There was only one problem—I was on the wrong side.

I dismounted, looked at the thigh-deep water that rushed by, and then spoke to the horse. “Hey, partner, how ’bout we take a little swim?” Another strike of lightning hit the ridge above like a reminder.

With a horse, the key in these situations is to not show any hesitation but rather to boldly step forward as if you know what you’re doing, which works marvelously if you really do know what you’re doing.

“C’mon, boy, we don’t have all the time in the world.” He took a tentative step forward, and I let out some rein and watched him plant a hoof into the depths.

I guess he was used to the ponds and reservoirs on the Lone Elk Ranch, because he forded the creek with me like Esther Williams. We were about three-quarters of the way across when I noticed something upstream. At first I thought it was one of Danny’s turtles, but the shape was wrong. Whatever it was, it was approaching fast, and I just hoped it wasn’t a loose cottonwood branch. Bambino saw it, too, and moved to the left, but this time I had hold of the reins that were sturdily wound through his bridle. I had a choice—either hang on or grab whatever it was that was about to knock me downstream.

It was just about then that I saw the branch had an arm. I dropped the reins and lunged, twisting my fingers into a denim shirt. I planted my feet but slipped and fell in the powerful current, watching as the horse began to climb the bank, shake itself off, and trot away. I tightened my one hand on the garment and pulled the two of us from the creek bed with less than one horsepower.

I lay there on the bank for a second or two, took a few quick breaths, and then rolled over. It was Enic, lying on his back, his face open to the deluging skies. Turning his head, I spilled the water out of his mouth, pushed on his chest, and felt a tremor of movement in his body. When his hands came up weakly, he yanked his head away to the side, coughing and spitting.

I held him there as he continued to convulse and finally emitted a long moan. “Enic?” His eyes wobbled toward mine, and I smiled down at him as another lightning bolt ran the ridge. “Looks like you took a swim.”

His eyes were wide and reminded me of Bambino’s. “Mmm . . . Mahk jchi.”

I shook my head at him. “English, Enic. My Cheyenne isn’t that good.”

He blinked the rain away from his face, and I leaned forward in an attempt to shield him with the brim of my hat, his hanging from its stampede string.

“The boy . . .” He sputtered the words out. “The canyon where they found the dinosaur. Got them out but then slipped.”

“Do you know where they are?”

He coughed and then nodded his head as his hand came up and fingered my raincoat, his teeth bright in the pitch darkness as if illuminated from behind. “Can I borrow that slicker?”

 • • •

“So, why did they run off?” Maybe it was the lightning strike or the fall, but everything was sounding like I was in a barrel.

The older man, insisting that he knew where they may have gone, slogged along in the steady rain, keeping up a pretty good pace for a guy who’d almost drowned. “Maybe he was protecting the girl from you.”

I hustled to keep up and wished I’d brought two slickers. “I’m the one who’s trying to find them, lost out here at the ends of the earth.”

He grunted. “Or the one trying to keep them from being happy ever after.”

With this pronouncement, he turned, trudged the rest of the way up the hill, and paused at the top. “We should get going.”

He disappeared over the side, and I had little choice but to follow. Making my way in the greasy grass on the far side of the hill, I called after him again.

He said nothing.

Over hill and dale we trudged along, slipping and sliding until I decided to swing him around and ask, “Enic, where the hell are we going?”

Our noses were very close, and I could see the expressionless look on his face, much like the one that I had seen on Taylor’s.

“Take your hand off of me.”

“Not till I get some answers.” I could feel pressure at my midsection and looked down to see the point of a deer-hoof skinning knife pressed against my shirt. Bringing my face up slowly in the same rhythm as the now distant thunder, I merged the waterspout from the brim of my hat with his and spoke carefully. “You go ahead and do what you need to do, and when you’re finished I’m going to shove that skinning knife down your throat, turn it sideways, and yank it back out.”

There was another lightning strike, which although distant was bright enough to illuminate an opening in the hillside guarded by a few huge, ancient timbers that marked what looked to be an old mine.

Enic smiled slowly. “You know, I believe you would.”

13

We stood at the opening in the hillside, Enic running a hand over the horse that blinked with a sleepy expression on his long face as the old Indian tied him off, out of the rain. “When he runs away there are only three places he goes to and this is one.”

“I know how he feels.” I glanced up at the heavy, rough-cut timbers and felt like Dante, preparing to enter hell. “Looks old.”

“Before my time, but Danny and me, we found it.”

“I think I might’ve seen it when I was a boy.” I ran a hand on the wood, moving my hip in an attempt to get it mobile again and failing miserably. “Coal?”

“Maybe.”

I thought about the Dead Swede Mine. “Gold?”

He shrugged. “We never found any, and it’s not in the right place for that, but I never found no gold nowhere so what do I know?”

Hoping the sun would begin showing a glimmer in the east through a crack in the iron sky, I stared into the inky gloom of the shaft, at least looking forward to getting out of the rain. “So, where are they?”

He shook his head. “It’s very deep, and when Danny and I found it we used dynamite to clear the debris so that we could have a way into the larger, natural tunnel inside, maybe carved out from the reservoirs. That’s probably where they are.”

Just inside the opening there were two broom handles sticking out of a medium-sized plastic garbage can with a lid that had a hole in it along with a lighter. Enic pulled out a sawed-off floor mop that had seen better days and palmed the lighter.

The smell was unmistakable. “Kerosene?”

“Yeah.” He held the flame to the mop head and it slowly lit. “One of the torches is missing, so they’re in there.”

Enic held his up, and I was starting to feel like I was in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I lifted the lid and pulled the remaining mop from the can, aiming it toward his.

He pulled it away. “You don’t trust me?”

I thought about it. “Not really.”

“What would the next person do?”

“What, you’re planning on a meeting?” I held the thing closer, and he finally lit it, albeit with a frown on his face.

Remarkably, there was no writing on the walls, and the cave was pretty broad. I could see where it narrowed ahead, so I attempted to stay close to Enic; even with my own torch, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him too far out of sight.

He turned sideways, keeping the light in front of him, and continued on, looking back only once. “Well, c’mon.”

From the angle of the rock, you could see it was the same formation shelf as the ridge that contained Jen, and I couldn’t help but wonder what had hollowed the cave out other than human beings. I watched as he squeezed his way through, and as I attempted to negotiate the same space, I could see his torch turn a slight corner and continue on. “Hey, Enic! Slow down, would you?”