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A hush fell over the canyon. The gentle babbling of Fiftymile Creek filled Maddock’s ears. The newcomers moved closer, and Maddock finally got a good look at them. “Hold your fire,” Maddock said.
“Are you sure? We’ll lose the advantage of surprise,” Gold said.
“Look closer. I doubt those guys are Dominion.”
The men were Navajo. One wore his hair long, held back with a beaded headband. The other had a businessman’s haircut, short and parted on the side. Maddock called out to them. The men stopped and ducked down again.
“Why are you following us?” Maddock said.
“We want to know who you are and what you’re doing here,” Long Hair answered.
“We’re filming for a streaming show,” Spenser said. “We have a permit.”
“In that case, come out where we can see you,” the man said.
“Hold your horses,” Gold said. “Lower your weapons first, Cochise.”
“That’s racist,” Bones said.
“It’s not racist, it’s stereotyping, which can be a building block of racism if someone believes in it too strongly,” Dakota said. “People have no sense of nuance anymore.”
“Where did that come from?” Kendra asked.
“Do as he says, and come out where we can see you,” Maddock called. “We’ll do the same.”
The men complied, lowering their rifles, and moving into the open. Maddock and his party followed suit. The men were surprised to see a pair of celebrities among the party. As the groups approached one another, Segar rushed forward, skidded to a halt in front of the Navajo, and adopted a fighting stance.
“Are you all right?” The short-haired man asked.
“Don’t make any sudden moves and everything will be copacetic,” Segar said.
“Ignore him,” Bones said. He introduced himself and everyone on the team except Gold and Segar, who needed no introduction. The long-haired Navajo was named Atsa. His friend was Joe.
“Why are you armed if you’re filming a show?” Joe asked.
“Gee, I don’t know.” Gold made a show of scratching his head and gazing up at the sky. “Maybe we were worried about guys with rifles stalking us.”
“We weren’t exactly stalking you,” Joe said. “Members of our community take turns keeping an eye on the park, unofficially, of course.”
“Tourists have been known to mess with the pictographs,” Atsa said. “Some will add their own carvings. Others stick to adding breasts or male genitalia to the images.”
“What happens when you catch them?” Bones asked. “Do you shoot them? Not that I would blame you if you did.”
“Nothing like that.” Joe chuckled. “If we catch them in the act, we capture it on video and then we have a talk with them.”
“Talking with your fists?” Segar cracked his knuckles. “I could teach you how to incapacitate a man with a single strike.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to read aloud from your autobiography?” Gold asked. “The first chapter put me in a coma.”
“We have an earnest conversation with them, try to make them understand the damage they are causing,” Atsa explained.
“Does it do any good?” Maddock asked.
“You’d be surprised,” Joe said. “More often than not, they’re embarrassed and quick to apologize.”
“Why the weapons, then?” Spenser pointed at their rifles.
“Yesterday, two of our group had an encounter with some sketchy types—thugs with more muscle than brains,” Joe said. “They were armed and not at all receptive to a polite conversation. They told our guys to mind their own business, and one of them flashed a pistol. We wanted to be prepared in case we bumped into them.”
“What did they look like?” Maddock asked.
Atsa looked up at the sky, tapped his chin. “Bald guy with a round head, another with one of those bro beards.” He traced a circled around his mouth. A fellow with long hair, another with a scraggly beard. The leader had one of those...” He paused, scrunched his face.
“Don’t mind him,” Joe said. “He always looks constipated when he thinks.”
“Screw you, Joe,” Aska said. “He had one of those stupid beards that covers everything but your chin. They were popular a couple centuries ago.”
“Mutton chops,” Maddock said. The three men who had confronted them at the cemetery had caught up them. The other two might be Lerryn and Rattlebones, the costumed characters he and Bones had fought at Drakeworld.
“What sort of program are you filming?” Atsa asked.
“It’s part travel adventure, part myths and legends,” Spenser explained. “We’re investigating the legend of the Treasure of the Golden Jesus. Have you heard of it?”
“Absolutely,” Joe said. “Every few years we rescue some middle-aged, out-of-shape white guy who went searching for the treasure and got lost or trapped. No offense intended,” he said to Segar. The actor frowned and put his hands over his thick midriff.
“Can you give us any guidance? Point us in the right direction?” Maddock asked.
“I can guide you back to your vehicles so you can get the hell out of here before someone gets hurt,” Atsa said. “It’s been two hundred years since the Spanish hid the treasure and no one has found it yet. It’s a waste of time.”
“This isn’t our first rodeo,” Bones said.
“It’s not the two of you I’m worried about.” Atsa’s eyes went from Kendra to Spenser to Dakota, then settled on Segar.
“We’ll keep them alive,” Bones said, “and anyone who messes with the pictographs will get slapped.”
“I like you,” Atsa said, “even if you are Cherokee.”
“Thanks,” Bones said. “Can you help a cousin out? The two of you obviously know this place well. Have you or anyone you know seen anything that might be a clue to the treasure cave?”
Joe looked at Atsa, who shrugged and said, “Up to you. It’s your family’s story.”
“My great-grandfather claimed to have found the entrance to a treasure cave,” Joe said.
“Did he say where?” Maddock asked.
“Near the...” He didn’t get to finish the sentence. Shots rang out, echoed in the narrow canyon. Joe’s eyes went wide. and he fell to the ground.
