Ancient Echoes

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Idaho

Lionel Rempart hadn’t said a word to the students after the guide left them. Instead he marched off in the direction he alone had determined. The others trailed behind, silent and fretful. Soon, they reached the powdery silt Nick Hoffman had warned against. They made an effort to climb it, but kept sliding back down. Even crawling on hands and knees, they would reach a point where the loose soil and steep ground could no longer hold their weight.

Rempart, his pale skin red and perspiring from the effort and the sun, studied the topographical map once more, and every so often took out a second map. That one appeared to be hand-drawn, but he didn’t allow anyone else to inspect it. The more he referred to the two maps, the more nervous the students became. He led them through a stand of quaking aspen and pine, and then down a treacherous naked slope to a jagged canyon with talus and jumbled boulders.

By the time they reached the bottom, they were too exhausted and nervous to go on. The students spoke among themselves as they made camp. They had expected to hike two days before reaching the anthropological site, but now they wondered how far out of their way they had gone.

The next morning the group started early. Hours later, past a grove of willows, they found a creek with crystal clear water flowing over rocks and white sand. Two men, rough and hard-looking, stood by a couple of beached orange rafts.

“Hey, there! What brings all you out here?” Everything about the man who spoke was big, from the filthy, misshapen cowboy hat, to his beefy shoulders, enormous belly, and thick legs. He wore a stained flannel shirt, heavy boots, and dirt-crusted shapeless jeans. His companion was as skinny as the first man fat. Similar small eyes and bulbous vein-covered noses were surrounded by thick beards and hats pulled low. Each man held a can of beer.

Rempart answered the big stranger's question. “We’re trying to get around a landslide on the Sheep Hill Trail and then to head northwest. But the topography keeps forcing us south.” He held up his folded map as he spoke, as if to blame it for their troubles.

“Where you goin'?” The barrel-chested fellow asked as he and his skinny friend ambled toward the students.

Rempart clearly warred with himself before answering the question. He had kept an important fact from the guide and Melisse when they asked why he insisted on following his map. It was a secret, something he didn’t trust others to know about until he had succeeded in his quest. But since the map didn’t match what he saw on the ground, divulging the secret might mean the difference between finding the site and not finding it. He decided. “I'm trying to find a couple of pillars, tall and upright. I don’t know much about them. They’re probably made of wood. Have you ever seen anything like that out here?”

The river rats glanced at each other. “Why? What’s so special about them? Are they valuable?” the skinny one asked.

“Not of value to anyone but archeologists and anthropologists,” Rempart stated. “We're the latter. Any Tukudeka tribe artifacts around those pillars may be invaluable to the scholars of the area.”

The thin guy looked at the barrel-chested one. “Sounds like a lotta bull crap to me, Kyle.”

Big Kyle bellowed with laughter. “Yeah, me too, Buck.” His eyes narrowed as he looked over the professor. “Listen, man, we know the pillars. Double Needles, we call them.”

“You do? You know them?” Rempart could scarcely contain his excitement.

“Sure. But you're goin' way the hell out of your way. It'll take you over a day to walk to them. Why don't you use the creek?”

Again Rempart held out his all but useless map. “According to the map, they aren't near any creek, but miles inland to the north.”

“Map?” Skinny Buck shook his head. “I never heard of no map of the Double Needles area. This whole wilderness is crisscrossed with creeks and streams that don't show up on no map, ones that only have water part of the year, flood you out, and then go bone dry. But this here creek”—he jutted his chin towards the water—“is a big one. It'll take you right near the Needles' front door. If you're sure that's where you're wantin' to go.”

“They got a rep-u-ta-tion of being kinda hard to find.” Big Kyle gave a knowing glance at his companion. Skinny Buck nodded.

“It's all right,” Rempart said. “We're scientists.”

No, we're not! Devlin wanted to shout. He had a bad feeling about this. Didn't Rempart have the brains not to trust those two?

“Ah.” The two men nodded at each other as if Rempart's words explained everything.

“Now, you need to know,” Big Kyle added, “nobody much goes to that area. You head out there and get yourself hurt, it's not gonna be good.”

“I understand.” Rempart beamed. “We'll be just fine, but if you could tell us how to get there—”

“Professor,” Melisse warned, but he ignored her.

Big Kyle folded ham-like arms. “Tell you what, I'm Big Kyle Barnes, and this here's Skinny Buck Jewel. We worked this area all our lives, and I gotta say, the direction you’re headed, the mountains and cliffs are too steep for you and these kids. If someone said they'd take you overland to the Needles you been snookered. It happens out these parts. Don't trust nobody. That's the safest way. But maybe we can help.”

“You're right, Kyle.” Skinny Buck said earnestly, then smiled at the group. His teeth were black from decay. “We ain't doing much but sittin' on our asses waiting 'til Saturday when we got a group for a raftin' trip down on the Salmon. If you'd like, we'll take you close as we can get on this here creek. It'll be easy. This creek's child play to float.”

“I don't think so.” Rempart said with regret. “The university has more time than money. We have no authorization—”

“We could get you close to those twin pillars in just about ninety minutes.” Big Kyle's tone sounded smooth, encouraging. “It's an hour's walk from there, but it'll shave a day off your trip. You're talking some real rough country.”

“A day?” Rempart was aghast. “It'll take another day? We've already wasted a day trying to get around the landslide. How much does it cost to hire you?”

Big Kyle scratched his beard and thought. “I'll take you for only fifty each. That's a cut rate, believe me.”

Rempart looked over his students. “Can't do it.”

“You sure?” Big Kyle scrounged through a duffle bag for an old flyer advertising their service and handed it to Rempart.

The students gathered near. The grimy, wrinkled flyer looked like it had been printed off a Word file on someone's computer:

White water rafting on the Salmon River!!

River of No Return thrills, chills, and no spills!!

Forty-years of combined experience with

Big Kyle Barnes and Skinny Buck Jewel!!

“I don't reckon you want to walk through the forests around here,” Big Kyle added. “There's some strange things in them.”

“Oh?” Rempart said.

“I got an idea,” Big Kyle said as he looked over the group. “Since you people are involved with ed-u-ca-shun, and that's a good thing, and since me and Buck ain’t busy otherwise, we'll take you for only twenty-five each. But no less.”

Rempart and the students got together and emptied their wallets. A quick counting and sharing of funds, and they turned up enough money to save a day's travel.

Rempart handed it over to the guides. “Let's go.”