Uncertain Justice

Chapter 40

Above, the wall rose vertically for hundreds of feet. He could see straggly trees high on the rim and more than a few sections of raw rock that seemed ready to come smashing down at any moment. This side of the mesa was all stark angles and sudden precipices.

His eyes followed the line of the mesa's summit as it staggered off to the southwest, dipping lower as it progressed. It was hard to see through the clouds and mist, but there might be a moderately low pass somewhere in that direction ... another route out of the valley perhaps. He turned back to the wide, shallow cavern.

"Hello?" he called, unable to resist the urge.

"Hello? Hello? Helloooooo?" came the reply as the sound bounced off the smooth rock back to him. A separate reverberation came from the cliff point to his right and Miles swung in that direction, smiling at the varied echoes his call had roused.

The smile faded to a quizzical frown.

Tucked into the northwestern corner of the hollow was a small house, evidently made of stones. The lip of the cavern was high enough above his head and the building was far enough from the edge that only the top half of the structure was visible, but it seemed to be largely intact. Miles shuffled around in a full circle, searching for a human figure. He wondered if he'd stumbled on someone's hunting cabin ... someone who might be coming home soon.

It seemed improbable. He hadn't seen a trace of human presence for a long time. Nor did it appear the cabin was constructed of modern building materials. And too--well, it just looked a like the ancient pueblo he'd seen at Mesa Verde many years ago.

On the other hand ... he began to pick out differences that made him doubt the identification of the structure as an old Indian ruin. For one thing, it was a one-story structure and perhaps only one room. He distinctly recalled the Mesa Verde complex was more like a huge apartment building constructed in a massive cave.

It appeared the top of this building would also be much higher than the ceilings he remembered seeing in the Mesa Verde pueblo. He'd been struck, at the time, by how low those roofs were when he'd looked inside several of the rooms set aside for public viewing.

The more he looked, the less it appeared the stone house could be the product of the ancient tribes who'd built pueblos all over the American Southwest. The building reminded Miles of Spanish architecture, though he couldn't have said why just off the top of his head. The dwelling hadn't been recently constructed, but neither was it as old as he'd first thought. Which left ... what? He frowned, in no mood for the puzzle.

Miles looked around. He could see no debris on the rocky shore and there were no marks on the cliff to show the river ever got that high. That the old house was in one piece argued that he would be safe up there even if the stream did overflow its banks with water from the approaching rain. The cliff overhang would also make a good shelter from the coming storm. The floor of the cavern was probably pretty level if a house had been built there ... level enough to erect a tent for the night anyway.

Much of the soft rock high on this section of the mesa had crumbled and fallen to the floor of the valley. Actually, rock was still falling--just not at this instant. Some of the stones laying about had sharp edges and shiny, freshly cracked interiors were visible. Rock would still be falling eons from now, as it had for eons in the past.

On the good side, boulders and sheets of stone tumbling from the heights for untold millennia had piled up at the base of the cliff. Succeeding falls had bounced off their predecessors and rolled further across the meadow until, through time, a rough ramp was formed that built up nearly to the lip of the cavern floor. Only a couple of feet right at the top remained as an insubstantial barrier guarding access to the hollow space in the rock wall.

Erosion had done its work on the pile of fallen rock. Its appearance was softened and soil deposited here and there. The sharp edges of old falls were rubbed away until there were streaks of smooth slope interspaced with grassy inclines leading up to the cavern. The closer one got to the water, the more gentle the slope was and the less barren it became until it merged into the lush flatness of the meadow near the river. It looked like a hard but a doable climb up to the cavern ledge where the stone hut had been built.

There really was no decision to make.

Beginning the climb right below the building, he soon found himself angling over to the left-center of the cavern. The incline became almost vertical immediately below the house and the ramp ended some twenty feet below the cavern there.

Shortly he was at the top of the rise and scrambled over the lip onto the cave's floor. A few steps inside the demi-cavern, Miles unbuckled the heavy pack and let it drop. He sighed, relieved to shed the load for the first time in hours. His back arched; he massaged protesting muscles in his lower back as he walked down the barely perceptible slant in the cavern floor to the house.

From a few yards away, Miles could see only the front and the left side of the building. The far wall was very near the northern face of the grotto. In fact--he backed up a few paces to get a better view--it looked as if the building might actually be touching the rock of the cavern. Maybe the cavern wall was a part of the house; he wondered why that might be. A chimney that was definitely not part of the cavern's wall rose above the roof near the far wall.

The structure itself was canted so it faced southwest, though the ledge on which the cavern had formed ran almost due north and south. He knew prehistoric Indians built their pueblos to face toward the afternoon sun in order to get the maximum warmth they could from the sun during the winter months. Was this dwelling constructed at an angle from the lip of the cavern for the same reason?

The old dwelling was no more than fourteen or fifteen feet across the front, perhaps a little longer down the side. And in the center of the front wall was a doorway with a heavy wooden door ... complete with old, rusty hinges.

That settled the question of whether the building was an Indian ruin or not. It couldn't be--the ancients hadn't used metal fittings in door hinges like the ones as he could see. This was someone else's work. Far more recent, he thought, but not modern. These were big, clumsy pieces ... made of wrought iron? He filed the question away for future consideration.

While Miles stood enthralled before the house, the gathering clouds had become a full-fledged storm and it finally reached out to touch him. The leading edge of the rain struck with whip c***k suddenness and he flinched.

Inside the shallow cavern, the noise was magnified to an explosion. He grinned wryly, wondering if he'd been all that smart to come inside for shelter. As the rain got harder, he ran to rescue his pack from the edge and retreated to the side of the stone house.

He watched the rain slant across the huge opening in the cliff. A few moments later, heavy streams of water were falling across the opening ... runoff from the cliff above. Cascading over the cavern opening, the water splashed down on the rocky slope outside and flowed through the thick grass below. In moments, the ground was thoroughly soaked and water began to run off into the river.

Miles drained his canteen in one long gulp. Between the rain and the river below, there wasn't a problem with water in this valley. There was no reason to conserve what he had. He sat and watched sheets of rain ripple across the valley.

Rousing himself, he hopped off the low wall and took a step toward the house. He stopped. In the failing light, it would be dark inside. The windows were plastered with dirt and the only natural light would be a dim glow through the open door. He had a flashlight, but there was only one set of spare batteries. He knew the ones in the flash were getting weaker and he wanted to save the replacements for emergencies. This didn't qualify. He would wait until tomorrow to explore further.

He retrieved his backpack and walked to the middle rear of the cavern, as far as he could get from the edge. Dropping the pack, he unlashed the self-inflating sleeping pad and unscrewed the valve cap on the self-inflating mattress. Miles turned to contemplate the rain slanting across the opening.

The rain wasn't coming anywhere near him right now, but who knew? The wind could switch directions to come out of the south or southeast. If it did, the storm would push the rain deeper inside. Miles unzipped the bottom of the pack and pulled out the tent. It only took a few minutes to set it up and anchor it with guy lines run to cracks in the stone. He tossed the sleeping pad inside, followed by his goose-down sleeping bag.

Some of the smoked venison from his pack and a handful of berries from a bush on the other end of the narrow canyon were his supper. He found a comfortable place against the back wall where he could sit. Stretching his legs straight out in front of him, he crossed his right ankle over the left and watched the rain fall while he ate.

Somewhere between a mouthful of smoked deer meat and the last of the berries, he dozed off. He hadn't been aware of being drowsy until a full belly and a safe refuge lulled him into a deep sleep. He wriggled his backside against the stone of the cavern to find a more comfortable position.

Lightning wove spider web patterns in the darkening sky and thunder played a loud symphony but he was oblivious to it all. In the end, his own snoring roused him enough to get inside the tent. Sleepily, he ducked inside and crawled to the sleeping pad. Too far gone to get in the sleeping bag, he pulled a corner of it over his lower body as he dropped into a deep sleep full of dreams.

Images crowded each other as they clamored for his attention ... images of a tall man wearing unfamiliar clothing finally triumphed over the others. Miles watched the buckskin-clad man as he urged two horses to haul logs and stones to piles near the cavern. Miles watched as the yoked horses walked toward the river carrying off straining ropes that slipped through pulley wheels fastened to the rear wall of the cavern. The loads inched their way up the rocky slope to the lip of the cavern where the stranger wrestled them over the edge. The dream faded, only to return stronger.

Miles was at the man's side as they fit rocks together for a terrace in front of the house and set corner posts in place for a roof over the terrace. The sun was bright as he and the stranger gathered summer berries, onions, and other wild foods to carry them up to the cave.