She shook her head and banished those thoughts. She’d spent ten years at the Institute; Digby had a few weeks. He was five years younger than her, with a publication record that, while fine, couldn’t compare with hers. There was no way he would be promoted above her. It was small-minded and even a little paranoid of her to worry about it.

She turned her attention back to the dig. Most of the items she had uncovered had been photographed and packed away, including a very unusual object wrapped in leather that she recognized as a Native American medicine bundle. In eleven hours, she and Skip had managed to complete the work that she’d initially estimated would take two days. On top of that, the results had been spectacular. What they had found was going to completely overturn their previous ideas. It was, she thought with some satisfaction, going to blow the case wide open.

Skip packed away the last of the tools, then closed and latched the lid of the equipment box. “How about a couple of frosty ones to celebrate?”

Nora had to smile. Skip never missed a chance to crack a beer, but she had to admit this evening seemed especially appropriate. “Don’t mind if I do.”

“Coming right up.”

“Let’s close this up first,” she said.

“You’re the boss.”

They rose and together pulled a large plastic tarp over the excavated area, pegging it down carefully. Then they retired to their own campsite, fifty yards distant. Nora was glad the wind had finally abated and they could enjoy the evening without breathing dust.

Skip rummaged in the cooler and returned with two bottles of Dragon’s Milk, chips of ice still clinging to the sides. He opened them both with a flourish, handed one to Nora, and sat down next to her, cross-legged. He raised his bottle in salutation. “Here’s to an amazing dig.”

They clinked bottles and drank.

“So,” said Skip, “what’s your take on all this?”

“Well,” said Nora, “first thing, it’s clear that Gower had a partner—given there were two bedrolls in that rotten old tent. And I’d guess, from the amount of charcoal in the firepit and all that trash in the dump, they were here for quite a while—perhaps two weeks.”

Skip nodded. “And the medicine bundle?”

They had found the medicine bundle inside the collapsed tent. It was made of fringed buckskin, much shriveled by age and rain. Nora had carefully unwrapped it and removed the items in it—a prehistoric bird point, a small agate fetish of a wolf, braided sweetgrass, a bundle of small feathers and sage, and five tiny leather pouches of dried earth.

“I think it probably belonged to his partner,” she said, “which would mean he was Native American. I would guess Apache.”

“How do you know?” Skip asked.

“It’s what’s called a mountain soil bundle. Four of those inner pouches contain earth gathered at the summits of the four sacred mountains, and the fifth would contain soil from the person’s home area. Only Apaches and Navajos make bundles like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gower’s partner was Mescalero. All this land here was their traditional homeland.”

“So where’d the partner go?”

She fell silent a moment, musing. “The partner must’ve cleared out fast. To leave that mountain soil bundle behind makes me think he was in a panic. And he never came back for it.” She paused to take another sip of stout. “With today’s discoveries, I think we can put together a clearer account of Gower’s last day alive.”

Skip rubbed his hands together melodramatically. “Goody.”

The sun had sunk behind the Azul Mountains, and a purplish mist filled the desert floor below. Dark clouds were swiftly moving in, leaving only a thin band of lighter-colored sky above the mountains, which was soon extinguished. Nora could see lightning flickering beyond the mountains, too far away for the sound to reach them. It was one of those evenings that felt dark and ominous, as if the end of the world were approaching. With the setting of the sun, the temperature was declining rapidly.

“Let’s build a fire and then I’ll tell you my theories.”

“Deal.” Skip cut some grass and sagebrush with his knife as a starter, and a moment later a fire flared up, casting a warm pool of light in the rising darkness.

Nora began. “The date is July 15, 1945. Gower and his partner—”

“Wait. We need to give his partner a name. Otherwise, what kind of a story would it be?”

“Okay, let’s call him X.”

“No, that’s no good. Too clichéd.” Skip paused. “Let’s call him A, for Apache.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “So they’d been camped up here for a couple of weeks. They were looking for something out there in the Jornada del Muerto or the foothills of the San Andres.”

“Treasure!” said Skip, cracking another bottle.

“Maybe. Or a lost mine. Or something of value left in the old Gower farmhouse. Anyway, they were camped here. A was probably looking out over the same landscape we’re looking out at right now. It might have been an evening just like this one, with dark clouds moving in and a storm approaching. I read up on the Trinity test, and it turns out the firing was delayed because a lightning storm passed over.”

“Must’ve worried them, the bomb getting hit by lightning and all.” Skip’s eyes gleamed in the firelight.