Holland Suggestions (14 page)

“The other night you started to tell us about a cave of gold.”

“Caverna del Oro. It’s one of Colorado’s most famous legends, maybe the most famous of them all. It has all the elements. To begin with, it’s really colored by time. Most of these mountain yarns go back at least eighty years, but Caverna del Oro dates from the time of the conquistadores, three hundred years ago. I’ll tell you the legend first and then the fact.

“The legend: Somewhere in Colorado there is a fabulously rich mine located at the bottom of a very deep cave. The cave is a straight drop of a thousand feet, and at the bottom, two great oak doors mark the entrance to the mine. Behind those doors is a storeroom where the Spanish miners hoarded the gold they found. As the legend goes, the gold is worth thirty to fifty million dollars, though there’s no way of telling. All we can do is guess, using whatever knowledge we have of Spanish mining. This legend was passed down by the Indians, who were enslaved by the Spanish and forced to work in the mine. When the Indians revolted, most of the Spanish were killed and the mine was lost. The few survivors either could not find the mine again or never tried.

“Now the fact: Many scholars in this state are convinced that Caverna del Oro does exist. Treasure hunters have been trying to find it for years; they’ve looked all over the state, but in recent years the search has centered in the Sangres near here. We know there was a lot of Spanish activity here. We know the Spanish made large gold discoveries here. Finally, a three-hundred-year-old journal found a few years ago in a Madrid junk-shop pinpoints this area as the location of the mine. There is some question about the accuracy of the journal, but at least some explorers are taking it seriously. There are other things that point this way too.”

“Other things?”

“Early in this century explorers found a deep cave, just like the one described in the legend. They were led there by an old Indian woman who told them the story as it had passed down among her people. The cave turned out to be a shaft. Several scientific parties explored it in the 1920s and ’30s, but no one from those parties ever reached bottom. But they did find plenty of evidence of Spanish activity. An old skeleton in Spanish armor was found near the mouth of the cave. One of the explorers claimed he found other skeletons on the way down, but it was never verified. They did find old tools and other undeniable evidence of Spanish mining. And the mouth of the cave was marked with a Maltese cross.”

“A…what?”

“It was an old Spanish symbol, the mark of a Maltese cross.”

I waited for him to go on.

“So when they found this cave—in 1905, I think it was—they found this cave with the mark of the Maltese cross, there was quite a bit of excitement. But two or three expeditions failed to reach the bottom. It wasn’t until much later that anyone actually got to the bottom.”

“What happened then?”

“Nothing. There was no gold; no mine; no skeletons. A lot of these yarns get colored along the way, and it isn’t until a scientific party checks it out that we know the truth. Whether Caverna del Oro even exists is still very much up in the air. But we’re pretty certain now that it isn’t at the bottom of the Marble caves.”

“How far are those caves?”

“From here? Oh, thirty, forty miles, as the crow flies. More by car and jeep. Not too many people go up there any more. But that’s the way those legends go; when they’re hot, the hills are full of treasure hunters. When they cool off, so do the treasure hunters. Sooner or later somebody will find another cave and it’ll start all over again.”

“I guess there are a lot of caves in this part of the country.”

“More than anyone can guess. The so-called experts figured they had all the caves mapped out, then they found another one that may be the biggest of them all. They haven’t even finished exploring that one yet. That’s fine with me; it keeps them away from here. I just wish I could still climb.”

“What happened—to your leg?”

“Arthritis. I’ve had it ever since I was a young man, but the damn thing has really gotten bad the last couple of years. I probably won’t be able to walk at all before long.”

I was about to ask if doctors were making any headway on arthritis when Jill came to the door. “Willy won’t be joining us tonight,” she said; “his headache’s worse.”

The subject of Caverna del Oro had been exhausted anyway, and I was ready to eat. After dinner Gould joined us in the den for a touch of brandy, but the light atmosphere of our first evening together was missing. Gould obviously felt like an awkward third party, although it wasn’t true and I rather wished he would stay. But he excused himself, and his departure did not change anything. Jill and I sat about eight feet apart. For a long time neither of us said anything. The fire burned down to red embers. Somewhere in the inn I could hear someone moving around, but then that too stopped and everything was quiet and dark. Now we could not even see each other.

“I guess I’d better go up too,” she said from the darkness. Still she did not move out of her chair. “It’s so easy just to sit here; I think I could sit here all night.”

But she didn’t. In another five or ten minutes she stirred and moved toward the door. I walked her to her room.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Perhaps,” she said.

She leaned forward and kissed my cheek, then went quickly into her room. I still had no idea how to handle her, and I was determined not to lose sleep over it tonight. In my room I took the telescope out of the closet and set it up again in the window. At night I knew it would be useless, but I was not yet tired and I wanted a diversion from the problem of Jill. In the valley the darkness was almost complete. I guessed that the old house had heavy drapes or darkened shades that allowed no light seepage, and I did not figure to get much use from the telescope at night. I watched the ridge anyway for about thirty minutes, and in that time I could not make out any movement or shape or light. I could not even see the outline of the house.

Finally I gave it up. I lay on my bed and the pillow felt cool and comforting under my head. It was about fifteen minutes later when I heard the noise. I had no idea what kind of noise it had been, only that it was sharp and had aroused me from the initial stage of sleep. I sat up in bed and listened. For a minute I heard nothing more, but when it came again I knew that it was the sound of a stone striking the window. I got up and looked down into the street; a black form moved beneath the window. I dressed quickly and opened the door to the hallway. As I passed Jill’s room I saw that a steady light shone under her door. A board creaked under my foot, and I heard a movement inside her room, and the light went out. I moved down the stairs and through the lobby, being careful not to trip over any chairs. At the door I stopped and looked outside. Nothing. I went out on the boardwalk and pulled the door shut behind me. Amy stepped out of the shadows and came close to me. I stiffened, on guard for new tricks, but she held her finger to her lips and motioned me toward my car.

The only sounds we made the whole time were two gentle clicks of the doors closing. But I saw that Jill’s window was up and both the curtain and the shade were open.

“Let’s get out of here,” Amy said.

I only sat, staring at her.

“Please…”

I could not keep the sarcasm out of my voice: “Running away from your husband again?”

She covered her eyes with her hand and swallowed hard. “Okay, so I lied.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

She did not say anything. I started the motor, aware that I would wake everyone in the inn. The hell with it. I drove out of town, using my parking lights until I swung past the house on the ridge. Then I turned on my headlights. Soon we were over the hill and she began to relax.

But I pulled off in a little clearing just over the hill.

“What are you stopping for?”

“I told you; I want to know what it’s all about.”

“Can’t we do that while we ride?”

I did not say anything.

She too was quiet for a long time. Finally, in a voice that smacked of defiance, she said, “Okay, okay, so I was hired to watch you.”

“That much I’ve figured out for myself.”

She was surprised. In the light of my dashboard her face showed confusion.

“It wasn’t that hard to figure,” I said; “I’m abnormally suspicious of people anyway. Besides, you weren’t all that good.”

She was stung by that, and I drew a petulant satisfaction from her discomfort.

“So what made you decide to throw it in now?”

“I had a fight with my sister. That’s a long story and I don’t want to go into it, okay?”

I shrugged. “Who hired you?”

“I don’t know. Some woman I’ve never seen before. She gave me two hundred dollars and a bus ticket to Virginia. I met a man there, and I rode with him until he decided to plant me. I’m supposed to get another two hundred now that it’s finished, but…”

“But…?”

“I don’t want it; I won’t take it.”

“That’s nice. Do you want me to make it up to you?”

That brought back her fire. “I didn’t say that. Listen, goddamnit, I’ve put up with that kind of crap till I’m sick of it. I was just doing a job. I didn’t even know you, okay? So get off my goddamn back.”

I thought it over. “So you were to spy on me. Only when you found out how nice I am you changed your mind.”

“Jesus.” She looked at me with moist eyes. “You sure aren’t making this easy for me, are you?”

“Why, was I supposed to?”

“Just why do you think I came back tonight?”

“Hell, how do I know why you do what you do? Maybe you always lay the men you spy on. Tell me, was that part of your bag of tricks too?”

It was a cheap shot and I knew it, but it was out and I couldn’t get it back. Amy said, “Oh, you sonofabitch,” pushed open the door, and lunged out of the car. She turned onto the dirt road toward Highway 96, walking briskly and never looking back. I caught her in less than a minute, slowing the car so that it rolled along with her as she walked.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I said through the open window. “No more games, okay? I promise. Now get in and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go; you tell me what you know and no more name calling. Fair enough?”

She got in without a word. I drove out to the highway in silence. We were still, after all, playing games. She was looking for a deeper apology and I was determined not to give it. We didn’t say anything until the scattered lights of the small town appeared ahead.

“You can let me off anywhere along here, thanks.”

“This is where you’re going?”

“It’ll do till I get there.”

“And where is there?”

“Where I told you the first time.”

“California? I don’t think you can get there from here.” My attempt at humor was weak; she didn’t even smile.

“I’ll run you on to Pueblo,” I said; “at least you can get a bus there.”

“Don’t do me any favors. I’ve got no money for a bus anyway.”

“What about the two hundred dollars?”

“Arnie took most of that before I left for Virginia.”

I didn’t say anything about Arnie or her friends. Now it occurred to me that there was a real danger of losing whatever information she might have. I tried to recoup. Almost kindly I said, “Why don’t you tell me about this woman?”

But that was phony and she saw through it immediately. “I think I’ve told you all I want to tell.”

There was another long silence; she withdrew, leaving me to ponder another opening. It never came. Soon we were in the small range of mountains, then we were heading downhill and across the wide plain toward Pueblo. I tried a couple of things but she did not respond. We came into the outskirts and passed the motel where we had stayed together; she did not even blink as we passed it I stopped for gas. I apologized, sincerely this time. I asked her to talk with me. We were good over breakfast; we could have breakfast now, and have our talk, and afterward I would put her on a bus for California and it would be all over.

I went into the restroom. When I came out Amy was gone. Across the road a truck was just pulling out, heading west, toward the California that she was so anxious to reach.

I
HAVE HAD MY
share of poor judgment, when stupidity reigns and ego gets in the way of reason, but I honestly believe I have never handled anything so badly as my final confrontation with Amy. She had been almost eager to tell all, but I had driven her away with my dumb display of male ego, and without learning much more than I already knew. An incredible performance! I stood at the crossroads, watching the truck’s taillights until they disappeared around a bend. Incredible! Bitterly I started back to Gold Creek. The ride was miserable. Only as I turned into the canyon did I begin to feel any relief.

Actually, the Amy thing had not been a complete waste. I now knew that someone
had
followed me across the country; that was no longer outside the realm of established fact. Someone cared enough about my movements to hire a girl, pay her four hundred dollars, and give her passage to a strategic point on my trip. Even then it was a calculated risk; they had no way of knowing for certain that I would pick her up. But that was a risk they had been willing to take; whatever the reason, it was that important to them. No matter now; it had worked and it was finished. I could assume that they would be watching my next step as well.

The next logical step was a careful examination of the ruins where I had found the initials of Robert Holland and the name Jake Walters cut in stone. And this time I would go alone, though that probably meant going at night. Gould had mentioned a jeep trail to Taylor’s Gulch, but I doubted that I could find it in daylight, let alone at night. So I would have to risk a night climb along the mountain trail from Gold Creek. The prospect was not so frightening as it might have been; I knew the trail now, and though it was fairly steep in places, it was uncomplicated and there were no sharp drops. All it would take was a good flashlight and a little nerve.

By the time I reached the hill near Gold Creek it was after two. The events of the night had stirred my senses and I was not at all tired, physically or mentally. Already I had decided to try the climb tonight, partly a penance to myself for having blown it with Amy. I parked in the same clearing, but deeper, where my car could not be seen from the road. Then I hiked over the hill and down to the ridge, closing in on the old house from the south. I did not go any nearer to the house than necessary to get down into Gold Creek; the last thing I wanted was to be seen by anyone living there. Instead I cut directly over the ridge and down into the valley. Now the moon was high; I could clearly see the buildings below me. I walked in a long arc, joining the road at the edge of town. I came straight up the street toward the inn, thinking how easily I could be seen now from my bedroom window. Knowing that there was no one watching from that window made me feel better. But I noticed that Jill’s window was now closed and the drapes were drawn. The red Volkswagen was gone too. Softly I walked up the boardwalk, opened the front door, and stepped inside. The inn was as quiet as a tomb; in fact, I had a strong feeling that the inn was completely empty. I fought down the urge to shout, “Is anybody here?” and got on with my business. I found a pencil beside the cash register and wrote a note to Gould, saying that I had errands in Pueblo and would be gone for perhaps two days. The die was cast. I recognized the dangers inherent in such a plan and I accepted them. If anything happened to me—be it broken leg, snakebite, or whatever—there would be no search, at least for several days. There would also be no interference. I crept upstairs to my room, dressed for the part, and slung my backpack over my shoulder.