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.”
He urged his horse on and they rode single file along the ridge. A sheer chasm plunged downward on their left, a chill wind blowing up from below.
“We should stop here, tie up the horses, and go the last few hundred feet on foot,” Burleson said. “I don’t like the footing, and I’d rather disturb the area as little as possible.”
“Good idea,” said Clive.
They dismounted and tied their horses by their lead ropes to some dwarf pines below the ridgeline, out of the wind. Wiggett led the way, snapping on his headlamp, as they walked over the rounded granite rocks. A half-built cairn came into view, stones tumbled about.
Burleson shone his headlamp over it. “Looks fresh, all right. And over there are some pieces of wood, like he was going to make a cross. Guess I was wrong—he wasn’t headed into town to find a clergyman, after all; he was going to bury those bones in the wilderness, where nobody would disturb them again.” He paused. “Looks as if he was building it when he fell. That’s one hell of an edge.”
Nora shone her light on the oblong pile of rocks and then toward the cliff edge, about thirty feet away. Only blackness yawned beyond.
“He’s down there,” said Wiggett, pointing.
Nora and the others approached gingerly. She knelt at the edge and looked down. The valley was flooded in moonlight and she could see, perhaps five hundred feet below, the horribly twisted body of a man. Scattered around him were bits of white. She took out her binoculars and saw immediately that the bits were scattered fragments of bone, spilled from a pair of torn saddlebags that had tumbled down the cliff with him.
Clive knelt next to her. Silently, he took the binoculars from her hands. “Jesus, how awful. And I suppose those are the bones he stole—or what’s left of them—lying around him.”
For a moment, everyone was silent, wrapped in their own thoughts. Then Burleson abruptly spoke.
“How is it possible,” he asked, “that a man as experienced in the wilderness as Peel would fall off a cliff like this?”
“Late at night,” Wiggett replied. “The moon had set. He’s collecting rocks for his grave. He’s agitated, upset, not thinking clearly.”
“Maybe even had a drink or two,” Clive added.
“Peel didn’t drink.”
Nora looked down again, fighting off a sense of vertigo despite her long experience with heights. The cliff edge was, in fact, so sharp it could have been cut with a knife. Anyone might have walked over the edge. Except…
“Wouldn’t he have had a headlamp?” she asked.
“You’d think so,” said Burleson.
Nora backed away from the edge. Then she rose to her feet. “I think we’d better ride back to camp and notify the police.”