Ghost Cave (12 page)

“Mama's
not
dead, Dad. We can talk about her. It's all right to miss her. I miss her.”

“I miss her, too.”

Marc's throat tightened up, and he looked out the window. He watched the pine trees going by, even though they got blurry for a time. When he finally looked back at his father, tears were streaming down his face. He hadn't bothered to wipe them off. Marc looked away quickly and hugged Bluedog even harder.

After dinner Marc's father brought his coffee out onto the back steps instead of turning on the television. It had cooled off a little, and the evening was perfect. Cicadas had started up, enjoying an early concert. From somewhere in the distance, a mockingbird sang.

Marc had a glass of iced tea. He sipped the cool drink, figuring that if his dad wanted to talk, he'd let him start a conversation. But soon he got tired of the quiet.

“Mama would be ashamed of us, letting the yard go like this, letting her blue garden get so full of weeds.”

“She sure would,” his father said.

Bluedog moved up on the step and squeezed in between them. Marc put his arm around her and hugged her close. She licked his cheek and smiled at him.

“But Bluedog likes it. She scared a rabbit this morning. I hope they aren't silly enough to make a nest in there.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if they did.” His dad reached out and scratched Bluedog's ears, and she licked him, too.

“I guess I'll pull some weeds out of the roses. No use just sitting here.”

Marc moved from the step and walked into the backyard. What a mess. He hardly knew where to start. But once he attacked a few of the weeds, he found the soil was still fairly loose from the rain, and the work was easy. A rhythm took over his body, and his mind drifted. When he looked up he found his dad had gone inside, but it didn't seem to matter. It felt good to do something for Mama. In just a short time he could see his progress.

His mind moved to the cave and to what tomorrow's trip might bring. Darkness caught up with him while he was still pulling weeds. Then, suddenly, an idea came to him out of the darkening sky.

He'd thought of a way to outsmart Mooney!

He dashed into the house, taking the steps two at a time. After washing his hands, he dialed Hermie. “Mooney has to run his paper route early, Hermie, right? Well, we get up at the same time and leave while he's out delivering. We'll try to avoid him, but if he sees us, he can't follow with a big load of newspapers. If he does, maybe he'll lose his job, and I can still get it.” Marc had forgotten to ask Mr. Daniels about a job.

Hermie laughed. “Why didn't I think of that? It's too easy. Except for getting up at five in the morning ourselves.”

Marc knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep late anyway, knowing they were going back to the cave. Eddie loved the plan, too. They agreed to meet at Hermie's place at dawn.

Their gear was already in the cave, so Marc didn't even have to get things ready. He just had to go to sleep as early as possible. That would be the hardest task of all.

13

E
XPLORING THE
C
AVE

Marc groaned when the alarm clock under his pillow jangled. He hadn't fallen asleep until very late, and for a minute he felt as if he would never move again. Then excitement grabbed him, churned through his stomach. He sat up, causing Bluedog to jump and give out a soft “woof.”

“Shhh—quiet, girl!” he whispered.

He stuffed his pillow and some clothes into the bedding and hoped if his dad looked in he'd think Marc was still asleep. Chances were, he'd not bother checking.

Just as he stepped out the back door, Marc heard a noise.
Ker-plunk
. The sound echoed through the still morning. He recognized the noise just in time to jump back inside. Mooney must have been threatened with losing his job. He was delivering papers extra early.

Grabbing his bike, Marc pushed it to the end of the driveway and watched as Mooney tossed papers down the block and turned off onto Dogwood Avenue. He figured Mooney would go the whole length of Dogwood. Then, even if he turned back toward the square, they'd be gone.

Marc rode fast in the cool morning air and slid to a stop in Hermie's driveway. Bluedog romped happily alongside. Marc was pleased to find Eddie and Hermie there, sleepy but ready to go. “Come on, hurry!” he whispered, as if Mooney could hear him. “Mooney is over on Dogwood. We can get away easily.”

“Unless he has Otis guarding,” suggested Eddie.

“Otis would never get up this early.” Hermie yawned. “I must be crazy myself.”

They made their escape and finally slowed their pedaling to a more reasonable speed. Marc did watch for Otis, but Mooney probably never figured they'd take off this early. They had outsmarted him.

The woods were cool and green and dripped with morning dew. Each time the boys had approached the cave entrance, they'd taken a slightly different path, so as not to set down a trail that could be easily followed. It meant getting wet from the moisture dripping from every bush, but there was no way around that.

Lowering Bluedog and swinging into the hole themselves had become routine. Soon they were walking down the tunnel, scrambling into the overhead passageway, and tumbling into the big room. Their footsteps and scuffling noises echoed off the rock walls.

“Well, shall we carry the relics out or get Professor Beslow to come in here?” Eddie asked as they squatted around the grave. Everything was exactly as they'd left it.

Marc looked at the skull, grinning up at them in the light from their headlamps. “Why do you suppose he was buried here, almost hidden in the cave?”

“I suppose someone wanted to be sure his grave was undisturbed for as long as possible.” Hermie stated the obvious.

“I still think he died in the cave,” Eddie said. “It was easier to bury him here than carry him out.”

“I wish you hadn't said that.” Hermie hugged Bluedog, who sat beside him. She had not whined or balked today, just trotted into the side tunnel with them.

“There's hardly anything here that's worth a lot, except for the curiosity of the grave being underground,” Marc pointed out. “I'd like to cover it up and leave it alone.”

“You mean not tell anyone? Ever?” Hermie asked.

“Holy Cow, you're crazy!” Eddie stood up. “Give up fifty dollars? That makes no sense at all. I can't think of one reason not to report our find.”

“Because people hid the grave to begin with.” Marc couldn't think of any way to explain his feelings. He wasn't even sure of them himself, but they had to do with respect for the dead and the Indian traditions. And maybe he had to admit to some sentimental idea of this boy being about their age—of his being buried with his dog. Maybe it was silly. Maybe Marc was being foolish. He could surely use his share of the fifty dollars. Who couldn't?

“I'll bet we could even get Beslow to raise the money to sixty, so we could each have twenty dollars,” Eddie said, thinking aloud. “It's that good a find.”

Marc had formed a picture in his mind since they'd found the grave. He took the chance of explaining it to Eddie and Hermie. “Listen, guys. Somehow this boy died, right? He was around our age. Unless there's another way into the cave, someone had to carry him down a rope, the way we came in. They brought him in here, scraped out this shallow grave, then brought in the rocks and dirt to cover him up. Someone went to a lot of trouble to bury him here. Sure, for a reason we'll never know—but a reason, nevertheless.”

“You've thought about this too much, Marc.” Eddie held a knife blade, chipped from flint, in his hand. He turned it over and over. “You've let your imagination run away with you.” Eddie's voice was softer, less angry. Hermie said nothing.

The three of them sat quietly for a minute, staring at the skeleton and all the contents of the grave. Their lights bounced eerily off the cave walls and the shadowy pocket underneath the bluffs. Eddie laid the knife blade back alongside the boy's shoulder. He shook out the contents of the pottery jar, something none of them had thought to do before.

Marc shined his light on the things in Eddie's hand. A dozen or so grains of dry corn, and a circlet of blue beads intricately woven onto a piece of leather, darkened and stiff, preserved by the lack of air in the pot. Maybe it was a talisman, a good-luck piece of some sort.

“I'll bet his mother made that,” Hermie said quietly. “What do you suppose it was?”

“A necklace maybe, something to ward off evil, keep him safe on his journey.” Marc liked holding the beaded leather. It fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. He wanted to pocket it for himself, but if he insisted they cover up the grave, that meant leaving everything there.

“She might have made it for him when he was a baby. My mother made …” Eddie paused. “He might have been wearing it for a long time.” Eddie wet his fingers and polished the dust off the beads. Now they could see the clear beads and the black ones that made the blue design stand out.

“It's pretty, isn't it?” Hermie spoke again.

“Look guys, it's early yet.” Eddie put the talisman back into the jar and stood up. “Let's explore the other tunnel before we go back to town and get Professor Beslow.” Eddie's voice was matter-of-fact, just as if Marc had never suggested they keep the grave secret.

“That's a great idea,” Marc said. “Who knows? There might be more in here. This might be a place where they buried all their dead.”

“If that's the case, then the cave would be sacred to them.” Hermie stood up. “A sacred burial ground.”

Marc liked Eddie's idea of looking around. They could do some more thinking while they explored. It would give Eddie time to think about the Indian boy. And if they did find other graves, it would change the whole picture. They'd have to report such a major find to a museum or the university.

“Let's go,” Marc said, standing. “You game, Hermie?”

“I guess so. I've lived through getting here.”

They laughed, and Marc felt his stomach relax. It had been feeling like a stretched-out rubber band all morning.

“Let's go look in my tunnel,” Eddie suggested, and led the way back into the large room.

When they'd walked several hundred feet, they came to the first intersection. Eddie said, “Left.” No one disputed his choice. Hermie and Marc followed, Bluedog hugging close to Marc again.

The cave walls were damp, so at one time there had been water in the cave. But there were not many good formations. More often there were piles of huge rocks, as if the earth had shaken and shaken, tossing boulders everywhere. Eddie left the path and peeked behind every heap, but he found no openings.

“Are you guys keeping track of where we are?” asked Hermie. “Like you said you did to keep from getting lost? Here's some short stalactites. They're a good landmark. I haven't seen any like this.” Hermie shined his light to the left when they stopped to rest a minute. They crouched by a shelf that had leaned over so far they'd have to stoop and waddle under it to go on.

“It takes millions of years for the long ones to form,” Marc told Hermie. “Each drop of water coming from overhead takes some lime out of the rock. That bit of lime is deposited on the end until it gets longer and longer. This cave is really old, but I wonder if there wasn't an earthquake here at some time. I've never seen such a jumble of piled-up rocks.”

“Could there be another one?” asked Hermie, looking around.

“When do you remember there being an earthquake in Arkansas?” Eddie was impatient with Marc's lesson on how stalactites form. He waddled ahead, and Marc decided he'd better follow. “I think we're walking downhill and slightly eastward,” Eddie said. “I'll bet we're getting near the river. Maybe it carved out this cave when it was cutting a path through the mountains.”

“Then there should be another opening,” Marc said, “Where the cave started from the river side.”

“How can you all know what direction we're going?” asked Hermie. “You're just guessing.”

“I have a super sense of direction,” bragged Eddie.

Marc didn't say any more. He
was
guessing.

They scooted under the low overhang for about thirty feet, then the passageway opened again to a chamber about the size of Marc's bedroom. A breeze strong enough to ruffle his hair blew through the room.

“There is another opening,” Eddie said with excitement.

“How can you tell, standing in here?” Hermie had decided it was time to eat. “I didn't have any breakfast,” he said, in case anyone was against stopping again. He had carried a huge paper sack until they got to where they'd left their packs overnight. Then he'd emptied the contents of the sack into his pack and slung it over his shoulders.

“The air's coming in with such a strong breeze,” Marc answered, looking at Hermie's food. His stomach growled at the sight.

“I forgot about bringing food,” Eddie admitted, watching Hermie open a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and take a big bite of it. Grape jelly stuck to the side of his mouth.

Marc had swallowed a glass of milk and eaten an apple on his way over to Hermie's, but that seemed like days ago. “Me, too. Have any extra, Hermie? I thought I'd be too excited to eat, and I hadn't thought about doing more exploring or being in here all day.” Marc had actually been too excited to think, let alone eat.

“What would you guys do without me?” Hermie grumbled. “You may be expert cavers, but as expedition planners, you flunk.”

“I came out the window.” Eddie wet his finger and tested the air. “Gramma was already in the kitchen. She'd have fainted to see me up so early.”

Marc had another excuse. “I had my mind on escaping Mooney.”

Hermie pulled out two more sandwiches. “Well, I planned on sharing. I have some bologna sandwiches, too, and fruit, and a bag of leftover popcorn from last night. My parents always make popcorn when they're watching television.”