In the summer of 2012 the elders of the Dalton family, Dr. L. W., and her husband, Dr. Sage, and Alai Santiago from Isla del Sol, last of her tribe decided to invite all of their grandchildren, and the children of close friends to come for playtime, picture coloring, storytelling, and snacks in the heavenly safety of the trees and the meadow of their Missoula, Montana back yard...
After the young ones were tired of running and playing, Sage and L. W. called everyone to picnic tables under the trees for a snack of celery and peanut butter topped with raisins, which they called “ants on a log.”
One child exclaimed, “Nothing like the ‘bullet ants’ we have in Peru!” After snacks and cleanup, one of the older children, Monta, begged Sage to tell a story. “Please, grandfather, make it a good one.”
Sage eased back into his chair, remembering. “Here’s an old story from forty-five years ago in southwestern Arizona. My daughter, Secora, was twelve when we hit the road, hoping to give my wife, L.W., a personal break and a chance to be alone with our new baby girl, Iris, who is now Kantun’s wife.
“The resulting trip turned out to be more of an adventure than we’d counted on, even though it started innocently enough. I took Secora for a drive through the Mogollon Plateau east of Phoenix. Then we decided to follow the Gila River through Southwest Arizona and on into Baja California to explore pictographs, and some of the cliff dwellings and storehouse ruins.
“This was going to take several days, so of course we took PBJs and water in canteens. We did, however, stop at greasy spoons for breakfasts and dinners along the way. At night, we turned in early, resting in rustic roadside cabins. Secora had such a good time in those old motels. She especially loved the little bars of soap.
“Late on the fourth afternoon, we were slowly driving along a bumpy road in a narrow valley, when Secora spotted some interesting features that resembled mud-covered stone walls across the creek.
“We bounced across the rocky gully with its trickle of life-giving water, and then parked the pickup on some flagstones beneath the fifty-foot-tall cliff. “After I put on my backpack and slung my binoculars around my neck, she and I wandered about a half mile over to the outcrop, which consisted of piles of stacked rocks and mud bricks. I peeked over a wall and found the foundation of what looked like a large ruin.
It might once have been a lookout tower, and was maybe reworked into a shelter at some later time. Toward the back, which was more protected by the mesa cliff. Some adobe still covered the rocks, and soot stains blackened the ceiling from now-silent fires. As I peered closer, I could make out a finger and some streaks left by the person who plastered the mud on the structure.
“I lifted Secora over the rockpile and found that the pit was full of Coors cans as if some hooligans had partied there. We picked up some of the rubbish, figuring we could squash the empties and carry them out in my satchel. As I bent down for the last one, I roused a snappy rattlesnake that was almost invisible in the lengthening shadows curled in front of a small pool of water. Of course, we decided to skirt around it and hopped back out to begin the hike back to the truck. We stopped to honor the setting sun. She and I offered short prayers of gratitude before we moved on. “As we got closer to the pickup, a full moon became visible on the horizon, but we were distracted by a screechy growl. Glancing up, I noticed a shadowy mountain lion glowering at us from its rocky perch above us.”
“I unfroze, and with Secora being too small to run very far, I had to pick her up along with a large dead aspen branch, and returned the cat’s stare as we backed out toward the truck. Its tail twitched, but its eyes never blinked. Finally, it lowered its head and, crouching, it began its approach. Waiting for the upcoming attack was nerve-racking. My mind tried to sort possible options. A moment later, the scenario changed.
“We were saved by a dirt biker tearing up the sand and the quiet of the canyon, as he broke over a rise and wove closer and closer to us. When the growling bike popped over the last ridge, the cat had enough and turned to slink into the closest brush.”
“That must have been scawy Grandpa,” quivered Steve, who was almost three years old.
“Oh yeah, it’s still scary, little Stevie. But it was about to get much worse.”
“Ooh…”
“Yup. I got the feeling that we shouldn’t stay around to visit the mysterious motorcycle man, so Secora and I ducked down in the shadow of a large organ pipe cactus until he passed. With my binoculars, I could barely make out that he had stopped and parked the bike at an old mining tunnel with a partially collapsed entrance. The man kicked out the bike stand and moved some logs away from the entrance. Just as I was wondering what business he had there, Secora let me know she had to go to the bathroom, and I turned away to give her privacy, thinking about what was so interesting inside the tunnel in the dark.
“I was startled by a lightning flash. As I pivoted and looked up, I noticed a huge thunder shower was headed our way, already shading part of the rising moon. There was no protective cover in sight, and we didn’t have jackets with us. The wind picked up, and lightning struck several places at once. Little Secora was shivering as she finished the task at hand, and I was beginning to think this hadn’t been such a hot idea.
“Even though I had a bad feeling about what that motorcycle guy had been hiding out there in the dark, my worries vanished as I noticed the dirt around us had turned to sticky mud. My blood began to chill. We parked on the wrong side of the river in case of a flood. “A number of unpleasant surprises awaited us before we made it safely out of the flash-flooded canyon. Needless to say, we were very happy to get home to L.W. and our warm, dry, and peaceful home.”
“What about the other part of the story?” asked Sandy, who was Kantun and Iris’ child. L. W. cautioned her. “Let’s leave that one for another day, maybe much later, sweetheart.”
“Everyone had been drawn in by the tale, and there were a few sighs of disappointment, but the youngest ones, Apawi and Steve, were set on escaping to run around through the trees. When the children were all playing, smile wrinkles creased Alai’s aged face as she commented, “The children are so precious.” After a respectful moment, Kantun asked, “So what was the mystery?”
“Turned out that jerk was holding some Hopi Indians hostage to exchange for a mythical treasure.” Sage shook his head and looked at his boots. “Secora and I wound up allowing them to go free, all of them except for the gentle hostage the criminal had already shot. They didn’t want any further help, so we left them to do as they wanted. First time my little girl ever drove the pickup.”
“Was the guy caught? Kantun looked nervous. Sage nodded.
“We called the sheriff once we got the truck out of the muck and drove to a phone booth. The man on the motorcycle couldn’t get through the mud. He wasn’t going anywhere until he was arrested. The guy went to prison for his crimes. But, that’s a whole other story!”
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The Rising Wind novel series by award-winning author Diane Olsen is a multicultural, action-adventure, and mystery series that explores themes of anthropology, spirituality, and Native American lore. The series, which includes titles such as The Thunder Beings (Book 1) and Ice and Bone (Book 2), follows protagonists like paleontologist Secora and Gideon in thrilling, globe-trotting adventures.
Diane Olsen Award Winning Author 