“Jesus,” she murmured.

“I just saw one, too,” said Clive.

In an hour, they had exhausted all possible hiding places that could be reached with a free climb. Nora and Clive then put on harnesses and she showed him how to belay her. Given the heights they had estimated, the climbs wouldn’t present much difficulty.

She tied the rope off, then checked their equipment. “On belay?” she asked Clive.

“Belay on,” he said, patting his carabiner and bracing himself.

“Climbing.” She began making her way up the vertical slope, fixing a cam at twelve feet. Using that as an anchor, she worked sideways six feet in either direction, peering into holes. A crow shot out of one, scaring the hell out of her, and she felt herself fall about a foot before Clive caught her rope tight with the belay device.

“Sorry,” he called up.

“Remember—never take your brake hand off the rope.” She removed the cam, eased herself down, then moved twelve feet farther along the cliff, where she started the process over again.

As the morning wore on, what had begun as an exhilarating treasure hunt started to grow wearisome. The climbing, so close to the ground, was neither fun nor challenging. The holes were mostly empty, except for old crow’s nests and the occasional pissed-off rattler to get her heart racing. Clive soon got the hang of belaying and it didn’t take long for the novelty to wear off for him, either.

Around noon, they heard a shout from the middle of the meadow. A few minutes later Salazar appeared through the trees, waving. “We found it!”

Nora descended, marking her position, and the two of them followed Salazar back to the dig.

Salazar and Adelsky had opened two of the four quads before hitting pay dirt—wooden planks, nails, spikes, and what was obviously the camp’s hearth: a mass of charcoal surrounded by stones.

Nora examined the area. Not all of it was uncovered yet, of course, but there was enough to make out the general outline: extremely rotten planks, along with crude bent nails and hand-forged spikes embedded in the boards or lying on the ground.

She looked closer at the hearth. It was a grim spectacle. Pieces of what was obviously a skull lay in the remains of a pot. Mingled in with the charcoal beneath were more burned bits and gnawed nubbins of bone. About two feet from the hearth, at the edge of the excavated quad, was a ghastly sight: the perfect skeleton of a dismembered hand that, for some reason, had not been eaten. Perhaps it had been stored for later consumption and either forgotten about or, more likely, left because everyone had died.

A silence settled over the group. As Clive photographed everything, Nora turned to her assistants. “Well, this is it. Very clean work. Nicely done, both of you.”

“And the gold?” asked Adelsky.

“Nothing so far.”

Salazar cleared his throat dramatically. “Any possibility we might help search this afternoon?”

Nora looked at Adelsky and then at Salazar. There was a glow in their eyes that she didn’t remember seeing before. Strange how gold brought out that kind of reaction, even in archaeologists who should know better. However, they were both experienced climbers—and she could use a break.

“Tomorrow. Once you complete those other two quads. You can trade off climbing and belaying.”

After lunch she and Clive hiked back to the cliffs, and Nora once again harnessed up. “I hope we find it soon,” she said. “Because I’m a little worried about gold fever taking hold around here.”

“Me, too,” said Clive, looking up at the nearest cliff face, its flanks riddled with openings. “But it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack—a haystack full of rattlers.”

30

WHEN NORA AND the archaeology team returned to camp late that afternoon, with one quad of the shelter thoroughly searched and the other three well along, they found the place strangely deserted. Nora sat down near the fire as the afternoon chill settled, her arm and leg muscles aching, throwing on a few sticks to get the smoldering coals going.

“Where is everybody?” Salazar asked.

“Out hunting for gold,” said Adelsky with a laugh, settling in his chair and firing up his vape.

“I hope not,” said Nora.

As if on cue, she heard the sound of voices, and then Burleson and Maggie came riding up. They dismounted and Burleson led the horses off while Maggie bustled into the kitchen area and began opening up camp cupboards and pulling out pans, working up supper.

“Where were you?” Adelsky asked Maggie, blowing a stream of smoke. “Looking for something, by chance?”

“Lay off, wise guy. Yeah, we were looking for Peel. We’re not allowed to hunt for treasure—remember?”

Adelsky gave a cynical chuckle. “Peel. Sure.”

Burleson returned and settled down in his chair. “Took another look downtrail, just in case he’d fallen from the horse and was out cold, lying off among the rocks. But no sign of him.” He paused. “Anyone seen Wiggett? He was supposed to stay back here with the horses.”

“Probably out looking as well,” said Adelsky.

“Three guesses as for what,” said Salazar.

“Cut it out, you two,” Nora told them.

The golden glow gradually painted the peaks around them as Maggie served up dinner. Afterward, as twilight filled the valley with purple shadows, Nora heard a call, distant but urgent.

A sudden silence fell as they all listened.

Another yell, followed by the sound of hooves beating the ground. A moment later, Wiggett burst out of the forest at a lope, bringing his horse right into camp and reining up without dismounting.

“I found Peel,” he gasped. “Up by Black Buttes.”

Burleson jumped up. “What? You mean he was headed west? Deeper into the mountains?”

Wiggett nodded. “And that’s not all. He’s dead.”

“Dead?” Maggie cried. “Are you sure? What happened?”

“Fell off a cliff. The way he’s lying, all twisted up…Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Jesus.” Burleson glanced skyward. “There’s still some light left, and tonight’s the full moon. Let’s go—take me back up there.”

“We’ll all go,” said Nora.

* * *

Nora and Clive accompanied Burleson and Wiggett as they rode from the corral up past the dig. Wiggett led them away at right angles from the canyon and up a small draw, following the crude trail as it continued into high country. The ride brought them to a landscape of granite domes, ravines, and twisted bristlecone pines. As the trail petered out and the last of the light faded, a great buttery moon rose in the east, casting a pale light over the landscape that was almost as clear as day.

After half an hour of riding, Wiggett halted amid a labyrinth of ridges. The others rode up beside him. They were ranged along a ridgeline that narrowed abruptly as it approached a small peak.

“It’s just below that peak,” said Wiggett. “The body’s down in the ravine to the left. I wouldn’t have noticed it myself, except I had to dismount while traversing the ridge because the footing was so tricky. Be careful and stay away from that edge.” He paused a moment. “And there’s something else you should see. It’s what first caught my attention. Looks like Peel was building a cairn—or a grave.”