The men were pictured moving through various scenes with landmarks behind them that probably would have borne significance to someone familiar with the region. On the right side, near the bottom, was a scene depicting the same men bearing heavy sacks, climbing what looked like a giant staircase. The final image was that of a distinctive-looking peak, though one that was unfamiliar to Bones.
Near the base of the wall, a square niche was cut into the stone, similar to those in a kiva. Something glittered in the light.
A closer look revealed a golden disc about seven inches in diameter, with an image much like the one on the wall carved on the front. Intrigued, he turned it over. Fine writing spiraled in from the outer edge in an ever-tightening circle.
“Hebrew?” he whispered? “This is crazy.” He took out his cell phone and used the camera feature to snap some pictures. Although his was one of the better phone cameras on the market, it still took several tries to get a few decent shots. He took care to replace the disc just like he had found it. He then took a picture of the front of the golden circle as it lay in the niche.
He backed up to the fire pit in the room’s center and took pictures of the walls. Suddenly aware that he had spent a long time in this place, he shone his light around the room one last time. Satisfied that he had seen everything, he turned to leave. Dropping to his hands and knees, he crawled only two feet before the beam of his maglite shone on twin shotgun barrels leveled at his face.
“Back it up.” Orley’s gruff voice growled from the darkness. “Move slow and stay where I can see you.”
Bones did as he was told, crawling backward into the room, his options racing through his mind. He was fast, and would stand a good chance of disarming Orley, but he’d have to injure the rancher in order to do so. He didn’t want to do that if he could help it. For the same reason, he dismissed the .22 in his ankle holster. Besides, his instinct told him that the man was not a threat.
A flame blossomed in the darkness. Orley held a zippo in his left hand. He kept the shotgun trained on Bones with his right. “I didn’t figure on it being you. By the way, you can take that pissant little flashlight out of your mouth.”
Bones chuckled and tucked the light into his jeans pocket.
“This place is something.”
Orley did not answer. He scrutinized the cave, his usual sour expression in place. “Well hell. You weren’t gonna’ take the disc?”
“Not me,” Bones said. “My people aren’t like that. I think you know that as well as I do.” He stared at Orley, hoping he was right. If not, Bones would have to make a quick move for the shotgun. “I didn't take anything but pictures.”
The silence hung between them in the semi-darkness for what felt like a minute before the rancher spat on the floor and lowered his gun.
“I reckon I do believe you at that. You ain’t so bad for an Injun.”
“And you’re not too bad for a fat white man,” Bones said, chuckling. Orley returned the jibe with a curse and a grin. “What is this place, anyway?” Bones asked.
“I don’t rightly know. I found it near twenty years ago. A storm came through, one of them gully washers. Washed away enough of the rock to uncover this place. I’ve tried to figure some of it out, but I ain’t too good at that kind of thing. I tried to keep it a secret, but once the government started pushing me to open up the other ruins, I knew this place would get found. If it has to be found, I reckon I’m glad it was you.”
“Why do you say that?” Bones was flattered, but confused.
Orley was about to reply when a loud clatter came from the entrance.
“Mr. Orley?” a voice called. The speaker’s tone of voice sounded taunting, as if the man, whoever he was, knew precisely where the rancher was.
Orley whirled around, peering back in the direction from which he had come. “It’s them! Take the disc and…”
“Who is ‘them’?” Bones asked.
“The Dominion. Now shut up and do what I tell you. Take the disc with you. There’s a way out up there,” he gestured over Bones’ right shoulder to the dark corner. “It’s narrow, but you can do it. Go!”
Bones wasn’t foolish enough to argue. He grabbed the heavy gold disc and shoved it into his shirt. Three long strides brought him to the corner. He ran his hands up the wall, his fingertips finding purchase on a small ledge. He pulled himself up, digging his steel-toed boots against the rocky face, reached out with his right hand and found the narrow passage. Clambering up, he twisted onto his left side and scooted into the crevice.
“Don’t come back no matter what you hear,” Orley said.
Feeling more guilt than he had thought himself capable of, Bones slithered forward, now understanding how sausage was made. He had never had much fear of tight places, for which he was now thankful. The cold rock sucked the heat from his body. He continued forward in the darkness, wondering how long this passage was and whether it would narrow to the point that he could not get through. His shoulders were almost touching the sides. One thing was sure; Orley had never crawled through this tunnel, or at least not in many a decade.
He heard muffled voices, then a shotgun blast. He froze as the staccato report of small-caliber handguns echoed down the narrow tunnel. One more defiant shotgun blast, a pause, a single shot, and it was over. Bones remained motionless for the span of a three heartbeats, entertaining the irrational notion that he should somehow wriggle backward, take the bad guys by surprise, and save the day. Common sense won out over guilt almost immediately, and he continued his trek, cursing Orley for his stubbornness and himself for not being a hero. He was certain the rancher was dead. Now he needed to save himself.
He crawled for what seemed like an hour, all the while wondering when bullets would ricochet down the passage. Had they killed Orley immediately? Did he tell them about Bones escape route? Would they find it themselves? None of it mattered. All he could do was keep going.
The tunnel curved, and for a brief moment panic threatened to overwhelm him as the walls closed in on him, but he was soon able to wriggle free and move on. Still grappling with guilt over leaving Orley behind, he was distracted by a pale sliver of light in the distance. Energized, he scurried ahead on hands and knees.
A gentle slope climbed toward the light, and the tunnel gradually widened. Suddenly aware that he had no idea where he would be emerging, or who might be waiting on the other side, he slipped his .22 from its ankle holster and quietly moved ahead. Dry air tinged with the aroma of sage and dust assaulted his nostrils. The tunnel ended in a narrow crack about seven feet high and a foot wide at its broadest point. Sage and scrub covered the entrance. Bones could see little through the cover of foliage, but the way appeared clear. His pistol at the ready, he moved forward.
Emerging on the slope of a dry, narrow gulch and carefully making his way down into the parched defile, the sun scorching his face after the relative cool of the cavern, he thought about the layout of the passage through which he had come, relative to the ranch, and guessed that he was due northeast of the dig, on the other side of the hills that backed Orley’s barn and lined the eastern edge of his property. He couldn’t be far away as the crow flies, but with gun-toting archaeologists, or whoever the hell they were, so close by, things felt decidedly unsafe. And what was the “Dominion” of which Orley spoke? He needed an answer.