Tag Against Time (14 page)

W
hatever time-frame I'm in, things have improved, even though I'm freezing!
The bitter air nipped at Tag as he stood in front of Singing Woman's dwelling. He wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. The clear sky glimmered a winter crystal-blue. Tag stamped his feet to warm them. He surveyed Singing Woman's house, now clear of garbage and rubble. Much to his amazement and joy, the front wall stood, partially reconstructed. He stooped to inspect the masonry that reached his knees.
This is great. Even the mud is almost the same color as the original. Looks like whoever did this used many of the original rock slabs
.

Standing up, his head throbbed with the pain that he now knew accompanied walking time. The headache got more intense each time he regained consciousness after laying the paho on the shrine.
Maybe it hurts more the closer I get to home! Things certainly look more like 1993
.

The Island Trail had been paved, and the two hundred
and fifty cement steps leading down and around the ruins were in place. A good number of the ruins he passed were fully restored, and the garbage cleaned out of the rest. Even the graffiti scrawled on the limestone walls was gone. Gratitude warmed Tag.
I wish there were some way I could repay Sean for getting things started
.

A deep bellow shook the winter air. Tag swung around. His feet tangled up. He landed on all fours. Looking up, he saw a monstrous bull with gigantic horns charging down the path. Tag sprang up. The bull snorted and bellowed.

“Don't let him knock that new wall over!” The order came from a man chasing the bovine, waving a long stick. “Head it down the canyon! Keep it away from that wall!”

Tag could smell the animal now and see its bulging black eyes. He screamed, jumped up, and flapped his hands. The bull kept coming. Tag snatched up a rock and hurled it toward the bull. It landed short, but brought the animal to a jolting stop. It snorted and eyed Tag just long enough for him to seize another rock and sling it. Before the tennis-ball-sized rock hit its target, the bull kicked down through the bushes at the side of the trail.

“Go down after it! Head it up the canyon again on the other side of the ruins.” The man wielded his stick at Tag. “Don't just stand there. Go—before it does any more damage!” The man wore pants that looked like English riding pants, tucked into his high, black leather boots. His green coat went just to his waist. A felt, flat-brimmed ranger hat covered his head.

Tag gaped at him. “But . . .”

“Go, blasted, go!”

Tag shot down the steep incline. The bull trotted along
the rocky ledge below. The animal glared back at him and bellowed. “Keep going or you'll be T-bone steak!” Tag hollered. His stomach growled at the mention of food. Small patches of snow dotted the slope. The soggy ground oozed under his jogging shoes and soaked through with freezing wetness.

“Okay, now bring him up this way,” the man ordered from above, accenting each word with the stick. “We'll both get him up over the rim.”

Tag scrambled around, and headed the bovine upward. The bull climbed the canyon's steep side, setting off an avalanche of rocks.

The man fell in beside Tag. “Keep him to the right.”

They crested the rim of the canyon and ran into the snow-patched forest. Tag's lungs felt as though they were going to burst, and he found himself falling behind.
For a guy his age, he sure can run
.

The bull suddenly veered and started back, skirting the man. “Don't let him get back down into the canyon!”

Tag waved his arms. “Go on. Get out of here!”

The bull charged.

From out of nowhere, a rock sailed through the air. It plunked the bull on the head. A young man in a military field jacket, khaki pants, cap, and heavy military boots emerged from the trees. The teenager hurled a second rock, hitting the bull's rump as it disappeared through the trees.

“Stupid animal,” he said as he approached Tag. He looked eighteen or nineteen years old. “We've built split-rail fences all around the park, but even that doesn't keep the cows out. The crazy animals knock down the ruin walls as fast as we put them up.”

“Good work, boys.” The man in the funny pants jogged up to them. His unzipped coat revealed a gray shirt and green tie beneath. “Daniel, where are the others?”

“They're at lunch, Ranger Beaubien, but they'll be back any minute.”

“Good. Daylight is burning. The job on the newest wall looks superb.” He straightened his tie and zipped up his coat, while considering Tag. “You're not on the reconstruction crew. What were you doing down in the canyon? Are you on the fencing or road crew? Well, answer.”

“I'm new,” Tag muttered.

Beaubien glared. “The reconstruction crew are the only ones allowed down in the canyon. There are irreplaceable antiquities in the ruins. I don't want any of you CCC Boys touching them.”

“I'll see he gets to where he's supposed to be, sir,” Daniel said.

“And get him back into uniform before he freezes.” Beaubien spun around and marched off, his high boots sloshing through the sporadic snow. He looked over his shoulder. “We found some interesting things in the excavation yesterday. After dinner come see them, Daniel. I'll be happy to take you back to camp.”

“Thanks!” Daniel waved and turned to Tag. “Don't let old Bullroar scare you. He's just real protective of things down in the canyon. Do what he says, and you'll be fine. When did you get into camp?”

“Well, I'm not really . . .”

Daniel nodded. “I'm sure you won't have any trouble enlisting in the CCC. You're a bit young, but I don't think they'll ask your age, seeing so many of us are leaving to fight
the Germans and the Japs.” He stuck out his gloved hand, “Daniel Van Ritter.”

“Tag Grotewald. I hadn't really thought about enlisting. I'm just sort of passing through.” His stomach growled loud and clear.

“Sounds like your belly needs to start thinking about it.” Daniel slipped off his field jacket. A thick wool sweater covered most of his khaki shirt. He offered the heavy coat to Tag.

“The Civilian Conservation Corps will feed you three square meals, give you a warm place to sleep, and a dollar a day. Of course, they send twenty-two dollars a month back to your family, but the rest is yours.” He peeled off his green wool gloves and handed them to Tag. “You even get clothes. They are Army issue, but they beat freezing. Maybe we can get you assigned with me. The work is hard, but it's real interesting.” Daniel strolled toward the rim.

Tag followed, avoiding the piles of snow. He buttoned up the coat. It was too big, but warm. The gloves fit perfectly. “You're on the reconstruction crew?”

“Yes. I've always loved history, so working here is almost too good to be true. You must be interested in the Sinagua Indians if you came clear out here.”

They reached the rim of the canyon. Tag stared down into it. “My dad is an archaeologist.” Tears stung his eyes.

“Working here has made me think that's what I'd like to be too, but with six brothers and sisters back in Pennsylvania and Daddy being a coal miner, there's not much chance of me going to college.” Daniel tipped his cap back on his head and studied the canyon below. A raven's harsh cry broke through the cold air. He shook his head. “The biggest reason I've stayed on here instead of enlisting after Pearl Harbor two
months ago, is that I'd rather be learning about people than killing them. I'm getting to be a good mason, which is a lot better than coal mining.”

Tag studied Daniel's square face with its rosy-from-the-cold cheeks.
He's too young to be fighting in a war
. How could the world be at war when everything was so peaceful and quiet here? Were boys like Daniel actually killing each other in Europe and the Pacific? A shiver shook Tag's body. He pushed the thought out of his mind. “How long have you been here?”

“Almost a year. After the first six months, I re-enlisted because I liked it so much.” Daniel pointed into the canyon. “See that first ruin there under the ledge on the right? That's just one of the many I helped rebuild. It was nothing but a heap of rocks when we started. I was even lucky enough to help excavate it. It is hard, tedious work but it's like hunting for history.”

His blue eyes beamed as he spoke to Tag. “We found things that are over seven hundred years old. Can you imagine? When I'd find a chunk of pottery, I'd get as excited as if it were a gold doubloon.” Daniel gazed back into the canyon. “The first time I found a bone awl, I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. And you know, I feel the same way every time I find something that the Sinagua made or used. I can't keep anything I find, of course. All the things we discover go the Museum of Northern Arizona or some other museum. Have you been to the Museum of Northern Arizona?”

“Not lately.” Gratitude again filled Tag. Sean had kept his word about getting the Coltons to move to Flagstaff.

“We can go into town on Saturday,” Daniel said. “I
spend most Saturdays at the museum. I even know Dr. Colton and his wife, the proprietors. I'll be glad to introduce you to them. They know all about the Sinagua Indians. You'd really like them.”

Apprehension surged through Tag, but he tried to hide it from his voice. “Sounds great.”

“Joining the CCC has changed my life and opened up new doors for me. I feel like I've made a big difference here.” He pointed down into the canyon. “Someday, I'll bring my children back here to see the walls I put up.”

Tag said, “Your walls will be here hundreds of years, just like the original walls.”

Daniel nodded and sank his hands deep into his pants pockets. His voice lost its excitement. “There's so much more to do here, but the camp can't stay open much longer with so many leaving to fight the war.”

“What will you do when it closes?” Tag watched a raven float effortlessly in the crystal air below.

“Enlist.”

A bitter wind gusted up from the canyon, stinging Tag's face. It was easy to imagine Daniel unearthing and studying artifacts and rebuilding the ruin walls, but he couldn't visualize him carrying a rifle. “Maybe you could get into an engineering unit, building things.”

“Maybe.”

“After the war you can go to college on the GI Bill to become an archaeologist!”

“GI Bill?” Daniel stared.

Tag gulped and sputtered. “I heard that the government is thinking about offering money to veterans for schooling, after the war of course.”

“I hadn't heard that,” Daniel sounded hopeful. “If they do, I can go to college and become an archaeologist like your dad.”

“That would be great, Daniel. You know that there are huge ruins all over the Southwest that need excavating.”

“I'd sure like to be in on a few.” Daniel grinned at Tag. “Hey, let's go and get you some grub. I'll talk to the commander. He'll let you stay at the camp for a few days if you are willing to work.”

“I—I don't know if . . .”

“The commander never turns anyone away with an empty stomach.” Daniel began walking away.

Tag stared at the blue-black raven soaring. It landed on the top of a tall pine tree, swaying with the tree's dance in the breeze. Tag's stomach twisted and sang its own song to the bitter air.

Ten feet away, Daniel called, “Are you coming?”

I
t's all been too easy
. Tag walked beside Daniel in the gray hues of the fading January sun. Uneasiness churned in his full stomach. He pulled the collar of the heavy field jacket tight to keep out the frigid air, as he attempted to keep up with Daniel's fast pace. Tag knew Daniel was eager to get to the temporary building that was used to catalog the artifacts found in the canyon. Daniel had obtained permission for them to leave the camp and walk back the four miles to Walnut Canyon to spend time with Ranger Beaubien. After a hearty supper at the CCC camp, they left and even hitched a ride part of the way. Now they were less than a quarter mile away from the makeshift archaeology laboratory.