The night visitor, p.14
The Night Visitor, page 14
Delia turned to her father, who was leaning forward, blinking through his trifocals. “Daddy,” she said. “Oh, Daddy …”
Moses grunted as he lowered himself into the excavation.
Delia moved aside to make room for her father.
York pointed with the tip of the brush handle.
Moses lay on his belly, his spectacles almost on the fossilized jawbone. “Oh my… oh my.”
Lodged under the long slab of bone was the unmistakable edge of a flint implement.
Moses put a finger close to the marvelous find, but touched neither flint nor fossil bone. “Photographs,” the old man said hoarsely, “we must have photographs. And soil samples around the artifact.”
Delia was already scurrying away for a tripod-mounted camera. Her hands trembled as she loaded a roll of high-resolution black-and-white film.
It was at this moment that Nathan McFain stormed into the tent. “Vannie,” he shouted to his daughter. “I’ve a notion to drive over to Arboles and get a gutful of Mexican grub. You and Charlie Moon want to come along?” He noticed the antiquarian. “Oh… hello there, Mr. Briggs. You can come along too, if you’re hungry.”
Briggs, if he heard the halfhearted invitation, ignored it.
Vanessa looked over her shoulder at her father. “Daddy. They’ve found something.”
McFain surged forward toward the excavation, almost toppling one of the flood lamps. “Found what?”
Moses blinked up at the landowner, and raised a palm up to keep him at bay. “Our colleague. Dr. York, has discovered what appears to be a flint implement lodged under the left mandible. This will be a very delicate operation. The removal process will take some time to complete. We must have complete silence. All those not involved in the work must stand well clear of the excavation.”
Nathan McFain—annoyed at being ordered about on his own property—nevertheless yielded. He backed away muttering something about eggheads and interlopers and who’n-hell-do-they-think-owns-this-land.
Moon and the McFains waited with the antiquarian while flash lamps popped.
Horace Flye was busy with many small errands. The dental pick and horsehair brush were used with great delicacy by Professor York. He had made the discovery; it was his singular honor to begin the delicate process of exposing the artifact.
Minutes stretched into hours. As the tedious work proceeded, dozens of photos were made of the stone implement in situ. Delia made standard shots with the 35-mm film camera and close-ups with a high-resolution digital camera, whose output was immediately fed by Robert Newton into a laptop computer and displayed on a dazzling color screen. Each grain of sand near the flint implement was removed with enormous care and placed into small plastic bottles which were duly capped, labeled, and recorded in Moses’ excavation logbook.
It seemed to the scientists that the work was moving far too quickly. Something might be missed.
The lay observers thought the work was taking an interminable time.
Finally—it was well past midnight—the artifact was removed from its niche under the mammoth’s jawbone. Cordell York held the astonishing thing in his hand. He cradled the few grams of chipped flint like he was protecting the Hope diamond, and posed with a toothy grin as still more photographs were made. Then he offered the artifact to Moses Silver. This was appropriate protocol; Moses was chief scientist on the dig. The old man sat on the edge of the excavation, staring with childlike wonder at this marvelous find that would change his life.
But not quite in ways that he imagined.
Finally, Moses offered the treasure to Robert Newton, who had hardly said a word since the thing had been discovered.
Newton frowned thoughtfully, and murmured, “One is simply astonished …” He passed the implement on to Delia Silver—the expert on lithic artifacts. She gingerly placed the flint blade on a paper napkin on the card table, then instructed Horace Flye to bring a floodlight to illuminate her work. She made careful measurements with a plastic caliper. This was a long (thirteen point two centimeters) flake of material that had been struck from a large core. She weighed the blade on a balance scale, and dutifully entered the data into the logbook. This done, Delia began to study the artifact with a large magnifying glass.
Looks like Sherlock Holmes, Charlie Moon thought.
The implement had been pressure-flaked on both faces. And the pink flint was absolutely beautiful. Workmanship was adequate, but hardly brilliant. Even so, the slightly crescent shape of the blade was striking. Like nothing anyone had ever seen from the Paleolithic. Unlike Clovis or Folsom, it would be impossible to classify this artifact into a neat niche. She spent some minutes examining the carefully flaked surface.
Delia’s father was fidgeting at her shoulder. “Well?” Moses said.
She barely heard his voice. This was absolutely incredible.
“Well?” her father pressed.
“It’s a complex pink flint,” she said in a monotone. “With several quartz inclusions.”
“We should be able to identify the origin of the material,” Moses said hopefully. “There are several quarries of pink flint in Nebraska. And some in Wyoming.”
“It’s not from those quarries,” Delia said with an air of finality.
Her father smiled. She was irritated that he would venture to make observations about an area where she was the expert. “But it’s clearly a skinning knife,” Moses said.
“Yes,” she said. “A skinning knife.”
The rancher, who was watching over Delia’s shoulder, mumbled to himself. “Well, I guess it’s a pretty important find.” A magnet to draw busloads of well-heeled tourists to the future McFain Museum.
Ralph Briggs whispered in Nathan’s ear. “That is rather an understatement, my dear fellow. This artifact will set North American archaeology completely on its head. An implement of undeniable human manufacture in close association with thirty-one-thousand-year-old mammoth bones is proof positive that human occupation of the Americas occurred far earlier than the Clovis culture.”
“So this flint is… valuable,” McFain said. And licked his lips.
The antiquarian nodded. “Indeed. One could hardly put a value on it.”
Cordell York—the discoverer of this treasure—cleared his throat. “I suggest that we present this artifact to the lithic research laboratory at the Smithsonian. They are among the best in the business, and will be able to analyze it for …”
“I’ll hand-carry it to them,” Delia said quickly. “I’d like to be there when they perform their analysis.”
Heads nodded sagely in agreement. All were pleased that Delia Silver did not exert her clear prerogative to perform the definitive analysis of the most important flint artifact ever found in the Americas. She was not only a very competent archaeologist; Delia was an internationally recognized expert in the manufacture of lithic implements. And knew more about flint quarries than all of your Smithsonian experts put together. But the scientists understood that it was a political necessity to bring in independent investigators to analyze such an important find. When the word got out, the McFain mammoth site was going to be a very controversial subject. It would help clinch their case if other recognized experts (and potential critics) were involved at the earliest possible time. This was, after all, why the Silvers had invited York and Newton to inspect the excavation.
She rubbed the surface of the glistening flint with the tip of her finger. “I’ll book a flight to Washington tonight. I imagine they’ll want to keep the artifact for at least a few weeks.”
It seemed that the issue was settled. It was not.
Like a striking rattlesnake, Nathan McFain scooped the flint blade off the table.
The scientists were wide-eyed in astonishment at this impertinence.
The rancher was unrepentant in the heat of their harsh gazes. “You people seem to have forgot something,” he said. “Everything you dig up on my land is mine. This thing ain’t goin’ noplace without my say-so.” He thrust a thumb at his chest. “I’ll decide what’s to be done with this here flint rock,” he made a sweeping gesture to indicate the excavation, “and with every damn piece of bone you dig up.”
There was a dead silence around the card table.
Nathan McFain turned and stalked out of the tent, leaving the makeshift door flapping behind him. Vanessa gave the scientists an apologetic look, then followed her father. She evidently hoped to talk some reason into the cantankerous old man.
Robert Newton, the quiet one, was first to find his voice. “One is simply astonished at such uncivilized behavior. We have been intimidated by a fat old cowboy with tobacco stains on his beard!”
Cordell York, though greatly annoyed that his singular discovery had been whisked away in such an unseemly fashion, appeared somewhat bemused by the incident. And he never missed an opportunity to needle a colleague. “Well now, Moses… I had thought you were managing this excavation. But it seems that Mr. McFain is pulling the strings in this little puppet show.”
Moses Silver was choking with rage. “That loony old bastard… he’s a fool. A menace. A cad. A blackguard… a villain …” The old man was fairly gasping for additional epithets.
Delia Silver’s complexion was gray.
Knowing it would annoy Moses Silver, Cordell York pointed out the bright side. “Well, we do have our data.”
Moses slammed his clenched fist onto the flimsy folding table, which almost collapsed under the heavy blow. The paleontologist spat his words out like bullets. “Data? Need I remind you that we don’t have even a single photograph of the isolated artifact.” The scientists exchanged uneasy glances. It was true. There were dozens of shots of the blade in situ. All in various states of exposure, half-hidden under the mammoth’s mandible. But not one close-up photograph had been made after it had been removed. There had seemed time enough for the technical shots. And then Nathan McFain had rudely asserted his privilege. If the rancher managed to lose the precious flint blade… but of course that was absurd. How could even a moron lose such a thing?
Delia patted her father’s hand in a motherly fashion. “I’ll talk to Mr. McFain after he’s had time to consider the implications of what he’s done. It’ll all work out.” She smiled reassuringly. “You’ll see.”
Moses sighed, but he knew his daughter. One way or another, Delia would damn well get the flint blade back.
Moon watched the scene with more than a little interest. When word of tonight’s discovery got out, the tribal council’s concerns about the precise location of the land boundary would be escalated to an all-out crisis. There would be shouting and fist-shaking at the council meetings. Lawyers would be sent to do battle. The policeman melded into the shadows beside Ralph Briggs and Horace Flye, who were whispering excitedly. An unlikely pair to have a conversation, he thought.
“Well,” Flye murmured, “I never thought I’d see such a big rhubarb over a little piece a flint.”
“The rhubarb,” Briggs observed dryly, “has barely begun.”
He was right.
Three days had passed since the late-night show under the big tent. It was for no small reason that Charlie Moon was in high spirits—he had an invitation for supper. From the lady of the house. And Nathan McFain’s pickup was nowhere to be seen. The Ute policeman parked his SUPD Blazer by Vanessa McFain’s van. His early arrival had gone unnoticed, so instead of knocking on the ranch house door the Ute policeman made a detour around the barn. He stood, hands in his jacket pockets, and looked across the pasture toward the hulking tent over the excavation. It was possible that Nathan had made his peace with the academics by now. But not likely. The old rancher was mule-stubborn. And Moses Silver was struck from the same mold.
Shadows were growing long and indistinct; the twilight sky was a hard gunmetal blue. To the west, a long blade-shaped cloud was tinged with scarlet. A red-tailed hawk circled majestically over the bluff, alert for the unwary rodent.
Moon turned his attention to the pond, where some progress had been made. The curved blade of the ’dozer was pushed up against the loose dirt of the unfinished dam, which was now knee-high. Beugmann, Nathan’s hired hand, had evidently finished his day’s work; he’d be having supper in his cabin. This thought reminded Moon of the reason for his visit. Like her mother before her, Vanessa was a good hand with a black iron skillet. Maybe she’d whipped up some fried chicken. Or fried catfish. Or fried something else. His mouth watered at these savory prospects. He turned and retraced his steps around the barn.
The Ute policeman was heading toward the ranch house’s long front porch when a pair of headlights illuminated the barren yard. He waited while a small white Buick pulled up near his dusty Blazer. A trim-looking young woman got out. She wore a conservative dark skirt. Matching dark jacket. White blouse. With a neatly looped string tie. Dark, sensible shoes. In her right hand, she toted a leather briefcase cunningly designed to pass as a large, flat purse. She was trying very hard to look like a prosperous Avon lady. But this one wasn’t peddling perfume. Might as well hang a sign around her neck advertising GUN FOR HIRE.
But as soon as she spoke, he began to have second thoughts. Her voice was… well… sweet. And very feminine. Just like the rest of her.
“Officer Moon, I presume?” She extended a small hand. “I’m Claudia Cleaver. Law clerk. With Barnes, Barnes, and Pettinger. Of Durango.”
He accepted the hand and tipped his hat. “I’m Moon. Lawman. With Severo, Chavez, and Bignight. Of Ignacio.”
She laughed. “I was told you’d be here.”
“And who told you that?”
“Your boss. Roy Severo thought I might want a police escort, said you’d headed out to the McFain ranch.”
“You need a police escort to pay a visit to Nathan McFain?” He could guess why.
She jutted her round, dimpled chin toward the ranch house, now comfortably shrouded in twilight. “I am told Mr. McFain can be… somewhat ill-tempered.”
“Ill-tempered,” Moon said with a wide grin. “I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard said about him. But why’ve you come all the way out here to see Nathan?”
“The court has responded affirmatively to our request for an injunction on the land boundary question. The official decision will be mailed to Mr. McFain tomorrow, but my firm thought it in the Southern Ute tribe’s best interests to deliver a copy immediately.”
“Won’t his lawyer call him about the outcome?”
She smiled as if mildly amused. “Mr. McFain refused to be represented by an attorney at the hearing. And he didn’t even show up himself, which didn’t help his case any.”
Moon wasn’t surprised. Lawyers cost money that the tightfisted old rancher wasn’t about to part with—and Nathan was stubborn enough to snub the court’s proceedings. He tapped on the door and heard the light click of Vanessa’s boot heels on the pine floor. She opened the door wide, her smile at Moon quickly shifting into an expression of mild surprise when she noticed the small woman in the dark suit. Has he brought a girlfriend?
“This is Ms. Claudia Cleaver. She has some business with your father.” Now this should be fun to watch.
The woman gave the tall policeman an appraising look. He didn’t look quite so scary in the light. “Actually, it’s Miss Cleaver.”
Vanessa stood to one side and motioned with a jerk of her head. “Dad’s in the parlor.”
Miss Cleaver stepped inside quickly—as if fearing the door might be shut on her—and exchanged strained smiles with Vanessa. Like a black moth, she headed directly toward the light at the end of the hallway.
Moon watched her trajectory. Smack toward the bull’s-eye.
Vanessa gave Moon a raised-eyebrow look and whispered: “Where’d you find her?”
He shrugged innocently. “She just followed me home.”
Nathan McFain was standing in front of the wide fireplace, admiring the object he’d placed dead-center on the mantelpiece. In a plain wooden frame—which had a fluffy cotton backing—was the flint skinning knife that had been found under the jaw of his mammoth.
“Excuse me.”
He turned slowly, gave her the once-over. And frowned. A woman wearing a man’s tie. And a purse that didn’t look like a purse. This sure looked like bad news on wheels.
She smiled sweetly. “Mr. Nathan McFain, I presume.”
He nodded. “An’ who’re you?”
“Claudia Cleaver.”
Nathan, who was no fool, narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the visitor. “You a lawyer?”
She laughed as if this assumption was terribly funny. “Dear me, no.” Not for another year or so, Pops. The law clerk did a complete turn, hugging the purse-briefcase to her chest. “Oh, I just love what you’ve done with this room. It’s so… so inviting. It makes a person feel so welcome.”
“Uh, well,” Nathan said as he sat down in one of the massive chairs, “why don’t you have a seat.” He was sure he had this one figured. Claudia was a city gal who wanted herself a cabin for a few days of rest and relaxation. Probably came down to see the mammoth bones.
Ignoring this offer, she leaned on his chair. “Have you lived here all your life, Mr. McFain?”
Somewhat befuddled by her closeness, he nodded. “Sure have. It was my father’s land, and his father’s before him.” He sniffed. She smelled pretty good. Like she’d just had a bath.
Miss Cleaver gave him a full dose of the big-eye. “I’d love to live in such a charming old house.”
The old man’s mouth curled into a silly grin. “I might be willin’ to take in a boarder. If she was a good cook.”
She laughed, as if he were the funniest man alive. And sat lightly on the arm of his chair.
“Charlie,” Vanessa whispered, “I think she’s going to get in his lap!”
Moon nodded. “Maybe they’d like some privacy.” Vanessa elbowed him in the ribs.
Claudia Cleaver leaned an inch closer to the old man. “I understand you rent cabins?”
“I sure do. By the day or the week. Gas heat in every one of ’em. But I only got a few left, what with all the excitement about the excavation.” He was about to add that he could rent her a room in the main house if she liked, but noticed the accusing look his daughter was aiming at him. Damn.
