

The men all nodded, quiet men that Tyra couldn’t quite judge.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Morgan. I’ll be grateful for any information you could share about Shannon’s whereabouts. And if she’s with your brother”—Buck turned to Abe—”from the sound of your telegraph, it sounds like he’s watching out for her. We’d like to join up with you and help with the hunt for both of them.”

“So who is Shannon, and how’d she end up with Gabe?” Tyra asked, dying of curiosity. Dying to ask,
“My what?”

“This is men talk, Ty.” Pa never took his hand off Tyra’s shoulder as he guided her through the doors. “You sit there and keep quiet.” They were just a step ahead of everyone else, but Pa wasn’t one to care if he was overheard when he had an opinion to give or an order to be issued.

The dining room was nice, full of rectangular tables of various sizes. Pa aimed toward a big one that would seat eight if they pulled it out from the wall, which Pa did. The nine of them crowded around.

Pa urged her into a chair near the wall and took the one to her left so no one could sit by her. Abe sat around the corner at the foot of the table so she had someone on each side, as if she were under guard.

Buck Shaw sat straight across from her. He had none of the wrinkles around his eyes a man got squinting into the sun for his whole life.

She wondered why he’d come here and just what this Shannon Dysart was to him. Not a sister, because they had different names—unlikely a woman wandering the West alone would be married. But family maybe. He’d said, “My…” then changed to “a young woman.”

Tyra was left mulling just exactly,
My what?

T
hat’s the rock formation.” Shannon jabbed a finger at the oddly shaped outcropping. It had a pile of stones at its base that could not have occurred naturally.

The world seemed to stop past that odd-shaped parapet and the small pyramid of fist-sized rocks as Shannon rode toward it. The rocks had been scattered and toppled a bit, but they were still a clear stack, and they didn’t belong there. No place for them to have fallen from. “My father said he left a cairn of stones just like that.” She spurred her horse, its shadow cast long in front of her with the rising sun at her back.

“Cairn?” Gabe asked. “What’s ‘at mean?”

“Uh, stack.”

“Why didn’t he just say stack then? Why didn’t he just—” Gabe sucked in a breath that sounded like part of the wind.

The world fell away at Shannon’s feet, and she jerked back on the reins so hard her horse reared and fought the bit. A gasp escaped even as her throat swelled shut. She swung down off her horse, only distantly noticing the others coming up beside her and Gabe. From each, a gasp to match hers and Gabe’s was the only sound… save the wind.

She wondered if every person who ever rode up to this place made exactly the same sound. Very possible because there were no words sufficient to express it.

She was only distantly aware of her companions dismounting in complete silence, absorbing the beauty of the canyon that opened before them. Time crept by, but there would never be enough time to absorb something this magnificent.

“The Grand Canyon,” Hozho spoke quietly, reverently. Her voice was too small to truly invade the silence.

More time elapsed as they stood, five in a row, their horses behind them. They breathed in the extravagant splendor, the impossible depth and breadth of what lay before them.

Finally, the vastness of it forced Shannon to speak, though it felt like sacrilege. “How can we ever find anything down there?”

“There’s nothing to find, Shannon.” Gabe, on her right, reached over and took her hand. “Surely you can see that this is a wild place. Too rugged. Who would go down there? There’s no city to be found. And who would build a city of gold in there? Gold would be a pale insult in the midst of that.”

She heard pity in his voice. That broke through what was a blissful moment. She had to almost physically tear her eyes away from the depths and rock sculptures, the towers and the layers of color: reds, browns, grays, whites, and blues. Impossibly majestic.

“Don’t you see, Gabe?” Their eyes met. “Of course it’s down there. This city
has
to be remote. It
has
to be hidden or it would have been found by now.”

“You have to give it up, Shannon.” His words weren’t so much bossy as they were a plea to her.

She remembered his arms around her. Remembered how close they’d come to being married.

Remembered Bucky.

“If you want to walk on streets of gold, you’re going to need to do it in the next life. God has a different kind of treasure for you to seek on earth. Treasures of love and forgiveness and faithfulness. Treasures of marriage and family and home.”

“If I was one of those bishops looking for a place to hide and protect sacred objects”—she looked back at the terrifying wildness, the staggering beauty—”I would know the moment I saw this canyon that I’d found the perfect place.”

Gabe shook his head. “I see no trail. This can’t be where your father’s map leads.”

“Give me a few more minutes to look at that”—her hand swept wide to encompass what lay before them—”then I’ll find the place where we can descend.”

He nodded but didn’t speak. He clearly doubted her, but she could see that he would stick. He had committed to this search, although with the snippy notion that he was on a fool’s errand and his main job would be to dry her tears. He had no hope of finding what Shannon knew her father had discovered. It hurt that he doubted her. But along with the hurt was pleasure that he was willing to help.

She thought of her father. Her thoughts were too much with him, she knew. Her mother had so many times begged Shannon to let go of Delmer Dysart’s obsession and get on with a more conventional life. It was right now, as they stood on the edge of eternity, that she finally, truly saw why she was out here.

She’d been rejected by her father all her life, coming in a poor second to his work.

At the sight of this Grand Canyon, she felt that maybe her father had picked something worthy over his daughter. If his work had meaning—if it had profound historical value—then maybe it was all right that he’d had no time for her.

As she looked down into the canyon, she understood how a person could become obsessed with something this magnificent to the detriment of his wife and child. But somehow that didn’t comfort her one bit.

She had to admit that she’d come in second to a wonderful thing, but nothing should be more wonderful than love, than a child. Just as Gabe said, the treasure is marriage and family and home. However worthy this effort, she was still unimportant in her father’s eyes.

She finally grasped the truth, and it was a terrible thing. She almost told Gabe they could go. There was nothing for her to prove anymore. But she didn’t say the words that would set her on a path to a calm, peaceful life in St. Louis.

And not because of her father or treasure or pride. She stayed silent because the canyon called to her.

“I want to go down there.” She turned to Gabe. “Don’t you? How can you not want to descend into that wild land?” And while she became part of this canyon, she would do her best, whether she found a city of gold or not, to let go of her last questions about her father and his poor love.

“Get your map out.” Gabe drew in a deep breath as if he could absorb that view into his lungs. “Let’s see if we can find a way down. “

Shannon looked at him, grateful for his generous willingness to stay with her. She was surprised to see a smile. “You’re looking forward to it. You want to go down there.”

“I find that I do indeed.” Gabe looked to the others. “I firmly believe that we’ll find no gold, but I would love to climb down there if Shannon can show us the way. Are we ready?”

“Yes,” Hosteen said in reverent tones. “If we can find a path, we’ll go.”

Hozho nodded, still silent.

Shannon was amazed at the Tsosis’s fascination with the canyon and the parson’s rapt wonder. Parson Ford didn’t even comment about how long and hard the ride was bound to be.

Shannon approached the cairn, praying silently that her translation of her father’s notes had been true. They’d led her here, hadn’t they? She reached the stones, knelt, and began removing the stack.

Gabe was on his knees beside her helping without her needing to ask.

It took only minutes to uncover a ragged cloth. Years old.

Carefully Shannon unfolded the packet to find oilcloth inside. The oilcloth gave way to papers. More of Father’s code, but Shannon knew what she was looking for now, and she smiled. “There is a way down.” She studied the cryptic images and numbers, the mathematical equations and scientific abbreviations. It all made sense. “There.” She pointed to a spot not that far from them, an impossible spot to Shannon’s eyes. But whatever Professor Delmar Dysart’s failings as a father, he’d been a brilliant historian and scientist.

Gabe walked to the spot and looked over the edge. He turned back, his face pulled into lines of doubt. “Maybe, if we’re very careful. We can tie ropes. We can—”

“My father said a horse can make it down.” Shannon looked again and couldn’t doubt what she read. “He says there’s a herd of wild mustangs that go over the rim there. That’s how he found the trail. And his own horse went right down after them.”

She saw Gabe’s throat move as he swallowed hard.

“Down that… trail?” the parson squeaked. “On horseback?”

Shannon knew how he felt. And she liked her horse.

“What do you think, Hosteen?” Gabe asked.

The elderly Indian shrugged. “These are mountain- and desert-bred animals. They can go where a wild mustang goes.” He turned to Shannon. “We’ll trust our animals. If they’ll step off that ledge, they’ll be following a scent and a trail we can’t see. If they refuse to go down, we’ll accept that and find a place to fence them in with some grass and climb down.”

There was no point arguing with what was eminently sensible. “Agreed.” She stood, her father’s map in her hands. She’d told no one, but what she’d had in her possession up until she’d moved those stones had only brought her this far. If the map hadn’t been there, they’d have had to turn back. Her father had talked to her, told her things, and she’d written it all down word for word. But all his notes and encoded maps had led her here and no farther.

Eager to go on, she let the view catch her once again. It was impossibly lovely. Impossible period. Nothing so grand could exist. The canyon seemed to be a place of miracles. The kind of place that was vast enough and miraculous enough to lure a group of priests into its depths then enfold them, surround those noble men and keep their golden secret for seven hundred years.

Finally shaking off the grip the stunning view had on her, she swung up onto her horse.

“I’ll go first.” Hozho headed for the rim. “My horse is as surefooted as a mountain goat.”

The elderly woman walked straight for the invisible trail, riding strictly on the word of a man the world considered delusional. And she went over and sank quickly out of sight. A sigh halfway between wonder and panic escaped Shannon’s lips as Hosteen went next and vanished after his wife.

Parson Ford didn’t move. He looked to the heavens, and his lips moved in obvious prayer. When he finished, he and Gabe both turned to her.

“You’re next, Shannon. Then the parson.”

“No, I’ll go.” The parson’s throat worked as he forced himself to swallow. “Putting it off will only make it worse.”

Gabe smiled. “Fine. Then Shannon. I’ll bring up the rear.”

With trembling hands, the parson guided his horse after Hosteen, and the horse went willingly.

Gabe met Shannon’s eyes and gestured to the canyon rim. “Give your pinto her head.”

Her mare went as calmly as if she walked off the edge of the world every day.

Majesty.

It was the only word that came close to doing the canyon justice, but it didn’t begin to go far enough. Gabe wouldn’t have turned back for anything. If Shannon suddenly came to her senses and saw the futility of this treasure hunt, he’d still take the ride.

He’d never had anything touch his soul like this except for God. Gabe went over the edge and knew God was part of this, which made the canyon a holy place. A place of majesty.

There were sounds. His horse’s bridle jingled. Soft thuds of slow-moving hooves. The wind brushed across the vastness, humming, singing. But all of it was too small. The tiny sounds somehow just drew attention to the hush. Nothing was big enough to overcome the extravagant majesty and immense silence of the canyon.

Hozho fearlessly descended. Hosteen stayed right on her tail.

The path wrenched Gabe’s stomach, but he never for a moment considered not following it. His chestnut picked toeholds Gabe never would have called a trail.

Shannon just ahead of him never moved, sitting rigidly on her mare’s back. She looked as if she was terrified to make a wrong move and upset her horse’s balance. Not an irrational fear at all.

They were a row of ants crawling down, down, down. Their presence was a violation of this place, as if they were ripping aside the veil of the holy of holies. This descent into the canyon called for humility and prayer.

Gabe felt small, insignificant, and closer to God than he ever had. He had a strong sense that God approved of a man realizing there was a lot that was greater than he was. He hoped God was with them on this journey, because they had never needed holy protection more.

The worst of the descent ended, though the trail was a terror. Vivid red rock was laid out like stair steps—only much less regular and far narrower. No one ever would have thought of this as a way into the canyon, and he suspected that included Professor Dysart if he hadn’t seen a band of mustangs go down here.