Monday, 3 April, 1870

     Brendan stared down at the curious relic in my hand.  “May I?” he asked.

     I nodded, and he took it from me, examining both sides carefully and rubbing his fingertips over the surface of the carving.  “Where did you find this?” he asked, glancing up at us.

     “It was on the floor,” Matthew put in.  “We might have missed it altogether if Sully hadn’t accidentally kicked it with his foot.”

     “Do you know what it is, or where it comes from?” I said bluntly.

     “Possibly,” he said slowly, studying its surface once again.  “It seems strange that you found it here,” he ventured.

     “Why?” I asked quickly.

     “Because it definitely isn’t native to this area,” he answered.

     “I kind of figured that—I know it ain’t Cheyenne, and I don’t think it’s Arikara either,” I said.

     “The scout is Arikara?” Brendan asked.

     “Yeah—half Arikara, half Hunkpapa Sioux,” I told him.

     “Well, I can say with confidence that this was not produced by either of those tribes,” he stated.

     “Who *did* make it then?” I asked sharply, impatient for answers.

     “Sully, take it easy,” Matthew murmured, placing his hand on my arm.

     “Sorry,” I added, softening my tone.  “No offense meant.  I just need to know what this is—if it’s got anything to do with Bloody Knife and Michaela . . .”

     “Of course—I understand,” Brendan said.  Again he studied the stone.  “This is very familiar,” he speculated softly, talking to himself as much as to us.  “Very reminiscent of . . .”  He broke off.  “Wait here!” he commanded us suddenly, putting the stone in my free hand and moving quickly toward the door to the hallway.

     “We ain’t going anywhere,” I called after him.  We heard his footsteps running up the stairs, and I figured he was headed to his room.  The two of us eyed each other tensely, half eager to learn what Brendan would tell us—and half afraid to hear it as well.

     “Sully!” came a voice, startling me, and I looked up sharply to see Hank in the ruined doorway.

     “What do you want?” I replied, in no frame of mind at that moment to deal with the saloon keeper.  Even my guilty knowledge that our troubles with Bloody Knife were responsible for the damage to Hank’s business, had to take second place right now to my fears for Michaela.

     “Where’s Michaela?” he said brusquely.

     “She ain’t here,” I said flatly.

      “Tell me something I don’t know,” he remarked sarcastically.  “Listen, there are folks out here who want to know what’s going on, and I got people over to the saloon that need treatment for burns.”

     “Tell them to go to Jake,” I responded briefly.

     “Guess I got no choice,” he said irritably.  “What I want to know is why Michaela ain’t here to take care of them.”  He regarded me peevishly; but then, for the first time, he took a really close look at the scene around him—the shattered door, the bloody cane in my hand, and the expression in my eyes.  His own expression sobered dramatically as he came further into the room.

     “What the hell happened here?” he said softly.

     “I can’t go into it right now, Hank—“ I began, afraid of losing my grip on my composure if I had to go through explanations of the grisly events once again.

     “Well, you better go into it!” he countered sharply.  “Whether you believe it or not, I care about Michaela, too.  What happened to her?” he repeated, fixing me with a penetrating gaze.

     We heard Brendan’s footsteps again, hastily descending the staircase, and a moment later he burst back into the room, a book in his hands.  As he spotted Hank he stopped short, unsure about whether it was safe to speak in front of the saloon owner.

     I realized that the details of what had happened were bound to become public knowledge—sooner, rather than later, knowing the gossips in this town.  Not to mention that Hank had a right to know who had set fire to his business.

     “Hold on a moment,” I instructed Brendan, and then faced Hank.  “All right, I’ll fill you in,” I told the tall, long-haired man in front of me.  “But I’m warning you now not to make trouble.  What’s happened is deadly serious, and I got too much to worry about without having to deal with you.”

     “Just get on with it,” Hank told me.

     As succinctly as I could, I launched into an explanation of our history with Bloody Knife, and the sequence of events that had brought us to this moment.  When I got to the part about the Indian scout setting the fire as a diversion, Hank’s face darkened with anger.

     “I’m sorry our troubles had to affect you,” I told him hastily.  “I’m sorry for the damage that he done.  I’ll make it up to you soon as I can—you got my word.  But right now, Michaela’s my only priority.”

     “Yeah, all right,” Hank responded, surprising me with his tolerant reaction.  “Go on,” he urged.

     Briefly I continued my story, concluding with the objects we’d found in the clinic.  As I finished, Hank grimly examined the shattered pieces of the cane, then studied the rose-colored stone curiously.  He looked at Brendan.  “You know what that is?” he asked.

     “Yes,” Brendan answered, glancing at each of us in turn.  “I believe that I do.”

* * * * * * * * * *

       By now we had an audience, other folks having crept in while I’d been occupied talking to Hank.  I wasn’t sure when they’d come in, or how much they’d heard, but as Hank asked Brendan about the stone, I glanced over to see Loren, Jake, the Reverend and Robert E. looking on with varying expressions of shock or dismay on their faces.

     “Dr. Mike’s been *kidnapped*?” Loren burst out in agitation, unable to remain silent any longer.

     “Appears that way, Loren,” I said quietly.

     “Lord protect her,” the Reverend murmured, his eyes anguished.  I saw his lips moving as he silently offered up a prayer for her safety.

     “*Again*?” Jake spoke up, his tone scornful.  “I suppose it was dog soldiers this time, too,” he added disdainfully.

     “Jake!” the Reverend reproved.

     “Did you *see* any dog soldiers, Jake?” I said coldly.

     “Who could see anything in all that smoke?” he exclaimed.

     “It wasn’t dog soldiers,” I announced clearly, for the benefit of anyone who was in doubt.  “Just—one dangerous Indian, with a grudge against me,” I finished bleakly.

     “Well, that don’t surprise me,” Jake spoke again.  “So Hank’s got you to thank for his saloon nearly burning to the ground?”

     “Why don’t you let *me* worry about that?” Hank said sharply.  Jake looked wounded, then resentful.

     “Hey, wait a minute, Hank—I was out there with you, shoulder to shoulder, putting out the fire that *he* caused!”  the barber retorted, gesturing angrily at me.  “You got no call to talk to me like that!”

     “Sully was out there too,” Hank reminded him levelly.  “Plus he says he’s going to make good on my losses, and I’m taking him at his word.  Besides, it ain’t his fault if some crazy Injun gets it into his head to come after Michaela.”

     “He just that said this renegade, or whatever he is, had a grudge against him!” Jake countered.  “Tells me that Sully started all this, as usual.”  He looked at me balefully.  “What’s it going to take for you to finally figure out that being mixed up with the Cheyenne only leads to trouble?”

     “This Indian ain’t Cheyenne,” I snapped, meeting Jake’s hostile gaze head-on.  “For your information, Jake, he’s a scout for the 7th Cavalry—Custer’s *favorite* scout,” I added, my voice dripping with venom.  “And he’s got a grudge against me because I fought him off when he tried to kill me in the mountains—under *Custer’s* orders.  He’s the reason I got shot and lost my memory.”

     “Well, you must have done something if Custer sent him after you,” Jake said mulishly.

     “I guess you’re right, Jake,” I said coolly.  “If being a ‘thorn’ in Custer’s side is a reason to kill me.  But what happened between Bloody Knife, Custer and me ain’t important.  Michaela’s the one paying now, and all that matters to me is getting her back safe.”

     “Jake, I can’t believe you could be so callous where Dr. Mike is concerned,” the Reverend chided him.  “Dr. Mike’s done a lot for this town—and she’s taken care of you, more than once.  She saved your life during the influenza epidemic—“

     “And stopped you from drinking yourself to death after Harry died,” Loren broke in.

     Jake flushed.  “Shut up about that,” he muttered.

     “What’s the matter, Jake?  Truth hurt?” said Robert E., speaking for the first time.  Jake shot him a malevolent look.

     “Don’t you care about Dr. Mike, Jake?” the Reverend said.

     Jake dropped his eyes for a moment, then raised them to me.  “Look—I don’t want no harm to come to Dr. Mike.  It’s just that the two of you are forever getting yourselves in trouble, and bringing grief to this town. This seems like just another case of you starting something with the army, and the rest of us getting hurt as a result.”

     “You want someone to blame?” I challenged him.  “Then go ahead and blame me.  But Michaela’s innocent in all this.”

     “Let’s all take it easy,” Matthew said suddenly.  “Fighting between ourselves ain’t going to bring Dr. Mike back any sooner.”

     “Matthew’s right,” said the Reverend.  “We need calm, cool heads.”

     I nodded to Matthew, ashamed that I’d let myself get sucked into a shouting match with Jake when there was such a desperate matter demanding my attention.  The Reverend was right, too—getting hot-headed or allowing myself to go off half-cocked wasn’t going to help Michaela.  Fact is, it might even get her killed.

     I summoned my composure once again.  “Look, Jake—what happened to the saloon is the last thing Bloody Knife’s going to do to hurt this town.  His fight is with me, now—and I’m going to finish it,” I said with finality.  Jake looked like he wanted to protest further, but after quickly glancing around at the stony faces of the others, he subsided.

     I turned back to Brendan, holding up the stone.  “Tell me,” I said.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

     Brendan noted the urgency in Sully’s eyes.  “Of course,” he said.  “Well, to begin, do you recall our conversation the night Mrs. Quinn and I dined with you at the homestead, when I mentioned publishing a book?  I said that it was a collection of photographs from various digs in which I’d participated, and the artifacts and relics we’d found?”

     “Yeah, I remember that,” Sully replied.

     “’Digs?’” Hank repeated the odd phrase.  “What were you diggin’?”

     “Brendan’s an archaeologist,” Matthew said.  “He travels around to different places, lookin’ for the remains left by people who lived thousands of years ago—like the pottery they made or the tools or weapons they used.  Most of these things have been buried over time, so he has to dig for them.  Then he studies these things to learn about the people who made them—how they lived, and such.  He even finds and studies human bones, so he can figure out when these people lived and died.”

     “You mean like that fella who was so hot to find a new kind of dinosaur, and offered to buy up all our dinosaur bones?” asked Hank.  Brendan looked at Matthew curiously.

     “A man showed up in town a while back who was real anxious to search for dinosaur bones around here,” Matthew explained to him briefly.  “Called himself a pale—paleo—“

     “Paleontologist?” Brendan supplied.

     “Yeah, that was it,” Matthew replied.

     “Well, this area would certainly be a rich source for fossils,” Brendan agreed.  “But to answer your question, Mr. Lawson, my work is similar, but not quite the same.  My interest is in human history, —though I have great respect for the science of paleontology and its practitioners.  Without their discoveries, we would have no way of calculating the age of the earth; we would know nothing of the creatures called dinosaurs; nor would we understand how the mysterious disappearance of these creatures gave rise to the mammals; and ultimately, to the appearance of man, himself.”

     Sully tried to curb his impatience.  “That’s all very interestin’, but you were sayin’?” he  interrupted, prompting Brendan to return to the issue at hand.

     “Oh, yes—quite,” Brendan said hastily.  “Forgive me.  At any rate—four years ago I was in the Mojave Desert of southern Nevada, exploring the La Madre Mountains.  My investigation was specifically confined to an area of stunning limestone ridges and sandstone bluffs called Red Rock Canyon.  The name derives from oxidized iron leeching through the sand and groundwater, giving the bluffs their spectacular rose-red color,” he explained.

     “I was searching for evidence of the people who had once lived there—a race of Indians known as the Anasazi, or ‘Ancient Ones,’” Brendan continued.  “They’re the antecedents—the ancestors—of the contemporary Pueblo Indians.  The Anasazi flourished in the Red Rock area—as well as throughout much of the southwest—at about the time of Christ.  It was the Anasazi who constructed the cliff dwellings I was going to explore in Mesa Verde,” he added.

    “Anyway, I’d heard from various colleagues that there was a rich store of archaeological artifacts in this region, such as stone points for hunting, stone tools, pottery fragments and so forth—and I wanted to see and document it all for myself.

     “Just as I was told, the area proved to be a veritable treasure trove of relics,” he went on.  “I found several sites containing features of Anasazi life and society such as roasting pits, rock circles and rock shelters.  And I found something else as well—numerous rock paintings, called pictographs, and rock etchings, know as petroglyphs, left by these prehistoric Indians.  Sort of a primitive version of the sophisticated pictorial writing we found in Egypt—though unlike Egyptian hieroglyphics, which extensively document every aspect of Egyptian culture—most archaeologists are divided on the meaning of the Red Rock images.  Some believe that the pictures or etchings represent an early form of communication.  However others claim that because most of these petroglyph sites are along animal migration routes, the petroglyphs—or the act of making them—were designed to ensure the success of a hunt.

     “Whatever the meaning behind such representations, however, I can tell you that this image is definitely an example of a petroglyph,” Brendan stated.

     “You’re sure?” asked Sully.

     “There’s no question about it,” Brendan answered.

     “And you think it came from this Red Rock Canyon?” Sully persisted.

     “Almost certainly.”

     “Well, with all due respect, you didn’t seem so certain ‘fore you went upstairs,” Sully pointed out.

     “I understand your skepticism,” Brendan acknowledged.  “But I wanted to be absolutely sure.  As I said, it’s been some years since I explored the area, and I wanted to check my notes and photographs first to double-check my facts and confirm my suspicions.”

     “But how can you be so positive that it came from this Red Rock Canyon place, if you say that these—Anasazis—were all over the southwest?” Matthew asked curiously.

     “For several reasons,” Brendan replied.  “First, because of the sandstone in which the image is etched, its color and striation typical of the sandstone bluffs which compose much of the region.

     “Secondly, because of the image itself.  It’s a representation of a big horn sheep—a creature which is abundant in the canyon because of the steep, rocky outcrops where the sheep can outrun its enemies.  There are also numerous rock piles, overhangs and caves where a big horn can shelter from the weather; as well as scattered and permanent sources of water.

     “Thirdly,” he went on, “because the formation in which the image is etched is known as an ‘Indian marble.’  Hundreds of them litter the base of the sandstone cliffs.  They’re formed somewhat like the pearl in an oyster—over time, a grain of iron becomes surrounded by several layers of deposits.  These sandstone balls, cemented by the iron, don’t erode—but eventually they fall to the ground as the softer rock material around them is weathered away.

     “But the fourth and final reason I’m sure of the petroglyph’s origins is this,” Brendan said.  He opened the volume he was holding to a place he’d marked with a small slip of paper, then held out the book  for all of them to see.  On the facing page was a photograph of a rock wall, a twin image of the petroglyph Sully held in his hand prominently etched upon its surface. They all bent over the page, observing the photograph in wonder.

     “Like lookin’ in a mirror,” Matthew murmured.

     “There’s no denyin’ they’re identical,” Sully agreed, glancing from the object in his hand, to the page, and then back again.  He looked up at Brendan.  “You know your job,” he said.  “I’m obliged.”

     “Yeah, me too,” echoed Matthew.  “’Cept—there’s one thing I don’t get.”

     “What’s that?” asked Sully.

     “Well, if this petroglyph thing belongs to Bloody Knife, don’t it seem like he was awful careless, droppin’ it and leavin’ it behind the way he done?”

     “Matthew’s got a point,” Brendan chimed in.  “For someone diabolical enough to construct such an elaborate scheme to kidnap Dr. Mike, I find it hard to believe he’d make such an obvious error.”

     “Don’t seem like somethin’ he’d be stupid enough to do,” Hank agreed, making it unanimous.

     “You’re right,” Sully spoke up.  “It *would* be a careless mistake.  ‘Cept—it ain’t no mistake.”

     “What’re ya talkin’ about?” asked Hank.

     “He didn’t drop it by accident,” Sully told them.  “He left it here, deliberately.  He wanted me to find it, and figure out where it came from.”

     “But that’s crazy!” Matthew exclaimed.  “Why would he kidnap Dr. Mike, and then leave a clue that would lead you straight to him?”

     “Because he wants me to confront him,” said Sully flatly.  “He wants to lure me away from Colorado Springs, where I’d have the advantage, and face me on unfamiliar territory where he has the upper hand.  It’s a game—a deadly game—and he’s doin’ everything in his power to weight the odds in his favor.”

     “Looks like we’re gonna give him exactly what he wants,” Matthew said dourly.

     “Maybe—but not necessarily the way he wants it,” Sully said.

     Matthew raised his eyebrows.  “I don’t understand.”  The others were also regarding Sully curiously.

     “As Brendan told us, this—petroglyph thing—is real uncommon, leastways around here,” Sully began.  “So uncommon that Bloody Knife figured I couldn’t help but notice it, and that I’d do whatever I could to find out what is was and where it came from.  Once I knew, he expected that I’d go rushin’ right off  to Nevada—where’d he’d be waitin’ for me.”

     “Which is just what we’re about to do,” Matthew said.  “So far it seems to me that Bloody Knife’s set the trap and we’re just walkin’ into it.”

     “That’s true to a point,” Sully conceded.  “But there’s one thing Bloody Knife didn’t count on—somethin’ he couldn’t have known.”

     “Which is . . .?” Matthew asked.

     “That we’d have somebody here who knows this area as good or better than Bloody Knife himself.  Somebody who could maybe give us a map of the canyon, tell us about the terrain, let us know where we can find water, and warn us about any dangers.

     “Bloody Knife thinks I’m gonna show up there totally helpless, knowin’ nothin’ about the surroundings.  But instead, I’ll have the advantage of bein’ prepared.  I can face him on his own terms.
Thanks to Brendan.”  He favored the young archaeologist beside him with a brief look of approval.  Brendan shrugged, embarrassed but gratified by Sully’s approbation.

     “I’ll certainly provide you with every bit of information I can,” Brendan promised.

     “I’m countin’ on it,” said Sully.  “Startin’ with a map.  Do you have any of the area, or do you think you could draw me one?”

     “I have some maps of the region around Red Rock Canyon and Las Vegas made by Captain John C. Fremont, who explored the area in 1844—and I can draw a more detailed map of the canyon itself,” said Brendan.

     “Las Vegas?” Matthew repeated.  “Is that a town?”

     “It’s the closest thing to a town for miles,” Brendan replied.  “Though nowadays all it really consists of is a few scattered sheep and cattle ranches, and an abandoned fort built by a group of Mormon settlers in ‘55.  For two years they tried to farm the land and mine lead; but finally the harsh elements of the desert—as well as the isolation of the area—defeated their efforts, and they gave up.”

     “No surprise there,” Hank spoke up.  “Who’d be stupid enough to build a settlement in the desert, anyway?” he added derisively.

     “Actually, it wasn’t as foolish a choice as you might think,” Brendan countered.  “Back in ’29, a man named Antonio Armijo was leading a party of sixty along the old Spanish Trail from Santa Fe, New Mexico to Los Angeles, in California.  While they were camped about one hundred miles northeast of where the fort exists today, an advance party set out to search for water.  They headed west over the unexplored desert, and much to their surprise, came across an abundant oasis of spring water.  This discovery shortened the Spanish Trail to Los Angeles by allowing travelers to go straight through, rather than around, the desert; and also eased the difficulties of travel for the Spanish traders who used the route.  They named the oasis, ‘Las Vegas’—which means ‘the meadows’ in Spanish.”

     “This is all real helpful,” Sully told him.  “And it’s good to know we’ll have a plentiful source of water when we arrive.”

     “But Sully,” Matthew spoke reluctantly.  “Southern Nevada—that’s a long ways off.  It’ll take days to get there.”  He hesitated, then continued quietly, “Anythin’ could happen durin’ that time.”  He didn’t elaborate, but Sully understood his meaning.

     “That’s true,” he answered.  “But Bloody Knife’s only got a couple hours head start on us, at best.  Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to catch up to him ‘fore he gets too far.  But if not—I’ll go as far as I have to, Matthew—no matter how long it takes.  I ain’t givin’ up.”

     “Me neither,” Matthew told him promptly.  “I’m with you, Sully.”

     “Thanks,” Sully said softly, eyeing him with respect.

     “I’ll go with you, as well,” Brendan announced unexpectedly.  Sully glanced at him, startled.

     “You don’t got to,” he said.  “This is my fight—no need for you to get involved in it.  ‘Sides, I wouldn’t feel right, puttin’ you in danger.  You’re givin’ us enough help as it is, just tellin’ us what we need to know and providin’ us with the maps.”

     “Maps are a useful tool,” Brendan agreed.  “But they can’t replace the advantage of having a personal guide—one who’s traveled the terrain before and knows it inside and out.

     “I want to do this, Sully,” he added, regarding the other man intently.

     Sully considered it.  “Well, I can’t deny you got logic on your side,” he conceded presently.  “If you’re sure—then I’m glad to have you along.”

     “Good,” Brendan said.

     “I’ll ride with ya, too,” Hank drawled.

     “That’s decent of you, Hank—but the less people we got, the less chance we have of bein’ spotted,” Sully pointed out.

     “This Injun’s dangerous,” Hank said flatly.  “You’re gonna need somebody with a sharp eye and a steady hand, to  back ya up.  Ain’t a better shot in the territory than me.  If you’re smart, you’ll let me go with ya.”

    Sully studied him for a few moments, then finally shrugged.  “All right, you’re in,” he said.  “Thanks.”

    “Ain’t nothin’,” Hank said dismissively.

    “I’ll come too, Sully,” Robert E. offered.

    “Thanks Robert E.—I’d feel mighty confident, havin’ you along.  But I was hopin’ that you and Grace could help Michaela’s ma watch out for Colleen and Brian while we’re gone.  It would set Michaela’s mind at ease when we reach her, to know they’re bein’ well looked after.”

    “Sure thing, Sully,” Robert E. replied.

    “And speakin’ of Colleen and Brian,” Sully went on soberly, turning to Matthew.  “You better get over to the schoolhouse and tell them what’s happened to your ma, ‘fore somebody else does.  Break it to them as easy as you can.  And tell them I promise to bring her back.”

    Matthew looked uneasy.  “Sully, I know you’ll do everythin’ you can, but makin’ them a promise you might not be able to keep—“

    “I’ll keep it,” Sully stated unequivocally.  “It don’t matter what I got to go through—I *will* find her, Matthew.  And just like that time with the dog soldiers, I swear that I’ll bring her home.”

    After a pause Matthew nodded, accepting Sully’s word.

    Sully sought out Loren.  The older man’s usually taciturn expression had vanished, replaced by a look of distress     and concern which touched Sully inside.

    “Loren, I’m gonna need several days worth of supplies,” he announced.

    “O’ course,” Loren declared, eager to help in whatever way he could.

    “And Robert E.,” Sully added, turning back to the blacksmith, “We’re gonna need a horse for Brendan.”

    “You got it,” Robert E. said.

    A sudden thought occurred to Sully and he appraised Brendan warily.  “You, uh—you *do* know how to ride?” he asked.

    Brendan allowed himself the hint of a smile.  “Though you may not believe it to look at me now, I’m really not the ‘tenderfoot’ you think I am, Sully.  I’ve been all over the world, and traveled in or on some very strange or unusual conveyances.  I’ve ridden camels in Egypt, and elephants in Burma.  Not to mention a pack mule down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  I think I can manage to sit a horse.”

    “Camels, huh?” Sully repeated, a ghost of a smile touching his own eyes.  “How do you stay put on one of them things?”

    Brendan’s smile broadened slightly.  “A lot easier than tolerating their evil-smelling breath, or trying to avoid being bitten or spit on,” he answered.

    Sully raised an eyebrow.  “Camels spit?” he said, faintly amused.

    Brendan shook his head ruefully.  “You don’t know the half of it.  I could tell you stories . . .  Perhaps I will, while we ride.”

    “Think I’d like that,” Sully told him.  “It’ll help pass the time, and keep my mind off . . .”  His voice trailed away, the humor dying out of his eyes.

    Brendan regarded him sympathetically.  “Dr. Mike and I only spoke for a brief time; nonetheless, she gave me a very strong sense of your capabilities, your tenacity—and your devotion to her,” he said honestly. “I’ve come to believe that if anyone can rescue her from this desperate situation, it’s you.”

    “Thanks,” Sully answered, unexpectedly moved.  “She, uh—she made me see you in a different light, too,” he ventured.  “And I know that I probably wouldn’t have a prayer of trackin’ her down if it wasn’t for you guidin’ me in the right direction.”

    “I’ll do everything in my power,” Brendan vowed.

    Sully nodded.  “Well, then—let’s get to it,” he said after a moment.  “Why don’t you go back to the livery with Robert E. and get fitted out, while I get the supplies from Loren?”  He turned his eyes to the men assembled before him.

    “Get yourselves cleaned up, pack your gear, and then meet me back here in front of the clinic in an hour,” he announced to the group.

    “And may I advise that you all bring warm clothing?” Brendan interjected.  “I know it probably doesn’t seem necessary, judging from the mildness of the weather here in Colorado.  Spring in the Canyon is glorious as well; and even the Mojave is quite temperate and blazing with beauty.  But the temperatures can drop dramatically when the sun goes down—in the mountains, certainly, but also on the desert floor, which is actually over two thousand feet above sea level.  You’ll need to be prepared,” he cautioned.

    “Brendan’s the expert here, fellas,” Sully commented.  “Whatever he says, goes.  And now I suggest we get a move on, before we lose any more time.”

    Armed with their instructions, the members of the search party, and those assisting them, departed to make their preparations.