Canyon Sacrifice. Scott Graham
over his shoulder.
Chuck looked past Donald to the park staffers bent double at the sides of the litter, readying their lift—all but one, that is. Robert Begay stood unmoving, his dark eyes fixed on Chuck.
Chuck gave the chief ranger a tentative wave. Robert did not lift his hand in return. Though Chuck didn’t know Robert well, their few interactions over the course of Chuck’s work at the Hermit Creek latrine site had been amicable. Now, however, Robert’s coal-black eyes burned with deep and unyielding suspicion.
1 p.m.
Chuck held his position, his hand arrested in midair. When Robert neither moved nor broke his gaze, Chuck dropped his hand, spun on his heel, and headed away from the promontory, wholly unnerved.
Chuck made his living drawing the line between archaeological finds that were significant and those that weren’t. In the field, truth was revealed through the gradual accumulation of many pieces of evidence, clues in the form of pressure flakes and hunting points, potsherds and bone fragments. Each discovered artifact, collapsed wall, or uncovered fire ring might disclose something critical to understanding the truths of the ancients. Or it might mean nothing at all. It was his responsibility to know the difference, and over the years he’d proven himself good at it.
When it came to the death of the guy on Maricopa Point, however, Chuck was left not with an accumulation of evidence, but only with Robert Begay’s menacing gaze on the promontory.
Upon retreating from the point, Chuck caught up with Janelle, Carmelita, and Rosie at Hermit’s Rest. Janelle greeted him with gritty silence. Carmelita glowered at Chuck, following her mother’s lead.
They took refuge on a covered bench at the shuttle-bus stop, the glare of the midday sun assaulting their patch of shade from all sides. No one spoke. Rosie swung her legs beneath the bench and shot surreptitious glances at Chuck while she nibbled on her sandwich. Chuck knew he could draw her into conversation with a single comment. He knew just as well what Janelle’s reaction would be if he did that. He stayed quiet.
When they returned to the village, they walked straight to the South Rim Museum. The girls turned slow circles on the varnished flagstone floor in the air-conditioned coolness of the museum’s grand entry hall while Chuck worked through the questions arising from Robert’s menacing look on Maricopa Point.
If the chief ranger suspected something, why hadn’t he spoken with Chuck at the promontory? Why the silent stare-down? Perhaps, Chuck reasoned, it was actually good news Robert hadn’t said anything to him. Maybe he was reading more into the chief ranger’s look than was deserved.
Chuck led Janelle and the girls to a humidity-controlled glass case containing one of his discoveries selected for display in the museum’s grand entry hall. He’d unearthed this one, a wide-bodied olla basket woven of long ponderosa needles, prior to construction of the new road connecting Grand Canyon Village to the South Entrance Road. A card next to the basket referred to its origin as Ancestral Puebloan, a new term gaining favor in the Southwest archaeological community—though Chuck still used the term Anasazi; most of the Navajos he’d worked with disliked the fact that the word Puebloan derived from the language of the Spaniards who’d invaded their lands five centuries ago.
Chuck aimed Janelle and the girls toward the glass case containing the second of his displayed Grand Canyon finds. Before they reached it, however, a bespectacled man in baggy khakis and a long-sleeved white shirt, head bent over a sheath of papers held in both hands, nearly ran Rosie over as he scurried through the hall. The man, and a gray-haired woman whispering into his ear as she hurried alongside him, had entered the hall from a side passage that connected the museum’s display area with its administrative wing.
The man grabbed Rosie around her shoulders, as much to keep himself upright as to assure she didn’t topple over. Papers cascaded to the floor. He brushed a thinning shock of white hair back over the top of his head before squatting to pick up the scattered documents. The woman crouched to help. Like the man, she was close to sixty, her face sun-browned and wrinkled. She wore a beige polyester pantsuit at least two decades out of date. Her graying hair was cropped close at the back of her neck and the top of her ears.
“Jonathan? Elise?” Chuck asked.
The couple looked up and broke into crinkly grins. “Chuck,” they exclaimed in unison, rising with the collected papers. Jonathan embraced Chuck, and Elise patted Chuck’s shoulder with a handful of paper.
Jonathan’s bushy white eyebrows worked up and down at the sight of Chuck. “We heard you were here. So nice to have you in the park again.”
Elise bent forward to the girls and confided in them, her face inches from theirs, “We call him our magician. Did you know that?” The girls stepped back, unsettled, but Elise merely leaned closer and warbled, “He digs up something amazing every time he sticks a shovel in the ground.”
She straightened and focused her bright blue eyes on Chuck, who said, “Hours in, results out. That’s all it is, Elise. You know that as well as I do.”
“Actually,” Elise said to the girls, “I don’t know that. I just know that someday he’s going to discover the ultimate of all discoveries for us, and our careers will be complete.”
“Where are our manners?” Jonathan said. “Pray tell, Chuck. Who are these three lovely young ladies?”
At Chuck’s introduction, Jonathan transferred the papers he’d gathered to one hand and bent to shake Carmelita’s hesitantly proffered hand, then Rosie’s outthrust one. Chuck explained to the girls, “Jonathan Marbury, Dr. Marbury, is chief curator for Grand Canyon National Park. And his wife Elise here, also Dr. Marbury, is chief curator for the museum.”
“The two chiefs,” Jonathan crowed. “Actually,” he told the girls, “we’re the only curators in the whole park. They just call us chiefs to make us feel good.” He winked.
Chuck tipped his head toward Janelle. “This is Jan, the girls’ mother.”
“Ah, of course, Jan,” Jonathan said with a wide smile.
In response to Janelle’s puzzled look, Elise said, “He’s never heard of you before.” She looked Janelle over. “But you certainly are lovely, I’ll grant him that. Almost the equal of your girls.”
Jonathan turned to Chuck. “Showing off your finds to your lovelies?”
“Of course he is, Jonny,” Elise said. She raised her eyebrows at Carmelita and Rosie. “He’s showing you his magic, isn’t he?” She checked her watch. “And we should leave him to it.” She directed an energetic shrug at Chuck. “Work, work, work, work, work, you know.”
Jonathan turned to Janelle, Carmelita, and Rosie. “Enchanté,” he breathed to the three of them.
“Shush, you,” Elise said to her husband. She smiled at Janelle and the girls. “A pleasure.” She leaned toward Chuck. “You’re a lucky man, my friend.” She herded Jonathan ahead of her down the museum’s main corridor, waving the papers in her hands like semaphore flags to guide him in the direction of their side-by-side offices facing the display-preparation room at the back of the museum.
Chuck turned to Janelle with an amused shrug. “They’ve been here forever.”
“Funny,” she replied, “they don’t look anything like what I thought ancient Indians would look like.”
“That pantsuit of hers? The height of fashion back in Anasazi times.”
Chuck led Janelle and the girls to the case containing the second of his displayed artifacts, this one an impressive double-ported urn he’d discovered a few hundred yards from the site of the new solar latrine. The urn’s slender form was similar to that of the famous two-ported vases commonly used in modern Navajo wedding ceremonies—so similar, in fact, that Marvin Begay and other young