Ghost Cave (16 page)

“It was a miracle we found our way out of there,” Hermie suggested. “I don't ever want to go into a cave again.”

“Yeah, a miracle.” Eddie had been awfully quiet all the way down the mountain. “Marc—” he paused, looking Marc straight in the eyes, as if he was still thinking about being in the cave. “I—I think we should cover up the grave and leave the things there.” Eddie made the suggestion as though it were a brand-new idea. As though Marc hadn't thought of it earlier. As though they'd never argued about it.

Hermie agreed. “Yeah, let's not tell anyone we found him.”

Marc wondered if Hermie realized he'd said “found
him.
”

“We could push that big rock over the hole.” Eddie went on.

“How about the hole on this side?” Eddie looked back the way they'd come, down the bluff. They had walked too far to see the ledge overlooking the river.

“I looked back up there after we got down,” said Eddie. “You can't see it because of the way the ledge tilts up. You'd have to climb right up there before you'd see it. I hardly see anyone on the river way down there. Everyone climbs up by the swimming hole where the rock is solid.”

Eddie scratched in the mud with a stick. “If it stayed hidden this long, it should stay hidden for a lot more years.”

Marc didn't feel he had to agree, since he had made the suggestion in the first place. He didn't even care if Eddie thought it was his idea. All that mattered to him was that they leave the relics, the skeleton, there. Maybe, just maybe, each of them could take one of the creamy white arrowheads to remember him—the boy—by. As if they could forget.

“We can come back in a few days—let Mooney's curiosity cool off. Then we can outsmart him one more time.” Marc stood up. “I may be in trouble for a few days anyway.”
If anyone noticed I was gone
, he added to himself.

“Me, too. I've already missed supper.” Hermie swung his pack on, light now without the food.

No one spoke until they got to town and were ready to head toward their own houses.

“Maybe we can go back on Saturday, even Sunday,” Marc said. “Lots of newspapers to fold on Sunday.” He waved to Eddie and Hermie, and called Bluedog to follow him. She looked tired, but she smiled up at Marc and trotted along in a slow rhythm.

To Marc's surprise, his dad was in the backyard, digging at weeds with a hoe. He looked at Marc, but didn't stop him from going into the house. Marc came back out with a glass of milk and the hot dog that was waiting on his plate at the table.

He perched on the step and watched his father while he ate. He had given Bluedog a dish of dog food and a bowl of water, but she watched him eat first, hoping for some leftovers.

His dad leaned the hoe on the little shed that held all the garden tools—and the climbing ropes, Marc realized. And his own spelunking gear. Without saying anything, Marc's dad went inside, then came back out with a Coke. He sat beside Marc.

“Good cave trip?”

A bite of bread stuck in Marc's throat. “How'd you know?”

“Pillows in the bed made me think you'd left pretty early and didn't want anyone to know you were gone. Looking in your closet and the shed told the rest of the story.” His dad tilted the Coke bottle and said no more.

“We were lost for a time,” Marc confessed.

“Scare you?”

“Some.”

“Learn anything from it?”

“A lot.”

Cicadas sang about the sunset being over. A mosquito buzzed by Marc's ear. He waved it away. In the distance a mixed-up rooster crowed. Marc waited to see what his father would say next. To find out how much trouble he was in. Being in trouble was almost welcome. Maybe it would mean his dad cared that Marc had gone off and almost not come back.

“Your mother called me tonight.”

“Is she all right?” Marc hated to think Mama had gotten worse while he was off fooling around.

“She says the doctor thinks she might be able to come home this fall. She's much better, and if she can get her strength back—well, it's a possibility.”

“That's great.” Marc felt relieved and gulped down the rest of his hot dog. Nothing had ever tasted so good. And now Mama was better.

“And, Marc …” His father had sat quietly while Marc ate.

“Yeah?” Marc patted Bluedog on the head. There was no sandwich left for her.

“Your mother asked me to tell you that Roy Clearwater died. She figured you'd want to know.”

For a minute Marc sat stunned. He had known this could happen any time, but … Then across his mind floated a picture of the old Indian, sitting on the side of a river, fishing. Another picture followed. He was hunting for a deer, and he had a smile on his face.

“Marc,” his father asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Dad, I'm okay.” And he was. Marc knew that Mr. Clearwater was happy now. He wasn't cooped up in the sanatorium, waiting, wishing …

“I've been thinking we'd better not let your mother see her garden so full of weeds,” his father said, reminding Marc that Mama was alive and coming home before too long.

Bluedog came up and put her nose on his dad's knee. She looked up at him with a smile he couldn't resist. He put out his hand and rubbed her ears.

“Would you help me dig, Marc?”

“Sure, Dad. And maybe—maybe if we get finished by this weekend … well, would you like to see the cave we discovered? It was hidden, so hidden that maybe no one has been in there since Indians lived here.”

It took his dad such a long time to answer, Marc didn't know what to think. He almost wished he hadn't asked, hadn't revealed the secret.

“I—I'd like that, Marc. I feel like you've been gone longer than all day. Or—or maybe I've been gone.”

All the fatigue from the exhausting cave trip fell away from Marc's shoulders. He sat up straighter. Bluedog, sensing the change, ran to get her tennis ball. She wasn't tired anymore, either. She held the ball so either of them could throw it. They laughed at her, she looked so eager.

“Did Bluedog go into the cave with you?”

“Yes, it was quite an adventure, spelunking with a dog.”

“I'll bet.”

“Dad. There's one thing you have to promise me.”

“What's that, Marc? I'll try.”

“Can you keep a secret? You have to promise me you can keep a secret, before I can show you this cave.”

His dad took another swallow of his cold drink. “I think I can, Marc. I've been known to keep a secret before.”

“That's great.” Marc got up and went to take a turn with the hoe. He realized that his arms were sore from hanging onto Bluedog all the way down the slope, boosting her and climbing in the cave. But he didn't care. Working in the yard felt good.

Everything was going to be okay. He knew it was. And deep inside he carried a warm secret.

Two secrets: the cave and the Indian boy. Two secrets that would be with him all the rest of his life.

A
UTHOR
'
S
N
OTE

This story takes place in 1954. At that time collectors like Marc, Hermie, and Eddie, as well as Mr. Daniels, were not so aware that Native American artifacts are a valuable part of our culture, the history of our country. They enjoyed them for what they were, but felt that whoever found them had a right to keep them. They grew up hunting for arrowheads, Indian pots, and other relics near their homes.

In the 1920s and 1930s, when Mr. Daniels collected, most people didn't even want the artifacts they found. They didn't think they had any value at all. Dealers and collectors probably saved many of the relics that have found their way into museums today.

If you should have the good luck to discover an ancient site or other buried treasure from the past, such as dinosaur bones, do not dig or try to excavate in the area by yourself. Call an archaeologist, perhaps at a local college or university, or someone in the National Park Service.

You will receive credit for the discovery, but trained professionals should make the excavation. They can tell a great deal about the past lives of people in your area while they work. You may be able to participate in the dig under the supervision of these professionals.

By sharing your good fortune, all the world can enjoy your contribution to history. It is as important for us to preserve the relics of our past as it is for us to preserve the unique character of our lands.

About the Author

Barbara Steiner (1934–2014) was an acclaimed author known for her books for children and young adults. Steiner authored over seventy titles, including picture books, early chapter books, mysteries, young adult thrillers, historical novels, and romances. In her lifetime, Steiner visited more than ninety-four countries and all seven continents, and many of her books were inspired by her travels. She lived in Boulder with her family until her death in January 2014.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1990 by Barbara Steiner

Cover design by Mimi Bark

ISBN: 978-1-4976-1171-9

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

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EBOOKS BY BARBARA STEINER

FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA