CHAPTER 21
“That’s horrible,” said Storm.
Dad nodded. “Fortunately, your mother is one of the foremost antiquarian handwriting experts in the world. We are insisting that she be given a chance to authenticate the document.”
“Is Professor Hingleburt cooperating?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” said Mom. “In fact, he suggested that the document in the National Archives is the forgery. That the founding fathers knew better than to give what he calls ‘the ill-educated rabble’ so much freedom. He thinks America might be stronger if people weren’t allowed to say whatever they felt like saying whenever they felt like saying it.”
“Ha!” Storm gave that a lip fart. Saying whatever she feels like saying (or lip farting) whenever she feels like doing it? That’s how Storm rolls.
“Long story short,” said Dad, “your mother and I are going to be quite busy here in DC.”
“We were hoping to eventually join you kids and Uncle Richie on your treasure quest,” added Mom. “But that’s not going to work out. We’ll be tied up for some time investigating this bogus Bill of Rights while simultaneously honoring our commitments at the Smithsonian.”
“No worries,” said Tommy. “Uncle Richie is cool. We’re cool. Everything’s cool.”
We all nodded in agreement (even though three of us weren’t so cool about Tommy flying Uncle Richie’s plane).
“Good luck on your quest!” said Dad.
“Make us proud!” added Mom.
“Love you back!” we shouted in unison.
We signed off and were about to start gazing up at the stars again when Uncle Richie roared into our campsite on the ATV.
He was waving a rolled-up scroll of leather over his head.
“Eureka!” he shouted, as he fishtailed to a sand-spewing stop. “The map is ours!”
“Wha-hut?” said Beck. “Dirk McDaniels gave you the map?”
“Of course he did. Just as I would’ve given him one million dollars had the cards gone the other way.”
“You wagered one million dollars?” I said. “In a card game?”
“Indeed, I did, Bick. We were playing war.”
“So, uh, do you have a million dollars?” asked Beck.
“Of course not, Beck! But I knew I wouldn’t need the money. For I held all the aces!”
“Did you find out anything about the mysterious woman who gave Mr. McDaniels the map?” asked Tommy.
“She didn’t reveal her name or her identity,” said Uncle Richie. “But Mr. McDaniels described her as a radiant princess with raven-black hair. A descendant of the Cahuilla tribe, which, of course, is native to this land. Just think—her people were sitting under this same blanket of stars long before Juan de Iturbe sailed up from Mexico, searching for precious pearls. They were also here when the Spaniard’s great white bird flew up from Mexico.”
In the still of the desert night, huddled around the glowing embers of our flickering campfire, we were all mesmerized by the hypnotic sound of Uncle Richie’s voice as he spun his tale. (The guy’s an amazing storyteller. Even better than me.)
“You see, children, according to first peoples’ legends, many years ago there were great floods in this desert. When this happened, the native people would climb to higher, drier land and live there until the water finally receded. One day, they saw a great big bird with many tall white wings come floating up on the floodwaters from down Mexico way.”
“With time, the water went away but the bird was stuck in the sand. Its white wings fell away, leaving nothing but a skeleton of three tall and barren trees. The sand blew and blew, and, before long, the bird was completely covered up. She disappeared into the dunes.”
“A great bird with tall white wings?” said Storm. “Three tall and barren trees? Sounds like a three-masted sailing ship to me.”
Uncle Richie grinned. “Indeed. And the young lady’s Cahuilla ancestors drew this map to commemorate exactly where that big bird is buried!”