Deep Trouble (17 page)

The drop was fast, hundreds of feet every few minutes. And so much farther to go. Gabe said a quiet prayer of thanks for his horse. He hated the thought of climbing down this rock wall on foot.

The view drew him from his fretting. The countless towers of red stone erupting out of the ground. The rising sun casting shadows into the deep that made parts of the canyon seem bottomless. Maybe they were. Everything striped as if layer after layer of rock, each a different kind and color, had piled up or worn away or both.

Minutes stretched to hours, and still they went down and down and down. All of them remained silent, the soft clop of hooves and the gusting of the wind seemed more a part of the quiet than an intrusion into it. They all trusted their horses to pick out a trail.

Gabe noticed that Shannon never consulted her new map. Maybe she was afraid unfolding paper would knock her horse off a cliff. There was nowhere to leave this trail anyway. It would serve no purpose to look at the map.

When Gabe thought of ascending this on their way out, his stomach quailed so violently he turned to let the view draw him in again. A golden eagle soared past, screaming in the wind, playing on the currents. Gabe felt as if he were part of the flight, part of the sky.

He saw God in these terrifying, staggering cliffs in a way he never had before. And he felt closer to his heavenly Father in a new and blessed way until every step his horse took was a kind of worship.

The canyon wall curved out and then back, in constant tortuous switchbacks. As Gabe rounded the rock wall, it was so steep he could have reached straight out with his right hand and brushed the rock. That kept his attention until he was all the way around the latest buttress of stone, and then he was stunned into a deeper kind of silence as the river appeared far, far below.

The bright blue of the Colorado River twisted like the grand-daddy of all rattlesnakes in the far depths of the canyon. The sun had risen now, and it cast the river in a vivid blue that made the red rock even brighter. The vibrant colors, the impossible rock formations—all of it kept Gabe’s mind firmly off this mad slide into the belly of the earth.

A slightly less treacherous stretch of the trail opened up before them. A grassy slope crept around boulders.

“Hoof prints.” The parson looked over his shoulder at Gabe and pointed to the ground.

Gabe had noticed, too. The trail was clearly worn and obviously well used by what must be a herd of wild horses. Amazing.

“That’s a deer track,” Hosteen said, pointing to the side of the trail. “I wondered if we’d find food. If there are deer, there will be smaller game, too. We’ll be fine.”

The cliff overhead jutted out so far it turned nearly to a cave. Suddenly Hozho stopped and stared at the rock wall beside her. The trail wasn’t wide enough for even two of them to stand abreast, but they closed the gap between them, Hozho, Hosteen, Parson Ford, Shannon, and Gabe, as Hozho pointed at the wall.

“There have been people here before us.” Hozho looked over her shoulder at Shannon. “Maybe your priests did come this way.”

Gabe was close enough now to see pictures on the wall. Definitely man-made. One image might have been a lizard of some kind. It was such a primitive picture he couldn’t tell. He could identify a stick figure of a man. They sat on horseback and stared, and Gabe had the wild notion to stay down here forever, exploring these depths, maybe finding people here living in a city of gold. Just because they’d been lost for seven hundred years didn’t mean they were dead. “Can whoever drew this still be down here?” Gabe asked.

“Very old,” Hozho said. “But maybe there
are
people down here.” She pointed at an odd broken line. “This is a symbol favored by my people.”

They stared again. Gabe was barely aware of the passing of time. His senses needed to absorb it all.

“Look at this, Gabe, everyone.” Shannon’s excited voice pulled him out of almost dreamlike pleasure at the canyon and the way it stretched miles and miles, until it seemed endless.

He turned to see Shannon with her papers out. The ones she’d pulled out of that pile of stones stacked at the rim of the canyon.

“My father says we’re to turn off rather than go all the way to the river.” Shannon pointed at a pure white outcropping of rock ahead, jarring in the midst of red and gray. “He said we’ll see a white rock formation that looks like a twenty-foot-tall seashell.”

Gabe hadn’t seen a lot of seashells in his life, but Shannon held out her papers and there, sketched in a fine hand, was a picture that could only be the fan-shaped rock they now approached.

“The river isn’t that much farther,” Hozho said. “The wild horses went on down, but there is a second trail in the direction your father’s map points. We need to go water the horses before we begin walking along the side of the canyon wall. The trail to the river is clear at this point, and the edges of the riverbank are low. We might not find water so easily later.”

“There must be a spring feeding this grass.” Gabe looked at the little oasis of life in this stony place.

“We can search here if you want,” Hozho said. “But it will take time. Faster to go to the river for water, then come back and follow the new trail.

They headed on down, but when they got low enough, they found a drop-off to the river that was insurmountable. But their own horses, given their heads, walked around boulders taller than a man on horseback and found a spring filling a little pond no bigger than a water trough that spilled into the river in a beautiful fall. The horses drank their fill as did the people. They ate a quick lunch. The parson grumbled when Shannon eagerly urged everyone to move, but he followed everyone else and mounted up. They headed back to the shell stone.

“How far are we going?” Gabe asked.

“I can’t tell from what notes Father has left.” Shannon looked at the white stone. “He only gives landmarks, places to turn, not distances.”

“And he says in that note, clearly, that he found a city of gold down here?” Gabe began to think he might well be on the trail of treasure. The professor’s notes so far had proven true.

“He says the treasure is here. It’s all very terse and in code. He wrote the word ‘Cibola’ clearly, though. He’s seen it with his own eyes.”

“Cibola?” Hozho had turned her horse to follow Shannon’s trail but paused at Shannon’s words. “What is Cibola?”

“Coronado was an explorer who followed a man, a Pueblo Indian some say, who swore he lived in a city of gold. He called that city Quivera. Coronado never found that city, but others said the Indian purposefully led Coronado astray. His people feared the Spanish and wanted Coronado far away. More exploration took place in this area, but nothing was ever found. There was a legend about seven cities of gold. Some called them the Seven Cities of Cibola. The story came to my father of a second city, Cibola, that was near the Pueblo’s land, where people drank from golden cups,

wore emeralds and diamonds, and walked on streets paved with gold.”

Gabe’s pulse picked up. Common sense told him it was all a fable. But he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t enticing to think he might well be on his way to an ancient city of gold. Standing in this canyon made a man start to think outlandish things were possible.

“Pueblos are simple people,” Hosteen said. “Apaches are warriors, but Pueblos, like the Navajo and the Yavapai, don’t want wealth or power or war. Their desire is to live in peace. They build simple homes using the rocks and trees and adobe that surround them. If a mighty army of priests came here bearing gold, they might well use it as metal, to make cups and plates, but why pave the streets with it?”

“The Bible speaks of streets of gold, Shannon,” Parson Ford spoke quietly. “Surely you can see that this is a legend. A legend that has been twisted through the years until it’s grown into something larger than life. You speak of heaven on earth.”

Shannon looked from one to the other, finally resting her eyes on Gabe.

“We’re going with you, Shannon.” He’d almost been forced to marry her, and he’d been willing, more than willing. Shannon had put a stop to that, not him. Still, he didn’t want to crush her dreams. “But if we find something less than your city of Cibola, if we find ruins like those cliff dwellings where I found you or a village of Indians in hogans like at Doba’s settlement, we’ve still spent our time walking through one of the most majestic places I’ve ever seen. Don’t let it break your heart if we find a different kind of treasure than what you’re searching for.”

“My father spent his last breaths telling me of his discovery.” Her chin tilted upward slightly, defiant fire blazing in her brown eyes. “He wanted me to follow his maps and share his discovery with the world. He wanted me to pick up his quest and go forward with it. Why would he spend his last moments of life telling me a lie?”

Because he was dying and sick and half crazy? Because he was obsessed? Because he cared more for his name and reputation than he did for his daughter?

Gabe couldn’t bear to say any of that out loud. “Let’s go.”

They set out on a trail that was narrow and twisting, going down, then back up, then down again. There were treacherous talus slides from when the edges of the canyon had crumbled in avalanches. Huge boulders blocked the trail and could barely be circled.

They trusted their horses, though Gabe had to bite back the desire to dismount and lead the animals through the worst of it. Every time they came on a grassy stretch, Gabe remembered it in case they had came to an obstacle the horses couldn’t get past and had to retrace their steps to a place they could picket their horses then go on by foot.

To walk among these layers of colored stone, the depths and the towers, the swift waters of the Colorado, to be buffeted by the wind and hear the screams of the eagles overhead, Gabe didn’t mind this treasure hunt, but he thought he’d already found the treasure. This place was the treasure. He didn’t need to find bishops and gold to convince him of that.

No words were sufficient.

One word was close.

Majesty
.

G
et down.” Cutter jerked Lurene by the shoulder, and the rest of their group followed as he pulled Lurene to the desert floor.

Cutter was the one who had insisted they water their horses and fill their canteens then get away from the watering hole. Leading the way, he’d found a place shaded by rocks. They were just finishing their noon meal of hardtack and jerked beef when he hissed his orders.

Cutter rolled onto his belly to look through a scrub mesquite that blocked them from their desert pond. Lurene imitated his movements.

All five of them lay silent, watchful. Lurene heard the slide of metal on leather and looked to see Cutter with his gun out, aimed and ready as an older man, a young woman, and two younger boys rode up to the pond and dismounted.

“Navajo,” Cutter whispered.

Lurene nodded and got her six-shooter out of her pocket.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t go to the canyon.” The young woman swung off her horse with a grace Lurene envied.

The boys nearly had a man’s height but still had the gangly movements of youth.

The old man rode so comfortably in his saddle he seemed to be nearly one with the horse. “We need to get back to the settlement, Emmy. Get the horses watered, and let’s move on. Your parents will wonder where we’ve gotten ourselves to.” The older man smiled in a lighthearted way, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Lurene shook her head, wondering how someone could live in such a harsh land and ever smile. What was there to be happy about? Then she thought of her own life back in St. Louis and wondered why she wasn’t thrilled to be out here in the heat and sand, with only the scorpions to try and harm her.

Her ma had sold her when she was ten. And until she’d left St. Louis, that same evil man had still owned her. She’d been fighting all her life to escape, and with Cutter she’d finally made it. And yet here she lay hot and angry. Jealous of a young girl’s grace. Bitter about an old man’s ease in the wilderness. Greedy for Shannon Dysart’s wealth.

She should have been happy, no matter the discomfort.

But maybe her misery had nothing to do with that house and the red dresses she wore and the men she entertained. Maybe it was just her, deep inside, a twisted soul and ugly mind that she’d carry with her wherever she went and however she lived.

She’d always blamed her mother for the life she’d been forced into. And she’d blamed men for what she suffered at their hands. But had she ended up exactly where she belonged? Was the evil in her dragging her down to the level that matched? If she believed that, she might turn her revolver on herself.

Shaking her head to drive away the ugly thoughts, she turned to gold and ransom, treasure in any form as long as there was plenty of it. Believing those things would save her was the only thing that kept her sane.

“I have always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.” The woman worked as she spoke. She had a quick grin, too. She was dark haired and deeply tanned, but Lurene saw freckles on her arms and caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes. One of the boys had lighter hair. The others were some kind of Indians. Cutter had said that village was Navajo.

The woman’s complaints were good natured as if she had no expectation of getting her way but enjoyed the squabble.

“Never seen no one go straight west of here, Pa,” the dark-skinned boy said. “Reckon they’ll get to the edge of the canyon and just turn around and come back.”

“Then we’ll have company again, son.” The older Navajo finished drinking at about the same time his horse did. He swung up onto the Indian pony and headed away from the desert spring. “Let’s go. The sheep will be missing you, Emmy.”

The young woman yelled in mock anger but climbed onto her horse, as did the young men. The four rode off at a brisk trot.

Cutter stood, his eyes riveted on the receding form of the riders.

“Shoulda grabbed ‘em,” Ginger said. “We could’ve made ‘em lead us to the Dysart woman then killed all of ‘em.”

Cutter turned on Ginger so abruptly she backed up two steps. “We don’t want the Navajo on the warpath against us, so shut your stupid mouth. Fools don’t survive in the West.”

Lurene’s throat went dry as she waited for Cutter to pull his gun and close Ginger’s stupid mouth forever. She didn’t care about Ginger, but she didn’t want Cutter to start shooting anyone who bothered him. In case her turn came.

Ginger nodded. “Right, of course not. I just thought we could—”

“Don’t say it. Mount up. I heard enough to know which way to go, so let’s ride.” Cutter swung into his saddle and spurred his horse up the trail the Navajos had just come down, straight west.

Lurene had heard of the Grand Canyon but had no wish to see a big hole in the ground. She fell in behind Cutter and did her best not to say anything stupid.

Gabe woke up in the pitch dark, but he knew he’d slept a long time and it was near dawn. There was a barely visible lighter gray hue in the east that revealed the jagged lip of the canyon. The moon had set, and the night was alive with blazing stars.

The canyon wall looked so high overhead, blocking the view to the east, that Gabe wondered how late in the day dawn would come to this side of the canyon. Likely they’d walk in shadows until midday. Which might spare them if the day got warm.

A coyote howled and an owl screeched. The canyon echoed the sounds until Gabe couldn’t begin to know if the animals were close by or miles and miles away.

He pushed back his blanket in the chill of the morning and stood, staring into the black, wondering at God’s almighty hand to create something such as this. He stepped away silently from the campsite, letting the others sleep a few minutes longer.

As he put distance between him and the camp, his eyes adjusted to the night. He saw a flat rock, waist high, a few yards away, and sitting on it—it had to be Shannon, her slender figure looked like a statue silhouetted black against the slightly lighter shade of black that made up the night. She had one knee drawn up, her arms wrapped around it, and she stared upward toward the west at the beautiful predawn sky.

He walked to her, and she turned, aware of his approach. He sat down beside the woman who’d come real close to being his wife.

“The sun is going to hit that side of the canyon long before it comes down here. I want to look at day while I sit in the night.” She smiled. They looked at each other then turned to watch the first ray of light shine across to hit the west side of the canyon rim. Down here in the belly of this goliath hole in the ground, it was still pitch dark.

After a few moments passed, Gabe could finally stop looking at the beautiful blaze of orange and pink and turned to Shannon. “So, we found our way down here. Does your father’s map guide us all the way to Cibola? Or was it… uh… Quivera?”

“He says Cibola. But I’m not sure if he just named it after the legend or what exactly.”

“He didn’t say whether there’ll be folks living there, did he?”

“No, I can’t tell that from his notes.”

“But he says it’s gold? A whole city full of it?”

“His exact words were treasure. But that’s what treasure is, right?” Her voice sounded uncertain, and she turned to watch the light creep an inch at a time down the west canyon wall.

Gabe noticed the flat top of one of the stone towers gleamed as the sunlight brushed against it. Gabe rested one hand on her shoulder, and she turned back to him. “So, tell me about this man you’re promised to.”

“You asked that before.”

“And you didn’t answer. Is this Bucky really your intended?”

Silence stretched between them. Gabe’s hand slid down her arm until he held her hand, but he waited. In this quiet world, neither of them could pretend she hadn’t heard the question.

“I think—” she faltered.

Gabe didn’t prod her, but he threaded his fingers between hers and held her hand so their palms touched fully.

“I think that when I get home, I’m going to have to tell Bucky that I’m not so sure about marrying him.” She turned away from the view and looked at Gabe.

Something flared in Gabe’s eyes. “And why is that?” He lifted their hands and, one by one, kissed her fingers where they lay woven between his.

“Bucky and I… we… we are old friends.”

“Just friends?”

“We grew up together. Our mothers are friends even more than we are. They are both very proud of their roots in St. Louis. Lots of influence, lots of wealth.”

“Treasure?” He felt Shannon shudder delicately as he kissed the back of her hand.

“No—I mean… not treasure like a city of gold.”

“Was your father one of them? Was he a rich, important man?”

“No, he was a scholar. He was a genius, and I believe my mother loved that about him.”

“So it was a happy marriage, despite your father spending years searching for the cities of gold?”

“It wasn’t a happy marriage in the end.” A soft gasp broke Shannon’s voice when Gabe turned her hand and kissed her wrist right on the pulse. “Whatever brought them together didn’t survive. She and my father were so different from each other.”

Gabe thought of how different he was from Shannon.

“That’s why my mother wants me to marry Bucky. We come from the same world.”

“So your father went searching for treasure and abandoned his wife and child?” Gabe asked softly, hoping he could get the truth without hurting her badly. “Did he do that hoping to make your mother proud, hoping to become rich enough, important enough to find his way into her world and make his marriage a happy one?”

“No, that wasn’t why.”

Gabe slid his hand around hers so he could lift her wrist fully to his lips and kiss her pulse. Searching for that beating life, searching for what he’d found when Shannon had kissed him before. “I think it was.” He abandoned her wrist and, still holding her right hand in his left, slid his other hand around her neck and pulled her close for a kiss.

Long moments later, he pulled away just a breath. “So if you’re not going to marry Bucky, then why don’t you think about staying out in the West? Why don’t you think about striking out on your own, making your own life away from your mother’s wealthy friends and your father’s professional reputation?”

It wasn’t a proposal of marriage. Gabe wasn’t quite ready for that. But if he could find a way for her to stay out here, spend some time with her, maybe that would come.

“I have to tell him personally. I won’t break my promise to him in some letter or telegraph. I—”

Gabe cut off her words by kissing her more deeply, deciding to distract her since he didn’t want to hear what she had to say anyway. “We could go together, tell him together.”

“No!” Shannon jerked away.

That cleared Gabe’s head instantly, and the closeness he felt to her was replaced with irritation. “Why not? I’m not afraid of anyone named Bucky.”

“It’s not Bucky. It’s my mother.”

“What about her?”

In the silence, Gabe noticed that the sun had risen higher. He wondered how long he’d spent kissing her. It hadn’t felt long, not nearly long enough, but the light was creeping lower on the far canyon wall and catching the towers that jutted upward from the canyon floor, reflecting light so Gabe could see her clearly now, though they still sat in shadows. They’d moved far enough from the camp that he couldn’t tell if the rest of their group had stirred. Most likely they had. It was time to get back.

“If I did stay out west, my mother would never forgive me, Gabe. I’ve always seen this… this quest I’m on as a way of finishing the unfinished business of my father. Then I’ve intended to go home and be the daughter my mother wished for. If we don’t find Cibola, I’ll have failed my father, and if I don’t go home and marry Bucky, my mother will never forgive me.”

“So, you’d pick that life over a chance for a life with me? Is that right?” Gabe thought of what she said, and he thought of how she’d kissed him. The two didn’t match, and he decided he’d believe the one that suited him.

He let go of her hand and slid his arm around her waist. He lowered his head and claimed the kiss in the way he truly wanted to. Her response meant more than words. Her arms slipped around his neck, and he was only distantly aware of pulling her onto his lap.