 
# Encounters in the Jemez

By

Calvin Hecht

~~~

Copyright © 2012, 2013 by Calvin Hecht

Smashwords Edition

ISBN

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

~~~

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

~~~

(Note: This work has an underlying evangelical Christian theme.)

~~~

Note: All Scripture contained herein is taken from the New King James Version.

Copyright 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

~~~

v.5.0

Calvin Hecht is also the author of:

\- Cat & Mouse, a fictional tale of marital infidelity.

\- Rapture: Fact or Fable? a non-fiction look at the Christian concept of the pre-tribulation rapture.

\- "...And Break Two Eggs Into a Bowel..." a non-fiction guide revealing the secret to effective proofreading for writers and self-publishers.

\- The Hostage, a fictional tale of terrorism emanating from the U.S.-Mexico border, a beautiful woman, and a handsome Border Patrol agent.

Hecht's books are available in the Kindle Store at amazon.com, or smashwords.com, or faithwriters.com, or lulu.com..

# Prologue

### Author's Comments

Although New Mexico's Jemez [HAY-mez] Mountains are real, the trails, GPS coordinates, Native American sites, and various names and locations used in conjunction with the Jemez Mountains are either fictional or used in a fictional manner, being products of the author's imagination as are all the references to Albuquerque and the New Mexico Air National Guard and other places and events.

In addition, although H Company of the First Dragoons was a real US Army unit in 1854, operating in and around the territory that is the present State of New Mexico, the personnel depicted and their journey through the Jemez to the Rio Chama is fictional; however, the battle depicted between the dragoons and the Apaches is based on historical fact, but the author has taken fictional license with regards to persons, time, location, and events connected to that battle.

### The Story Begins

Teenagers Kevin and Curt leave their comfortable urban world during summer break for what they expect to be a week of camping adventure in a nearby mountain wilderness. However, the two have experiences in the wilderness that neither could have anticipated ahead of time.

~~~

### A Pivotal Encounter

...Twenty-five yards down the trail a familiar massive twelve-foot high ancient igneous boulder they remembered when coming up the trail confirmed they were on the correct trail. The boulder marked where the trail ahead would jog sharply to the right for a more or less straight, downhill shot back to the stream they had forded two hours earlier.

Kevin had taken the lead. He was about twenty feet ahead of Curt. Suddenly, Kevin heard shuffling and clinking sounds on the trail ahead. What in the world...?

But the source of the sounds was hidden behind the massive boulder that he was approaching.

Someone else is on the trail and close!

No sooner had that thought struck Kevin when he rounded the boulder and a huge horse immediately in front of him reared up in surprise, but not any more surprised than was Kevin who jumped back quickly to avoid an errant hoof.

The rider of the horse commanded, "Steady! Steady!" and his horse settled down, wild-eyed, quivering, and snorting.

In the next instant, Curt rounded the boulder and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Kevin not more than five feet away standing in front of a large horse with a rider clad in a dark blue uniform with a single narrow, red bar outlined in gold stitching on each shoulder of his gold-trimmed-high- collared waistcoat.

In addition, the rider wore a black, cowboy-style, narrow brimmed felt hat set at a rakish angle on his head of shoulder-length black hair. The hat had a string band in gold braid with two gold tassels, and a theatrical long, white feather plume attached to the left side.

In that same instant of steadying his horse, the uniformed rider drew a long-barreled pearl-handle revolver from his holster and leveled it first at Kevin and then at Curt and then back to Kevin.

"Who in the blazes are y'all? What're y'all doin' on this here trail? Speak!" commanded the rider, his demeanor all the more intimidating because of his fiery dark eyes, black pointed goatee, and black handlebar mustache.

Before Kevin or Curt could answer, the rider bellowed, "First Sergeant O'Malley! Get up here! Now!"

As the command rippled down the column of blue-clad riders on the trail, Kevin noted that the eyes of the rider in front of him never broke contact with him or Curt.

Neither did the rider's pistol...

# Chapter One

### The Backcountry Road

"About another two hundred feet on the right," announced Curt, looking at the lighted Map screen of his GPS receiver.

Ken took his foot off the old Ford pickup's accelerator and lightly tapped the brake pedal. As the pickup slowed and the pickup's old headlights cut a yellow beam through the early morning darkness, sure enough, there on the right was the turnoff, barely discernible, but there, partially blocked by brush undergrowth.

Ken slowed the pickup even more, clutched and hand shifted the floor-mounted shifter to a lower gear and, nursing the clutch as he turned, crossed the sandy shoulder, and crunched through the brush and high grasses of the almost hidden turnoff.

In growling low gear, Ken cautiously began to negotiate the rutted, overgrown, and primitive two-tire-track road, now not much more than a foot trail. Scant yards in from the turnoff, muddy water the color of cream-diluted coffee splashed out to the sides of the pickup from the previous afternoon's mountain thunderstorm having left puddles in their path, in turn, causing the pickup to slew and the drive wheels slip in the slick mud.

Ken and the two teenage young men in the pickup's cab could hear the swish of the grasses underneath the truck — grasses that were not having much luck in scouring the undercarriage of mud.

In the predawn, the yellow glare of the pickup's headlights revealed tall brush that had overgrown to the edge of the old road — brush that scraped and squeaked and scratched both sides of the pickup, not that the driver was concerned because a few more scratches and dings would make no difference on the already scarred and age-battered Ford.

The tire-tracks gradually angled away from paralleling the highway. The sound of highway traffic, what little there was in the predawn, and what little that could be heard over the whine of the pickup's transmission, growl of the engine, and the swish of grasses and the slapping and screeching and scratching of brush against the sides of the truck, became ever fainter.

A hundred yards in and the road suddenly veered left and the pickup broke through the last of the thick undergrowth into a long, narrow mountain meadow as wide as a football field is long and surrounded on three sides by thousand foot tall hills covered with mixed conifers.

The weak headlights revealed knee-high golden grasses and a smattering of nodding blue bonnets, plumajillo, and yellow fleabane wild flowers on either side and in the middle of the tire tracks; tracks that disappeared into the darkness ahead. Two cottontail rabbits, one in each tire track, disturbed from their predawn cavorting and feeding, hopped thirty feet ahead of the pickup and then stopped motionless in their classic "now you don't see me" freeze, and then darted off and disappeared into the grasses, one to the left and the other to the right, as the old pickup truck growled nearer.

The old headlights also caught wisps of feathery ground fog lying low in the grasses and in the wild flowers on either side of the rutted tracks.

Soon the sun would dissipate the low-lying fog and bathe the grasses and wild flowers with sparkling dew-diamonds.

~~~

Behind the steering wheel of the pickup truck, Ken, hunched forward with his forearms resting on the steering wheel, his hands at the ten o'clock and two o'clock position.

Ken had partially rolled down the driver's side window and had opened the wing vent in an effort to keep the windshield from fogging over because of the condensation caused by the occupants' breath on this, a chilly early fall morning in the mountains.

Ken was driving his seventeen-year-old son Kevin, Kevin's best friend, seventeen-year-old Curt, as far the old Ford could make it, and conditions permitted, to a point where the young men intended to begin an eight day combination hiking and camping adventure farther into the mountains.

The turnoff from the highway had not been that difficult for Ken to find despite the darkness and the fact that it was only a narrow, almost hidden break between the Russian Olive trees that lined the east side of New Mexico State Road 4 for miles, because Ken remembered the mile marker and area for the turnoff from his days of working with the U.S. Forest Service between his college years a couple decades ago.

Back then, the undergrowth was less and the olive trees fewer, and the unfenced-ungated turnoff had been used by the USFS regularly, allowing a USFS crews that often included Ken to drive almost two miles into the backcountry that they would have otherwise had to hike on foot to do whatever flora or fauna survey that was on the USFS agenda for the day.

In addition, Curt and Ken, using Curt's laptop computer and Internet connection two days before, had viewed Google Earth in a successful effort to find the turnoff on the Google Earth topographical map of the Jemez [pronounced hay-mez] Mountain area.

Although Ken, after viewing the map, was fairly certain of the turnoff location, even after so many years, nevertheless, Curt entered the turnoff's latitude and longitude coordinates from the map as a Waypoint in his Global Positioning System receiver — commonly called a GPS receiver — the same GPS receiver that he used for his hobby of geocaching, and the one gadget he was sure to bring along on the camping adventure.

It was the GPS receiver's Map feature, in turn, that allowed Curt to use the Waypoint coordinates to alert Ken as they neared the turnoff.

~~~

The three occupants jostled by the frequent ruts hidden under the puddled water found themselves banging shoulder-to-shoulder and up and down inside the pickup cab.

Ken, struggling with a steering wheel that frequently wanted to jerk out of his hands, grinned and hollered, "Hang on!"

Curt laughed and exclaimed, "Ride 'em, cowboy!

Kevin, one hand bracing himself against the pickup's dash and the other pressing on the pickup's torn and tattered headliner, laughed and echoed Curt, "Yee-ha! Ride 'em, cowboy!"

During the heaviest of the jostling, both Kevin and Curt made it a point to glance often through the pickup's rear window to see in the early morning darkness what they could of their web-netted camping gear in the pickup's bed, hoping that none had jostled loose and lay in the mud somewhere in the darkness behind them. But, their camping gear remained safe.

As the old Ford and its three occupants drove farther in, the meadow transitioned into scattered juniper and piñion trees, many near to the track and showing as ghostly images in the predawn as the old Ford's dim headlights bounced and bathed them in light and then semi-darkness.

Although the sun remained hidden behind the near-by eastern peaks, bright, golden shafts of sunlight were beginning to streak the cloudless but still dark sky, heralding the beginning of a beautiful day.

At close to two miles in from the highway the road abruptly ended in a large meadow bordered on the east by a stand of Gambel oaks backed by a wall of towering ponderosa pine trees.

The pickup truck could go no farther.

Dawn was breaking.

~~~

None of the three could know at that moment just how important this meadow would become in their lives in a few days.

~~~

The young men anxiously bailed out of the pickup, ready to get their gear and begin their adventure, but Ken remained in the truck with the engine running.

Ken hollered at his son through the opened passenger-side door to inspect the ground where Ken would need to do a three-point turnaround in order to head the pickup back toward the highway. Ken wanted assurance he would not get stuck in a marshy meadow after Kevin and Curt had disappeared into the forest when it would then be too late to recruit their young muscles to help get the old truck unstuck.

Kevin laughed and said, "You bet, Dad!" as he slammed the passenger door.

Kevin and Curt stomped the ground in the area needed for a turnaround. Through the bug-splattered windshield, Ken observed the young men trample the grass ahead and to the right of the pickup. After a minute or so, Kevin signaled his dad with a thumb up gesture as assurance that the ground was firm. Ken then put the pickup in gear and did the three-point turnaround successfully, pointing the nose of the pickup back in the two-tire track path just negotiated and back in the direction of State Road 4.

Ken turned off the engine, opened the door to the screech and grating groan of rusty door hinges, got out, and stood next to the old Ford. He watched the eager young men as they began gathering their camping gear from the bed of the pickup.

The mountain air was crisp and still, heavy with the perfume of the dew-heavy grasses and wild flowers as the eastern sky lightened, showing a hint of the turquoise blue to come.

A hidden songbird — Ken did not recognize the melodic trill — welcomed the morning from somewhere in the meadow off to the trio's left as a golden eagle flew silently and majestically overhead in a southeasterly direction, no doubt headed for the vast Valle Grande ancient caldera a few miles distant and a morning breakfast of prairie dog or mountain vole.

Deep within Ken, the beauty and serenity of the mountain meadow morning caused the remembrance of a promise found in the Bible. The remembrance stirred a simple, silent prayer, Thank you, God.

~~~

Through the Lord's mercies we are not consumed,

Because His compassions fail not.

They are new every morning;

Great is Your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23 NKJV

~~~

Kevin and Curt were in the same class in high school, both slated to begin their senior year in September. They had been best friends since the sixth grade. That was the school year when their teacher paired up the two to come up with a science project for submittal to the New Mexico State Fair that year.

Kevin and Curt collaborated on designing and building a motion-sensing, hidden camera device, and, in the process, became fast friends.

The camera setup and the subsequent colorful and stunning close-up photographs of hummingbirds at a feeder garnered a blue ribbon at the fair.

~~~

Kevin, three inches shy of six feet tall, wore multi-pocket, mottled brown, jungle-camouflage cargo shorts and a khaki long-sleeved work shirt. Kevin's feet were shod in what when new were yellow-tan colored mid-calf leather lace-up work boots, now much darker in color from months of wear working at his uncle's construction site in Grants in the two summer months prior to the camping adventure.

Kevin's wavy light brown hair with streaks of sun-bleached blonde was covered by a John Deere-green baseball cap emblazoned with the Deere logo; however, unkempt tufts of mostly sun-bleached hair stuck out wildly over each of Kevin's ears, giving the impression that he needed a haircut, which he did.

Most of Kevin's female classmates considered Kevin to be good-looking. On the other hand his female classmates did not think of him as "hot" because he was socially labeled as a "preacher's kid" and therefore not accepted within any of the "popular" social cliques at school.

Kevin was not overly concerned about the shunning he experienced as a preacher's son — it came with the label and was something he had experienced in school as far back as he could remember. One of the things Kevin did to compensate for his lack of acceptance was to excel in academics, to which his 4.0 grade point average and honor roll position attested.

Kevin was also on the high-school debate team that placed second in the State finals last spring. Kevin's forte in debate was a unique ability to quickly analyze an opponent, adopt a counter-position, and argue successfully from logic and reason.

Academics and debate were not Kevin's only interests, however. Kevin had his eye on an attractive but quiet, blue-eyed brunette — Megan was her name — a transfer from Wyoming in April into Kevin's World History class.

Kevin was smitten that April morning when he first saw the profile of the new girl in class sitting directly across from him at a desk three rows away. The vision of loveliness that Kevin saw created a dance of butterflies in his stomach to such an extent that Kevin only half-listened to the day's lesson about Copernicus.

When the class ended, Kevin fairly leapt from his desk and in a display of out-of-character temerity was at the new girl's side, introducing himself. When she smiled and gave her name, Kevin's butterflies reacted with a crescendo of excitement.

The attraction Kevin felt for Megan that first day gained momentum and by week's end had become mutual with Kevin escorting a smiling Megan to her classes after which he would make a mad dash to his next class before the class bell rang.

~~~

Megan and her parents also conveniently attended Kevin's father's church.

~~~

In the eight weeks before the end of the school year, Kevin and Megan dated casually — the church picnic, several of their school's basketball games, and an exchange of Sunday dinners with the respective parents.

It was obvious to their classmates, the high school faculty, and their respective families that Kevin and Megan had become a serious "item."

Just before school let out for the summer, Kevin and Megan had a special day together during the class end-of-year outing to Bandelier National Monument where they walked hand-in-hand for hours over several trails and into Frijoles Canyon, talking often but also having long periods of silent communication.

A kind of longer-term bonding took place that day, and the comfort level that each felt for the other was remarkable not only in its blooming intensity but in its maturity and their shared interests and values — they were a matched pair in so many ways. Both were excitedly looking forward to the future and what it might hold for the two of them.

Unfortunately, when school let out for the summer, Megan's parents thwarted the blooming relationship either intentionally or unawares. Perhaps Megan's parents thought the relationship was becoming too intense, but, whatever the reason, they sent Megan for the summer to an aunt and uncle and two cousins who lived on a farm in Iowa.

As it turned out, there would have been little chance for Megan and Kevin to get together during the summer anyway because Kevin, because of the need for him to contribute to the family's economic circumstance, ended up spending the summer seventy miles away in Grants, New Mexico, working six-days per week as a construction laborer for an uncle until the weekend before his and Curt's camping adventure.

On the other hand, the long summer of absence from each other had intensified the relationship — absence, in this case, truly made two hearts fonder as their frequent outwardly circumspect but hidden meaning snail mail letters and e-mails crisscrossed.

Kevin was looking forward — really looking forward — to seeing Megan again once school started next month; in fact, every time the thought of Megan struck Kevin, which was often, the butterflies would resume their frenzied dance.

~~~

Olive-complexioned, six-foot tall Curt was dressed differently from Kevin. Ever the western-wear aficionado, Curt wore faded blue denim Levis two inches too long so they sagged, dragged, and frayed according to "cowboy" fashion. A two-inch wide, hand-tooled leather belt held the Levis to Kevin's thin waist. The belt featured a large chromed "rodeo" buckle with a copper-colored frontal view of the head of a longhorn steer overlay.

Curt usually wore a western yoke-styled, long-sleeved shirt with pearl-like snap buttons. Today's shirt was a faded burnt orange color with muted orange-colored snaps. Keeping with cowboy fashion, Kevin kept his sleeves down and cuff snap buttons snapped.

Curt also wore an old pair of Mexican handmade cowboy-style western boots. Since he was thirteen years old, Curt had been buying expensive Mexican handmade boots from a hole-in-the-wall shop a few blocks north of Central Avenue on Second Street in downtown Albuquerque.

Over the years, Curt custom-ordered each expensive pair of black, soft leather boots, always featuring the same white leather thunderbird overlay surrounded by red and blue leather accents and fancy stitching on the sixteen-inch stovepipe-style uppers.

With two-inch walking heels adding to his height and the "roach killer" traditional pointed toes that he favored, Curt felt truly "cool and western" wearing his custom boots.

Curt had a new pair of boots, shined to a gloss that would make a Marine Corps drill sergeant proud, in his closet at home. Those were his dress boots, worn only on his infrequent dates and during what he called "church goin' times."

For the camping adventure, Curt was wearing an old knock-around pair of the same custom style. Curt was unconcerned that his old boots might get scuffed in the mountains; they were about worn out anyway. He also had an ulterior motive: Curt figured that if he could wear out his old boots during the camping adventure, he would have an excuse to begin wearing his closeted pair, and an excuse to order a new pair.

In addition, Curt delighted in teasing Kevin that his boots were better protection against rattlesnake bites — at least, he pointed out, when compared to Kevin's lower-cut work boots.

In addition, true to his cowboy dress code, Kevin wore a Justin straw western hat, steamed and hand-shaped to his liking.

In true cowboy fashion, Kevin made sure that the brim of his hat when on his head was parallel to the ground — none of that movie cowboy hat placement on the back of his head for Curt— no, siree! Instead, Curt wore his hat in the authentic New Mexico cowboy manner — squarely on his head of crew-cut black hair, pulled down to the top of his ears.

He was less handsome compared to Kevin, but Curt had a certain loner mystic about him that at once attracted members of the fairer sex but also held them at bay.

He dated occasionally but did not have a steady girlfriend. He simply fit girls into his life as an occasion to do so warranted.

Curt's passions in life were, in order, basketball, electronic gadgets, video games, and outdoor activities.

Curt's passion for electronic gadgets and outdoor adventure had coalesced into a hobby called "geocaching," an international pursuit by tens of thousands who hide small objects such as recycled 35mm plastic film canisters containing "tokens" or trinkets for other enthusiasts to find.

Geocaching enthusiasts, using GPS receivers, look for the hidden objects — the cache — by following clues and the GPS latitude and longitude coordinates of the hidden object as posted on the Internet by those doing the hiding.

Once a fellow enthusiast finds the hidden cache, the finder signs and dates a discovery sheet found in the discovered container, placing the sheet back in the cache container for the next enthusiast to find and sign. The finder then goes on the Internet to a geocaching site to describe or gloat over their latest find and add to their "found" score.

Curt was so intense about geocaching that he sought and gained permission from the high-school administration last semester to form an after-hours club of like-minded fellow students. They named their club "The Hide 'n' Seek Club."

And that was Curt — a bit of a tease, a genial, fun-loving, carefree kind of a guy, often irreverent, and sometimes engaging his mouth before his brain was in gear, although that did not mean he was unintelligent. He just listened to a different drummer and usually did his own thing.

~~~

Kevin and Curt retrieved their aluminum-framed, ripstop nylon backpacks from the pickup's bed. Each young man had packed his backpack the night before. Kevin's backpack was red; Curt's, blue.

Curt also grabbed the mini-duffle bag that contained their lightweight, blue and white, three-man dome tent. The tent, when assembled would measure seven feet by seven feet by five feet high — "three man" size because they figured they'd need the extra room to store their large backpacks at night and when day hiking.

They had one rifle. Kevin would carry his Stevens single-shot, bolt-action .22 caliber rifle, a Christmas gift from his father and mother three years before. Kevin had rigged the rifle with a makeshift sling for ease of carrying over his shoulder.

Kevin and Curt each also carried identical hunting knives with eight-inch blades complete with brown leather sheaths. They had purchased the knives together in Albuquerque on Saturday, three days ago. Each had looped the sheath containing its knife onto his trouser belt and positioned the knife on his right hip.

Kevin and Curt each also wore a three-eighths inch thick, four-inch wide, dark green army surplus utility belt on the outside of their trousers, effectively hiding most of their sheathed knives, and also hiding, in Curt's case, his shiny western belt buckle.

Each of the young men had two army surplus canteens of water attached to their respective utility belts. Each canteen was mated with a metal, folding-handle cup that the canteen slid into as a unit. Each canteen and cup unit was then secured inside a lined, faded olive-green canvas-like cover embossed with an equally faded black "U.S." Two snap flaps on each cover secured each canteen within its cover. The covers, in turn, attached to the utility belts using the canteen covers' unique hooks inserted into the belt's equally unique reinforced grommets.

Thus attached to their utility belts, each young man carried one canteen on his left hip, and a second canteen on his right hip.

In the breaking dawn, the young men helped each other hitch up their heavy backpacks laden with foodstuffs, water purification tablets, extra clothing, identical red nylon windbreaker jackets, light-weight nylon day backpacks for casual day hiking, matches, first aid kit, hard candy, roll of aluminum foil, toilet paper, hand soap, soaped scouring pads, army mess kits and utensils — and assorted military MREs — Meal, Ready to Eat purchased from a supplier on eBay by Curt two weeks before.

Their gear also included two mini fishing rods and reels, complete with monofilament line and a small plastic box containing a dozen artificial lures, an extra leader, shot weights, and hooks for live bait.

Each young man also had a sleeping bag in a rainproof sleeve secured to his backpack.

In addition, each carried a fully charged cell phone, a hand-held magnetic compass, and a rubber suction cup-type snakebite kit, complete with a stainless steel mini-razor to incise any venomous snakebite and allow the suction cup to extract quickly the venom.

Kevin also carried his GPS receiver — he never went anywhere without it — secured in his snap-buttoned, right shirt pocket.

In short, Kevin and Curt brought everything — and then some — that they could remember from their collective experiences during a half dozen past camping experiences as former Cub and Boy Scouts.

Curt volunteered to carry the rolled-up three-man tent in addition to his backpack and sleeping bag combination.

In an attempt to do his fair share of the load, Kevin carried a military-style, folding shovel, also known as a trenching tool, strapped to the outside of his backpack. In addition, Kevin carried their one utility axe in a protective sheath, similarly attached to his backpack.

Taking into account that Kevin was also carrying a rifle and Curt was not, the loads were pretty much equally distributed.

Thus outfitted, the young men in typical male teenage machismo felt ready for anything they might encounter in the wilderness — or the world, for that matter.

~~~

Yes, Kevin and Curt were confident in their preparation, but they would find themselves totally unprepared for an event that would happen later.

~~~

Just before the young men pushed off into the wilderness, Ken reached into an inside jacket pocket and pulled out a pocket-sized New Testament with a camouflaged cover. It was the type of Bible that Christians in the military often carry as a comfort, particularly when in harm's way, not that the New Testament had any supernatural powers of protection, but those who chose to carry it often carried it simply as a testament to their faith.

Ken, with the earnestness of a loving father, insisted Kevin take it, saying, "During the week, you might have some quiet time to read and reflect. Least wise, I pray you will. You know I'd like you to follow in my footsteps and become a pastor, too. We've talked about it several times. I'd love to see that, but the decision is between you and God. Like I said, maybe you'll be able to find some quiet time while you're up here to read the Bible — this New Testament — and maybe find some direction, some answers. Will you do that for your ole dad, Son?"

Kevin took the New Testament and looked at it hard for a moment before placing it his shirt pocket. "Sure, Dad. I know. Give me time. I'm thinking about it, and thanks." And Kevin gave his father a quick embrace.

Curt, leaning over the side of the pickup bed to grab the last item needed — a fifty foot long, half-inch diameter climbing rope — could not help but see Ken on the opposite side of the pickup hand the New Testament to his son and overhear Ken's words and hear and see Kevin's response.

Curt was interested, if not just plain nosey in what Kevin's eventual decision might be, because he knew Kevin's father had been pressuring Kevin about a career choice in the Christian ministry for several months, but from what little Kevin shared with Curt about the issue, Curt knew that Kevin remained stubborn and increasingly reluctant to talk about it. Maybe Kevin's got other plans for a career and just doesn't want to disappoint his father, crossed Curt's mind.

As Kevin and his father continued their conversation, Curt pulled out his GPS receiver from his shirt pocket, turned it on, and was pleased to see the unit was picking up six navigation satellites. He toggled to Mark and the receiver's Waypoint screen popped up. He scrolled to Note and quickly typed "pick up" to identify his current location. The device told him that the location coordinates he had entered were accurate within fifteen feet. Close enough, he grinned to himself — he loved his GPS receiver.

~~~

Finally, the young men were ready. Kevin and his father embraced; Curt shook Ken's hand and thanked him for the transportation.

Ken said, "Have fun. Take care. Be safe," and then whispered in his heart a silent prayer to God, asking for protection for his son and his son's friend, praying in-keeping with the Lord's Prayer that God's will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.

As the young men turned to cross the meadow and pick up the trail in the stand of Gambel oaks that they hoped — and their U.S. Forest Service map said would be there — Ken raised his voice and said, "Don't forget, I'll see you at this same spot next Monday at noon for pick up!"

Without turning his head, Kevin raised his right arm and hollered back with a laugh, "I don't think we'll forget, Dad!" whereupon Curt gave a gentle shove to Kevin's shoulder, momentarily knocking Kevin with his heavy backpack off stride. Kevin feigned a shove back, and Curt swatted at Kevin's outstretched arm. Each laughed and teased the other.

Ken could see the young men were in high spirits. A part of Ken envied the carefree age and attitude of the young men being so much different from the heavy responsibilities of spiritually shepherding a congregation of three hundred plus souls three times weekly, including individual congregant's needs at times of sickness, bereavement, and emotional and spiritual distress.

Although Ken had a smile on his face as he watched Kevin and Curt disappear into the stand of oak, there was concern in his heart — the young men were going to backpack far into the Jemez wilderness for a week plus one day, and although the pastor was proud and supportive of his son, yet there was the normal parental concern — or was it a premonition?

Ken whispered his concerns to his God in silent prayer.

~~~

Only days later would Pastor Ken find that his concerns were well founded.

# Chapter Two

### A Wrong Decision

After six unrelenting hours of steady but leisurely hiking, the young men came upon a shallow exposure of light grey dacite lava that had cooled several million years ago. They decided to take a short rest and shrugged off their backpacks.

Kevin sat down and leaned against his backpack. Curt wandered off a ways, exploring and then returned to the slab of rock and sat down a dozen feet from Kevin.

The resting place was idyllic; the rock was smooth and warm. In addition, Kevin and Curt, although not articulating the feeling to each other, felt a sense of being far removed from civilization. It was as if the rest of the world did not exist — exactly the kind of pre-school escape both had wanted to experience.

The light wind sighed through the tall ponderosa pines just yards away on either side of the trail.

A pesky deerfly circled the stopped duo, finally deciding to find other prey and zoomed off after Curt took a swat at it.

Two less formidable flying creatures — two white butterflies —choreographed a ballet of greeting, finally landing next to each other on the far end of the living room-sized rock to soak up some heat for a moment, wings twitching, only to resume their ballet to the subconscious delight of Kevin and Curt.

~~~

Curt was the more adventuresome of the two, and it was at his suggestion that the camping trip was happening at all. In fact, Curt had contacted the Jemez Ranger Station in Santa Fe some weeks before and received several maps of the Jemez mountains from which Curt determined which trail to take and where he and Kevin intended to camp for the week.

The hiking goal for the first day was to reach a deserted one-time ranger cabin known as Sergeant's Bluff Cabin in a valley west of 11,000-plus-foot elevation Redondo Peak.

The cabin appeared to be at about the 9,000-foot elevation according to the topographical map; however, not all the valleys and hills were named on the map, and even when they were named, they were difficult to distinguish from each other because of so many difficult-to-follow elevation contour lines on the map meandering in every direction.

"Viejo Trail," the particular trail Curt had picked, was a trail not recommended by the USFS for several reasons: One, it was considered "difficult" in the sense of being steep and physically demanding and dangerous in several spots, seldom used, and not well-defined, nor maintained; two, it bordered on areas of Redondo Peak that local pueblo peoples considered sacred, which, in turn, meant that not many people dared hiking the area and accidentally encroaching on land considered sacred to Native Americans.

Nevertheless, those factors simply added to Curt's desire to use Viejo Trail not so much because he was inclined to test any limits — personal or Native American cultural — but because his love for nature and the outdoors was such that he would avoid using a more common usage trail for fear of running into other hikers, or, heaven forbid, arriving at a camping spot only to find a half dozen or more campers and tents already there.

Indicative of Curt's passion for pristine wilderness and the ultimate outdoor experience was that a few months ago he had contacted an uncle in Alaska who had some influence with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, expressing a desire to work for the department in some outdoor capacity after high school graduation.

Thanks to his uncle's connections, the Alaska Game and Fish Department accepted Curt's application contingent on Curt attaining his high school diploma and reaching the age of nineteen.

Curt's uncle told him that the job would be as a private contractor counting salmon for one-hundred days straight and keeping certain records at specific times each day at a particular stream on a lonely island in the far Aleutians. His uncle went on to tell him that Curt would be the only human being on the island. In fact, Curt would be so isolated that a floatplane would have to fly in supplies every three weeks, courtesy of the State of Alaska.

To say Curt was excited in anticipation of his Alaska adventure and in being one-with-nature in most every sense of the word would be an understatement.

Curt was enthusiastic, he began studying online all he could about the flora and fauna of the Aleutians. That he might have the company of an Alaskan grizzly bear during his stint on the island never seemed to enter his mind, or, if it did, Curt dismissed it as of no consequence or as just part of the adventure.

Either way, that was Curt — jump in with both feet and go with the flow.

Kevin, of course, knew about Curt's nature-loving idiosyncrasy and, in some respects, shared the feeling — that's why Kevin was on this particular wilderness adventure into the Jemez with Curt. However, unlike Curt, Kevin had less loner tendencies, and although Curt's pending Alaska adventure was exciting even for Kevin to imagine, nevertheless, something like that was not Kevin's cup of tea.

Kevin was still struggling with his future, and, at this stage, he had no plans whatsoever beyond high school graduation, although he was fairly certain he'd be going on to college at some point.

No small part of Kevin's struggle revolved around his father's desire that Kevin enter the ministry. The situation was compounded by the fact that Kevin had yet to come up with any kind of career choice on his own — many careers interested him, but none lit his fire; none gave him passion. Because of that, he often felt like a rudderless ship when it came to his future.

~~~

Kevin had dug into a side pocket of his backpack, dug out a package of beef jerk, and shared it with Curt.

After a few pieces of jerky, Kevin took long swig of canteen water to assuage the salty jerky and to replace the fluids he had sweated out during the first hours of their hike. A couple of minutes later, Curt did the same.

The day was beautiful — not too warm and not too cool at their estimated 8,000-foot elevation. The classic deep turquoise of the New Mexico sky, the warm sunshine radiating off the slab of rock, and the soft murmur of the wind through the ponderosa pines was mesmerizing.

Kevin shifted to his right side and leaned on his backpack with his right arm. He crooked his elbow and rested his head in the palm of his right hand. He was thoroughly enjoying the respite and the wonders of nature all around him.

Lost in the wonder of the moment, he suddenly thought about his father's Sunday sermon from the book of Romans the day before. Kevin remembered that his father had preached on a subject that had something to do with people being without an excuse for not knowing God. God is revealed in and through the things God created, Kevin's father had preached.

Thinking about his father's sermon and observing the creation around him, Kevin understood — there indeed was no excuse. The order, the balance, the sheer complexity and beauty of all the things he was experiencing through his five senses demonstrated to Kevin an intelligent cause — a Creator — not a haphazard evolution beginning with a "Big Bang" and a couple of mindless amoebas in a primordial ooze.

~~~

For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse... Romans 1:20 NKJV

~~~

As he thought about his father, Kevin had a momentary feeling of guilt. Kevin had often displayed less than enthusiastic acceptance of being a preacher's son and the religiosity that implied in the eyes of his friends — a religiosity that Kevin was reluctant to display. He knew his attitude was a disappointment to his father.

Kevin closed his eyes in an effort to blot out the feelings of guilt. His thoughts began to drift and within moments, he was fast asleep.

~~~

Kevin awoke with a start — _things_ were crawling on his face!

Jumping up, instantly wide awake, Kevin could see a dozen or more ants — big, black, half-inch long mountain ants — running in every direction on his clothes and bare legs as he swatted at the ones scampering across his face, in his hair, and down the neck of his shirt.

"Yikes!" he exclaimed, as he jumped up.

He began dancing from one leg to the other, all the while swatting here and there, finally flicking the last of the ants from his clothing.

Kevin saw Curt, sitting on a large boulder a dozen feet away, half-bent over in laughter at Kevin's predicament. In seeming collusion with Curt's laughter, a Steller's jay seemed to laugh at Kevin from its perch high in a nearby pine.

"Oh, great! You sit there laughing at me and even that bird over there is laughing! Why didn't you say something — wake me up?"

"Well, I didn't notice the ants until you jumped up and then it was just too late and too funny," laughed Curt.

"Uh-huh. I'll bet it was."

Embarrassed and a bit indignant at Curt's laughter, Kevin realized it served him right. He should have been more careful, more observant about where he sat down for rest.

The good news was that the ants had not bitten Kevin and for that, he was thankful.

Curt, backing off his teasing attitude, asked, "Sorry, bro. You 'bout ready to go?"

Kevin answered, "Yeah. Let's do it."

Kevin carefully checked his backpack for ants and finding several, made quick dispatch of them. He then hoisted his heavy backpack onto his back. Curt did the same with his backpack. They were ready. Curt led the way up the trail.

They hiked about a half-mile when they encountered a stand of quaking aspen trees with the characteristic fluttering leaves rattling in the breeze and their white bark — bark that Native Americans had used for centuries as a kind of natural aspirin for medicinal purposes.

Unlike the sharper scent of pine trees, the aspens had a mild, sweet, and vaguely musty odor.

The trail was barely visible as it wound through the aspens, however, what grabbed the young men's attention were the scattered carvings of names and dates on several of the older and larger aspens.

"Wow! Look at this one," Kevin said, pointing to a carving some nine feet up on a three foot diameter tree. "That looks like — wow! — I can barely make it out, but it looks like L. Ortega, May 1898! And look at this one over here! Abe Hiram, 09! This is really cool!"

The growth of the carved aspens and the healing of the cuts over time made deciphering many of the carvings next to impossible. Nevertheless, Kevin and Curt were impressed.

They wandered a few feet off the trail and found even more carvings. One carving on an almost three-foot wide trunk, perhaps the oldest tree in the stand, contained a barely readable Yates and what looked like 1854 about eight feet up on the white bark.

"That Yates one can't be _1854!_ — must be 1954 — these trees are old, but they can't be that old, can they? I mean, I can't believe 1854," said Kevin.

It was then that Curt surprised Kevin when he said, "I've been doing some studying about forestry and wildlife for my Alaska thing next year, and, as I recall, trembling aspens — this kind of a tree — can live one-hundred and fifty or more years. So, 1854 is not impossible.

"Also, a group of aspens like this isn't called a stand or even a forest; it's called a 'colony' and, believe it or not, it's a single humongous living organism."

Kevin, truly impressed, replied, "You're kidding! That's awesome!" and, after a moment's hesitation, added, "Well, Curt, I _am_ surprised!"

"What's that supposed to mean, you're 'surprised'?"

"Well, for a dude who usually loses his school textbooks within the first six weeks of the new school year, to hear you say you've been studying something is a surprise. That's all."

"Well, la-tee-da, dude. This kind of stuff interests me. History and geometry don't," replied a miffed Curt.

"Hey, nothing personal meant. Chill, bro. I just made an observation, that's all. I'm happy for you that you've found something that interests you. Who knows, you may even end up getting a Ph.D. in forestry or wildlife someday."

There was a long pause as Curt weighed what Kevin had said, and then Curt replied in a thoughtful tone, "Maybe so. Maybe so."

Kevin took a few more steps into the colony. "You know, I'd bet that some of these initials and the people who made them have interesting histories," ventured Kevin.

"Yeah, maybe some were on the run from the law or doing some illegal stuff like digging up Indian stuff or whatever," volunteered Curt.

"Yeah. Could be. Do you want to carve your initials?"

"Nah. We need to get going. See that cloud over there?" and Curt pointed out a brilliant white cumulus cloud with shadows of grey, billowing over a peak several miles to the north that was visible through the aspens. "That cloud is gonna get bigger as the day heats up, and we could be in for a nasty thunderstorm. I don't like lightning, especially if I'm caught out in it. And, getting wet is not my thing, either. So, let's push on and see if we can make the cabin before it hits, okay?"

"Gotcha," replied Kevin.

After another hour, the climb lessened and they entered a small valley, roughly circular, about a quarter-mile long and a quarter-mile in width. On either side were towering hills thick with mixed conifers of Douglas fir and a scattering of blue spruce.

The young men did not realize it but they had entered a small, ancient caldera now verdant with greenish-yellow knee-high grasses, wild flowers, and a small stream that look promising for containing native trout.

On a nearby jagged and blackened ten-foot tall stub of a long-ago lightning struck pine, a red-napped sapsucker woodpecker ignored the young men less than a hundred feet away and rat-tat-tat-tatted away, looking for a mid-day insect snack.

Halfway through the valley, Curt stopped and squatted down, pulling out the U.S. Forest Service map he had in his back pocket.

Kevin squatted down opposite of Curt. "What's up, bro?" Kevin asked.

"Well, the trail has kind of gotten overgrown in this meadow, and I think we've lost it. I'm not sure if we should go straight ahead or if the trail angles off someplace here in the valley."

"Let me see," said Kevin, reaching for the map.

Kevin studied the map for a minute, turning it left, right, and upside down in an attempt to orient it to the surrounding hills. Exasperated, he said, "I can't tell a thing with all of these topographical lines that go all over the place. Half this stuff — I mean like the valleys and whatever — isn't even identified."

"Well, you're just not an experienced map reader, that's all," teased Curt.

However, Curt's tease was masking uncertainty on his part, because, truth be known, Curt had difficulty reading the map also. "Hand me the map. I'll figure out where we're at," said Curt.

Curt pulled out his compass and laid the map on the ground and the compass on the map, both in proper orientation to each other. Next, he found the cabin location and read the compass bearing.

"Okay. I got it. We need to head that direction," and Curt pointed up stream. "Makes sense. I mean, the cabin being next to a stream. We just need to follow this stream, and it'll take us right to the cabin."

With a confidence that belied a nagging, subconscious uncertainty, Curt stood up and said, "Let's go."

~~~

Unfortunately, Curt had misidentified their location on the map. Yes, the cabin was next to a stream, but not the stream he and Kevin were now following. Unaware, they had deviated from Viejo Trail more than a mile back.

The decision to press on upstream would be fraught with imminent danger, but it would also result in an unexpected encounter.

# Chapter Three

### Danger and Rescue

As the young men followed the stream out of the ancient caldera, the stream narrowed and then disappeared completely, petering out in a wide fan of algae-green seepage of unknown origin.

Squishing through the mud, they soon came to a gradual one-hundred foot rise of ancient lava flow that afforded an ease of climbing much like a staircase.

They began the climb and soon topped out on a plateau of near-black, pockmarked basalt, featuring dozens of large water-filled pits of uncertain depth and up to four feet in diameter.

By the then late afternoon, the threatening cumulus cloud from earlier in the day had grown to a massive, roiling, towering, angry monster with an underlayment of distant, streaking grey-black rain capped with brilliant white mushroom tops, miles high.

The afternoon breeze had freshened with a distinct scent of impending rain. The distant sound of thunder had had the young men' attention for the better part of the past hour; the storm was drawing closer and an already intermittent spattering of huge, icy raindrops promised a deluge shortly.

In the late afternoon shadow of the mountain to the west and the storm-darkening skies, it was almost as if night had quickly descended on the two.

In the gathering darkness, not only was there danger from lightning, but also if they continued, one of them could fall or slip into one of the pits, and if such a pit was deep enough or hot enough, the effect could be tragic.

The young men's situation was compounded by the anxiety-driven yet unspoken realization that they were lost — there was no cabin in sight — and the fact that there was no un-rough, non-rock area to pitch their tent, much less to try and drive tent stakes into solid rock.

Stopped in their tracks by their situation and the potential danger and with the storm and an unsettling darkness bearing down on them, the young men were startled to hear the distant tinkling of bells!

They looked at each other in surprise and without a word began carefully making their way toward the sound of the tinkling.

Minutes later, descending the last of the basalt, the young men found themselves at the edge of a grassy area about the size of a football field. In the middle of the field directly in front of them some fifty yards away was a flock of fifty or sixty milling sheep. Some of the sheep were wearing bells, and it was the sound of those bells that drew the young men to the area. A mostly black Australian sheepdog was circling the sheep, ensuring each stayed within the group.

To the right of the flock— in the "football end zone," so to speak — was a white, fifteen foot square canvas tent, the kind with four four-foot sidewalls and a pitched roof reminiscent of Matthew Brady's photographs of Civil War army field tents.

Next to the tent stood a shepherd — a young man, near as Kevin and Curt could tell from the one hundred foot distance, about the same age as Kevin and Curt.

The shepherd noticed Kevin and Curt but did not appear to be surprised. He raised his right hand in greeting. Kevin and Curt simultaneously returned the greeting in-kind and, as they walked closer, they could see the shepherd appeared to be Mexican — but maybe Basque? In any event, it quickly became obvious to Kevin and Curt that the shepherd neither spoke nor understood English.

As Kevin and Curt got within ten feet of the shepherd, the icy cold rain began pelting in earnest.

The shepherd quickly pulled back the tent flap and gestured for Kevin and Curt to enter his tent and get out of the rain, which they did. Most gratefully.

The tent held a cot and several wooden boxes that Kevin and Curt assumed contained food supplies and probably assorted veterinarian medicines and potions.

The boxes also acted as tables. One was set up with a plate and eating utensils. On another sat a kerosene lantern.

In the far corner was another box. The far corner box looked like a kind of shrine. At the base of the box was a folded horse blanket — probably used for kneeling. Centered on top of the box was a six-inch statue of what Kevin guessed to be the patron saint of shepherds. On either side of the statue was a half-burned, now extinguished white votive candle.

Being a pastor's son, Kevin immediately picked up on the fact that the shepherd was probably devotedly religious; Curt, if he noticed at all, could not have cared less.

A crack of lightning lit up the tent canvas followed by an immediate thunderous boom. The already hard pelting rain suddenly doubled and then tripled in intensity, drumming noisily on the tent roof. Every few seconds a gust of wind would ripple the tent. More lightning and thunder and waves of heavy rain continued for fifteen minutes, and then gradually the rain began to ease and the sound of thunder became less intense as the storm moved through.

The interior of the tent and the tent floor had remained bone dry throughout the storm, a testament to the quality of the tent and the skill of the shepherd in site selection and drainage engineering.

The young shepherd was most accommodating and by a series of smiles and gestures invited Kevin and Curt to spend the night in his tent, which, given the potential for more thunderstorms, the treacherous water-filled-pitted landscape they had come from, and no idea where the cabin they sought might be, the young men gratefully gestured thank you and spread out their sleeping bags on the tent floor.

At this point, the shepherd left the tent apparently to check his flock and ensure they were bedded down for the night.

With no thought of food and after almost twelve hours of hiking, and at the end, tension and anxiety about being lost and in danger, the young men were exhausted.

Each lay down on their respective sleeping bags fully intending to be gracious guests despite the language barrier when the shepherd returned.

Instead, both fell asleep almost immediately.

~~~

Kevin and Curt would make a decision in the morning that would be pivotal for all that would follow.

# Chapter Four

### Day Two: The Campsite and the Unexpected

Curt was shaking Kevin awake. "Hey, get up. Let's get going."

Kevin sleepily cocked one eye open to find a grinning Curt standing over him. For a moment, Kevin was disoriented about where he was and then it all came rushing back — the sheep, the caring shepherd, the storm, and the tent.

Kevin was also surprised that he was lying fully clothed — boots and all — on top of his sleeping bag.

"Man, I really crashed last night," Kevin half-groaned as he raised up to a sitting position.

"Yeah, we both did," replied Curt.

Kevin could feel the morning sun's heat already building up inside the tent. Kevin also noticed that the heat seemed to intensify the smell of the oils in the canvas; a smell that reminded Kevin of the canvas tarpaulin that his father used on occasion to cover items hauled in the back of the old Ford pickup.

He had a sudden inexplicable pang — he missed his father.

"What time is it?" Kevin asked, squinting at his wristwatch.

"C'mon, it's already past nine-thirty. We both overslept. Our shepherd friend is gone and so are all of his sheep. He obviously trusts us."

"Well, he should. What does he have not to trust?" answered Kevin. And with that, Kevin stood up and walked outside the tent to some nearby bushes to relieve his overnight-full bladder.

Returning to the tent, Kevin rolled up his sleeping bag, and asked, "What's the plan?"

"Well, I hate to admit it but I have no idea where the cabin is, and this map is worthless at this point. How about we go back down to that meadow with the trout stream? There were a couple of spots that looked pretty good for a campsite. We can pitch our tent and just relax without getting' stressed out over some ole cabin that may or may not even be there — and that we can't find anyhow. What do you think?"

"Sounds like a plan. Let's do it."

However, before the young men exited the shepherd's tent, Kevin suggested they reward the shepherd for his hospitality. Although both realized that there was no place to spend money in the wilderness, nevertheless, Curt agreed, and they left five one dollar bills, tucking them under the base of the shepherd's kerosene lantern with just enough of the bills exposed to ensure they would be noticed by the shepherd.

~~~

Avoiding the water-filled pits was much easier — and safer — in the bright sunshine of a glorious mountain morning. Last night's storm had cleansed the air, and the freshness of pine scent and the perfume of the flowering yarrows and daisies and a dozen other mountain flowers was a most agreeable blend of aromas.

In less than an hour, the young men were welcomed back in the caldera meadow by a chattering Steller's jay.

They soon found what they considered an ideal camping spot — twenty feet from the stream and next to a young orphaned ponderosa pine some thirty-five feet high that had somehow separated itself from its older relatives a hundred yards west on the steep slopes of what once was the rim of the caldera.

The young men worked as a team to prepare the ground and put up the tent. Once the tent was up, Kevin began constructing a fire ring while Curt took the ax and went to gather kindling and, hopefully, a couple of decent sized logs for firewood.

As Kevin was placing the last of the stones on the windward side of the fire ring, Curt returned to camp dragging a twelve-foot long, dead tree limb with an eight-inch diameter center limb and assorted diameter branches ideal for kindling.

"Man, I'm hungry!" said Curt.

"Yeah, it's almost time for lunch. Let's see what we can scrounge from the MREs," replied Kevin.

"I got most of them in my backpack. Let me check," Curt said as he ducked into the tent to find his backpack. In the tent, Curt hollered, "Hey, both are chicken fajitas. That okay with you?"

"Yeah! Love that stuff," Kevin hollered back.

Fifteen minutes later, having used the MRE flameless heater packs to heat their MREs, the two young men were wolfing down the fajitas, Spanish rice, tortillas, and applesauce, their first food in almost twenty-four hours.

Curt said, "I've been meaning to ask you about that... that shrine and little statue — you know, in the shepherd's tent. What's that all about?"

"Well, I'd guess our sheepherder friend uses the shrine as a kind of mini-church to practice his religion," replied Kevin.

"But, what about that little statue he had. What was that?"

"Don't know how that figures into his religious beliefs. All I know is that the Bible says there is only one person between a believer and God and that's God's Son, Jesus Christ.

"So, praying to statues — and I don't know if the shepherd does that or not — or praying to whatever or whomever other than Jesus seems to me to be contrary to what I know my dad preaches and what I believe."

"Hmmm. Interesting," replied Curt.

~~~

For there is one God and one Mediator between God and men, the Man Christ Jesus, 1 Timothy 2:5 NKJV

~~~

With his last spoonful of applesauce, Kevin said, "Why don't we finish up the campsite? I'll dig a garbage pit for our trash and also dig a latrine, and you can chop that tree limb into manageable pieces. Deal?"

"Deal."

Kevin, carrying the Army surplus trenching tool and the remnants of their lunch, walked downstream one hundred and fifty paces and then turned ninety degrees away from the stream and paced off an additional one hundred steps. This brought him to a stand of young ponderosa pine trees that would eventually become giants but not for another fifty years.

Kevin surveyed the area and decided it would do. He dropped the MRE trash on the ground so he could begin digging.

First, he untightened the screw ring holding the blade on the trenching tool — the collapsible shovel. He then lowered the blade to the digging position and tightened the screw ring to hold the blade in place. Next, using the shovel, he scraped away a thick layer of brown pine needles and began digging a latrine about three feet long and a foot deep. A couple of yards away from the latrine, he dug a garbage pit a couple of feet deep and about three feet in diameter.

The digging was easy in the meadow's organically rich, black soil with the deeper garbage pit especially organic with a dozen or more fat earthworms with every shovelful.

While digging, Kevin could distinctly hear Curt upstream chopping wood at the campsite.

As Kevin finished digging, he caught a whiff of smoke. He turned and glanced in the direction of camp and could see grey smoke lazily rising and, being caught by a slight breeze, drifting through the nearby towering pines. Ah, good! Curt's got the campfire going. Now we're really camping, he grinned to himself.

Kevin picked up the MRE trash and tossed it into the garbage pit. He covered the trash with a mound of dirt. Finished, he turned to the latrine and stuck the shovel into the pile of latrine dirt with a thrust from the sole of his work boot. The shovel would remain at the site so that he and Curt could shovel dirt back into the pits as necessary.

Kevin walked back to their campsite. He found Curt seated on his haunches idly poking at the campfire with a stick.

Kevin said, "Hey, you know what, why don't we do a bit of exploring this afternoon?"

"For what?"

"I don't know. For something to do. I saw what looked like a game trail on the other side of the creek opposite where I dug the pits. Maybe we can check that out. What do you think?"

"Why not? Sounds like fun."

"I think so. That's why we're up here, isn't it? First, we're going to have to let the fire die down though. I think I'll take a quick nap. It's early. Only about noon. You okay with that?"

"Yeah. No problem. I'm not sleepy. I think I'll see if I can catch a fish or two."

~~~

Kevin awakened from a short nap, checked his wristwatch and saw it was twenty minutes past one o'clock. He stuck his head out the tent flap just as Curt was entering camp. "Any luck?" asked Kevin.

"Nope. Saw a nice, plump rainbow trout, maybe fourteen, fifteen inches, almost motionless in a deep pool a bit downstream where the water's undercut the bank. He's a wary cuss though, but I'll bet I can catch him."

"Ha! That'll be the day," Kevin jokingly replied.

"Yeah. Well you'll think so when you see me grilling him over hot coals one of these evenings," grinned Curt as he leaned his compact mini-fishing rod and reel against the tree. "You ready to explore?"

"Sure am. Think it'll rain?" Kevin asked as he exited the tent and began putting on and lacing his boots.

"Nah. Not for a couple of hours anyhow. An hour out and an hour back to camp and we should be fine. But let's pack our raincoats in our mini-backpacks, and maybe toss in some jerky or hard candies. You gonna take your rifle?"

"Yeah. I thought I would."

"Whatever. I think I'll wear my windbreaker — it's a bit cool in the shade."

A few minutes later, campsite secured, fire dampened, and ready to explore, the two walked downstream a hundred paces or so until they found a place where they could cross the stream with minimum wetting of their footwear thanks to a half dozen convenient, nature-positioned stepping-stones that allowed the two to hopscotch across a narrow part of the stream.

Twenty yards farther downstream, now on the opposite bank, Kevin pointed and said, "There. See that path?"

"Looks more like a game trail," replied Curt.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, but I think it's wider than that. Let's go check it out, anyhow."

"Go for it," replied Curt, and Kevin led the way.

~~~

A half-hour into the hike, the trail split with one barely perceptible path through an overgrowth of stunted piney bushes, and the other, obviously the main trail, heading upslope, disappearing into a distant stand of blue spruce trees.

They had paused to consider which trail to take when Curt said, "Let's see where this one takes us," as he squeezed between the heavy brush to follow the lesser of the two trails.

"You are adventuresome," said Kevin as he followed.

The trail meandered down into a small box canyon maybe seventy-five feet deep and rimmed on three sides at the top by mature blue spruce trees.

Curt, paused. Looking around, he said, "This is a cool little canyon. Look up there. Those trees along the rim, they're blue spruce, and they're so evenly spaced you'd think someone planted them."

"Blue spruce, eh? Your forestry studies are really paying off, bro. But you're right, they look too uniform and the gaps between them are too perfect. And, man, they are tall, too! A hundred feet at least. They're kind of like silent guardians over this canyon," said Kevin, a faint warning creeping into the back recesses of his mind that his subconscious chose to ignore.

Curt continued walking down the path to the canyon floor while Kevin stood motionless on the path mesmerized by the trees and a feeling of unease that he could not explain.

Curt broke the spell Kevin was under when he hollered up to Kevin, his voice echoing against the canyon walls, "You know, this is kind of strange. This canyon floor is what? Maybe half the size of a football field? But it's as smooth as a city park. I mean, come down here and look. There's no rocks, bushes, or little trees, just a smooth field — like I said, like a park. C'mon down and check this out."

"Wait up. I'll join you."

Moments later, catching up to Curt and viewing the canyon floor, Kevin said, "You're right. It does look like a park. Like it's groomed. What do think?" Kevin asked tentatively, the suppressed warning in the back of his mind struggling for attention.

Ever-adventuresome Curt replied, "Well, let's go for a stroll in the park. Why not?" And he began walking down the middle of the groomed area.

Kevin, after a moment of hesitation, quickly caught up to Curt, and, side-by-side, they walked down the brown pine-needle carpet as wide as three city residential streets.

The only sound was the soft crunch of pine needles with each footstep — no bird sounds, no squirrel chatter — only the lonely moaning of the wind high in the tree tops on the rim.

Some fifty feet into the park-like canyon floor both simultaneously came to an abrupt halt.

Kevin spoke first in a half-whisper, "Oh-oh. Look ahead. See how the ground kind of undulates — there's like a whole series of low mounds, each about six feet long. Look how the mounds are parallel, side-by-side, and, oh, boy, they stretch clear across the canyon floor!"

"I... think... we... have... encountered... something the map warned us about! This is no park! It's an Indian burial ground!" and with those whispered, halting words, Curt was already backing out of the forest with a stunned look on his face.

Kevin turned to face Curt as he backed away and said, "I think you're right. Let's go!"

Kevin walked quickly past Curt as Curt turned to follow. They hurried up the canyon path and back through the piney bushes. Once on the main trail, Curt took the lead and broke into a jog as they followed the trail down to the stream they had crossed earlier.

In a matter of minutes, they were crossing the stream, using the same stepping-stones as before, this time to the opposite side where they headed upstream to their campsite.

As they walked and tried to catch their breath from the jog and mountain altitude, Kevin remarked that he once heard from a missionary friend of the family that although each pueblo in New Mexico contained a Roman Catholic church and although it was common for deceased members of the tribe to be buried in the church's graveyard, many of the old-timers and traditionalists were often buried elsewhere and in secret — no outsiders allowed.

"I think we found one of those secret locations today," Kevin concluded.

"Man, I hope we didn't disturb any spirits and have them come after us," groaned the still shaken Curt. "I just hope I can sleep tonight."

"Don't think you have to worry about any spirits. Once you're dead, your spirit leaves the body and ends up in either heaven or hell, depending on whether you are saved or not — same with Indians," replied Kevin.

"Well, yeah, whatever. I'm glad you're so cool and calm, because I'm not."

"I can tell you're not. But I am because I am confident, and have, I guess you'd call it, a peace about death because of my faith," replied Kevin.

"You mean all them Indians buried in those mounds are in hell?" asked Curt.

"I really don't know. Only God knows. What I do know is those who have had an opportunity for salvation as shown in — well, take the gospel of John, for example — as shown in chapter three of John where Jesus said, 'You must be born-again' in order to enter into heaven — well, I believe those who know that being born-again, not physically, of course, but being reborn spiritually — you know, being 'saved' — and who have heard of God's love and the sacrifice that His son Jesus made for all — maybe heard it through the testimony of a friend or relative or listening to a good preacher give what's called the plan of salvation — and who respond to that plan by inviting Jesus into their lives as Lord and Savior — well, those are the people that are saved and who will go to heaven when they die."

~~~

Jesus answered and said to him, "Most assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." John 3:3 NKJV

~~~

"Yeah. But what about Indians?"

"Well, like I said, only God knows. Personally, I think everyone will be held accountable to the degree he or she has knowledge of God and to the degree they let God into what my dad calls the 'God vacuum.' Dad says everyone has a God vacuum and that each person at some point life can sense their need for God to fill that vacuum. A lot of people ignore their God vacuum, suppress it, and eventually don't feel it anymore. But a lot of people seek to fill their God vacuum, some successfully and some not successfully.

"I believe the only successful way to fill the God vacuum is with what the Bible says — with Jesus Christ and accepting his gift of salvation — having the born-again experience."

As they stepped into camp, Curt replied, "Hmm. 'God vacuum,' is it?" After pondering the concept for a long moment, he added thoughtfully, "That's interesting."

"Let me know when you're ready and we can talk some more about it. Like I said, the God vacuum is filled by the born again experience. I have no doubt that God loves you and has a plan for your life. Maybe in some way that's what our camping trip is all about. Maybe it's about a God encounter."

Curt didn't quite know how to respond to Kevin's offer, nor to his last comment about a "God encounter." Instead, Curt said nothing in reply and busied himself rekindling the campfire, but the concept of a God vacuum troubled something deep inside him.

~~~

Once Curt got a decent fire going, he told Kevin, who was sitting with his back against the trunk of their sheltering ponderosa pine reading the New Testament that his father had given him, "I'm going to see if I can catch that ole wily rainbow. Maybe we can have trout for early supper."

Kevin looked up, smiled, and said, "That sounds great! Good luck!"

~~~

A half-hour later, Curt returned to camp with a big grin on his face. On the stringer he carried was a very plump, fourteen-inch rainbow trout.

"Ho-ho-ho! Look what I got!" he gloated.

In a matter of minutes, Curt had the trout gutted, cleaned, and filleted, and with the help of aluminum foil and hot coals, the two managed a decent early evening meal of succulent trout, being careful of the remaining pin bones common to trout.

Although a thundershower was not unexpected because Kevin and Curt had heard distant thunder drawing ever closer for a good half-hour as they ate, they had no sooner finished the trout than the breeze freshened with the scent of rain and wet pine. Within a minute, scattered, giant, icy raindrops began to splash smack-smack-smack on the ground and on their tent, sizzling as they struck the red coals of the campfire, raising puffs of white ash.

Kevin and Curt moved quickly to their tent and secured the entrance just as the scattered raindrops turned into a deluge accompanied by spurts of marble-sized hail.

Kevin and Curt sat with their backs to each other, each looking out one of the mesh covered window vents that were on opposite sides of the tent.

The drumming of the rain on the tent and the sound of thousands of raindrops on the surrounding area was so loud that it made conversation difficult even sitting back-to-back to each other; however, an occasional too near crack and flash of lightning and the immediate shattering boom that reverberated throughout the surrounding mountain valleys and peaks did elicit expressions of awe at the power of nature.

Curt yelled excitedly, "This is awesome!"

Kevin echoed, "You got that right! Awesome!"

# Chapter Five

### Day Three: The Two Decisions

On Day Three in the wilderness, Curt awoke to the cooing of a nearby pair of mourning doves.

He extricated himself from his sleeping bag, grabbed his boots, and eased himself quietly out of the tent, careful not to awaken still sleeping Kevin.

Outside the tent, he pulled on his boots, stood up, stretched with arms spread wide, and took a deep breath of crisp mountain air.

He grinned, savoring the beautiful morning and the smells and sounds of nature. _Life is good!_

He walked the twenty feet to the stream, bent down, and splashed handfuls of icy water on his face. Whoa! That's cold! He felt the stubble of a beard on his chin and the thought ran through his mind, I might end up with a decent start on a beard before this is over.

He lowered his head and did one more splash, directing the palms-full of cold water to the top of his head, working cold water into the stubby hair on his scalp.

As he raised his head and began to stand up, a movement on the other side of the stream caught his eye, and he froze. Not forty feet away in the shrubbery oak stood a black bear on all fours, snout raised, head swinging back and forth. The bear apparently had picked up the scent of something unfamiliar within the bear's territory, and as far as Curt could tell, the bear was not too happy about the intrusion.

Curt immediately broke direct eye contact with the bear, lowered his head, and slowly crouched back down, sitting on his heels. He then slowly turned his head to the right, fixating on a particular oak shrub twenty feet to the bear's left while using his peripheral vision to watch the bear.

Oh, man! This isn't cool — a bear encounter! Curt's brain screamed.

A minute or more passed and Curt's thigh muscles began to rebel at his motionless, crouched position.

"Blackie," as Curt had already mentally named the bear — not an original name, but one that immediately entered Curt's mind — stopped sniffing and instead appeared to stare at Kevin and Curt's campsite.

Is he going to charge or what?

Curt could almost sense the bear's intelligence at work, but to what end, Curt had no clue. After another minute or so, Blackie, his coat catching the sun rays and momentarily glistening midnight blue, harrumphed and snorted, and then ambled into the oak shrubbery and disappeared.

Curt stayed motionless for another minute and finally let out the breath he had not realized he had been holding.

"Good morning," Kevin said cheerily as he stuck his head out of the tent entrance.

Curt stood up stiffly from his crouching position, turned, and said, "Well, Sleeping Beauty, you missed the show. We had a visitor."

Kevin, all the way out of tent now and lacing his boots, said, "A visitor? Who?"

"A bear."

"A bear? You're kidding!"

"No way am I kidding. He — well, it might have been a she — but he or she was a pretty good-sized one, too — three-, four-hundred pounds, I'd guess. Right across the creek from us. Over there in those bushes. I named it 'Blackie.' "

"You _named_ it?"

"Well, ye-a-a-ah. Why not?"

Kevin had made his way to the stream next to Curt. He crouched down and splashed his face with the icy water, blowing the excess away from his mouth, and sputtered, "Tell me more."

Curt stood up, walked over to the cold campfire, and crouched down. Kevin joined him.

"Tell me what you saw. Tell me more about your friend Blackie," urged Kevin, not sure he believed Curt who was not beyond a tease or two.

"There's not all that much to tell," Curt said, but he recounted what he had been doing, what he saw, and what he did.

While he was telling Kevin, Curt picked up a stick and stirred deep in the campfire ashes to reveal several red coals buried deep. He grabbed a handful of nearby wood shavings and kindling and carefully placed them on the red coals. An immediate column of grey smoke began to rise, which he encouraged into a small flame by blowing his breath at the coals.

He continued with his account of the bear encounter, "...then you popped your head out of the tent with a cheery 'good morning' and that's it. End of story," said Curt.

At the end of Curt's narration, Kevin, now convinced of the bear encounter, asked, "Do you think the bear'll be back?"

Curt said, "I don't know, but it sure was eyeing our camp for a long time. I think when we leave on our hikes, we'd better hang our big backpacks in this tree," and Curt pointed to a sturdy branch some twenty feet up in the tree next to their tent. "It's a good thing we brought the rope. If ole Blackie comes back while we're gone, he'll have a hard time getting at our MREs and hard candy up high in this pine."

"Yeah, but bears can climb, too."

"Yeah, I know. That's why it'll be important to pick the right branch for our rope. I don't think many branches on this young pine will hold Blackie's four-hundred pounds, and that's to our advantage."

"Okay. You're the expert. I'll leave it up to you," replied Kevin. "Speaking of MREs, I'm starved. I'm going to have the oatmeal. You going to have the biscuits and gravy again?"

"Yuck. I guess so."

~~~

And thus started Day Three. After the breakfast MREs, Curt used their rope to hoist their backpacks up on a sturdy tree branch, but not too sturdy as to hold a four-hundred pound bear, he calculated.

Kevin and Curt spent the rest of the morning leisurely fishing the stream while warily keeping one eye on the oak shrubbery across the stream for Blackie or Blackie's relatives.

By noon, the two had caught three nice-sized rainbows. They decided to return to camp, clean the fish, bake them in the campfire coals, and enjoy a respite from the MREs.

Later in the afternoon after burying the scraps of their trout feast in the garbage pit to discourage any prowling Blackies, something seemed to urge Kevin to seek some solitude. It was a strong enough feeling to prompt Kevin to tell Curt, "I'm going to go upstream a ways to be by myself awhile. Don't take it personal. I think you overheard my dad urging me to find some quiet time and reflect on what he wants me to do. I think I'll do that. Time seems to be right. You okay with that?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be? You might make some noise though as you go upstream so any Blackies know you're coming — better to announce yourself and give them a chance to mosey on instead of being quiet and surprise one. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah. Good advice. Be back in a couple of hours."

"Be careful," said Curt.

"I will. Don't worry," replied Kevin.

~~~

Kevin shouted, "Hey, bear!" every third step as he walked upstream from their campsite. If a bear had been encouraged to move on because of Kevin's presence, Kevin could not tell; he had no reason to believe he had prompted a bear to retreat, but, on the other hand, he had no reason to believe he had not done so.

Five or six minutes later, Kevin found a suitable spot for meditation on a slight rise some twenty-five feet from a section of the stream containing a small rapids and the soothing sounds of rushing waters splashing and gurgling over and around a series of fist-sized and even larger water-polished stones.

The rise was unusual in that the side facing the stream was more akin to a mini-amphitheater of basaltic scoria with an inside arc some three feet high and fifteen or more feet in length.

Kevin sat in the middle of the arc, his back against the sloping and weathered rock. He marveled that but for the hardness of the rock, it was as near to a chaise lounge as he could expect in the wilderness.

Thirty yards to Kevin's back, a hill of ponderosa pine rose majestically another thousand feet, and fifty yards to his front, beyond the stream, was a solid wall of mixed conifers backed by another one thousand foot hill of ponderosa pines.

Kevin watched as two luminescent blue dragonflies darted and chased each other, one apparently intent on protecting its territory, the other intent on taking it.

Kevin took a long couple of minutes to absorb his environment. From the sounds of the mini-rapids to the scent of pine and meadow flowers to the sight of the dragonflies to the sunlight bathing the myriad shades of green grasses and trees to the dark shadows of the far ponderosa-clad mountain to the turquoise blue of the New Mexico sky and a billowing, brilliant white cumulus cloud to the northeast, he sensed a beauty, a contentment, an impression of what heaven must be like.

As he mused, Kevin remembered a sermon that his father once preached on the subject of heaven, and he knew that even what he was experiencing at the moment could not hold a candle to the unimaginable scenes and glories of heaven. Kevin remembered his father saying that heaven is simply so magnificent and so glorious that it is beyond the capacity of any human to describe.

Kevin remained in a meditative mood. Here, in the wilderness, Kevin could see clearly that life had meaning far beyond the pursuit of career position and riches.

He could see and sense that God had created Man to commune with Him, and although the ideal relationship had been destroyed in the Garden of Eden, nevertheless, that relationship was the meaning of life. God still desired that close and loving relationship with Man and was showing Kevin the evidence of that desire through nature.

Kevin began thinking about his future and about his father's wishes for him. A growing sense of certainty began to flow over Kevin as he realized that God had been working in his life for months, leading him to this wilderness place and, through the beauty of the things God had created, was calling Kevin to follow in his father's footsteps and preach the gospel, the good news, the salvation message, of Jesus Christ, His birth, His sacrificial death, and His glorious resurrection and victory over sin and death.

So, Kevin made his decision — the decision to follow in his father's footsteps. As soon as he did so, a wave of spiritual contentment washed through and over him. He sensed that God had touched him, and indeed God had.

~~~

And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28 NKJV

~~~

Kevin prayed and emptied his heart to God, praising Him for His Son, Jesus Christ, and the gift of eternal life, a gift that Kevin had accepted four years ago.

~~~

For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. Ephesians 2:8-9 NKJV

~~~

Kevin continued his prayer and thanked God for leading him to the decision he had just made because Kevin knew that the time and place and circumstances of his decision could not have been accidental and instead was part of God's plan.

Kevin then asked for guidance from God in all that he would do from this day forward.

Tears trickled down Kevin's cheeks. He felt a Presence that he could not explain but knew was as real as the rock he was leaning against, as real as the ground on which he sat, as real as the stream that gurgled, and as real as the scent of the forest that he so enjoyed.

Kevin sat for a long time against the rock, his eyes closed, hearing the rush of water, but deep in his soul listening to the Holy Spirit. He could not remember a more contented time — a time of being more at peace — in his life. He felt a lightness of being that he had not experienced before. Every fiber of his mind, body, and spirit seemed to resonate with his newfound purpose and commitment to God.

Twenty minutes later, Kevin came striding back into camp.

~~~

"Whoa! What happened to you?" asked Curt who was sitting with his back to their pine tree, whittling on a long branch that he intended to use as a cooking spit.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... your... your... I don't know how to say it — there's something about you that's changed. I can't explain it. What happened?"

"It shows? Well, praise God! Let me tell you what just happened."

Curt jammed the blade of his knife into the ground, pointed his sharpened stick at Kevin, and said, "Dude, it must have been something really special."

"Oh, it was. It was!"

And Kevin squatted down opposite of Curt and explained the encounter he had with himself and with God and the career and life decision he had made.

Curt sat quietly, listening to Kevin and occasionally flicked his whittled stick at a passing black ant or used it idly to draw lines in the dirt. He seemed at once interested yet troubled — uncomfortable — by what Kevin was telling him.

Deep inside, a part of Curt felt a stirring to have Kevin's same excitement — a purposeful life direction — and to have Kevin's newfound contentment and confidence.

Their conversation the day before about a God vacuum had stuck with Curt and that concept had been mulling around in Curt's subconscious in a troubling way that Curt could not identify, but in a way that Kevin was tapping into by his telling of his experience only hours before.

Curt could stand it no longer. He broke eye contact with Kevin, turned his head, and stared away from Kevin into the oak shrubbery on the other side of the stream. His eyes were inexplicably welling up with tears. He had a strange ache — a turmoil — deep inside himself. He could not understand what was happening. All he knew was that his best friend had something — an extraordinary kind of something — a peace about today and a confidence about tomorrow — about all of his tomorrows — that Curt desperately wanted.

And suddenly it hit him: Curt realized he was sensing his God vacuum; the turmoil he was feeling was because he realized his need to have that vacuum filled.

Kevin could not help but notice Curt's troubled demeanor. Kevin could see and sense that the Holy Spirit was working with Curt, convincing him of his need for Jesus Christ as his Savior.

Kevin felt the Holy Spirit urging him to help Curt with the decision. With that knowledge, Kevin's heart was overjoyed at the opportunity to lead his best friend to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ, and he said, "Curt. Curt, let me help you," as he reached over and placed his hand on Curt's left shoulder.

Curt turned his head and averted his eyes that were welling up with tears. He took a ragged intake of breath and then let it out in a sob, turned his head to Kevin as a flood of tears rolled down his cheeks. He said, he pleaded, "Yes," and in an emotionally choked whisper, said, "I need Jesus. Help me, Kevin. Help me."

Kevin teared also at the import and emotion of the moment. He said, "Oh, Curt, I am so happy for you that you've come to this decision. God has made it very simple to become part of His family and have eternal life — all you have to do is acknowledge that you are a sinner — that you've missed the mark — missed the target, the standard of perfection that God has set. The Ten Commandments is that standard, but let me explain about that.

"Many people think that keeping the Ten Commandments as best they can is the route or the way to get to heaven, you know, by being as good as they can; however, God gave the Ten Commandments not as some kind of ticket to heaven but as a mirror — a mirror that shows that none of us are good enough to keep all of the commandments, which means that no one gets to heaven by way of the Ten Commandments or by trying to be good; it's impossible — we always fail. And that's why we need someone to save us from that failure, from the consequences of missing the mark, the consequences of sin, and that someone is Jesus Christ."

~~~

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 6:23 NKJV

~~~

"You see, God sent His Son Jesus — perfect, sinless Jesus — into this world to accomplish what we cannot do by ourselves, and that is to escape the consequences of sin.

"How did Jesus accomplish that? Well, Jesus took your sins, my sins, and the sins of the whole world upon Himself and said, 'I'll pay the price. The price will be my death, but once the price is paid, and you accept that payment, it will be just as if you had never sinned.

"So, what does this mean for you, here and now? Simple. Pray to God, confess that you have sinned, missed the mark, and that you intend to repent — meaning, turn away from your sins and follow Jesus. Acknowledge and give thanks to God for Jesus for paying the price for your sins — past, present, and future — on the cross of Calvary and that you want to live for Him from this day forward. Then simply invite Jesus to come into your heart and into your life. Ask Him to forgive your sins and give you the gift of eternal life and make a new person out of you. Would you like to do that?"

~~~

For "whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved." Romans 10:13 NKJV

~~~

...for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, Romans 3:23 NKJV

~~~

...Says the Lord, "Though your sins are like scarlet, They shall be as white as snow; Isaiah 1:18 NKJV

~~~

As far as the east is from the west, So far has He removed our transgressions from us. Psalms 103:12 NKJV

~~~

"Yes. Yes!" Curt's voice was soft and husky with emotion.

"Okay. In your own words, pray to God, ask God to forgive you of your sins, tell Him you will turn away from those sins, and thank Him for His Son Jesus. Then ask Jesus to come into your heart and life and be your Lord and Savior, and you will be saved — born-again. It's just that simple."

~~~

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. John 3:16 NKJV

...that if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. Romans 10:9 NKJV

~~~

Curt bowed his head and closed his eyes. He prayed, his voice breaking and interspersed with tearful emotion, "God, I need you. I'm sorry for the bad things — for the sins I've committed. I know... I believe Jesus can take those sin things away because he died on a cross to do that... for... for me. I... I am so thankful for what Jesus did. I want Jesus to come into my life... make me a new person... fill... fill my God vacuum. I... I want to walk with Jesus from now on. Come into my life, Jesus. Save me and make me a new person. Amen."

Kevin echoed Curt's amen, by saying, "Yes, in Jesus name, amen," and then Kevin prayed, "Dear Lord, thank you for your Son Jesus Christ and his sacrificial death on the cross when he paid the price for my sins and Curt's sins — and for the sins of the whole world if they would but believe and accept the gift of salvation. Thank you for sending the Holy Spirit to convince Curt of his need for Jesus as his Savior. I pray that now that Curt has surrendered his life to You that You will surround Curt with your love and compassion and guide and direct his life onto the path that You would have him take, according to your will. In the wonderful name of Jesus, Curt's Savior and my Savior, I pray. Amen."

~~~

Kevin squeezed Curt's shoulder and smiled and said, "You and I are now brothers in Christ."

Curt, feeling a strange sensation like an elephant had been lifted off his chest — no, lifted off his soul — smiled through the still flowing tears.

With choking, happy emotion, Curt said, "Wow! It's like the old Curt's somebody I don't even know anymore. He's like gone. I can't even relate to him. I am truly like what you said — 'born again.' I feel brand new."

~~~

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. 2 Corinthians 5:17 NKJV

~~~

"Welcome to God's family. You now join me and several hundred million more across the planet as believers in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior." Kevin grinned and gave a gentle slap to Curt's shoulder.

"Now when I call you 'bro' it'll have a whole new meaning. You and I are now true bros —true brothers in Christ — related to each other as members of God's family. Capiche?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I understand. I do understand," and then Curt added with a huge smile and the new awareness of the meaning, "Bro."

"I wish I had your faith; you know, your understanding of things," Curt replied.

"You can. You should. You will. Remember, you are now a child of the King."

"Can you explain that some more?" asked Curt.

"Well, I can try. See, when you asked Jesus to be you Savior and He came into your life — into your heart and soul — you became a child of His. In the third chapter of John, the Bible calls what happened to you a few minutes ago being 'born again.' Think about it — you were just born but in the spiritual sense.

"Now," continued Kevin, "here's what's awesome: The Bible says Jesus Christ is King of kings — there's like no royalty or power anywhere higher than Jesus. Here's the thing — as a newborn babe in Christ, you were like adopted into God's family; you became a child of the King of kings!

"Every time I think about that, I get goose bumps.

"But what I want to say is that, bottom line, right now you're like a baby in the faith, but the more you read the Bible and pray — and prayer is simply talking to God — and the more you fellowship with other like-minded Christians and get in a good Bible-believing, Bible-teaching church, you'll grow spiritually from being a baby into being a mature Christian.

"Here, take my New Testament and read it whenever you can. I have no doubt but that the Holy Spirit will direct you to the spiritual 'food' in the New Testament that will get you growing from a spiritual newborn to a mature Christian. Okay?" and Kevin handed his New Testament to Curt.

"This is awesome!" replied Curt. "For sure, I want to learn more as quickly as I can!"

And, with Curt's response, Kevin said, "With God's help, you will. Let's pray about it together.

They prayed. Kevin thanked God for his and Curt's kinship as children of the King of kings and as brothers in Christ. He asked God to help them both — and especially, Curt at this time — to grow in the knowledge of Jesus Christ and the Christian faith and walk. Kevin said that although neither he nor Curt knew what plan God had in mind for each, nevertheless, they trusted God and His perfect will. Kevin ended the prayer by acknowledging God's sovereignty over all things, and praying that God's will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.

~~~

But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His name: John 1:12 NKJV

~~~

Although the camping experience had proven memorable for many reasons, from the encounter with the shepherd to the unintentional trespass onto the Indian burial grounds to the gastronomical delights of trout baked in the coals of the campfire to the encounter with Blackie earlier in the day, nevertheless, and not surprisingly, the discussion around the nightly campfire following Curt's conversion revolved around Curt's insatiable thirst to know more and more about Jesus and what it meant to be a Christian.

By the flickering firelight, Curt, at Kevin's suggestion and the Holy Spirit's urging, read aloud the first three chapters of the gospel of John. Kevin's intent being to give Curt a biblical account of Jesus, and who Jesus was and is. In addition, Kevin knew that the third chapter in itself would give Curt a solid understanding of the born-again experience as Curt had experienced it that afternoon.

Curt's questions were few — he felt more like a spiritual sponge, soaking up the words on the page as he read them aloud — words that before his conversion would have seemed words with little or no meaning, but now the words resonated deep and warm within Curt in a place that had not existed before.

He yearned for more.

Kevin then explained to Curt that the apostle Paul had mentored in the faith a young disciple named Timothy. Kevin said that the Bible contained a couple of letters that Paul had written to Timothy.

As Kevin was telling Curt about Paul and Timothy, he reached for the New Testament in Curt's hands and began fanning the pages until he found Paul's first letter to Timothy.

Kevin turned to chapter six and handed the New Testament back to Curt, saying, "Here, my brother, read in chapter six what Paul told Timothy about being a Christian. Don't get put off by the first verse that talks about slavery because slavery was a cultural thing back in the first century — Paul's not stating an opinion about slavery, he's simply talking about the relationship of a Christian within the culture of the time. But what I want you to concentrate on is the rest of the chapter. I think you'll get a better sense of what it means to be a Christian."

Kevin sat cross-legged in front of the campfire, marveling at the words he had used just now with Curt, and marveling even more that he knew about chapter six of Paul's first letter to Timothy. I feel like the Holy Spirit has led me in what to say and in where to direct Curt this evening, Kevin realized, and he whispered a silent prayer of praise.

As Curt read and Kevin listened, an occasional cracking sound within the campfire would generate a half dozen or more red, glowing sparks taking a brief ride on the campfire's thermal column before winking out in the darkness.

Curt finished reading and handed the New Testament back to Kevin, saying, "Thank you for sharing that with me and mega thanks for all that you have done for me today. I cannot begin to tell you how special this day has been!"

"Well, I appreciate that, but all I did was show you the way. God led you to the decision you made through the Holy Spirit, and, of course, what was done was done because Jesus paid the debt for sin on the cross two-thousand years ago.

"Anyway, this New Testament is yours. A gift from me," said Kevin as he handed back the New Testament to Curt.

"Oh, wow! Thanks! That's a special gift I'll treasure always. I really appreciate that. Now tell me, God? Holy Spirit? Jesus? I'm a bit confused," replied Curt.

"I understand. There is something called the Holy Trinity when Christians think of God. It's difficult to explain and many a whole lot smarter than me have tried without much success, but let me put it this way: God is a single entity made up of three Persons: God the Father; Jesus Christ, God's Son; and the Holy Spirit

"The Holy Spirit is God as the active Person in our lives and who indwells within us when we accept Jesus as Savior."

"Hmmm. I don't quite understand it, but I do understand it. Does that make sense?" asked Curt.

"Yes, that makes sense. It's the Holy Spirit confirming to you the validity of the Trinity even without you understanding it fully," replied Kevin, again, hearing himself talk and yet feeling like he was observing someone else because the way he was talking — the words and sentence structure — were not part of his usual speech pattern.

Kevin and Curt lapsed into silence and stared mesmerized into the campfire as each mentally and spiritually reflected on the day's events, Curt's conversation, and the Bible reading that had just taken place.

~~~

Suddenly Curt whispered, "Look! Look!" and inclined his head to his right where a movement of white just outside the light cast by the campfire had caught Curt's attention.

No sooner had Kevin noticed the movement when a skunk, apparently female as evidenced by the three baby skunks no larger than hamsters that waddled closely behind mama skunk came into full view opposite Kevin and Curt on the far edge of the pool of light from the campfire.

Curt clapped his hands loudly and shouted, "Shoo!" to which the skunks paid no heed whatsoever, neither pausing, looking around, or acting threatened, or threatening but instead kept rooting, noses to the ground, for insect snacks attracted by the campfire.

Kevin whispered, "Well, that didn't work. What should we do?"

"Just sit tight. Hopefully, they'll go away in a few minutes."

"They sure are brave... or deaf... or blind," ventured Kevin.

"Well, they are nearsighted, so they probably don't see us, but, you're right, they act like they own the place, and I guess in a way, they do," chuckled Curt.

"You continue to amaze me with the trivia you know. How do you know they're nearsighted?"

"I don't know. Read in a book or on the Internet. Stuff like that interests me and sticks with me, that's all."

"I hope you're right; I mean that they'll go away soon."

And, after about ten minutes, during which time Kevin and Curt watched warily, the unconcerned and unflappable mother skunk and her brood wandered off into the darkness.

~~~

Kevin glanced at his wristwatch and saw it was 9:22PM. He said, "You know, I'm hungry. Really hungry."

Curt said, "Well, we got more MREs...."

"No, I mean hungry. Like for a big, juicy hamburger."

"I wish you hadn't said that. Now you got me missing that kind of stuff," sighed Curt.

Apparently, Kevin and Curt's caloric intake was suffering or their teenage metabolism simply craved the fast food cuisine of a Bob's Big Boy or Lotaburger, but all it took was the mention of hamburgers — big, fat, juicy hamburgers with all of the fixin's, and their conversation lightened and turned to things gastronomical.

The source and merits of various french fries gave way to opinions on the best tacos and burritos.

Soon Curt was emoting about and describing in detail the succulent delights of each food item that Kevin would mention in a grinning effort to challenge Kevin to top him in teasing about yet another fast food they were missing.

In addition, although the taste of the water purification tablets dissolved in the stream water in their canteens had made the water potable, it was less than palatable, which, when the fast food tease efforts began to wane, led to the next subject of the evening — a mutual longing for an icy, cold NeHi orange or lemon-lime or grape or strawberry soda.

From the subject of soft drinks, the young men transitioned into the relative merits of vanilla-, cherry-, or chocolate-laced Coca Cola, which, in turn, led to the relative merits of a Fitzgerald's malt versus a Creamland Dairies malt, which led to whether a malt is to be preferred to a shake.

And then there was the Orange Julius discussion. And then the iced-mug of A&W root beer — complete with a foot-long hot dog, a combination known as suds and pups — at the drive-in and hangout down on 14th street in Albuquerque — a memory that, along with all the other food fantasies, turned the whole of the evening's remaining conversation into a good natured exchange of laughter and nostalgia, in turn, triggering growling stomachs and over stimulated salivary glands.

Like their dying campfire, their conversation eventually died down as the night wore on. In the resultant silence, each lost in thought, each reflected on what had been an extraordinary day, each comfortable and certain in their new kinship with each other, a relationship that both sensed transcended spoken words.

As a single remaining flame of the campfire became ever smaller, Kevin said, "It's getting late. Let's pray and thank God for this special day."

"Agreed. It's been an awesome day for me, for sure," replied Curt.

"And for me, too," said Kevin.

Kevin prayed. At the end of the prayer, Curt echoed Kevin's "Amen."

~~~

Not realized by either Kevin or Curt at the time, the shared spiritual experiences of the day coupled with the skunk encounter and the laughter and fun of the evening's banter about food was a time of special bonding that only one of the two would cherish in the coming years.

# Chapter Six

### Day Five: The Fateful Fork in the Road

The next morning it was obvious that Kevin and Curt's black and white campsite visitors of the night before had returned sometime during the night, re-explored the campsite, and left a "calling card" nearby.

"Whew! That is strong!" exclaimed Kevin as he laced up his boots outside the tent.

Curt had risen a few minutes before Kevin and was busy rekindling the campfire. "It's not too bad. Smells like whatever they did, they did it a ways from camp. I'll get some smoke going and maybe that'll help mask the smell," replied Curt.

"I hope it'll work!"

"You know, I was thinking about yesterday and what a special day it was. I really do feel like a new person, but I was thinking about my parents and how they're going to react. You know Dad — he's of that mindset that if you can't prove things — he uses the word 'empirically' — then it doesn't exist. I know that's somehow because of his upbringing by my grandparents. I don't think they every darkened the door of a church or thought much about God. Then, you know, Dad got his undergraduate degree — bio-engineering — and then a Master's and then his career — you know, the work he does at Sandia Labs and all that science stuff — and, well, it just seems like, I don't know, it's like all of that has separated him from looking for or even thinking about God. And Mom just kind of goes along with Dad.

, Curt, poking at the campfire, continued, "You know, even the notion of God has been absent at home. Darwin, yes, but God, no. I mean, if there was talk about that kind of stuff, it usually was during the nightly dinner on TV trays in the den in front of the television while we were watching some 'discovery' channel — you know, programs that were usually about the paranormal, or extraterrestrials, or evolution, or the supposed 'myths' and 'fables' of the Bible.

"But, I hadn't realized until now how those programs influenced us and how our family discussions, although maybe intellectually stimulating in one sense, seemed always — I don't know how to say it — always just seemed empty. You know, not satisfying. Know what I mean?"

Kevin had been listening to Curt while at the same time watching a Monarch butterfly flit around a half dozen milky butterfly weeds at the edge of the trout stream, momentarily landing on one, wings quivering only to fly off to yet another.

Kevin stood up and said, "I understand. Look at it this way: God has a plan for your life and it could very well be that your born-again experience and walking the talk — and by that I mean, walking with the Lord as a Christian example and showing God's love in your life and how you've changed because of Jesus in your life — well, maybe God intends you to be a witness to your parents — and maybe a whole lot more people — and eventually your dad and mom and a bunch of others will become believers too. Wouldn't that be cool!"

Kevin's words struck a chord deep inside Curt like an electrical jolt. The thought that God had a plan for Curt's future momentarily took Curt's breath away.

Suddenly, Curt experienced a spiritual and intellectual awareness that Kevin's words rang true — God did have a plan, a great plan, for Curt and his future, and Curt realized it and whispered to God that he would embrace whatever direction God intended for him.

"You know, Kevin, you're right. I sense it — or maybe a better way to put it is that the Holy Spirit has confirmed to me what you just said."

Kevin smiled and said, "God's in-charge."

~~~

Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time... 1 Peter 6-7 NKJV

~~~

"You know, Curt, not only did you become a new creature in God yesterday, even your demeanor — I mean, even your way of talking, your perspective on things, even the words you use, has changed. God indeed is working in you. And that is so-o-o awesome, my brother!"

~~~

Conversations about the nature of God and the Christian faith now occupied Kevin and Curt during almost every waking moment as they hiked and explored their immediate environment, always in a direction opposite from the Indian burial ground they had discovered on their second day in the wilderness.

Their routine had become one of awakening at daybreak, often to the noisy chatter of squirrels or the screeching of Steller's jays or both, taking care of personal needs, stoking the campfire, having a prayer session, having a breakfast MRE, tidying up the campsite, dampening the campfire, and heading out on an all-day hike with their day-hiking backpacks, a couple of MREs, and full, iodine-laced canteens.

~~~

On Day Five, Kevin and Curt crossed the stream in mid-morning and began a hike upstream, passing their campsite on the opposite bank.

They had hiked halfway between their campsite and the tent of the sheepherder who had been so kind on their first day when, as they were about to exit the forest growth and once again step out onto the bleak basalt and its water pits, they came upon a barely visible side trail that skirted the edge of the forest.

After a brief discussion, they decide to take the side trail to see what they could see and where it led. After a half-mile or so on the trail, and having hiked deeper into the mountains, they stopped. At that point, the trail forked; the main trail went straight ahead toward a saddle in a distant mountain and the lesser trail angled left.

They paused to consider which fork to take, and Curt, always ready to inject a bit of humor into things, said, "Well, we've come to a fork in the road, and you know what the comedian said, right?"

"No, what did the comedian say?"

"The comedian said, 'When you come to the fork in the road, take it,'" and Curt laughed and laughed.

"Okay. I get it. But I think it was Yogi Berra who first said that. Anyway, let's go left. It's angling toward that kind of cliff area over there," replied Kevin, pointing to a long, rough-looking outcrop looming over the near stand of pines, "and that looks like it might be interesting."

And so the two young men hitched up their day-hiking backpacks and started hiking the barely perceptible left fork of the trail.

In a matter of minutes, the stand of pine trees thinned and the black, rich loam of the pine-needle-covered forest floor gave way to pea-sized gravel of ancient volcanic rock, and the faint path the two had been following disappeared.

A hundred feet more and Kevin and Curt paused at the base of a black, craggy outcropping of pressure welded basalt tuff rising at a steep angle some sixty feet high in front of them.

Curt took off his western hat and wiped the sweat sheen from his brow with the back of his hand. With his other hand, he unsnapped the cover on his canteen and pulled the metal canteen out. The small chain attached to the canteen that secured the canteen cap from being lost tinkled against the canteen. He placed his hat back on his head and then began unscrewing the canteen cap as he surveyed the outcropping. "Hey, you know, this thing can be climbed. Want to try?" Curt asked.

Kevin, the ever more cautious of the two, cocked his head and also surveyed the sixty feet of rugged, ancient lava flows that had welded one on the other into a solid mass of vertical volcanic rock. "Why? Why would we want to do that? We don't want to do anything stupid and get hurt."

"Aw, c'mon. To see what we can see from the top. But, hey, look up there — see that opening — there," Curt pointed, "in the rock over there on the far right? 'Bout twenty, twenty-five feet up? Let's check it out. That's climbable. Maybe it's a cave. Maybe there's some pottery or Indian stuff stashed in there. Some old stuff. You know what I mean?" challenged Curt as he took a swig of water from his canteen, screwed the cap on, and slipped it into the felt-lined canteen cover and secured the two flaps.

"Yeah, well, I thought you got enough of the Indian 'stuff' a couple days ago. But whatever. Let's just get closer and make sure it looks climbable without us breaking our necks. Remember, God is not going to suspend the natural laws — in this case, gravity — for two guys, Christians or not."

"I know. I know. C'mon," exclaimed Curt as he took the lead.

Fifty paces later they were directly under the opening that, close up, looked more like thirty feet above them.

Kevin was studying the feasibility of the ascent when Curt exclaimed, "Hey, look at that! Sunlight must be coming through from somewhere. It must be some kind of cave!"

Kevin looked up at the opening and although the cleft was a narrow inverted V-shape, maybe only four feet wide or so at the bottom and narrowing to an apex six or seven feet higher, there did appear to be sunlight coming at an angle from some opening inside.

The shaft of sunlight bathed the right side of the opening in stark contrast to the darkly shadowed left side.

"Huh. How about that," said Kevin. "Yeah, looks like it might be a cave. But maybe just a hollow place in the rock."

Kevin studied the opening for a moment and then added, "The sun's on the backside of this cliff or whatever it is at this time of the day, so there must be an opening of some kind on the backside or maybe on the top to let the sun shine in at certain times," then he added as an afterthought, "Maybe just certain times of the year."

Curt caught the implication of Kevin's afterthought and chimed in and said, "Well, if it happens only certain times of the year, and if it's a cave, it may have been something special to the Indians a long time ago. Who knows what we might find up there. If we find old artifacts, I can do the GPS coordinates, and when we get back to Albuquerque, let the archeological department at UNM know," adding, "This may be our lucky day!"

Kevin thought about it for a moment and then, caught up in Curt's excitement and the potential for a discovery, said, "Okay — let's check it out."

~~~

"I'll go first," said Curt as he dropped his backpack. And with those words, Curt began his climb.

Given his sometimes full-speed-ahead personality, Curt was uncharacteristically cautious in picking his handholds and foot placements because the ascent was steeper and not as easy to climb as Curt had first supposed.

Although the first ten feet were relatively easy with table-sized volcanic shelves that acted much like a giant staircase, they quickly gave way to another ten feet of vertical climb where handholds and footholds were doable but marginal at best.

In fact, Curt's right foot momentarily slipped off a small ledge not much more than two or three inches wide on his first attempt at the vertical section. His heart was pounding with the sudden adrenaline rush of having almost fallen, but he had a good handhold, and was able to regain a tenuous footing on the narrow ledge.

"This is tougher than it looks," Curt spoke loudly into the rock face. "I can make it, but you'd better be real careful, Kevin. That ledge I slipped on is tricky. Make sure you get a good handhold, okay?"

"Will do," replied Kevin as he watch Curt climb and made mental note of Curt's route.

Curt continued to climb with deliberation. Despite the slipping incident, he made the rest of the climb look relatively easy. In a matter of a couple of minutes, he reached the entrance to the cave by acquiring and then standing and crabbing sideways on a convenient thirty-inch ledge that began some eight feet to the right of the cave, leading straight to the entrance.

"Piece o' cake," shouted Curt in feigned bravado to Kevin, "Your turn. Be careful."

Kevin hollered up, " _You_ be careful. You might find the cave occupied with a member of the cat family, and I don't mean 'domestic.' "

"Now you tell me!" laughed Curt as he eased in the cave opening, bent down, and stuck his head inside.

Not detecting anything alarming, Curt raised up and took a step into the cave and felt the coolness and smelled mustiness, but failed to detect what would be the unmistakable odor of cat or any other animal.

Curt hollered down to Kevin, "It don't smell like any animals been here."

"Doesn't."

"What?"

"Doesn't smell. "

"Whatever, English teacher. I'm going in farther and see what I can see."

"Wait. Wait for me," shouted Kevin.

Curt's eyes were having difficulty adjusting from daylight to the darkness in the cave as he stood peering into the cave's blackness. The adjustment was made even more difficult because the shaft of sunlight from the softball-size hole high on the opposite cave wall was piercing the blackness like an arrow shot directly to the cave opening where Curt was standing. The effect caused Curt to have a déjà vu moment about the spotlight in his face during his four agonizing performances of saying three-lines of dialogue as a bit actor in last year's high-school Latin play.

Squinting in an impossible attempt to penetrate the darkness while partially bathed in the shaft of sunlight, Curt yelled over his shoulder, the sound of his voice echoing in the cave, "Can't see anything. Too dark. We should have brought a flashlight. Bring up something that can burn — something we can use for a torch, and come on up."

Kevin looked around for a stick or a tuft of dried grass that could be used for a torch, but the volcanic gravel and rock were bare.

"Nothing down here to burn," Kevin hollered. "We'll have to use our matches. But wait for me. I'm coming up."

Kevin shrugged off his backpack and began the climb, and, like Curt, found the first ten feet of vertical climb relatively easy. As he gained a foothold on the narrow, three-inch wide ledge, the same narrow ledge that had given Curt a problem, he reached for his next handhold, and then, like Curt, Kevin slipped, too...

# Chapter Seven

### The Cave and the Encounter

The shaft of sunlight eclipsed and then disappeared from the hole on the far wall of the cave.

Kevin stood a step inside the cave entrance while Curt was standing a couple of feet farther inside. Their eyes were adjusting to the darkness, but other than the light cast by the cave opening, the extent of the cave and the areas to the left and to the right of the cave entrance were shrouded in deep blackness and were beyond the young men's ability to see.

"It's too dark," said Kevin. You're going to have to light a couple of matches."

"Yep. You're right." Curt retrieved the waterproof metal container of wooden matches from his pocket, unscrewed the lid, took out two matches, screwed the lid back on, and placed the container back in his pocket.

Kevin remained just inside the cave entrance and watched as Curt took another tentative step into the darkness before he struck one of the wooden matches. Curt held the flame high. In a millisecond, Curt let out a yelp and began backing up toward Kevin and the cave entrance.

"What is it? What did you see?" Kevin asked anxiously.

Curt half-turned as he reached the entrance and looked at Kevin. Curt's face was ashen and his expression one of surprise. "Man, I saw a skull! Human. I think we'd better get out of here."

"You're kidding."

"Really. And a bunch of pottery, too. Let's go. It's another one of those Indian burial things or something like that."

"Oh, man! Not again!" And with those words, Kevin turned from the cave entrance and led the way down the thirty feet of rock face to the base, half-sliding and half-finding handholds and footholds, and half not. In the process, Kevin skinned his right knee painfully.

Curt followed down the rock with abandon and twice almost lost control of his descent, but he made it unscathed although his hat came off early in the descent and tumbled lazily to the table-sized volcanic shelf nearest the ground.

When Curt joined Kevin on the ground, Kevin said, "Well, we're far from those burial grounds we stumbled across the other day, but I guess there's all sorts of surprises around here. You okay?"

Curt retrieved his hat and said over his shoulder, "Yeah. Scraped my right palm a bit, but, yeah, okay. Let's head back to camp. I don't know about you, but I've had enough excitement for one day."

The two picked up their mini-backpacks — and Kevin, his rifle. They shouldered their backpacks and, driven by an urge to put distance between them and the cave, trotted, and backtracked the short distance to the stand of ponderosa pines they had entered earlier.

In the coolness of the cathedral-like shading trees, they stopped. They took long swigs of water from their canteens, and then sat and rested for a couple of minutes.

Curt said, "I can't believe this has happened twice."

"Me, neither. You about ready to go?"

Curt nodded.

As they resumed their hike back to the fork in the trail, now only a few yards away, Curt said in dismay, "I forgot to get the GPS coordinates. The professors at the university would be interested in that cave, I'll bet."

Kevin said, "Don't worry about it. We can come back tomorrow. Right now, I just want to get back to camp."

"Me, too. I'm hungry, too."

At the fork, they paused. Kevin remarked, "This trail to the right, the one we took up here from down below, somehow looks different. It looks wider than I remember — it's wide enough for a jeep. Something's changed. Something's different. And, oh-oh, look! Those are horseshoe imprints in the trail — hoof prints! Somebody riding a horse has come through here and is headed up trail to that saddle over there," Kevin exclaimed as he pointed up trail to the swale in the mountain maybe a mile away.

Stooping down and examining the hoof prints closely, Kevin said, "These tracks are fresh, too. We would have seen them before if they were old. Somebody else is up here."

"Oh, man, I hope it's not an upset Indian hunting for us," groaned Curt.

"Chill. I think it's only one horse. And, anyway, whoever he is, he's headed up the trail, and we're going down the trail," replied Kevin. "But, what I don't understand is why the trail looks so different — so wide. Do you remember it being so wide?"

"Uh-uh. But we're at the fork. It's got to be the trail back to camp."

"Yeah, I guess."

~~~

The two began the descent down the trail. Kevin continued to be puzzled by the trail width and the appearance of the hoof prints, and Curt was especially disappointed that another human being on horseback had disrupted their private paradise.

Twenty-five yards down the trail a familiar massive twelve-foot high ancient igneous boulder they remembered when coming up the trail confirmed they were on the correct trail.

The boulder marked where the trail ahead would jog sharply to the right for a more or less straight, downhill shot back to the stream they had forded two hours earlier.

Kevin had taken the lead. He was about twenty feet ahead of Curt. Suddenly, Kevin heard shuffling and clinking sounds on the trail ahead. What in the world...?

But the source of the sounds was hidden behind the massive boulder that he was approaching.

Someone else is on the trail and close! And no sooner had that thought struck Kevin when he rounded the boulder and a huge horse immediately in front of him reared up in surprise, but not any more surprised than was Kevin who jumped back quickly to avoid an errant hoof.

The rider of the horse commanded, "Steady! Steady!" and his horse settled down, wild-eyed, quivering, and snorting.

In the next instant, Curt rounded the boulder and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Kevin not more than five feet away standing in front of a large horse with a rider clad in a dark blue uniform with a single narrow, red bar outlined in gold stitching on each shoulder of his gold-trimmed-high- collared waistcoat.

In addition, the rider wore a black, cowboy-style, narrow brimmed felt hat set at a rakish angle on his head of shoulder-length black hair. The hat had a string band in gold braid with two gold tassels, and a theatrical long, white feather plume attached to the left side.

In that same instant of steadying his horse, the uniformed rider drew a long-barreled pearl-handle revolver from his holster and leveled it first at Kevin and then at Curt and then back to Kevin.

"Who in the blazes are y'all? What're y'all doin' on this here trail? Speak!" commanded the rider, his demeanor all the more intimidating because of his fiery dark eyes, black pointed goatee, and black handlebar mustache.

Before Kevin or Curt could answer, the rider bellowed, "First Sergeant O'Malley! Get up here! Now!"

As the command rippled down the column of blue-clad riders on the trail, Kevin noted that the eyes of the rider in front of him never broke contact with him or Curt.

Neither did the rider's pistol.

Kevin, still in shock but gathering his wits, took in the two-by-two blue-clad figures on horseback that snaked down the trail as far as he could see behind the rider that was shouting at him. It became clear to Kevin that he and Curt had encountered some kind of a military unit and that the irritated and very demanding person on horseback in front of them must be an officer of some kind and obviously in-charge.

Seconds later, the first sergeant, easily recognizable by the large chevrons on each sleeve, squeezed his horse with some difficulty around the others on the narrow trail and came alongside the officer.

The first sergeant eyed Kevin and Curt while simultaneously saluting the officer.

The first sergeant asked, "What ya have me to do, Lieutenant Wheeler, sir?" in what sounded like an Irish brogue.

"Dismount, First Sergeant, and get that man's rifle," ordered the lieutenant.

"The lad's rifle, sir," acknowledged the first sergeant.

Kevin caught the strange acknowledgment and, given the Irish lilt of the first sergeant, suddenly remembered that his Irish grandmother on his mother's side never used the words yes or no either — it was a peculiarity of some Irish; some simply repeat part of the question as an acknowledgment as the first sergeant had done.

The first sergeant handed the reins of his horse to the lieutenant and dismounted.

Kevin had yet to speak a word, but it was suddenly obvious to him that his rifle posed a potential threat — at least from the lieutenant's perspective, and that potential was the reason the lieutenant's pistol tended to concentrate more on Kevin than it did Curt. Being a threat, of course, had never entered Kevin's mind, but he now understood why the unexpected encounter had become confrontational so quickly.

It also dawned on Kevin that the hoof prints he and Curt had seen when arriving at the fork were probably made by a scout — probably Indian — on horseback who was scouting the trail ahead of the main column. Kevin and Curt had simply started down the trail after the scout had passed and before the column came up the trail.

The first sergeant, a burly, red-bearded, heavy jowled, red-faced, older man with impressive gold chevrons on both sleeves and large epaulets on the shoulders of his dark blue waistcoat drew a long-barreled revolver as he dismounted. Unlike the lieutenant though, he simply held the revolver in his left hand pointed at the ground as if he did not see the same threat that the lieutenant saw, or because he believed his very presence was intimidation enough, which to Kevin and Curt, it was, as he strode purposefully toward Kevin.

At an arm length away, the first sergeant's eyes never leaving Kevin's eyes, the first sergeant, towering a head taller than Kevin and easily outweighing Kevin by a hundred pounds or more, reached out with his enormous right hand, grabbed Kevin's rifle sling, and jerked the sling and attached rifle off Kevin's shoulder with such force that Kevin was momentarily knocked off balance.

Kevin heard a guffaw or two from those close by in the column.

"That be enough of that!" bellowed the first sergeant to those laughing, gaining instant silence.

The first sergeant then backed away from Kevin toward the lieutenant, all the while maintaining eye contact alternately with Kevin and then Curt, revolver held steady in his left hand, pointed to the ground. At the neck of the lieutenant's horse and with his back to the lieutenant, eyes never leaving Kevin and Curt, the first sergeant raised Kevin's rifle high and the lieutenant grabbed it.

The lieutenant glanced quizzically at the rifle's bolt and then flipped the rifle end-for-end and examined the bore of the barrel. He then handed the rifle back to the first sergeant over the first sergeant's shoulder because the first sergeant still had his back to the lieutenant.

"One more time. And it'll be the last time ah be askin'. Who're y'all?" commanded the lieutenant in an unmistakable Southern drawl.

In the couple of minutes that had transpired since the encounter, Kevin's brain was processing what he was seeing, and what he was seeing was to him like a scene from a John Wayne western movie: The officer on the horse in front of him and the line of mounted men behind him — from what Kevin could see — were dressed in dark blue US Army Cavalry uniforms, circa the 1800s, and reminiscent of Wayne's famous movie The Searchers.

Kevin processed the possibilities — had he and Curt stumbled upon a movie scene? If so, where were the cameras? Kevin saw no cameras. Maybe it was some Civil War or western history buffs from Albuquerque or Santa Fe that got their kicks from Civil War reenactments?

But Kevin knew that it wasn't any of those possibilities because the officer on the horse, Kevin was sure, was not play-acting; he was deadly serious. In addition, Kevin noted that the horses were lathered, the men's uniforms were covered in trail dust and grime, and the sweaty men and the sweaty horses looked tired as if they had traveled overnight without stopping.

Neither re-enactors nor movie actors would look like what he was seeing, Kevin concluded.

Then the thought hit Kevin like a bolt of lightning: He and Curt could be caught in some kind of a time warp! Or could it be that everything that was happening was some kind of a strange illusion or hallucination?

Kevin's head hurt as he struggled with the possibilities for their predicament.

Kevin then heard Curt say in a tight voice, an octave higher than usual, "Curt! Curt! I'm Curt and he's, he's Kevin. Kevin!"

Kevin, with his back to Curt, visualized Curt pointing at him when he said Kevin's name.

The lieutenant seemed to ignore Curt's offering of names and instead looked at the first sergeant and said, "Can't say ah've ever seen such a small bore on a rifle. And y'all, First Sergeant?"

The first sergeant set the butt of Kevin's rifle on the ground so he could see the barrel end, and said, "'T'is indeed a small bore, sir. 'Bout same as some single-shot pistols, I seen. But, rifles be not having such small bore, not that I seen, sir."

"Ah agree, First Sergeant," replied the lieutenant.

The lieutenant, looking back and forth at Kevin and Curt, and then demanded, "Y'all have any other weapons on y'all's persons?"

Kevin spoke for the first time, "No, sir — only our knives," pointing to what little of his sheathed knife that could be seen under his wide army surplus utility belt.

The lieutenant looked where Kevin was pointing but then seemed to look even harder at Kevin's utility belt, followed by an overall scan of Kevin from his unfamiliar style cap to his cargo shorts to his strange boots.

After a couple of seconds, the lieutenant locked onto Kevin's eyes, "Y'all look mighty strange to me, but ah'll deal with that later. Rot now, y'all plannin' on stickin' anyone with them there knives?"

The lieutenant had asked the question, feigning a stern countenance, but was showing a glimmer of amusement with a faint smile mostly hidden by his unruly handlebar mustache; the lieutenant apparently had made the decision that, although Kevin and Curt's appearance looked strange, they did not represent a threat.

"No, sir!"

"Y'all can keep y'all's knives, then," said the lieutenant. Then he leaned forward in the saddle, fixed a long, hard stare at Kevin, and said, "Y'all plannin' anytime betwixt now and sundown to answer mah question?"

"Sir?" questioned Kevin.

"Ah swan, y'all's skulls must be thicker'n them 'dobe walls back at the Mission! Listen up! The question was...," and the lieutenant dragged out the 'was,' and his voice increased in volume "...what're y'all doin' on this here trail?"

"We — me and my friend — were just doing some hiking. We're from Albuquerque. We've got a campsite down by the stream — the stream you must have crossed a while ago," replied Kevin.

"Sir," said the lieutenant.

"Sir?"

"When y'all address me, y'all say, 'sir.'"

"I apologize," replied Kevin, pausing almost a beat too long but then hurriedly adding, "sir!" with emphasis.

"First Sergeant, pass the word to have McGinnis' and O'Donnell's horses brought up from the rear. These here lads will be joinin' us on our trek over this here mountain."

"McGinnis and O'Donnell's horses," repeated the first sergeant as he swung back into saddle, turned his horse, and began to maneuver down the trail past the other riders.

Curt stepped forward, ready to protest the lieutenant's decision, and then thought better of it in the heat of a you-don't-want-to-do-that stare down from the lieutenant.

Any protest at that time from either Kevin or Curt would have gone unnoticed anyhow because the scout that Kevin surmised they had just missed at the fork suddenly came around the rock formation and reined in his brown and white-spotted pinto.

The scout betrayed a flash of surprise to see Kevin and Curt, but then his face became expressionless when a man on a pinto of his own — a handsome black and white-spotted pinto — disengaged from his position behind the lieutenant and maneuvered easily around the lieutenant and alongside the scout.

Kevin and Curt had to move out of way of the man's pinto, but even then, they were effectively pinned by the pinto's flank and hindquarters against the large boulder. The strong odor of sweaty horse and the close up view of coarse horsehair was uncomfortable and claustrophobic.

The sudden appearance of the man now engaged in conversation with the scout was almost an apparition, made even more so by the unexpected clothing of the man — he was dressed completely in sweat-stained, fringed buckskin, the original golden color of the deerskin now a mottled brown. His only concession to a uniform was the incongruent — compared to the buckskin — black felt hat as worn by the rest of the contingent. Even then, the man's apparent independence from military dress was evident by the fact that unlike the rest of the troops who maintained the peaked crown of their hats, buckskin-clad man squashed his hat's peak so it was flat as it covered his shaggy, shoulder-length light brown hair.

The scout, wearing grey trousers tucked into knee-high moccasins, an apron cloth over the trousers, and an open vest over his bare chest engaged the buckskin-clad man in brief conversation punctuated with frequent Indian sign language gestures.

When the conversation ended, buckskin-clad man backed up his horse so he and his horse were side-by-side with the lieutenant.

"Lieutenant, Red Hawk says he knew these two were on the trail and he was returning to tell us. You can believe him or not. Red Hawk also says the best camping spot for the night is just ahead. Maybe quarter mile. There's a fork in the trail, and he says we should bear left at the fork. Says there's a stand of pines with a decent camping area a mite down the fork."

"Very well. Thank you, Mr. Carson. Thank y'all's scout, too. First Sergeant O'Malley, pass the word that we'll be headin' out shortly. Quarter mile or so. Order no fires, no tabacky smokin'. We'll be dinin' on hardtack and jerky, and then beddin' down for the night."

The lieutenant then added less an afterthought and more an expression of irritation, "Where's them horses for these boys?"

"Coming, sir... right away, sir," as a horsehandler led a handsome chestnut Morgan of fifteen hands height followed by another horsehandler leading a half-hand taller and rangy, chocolate-colored Morgan.

"Y'all know how to ride, don't y'all?" the lieutenant asked, the hint of a smile returning and an edge of sarcasm in his voice.

Kevin turned and glanced at Curt and rolled his eyes out of view of the lieutenant. "Yes, sir. Learned at Paradise Valley ranch, up in Tijeras Canyon."

Indeed, Kevin and Curt had both rented horses for pleasure riding at Paradise Valley ranch in Tijeras Canyon in the Sandia Mountains east of Albuquerque on several occasions over the past couple of years. They each had maybe four hours of riding experience.

The lieutenant looked at Kevin quizzically at Kevin's answer. Obviously, Paradise Valley ranch and the name Tijeras Canyon meant nothing to him.

The lieutenant, now puzzled even more by Kevin and Curt, said, "Well, sounds like y'all got some explainin' to do — never heard of them places, but, for now, y'all mount up then."

Kevin turned back to Curt and noted he looked dazed. Kevin placed his hand on Curt's shoulder, and said softly so that no one else could hear, "Be cool. I don't know what's happening, but we best go with the flow, whatever that is. This guy is as serious as a heart attack."

Kevin's plea worked. Curt seemed to snap out of a trance and a get a grip on himself. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." To Kevin's relief, Curt gave him a crooked grin that Kevin interpreted as less one of reassurance than of nervousness — but, either way, a good sign that Curt's initial shock was lessening.

The horse handlers had secured the lead ropes. Grinning, they stood with the horses' reins in hand, ready to do the hand off to Kevin and Curt.

"Y'all gonna mount up or just jaw and grin all day?"

The lieutenant's long suit obviously was not patience.

"Yes, sir!" chorused Kevin and Curt.

With that exchange and with less skill and less graceful movement coupled with more embarrassingly flushed faces and burning ears than either would have liked to display, Kevin mounted the smaller chestnut Morgan after two tries, and Curt, also taking two tries, mounted the taller Morgan.

At the lieutenant's command and with sabers-clinking, hooves clumping, and horses snorting, the thirty some mounted dragoons began to move out. Kevin and Curt's horses practically self-guided themselves to a gap and a position behind the lieutenant and the first sergeant on their horses.

Out front of the column, the scout and buckskin-clad "Mr. Carson" led the column up the trail to the rest area.

Minutes later at the stand of magnificent ponderosa pines that Kevin and Curt had hiked through a half-hour earlier on their way from the rock face to the fork, the lieutenant ordered the dragoons to dismount and informed the first sergeant, "First Sergeant, take charge of them there boys — don't let them be a wanderin' off and getting' themselves kilt."

With that order, the lieutenant trotted his horse to where an apparently omniscient orderly skilled in selecting the choicest area for his lieutenant in a given rest area was setting up a small table and stool.

In the meantime, the first sergeant froze Kevin and Curt with a look, and said, "I be in-charge of ya, I be, and don't ya be givin' me no grief," and stalked off to look after his dragoons and their horses.

# Chapter Eight

### Time Warp?

Sitting next to each other, cross-legged, as dusk settled in, Curt whispered to Kevin, "There was dried blood all over my saddle and the horse's neck!"

"Really?" Kevin's heart skipped a beat as he contemplated what might have happened. "Could be — I'm just guessing — could be the lieutenant lost a couple of men."

"What do you mean, 'lost'?"

" 'Lost' as in killed, Curt. From everything that's been happening, I don't think this is a game."

"Man, I didn't need to hear that. This is like a nightmare! When are we going to wake up?" pleaded Curt. "Oh-oh, here comes that sergeant."

First Sergeant O'Malley carried two bedrolls slung over one massive shoulder. In his hands he carried a tin of hardtack and jerky.

Although a huge man of gruff appearance, he had apparently taken a liking to Kevin and Curt because when he spoke his Irish brogue now seemed to carry an element of warmth.

"Me lads, you be forgetting the bedrolls behind your saddles. These be poor McGinnis and poor O'Donnell's bedrolls — God bless them dear departed souls."

He dropped the bedrolls on the pine needle covered forest floor in front of Kevin and Curt, and said, "Here be some grub. Eat hardy me boys. 'Taint much, but it'll have to do."

Curt, suddenly having gained back much of his usual bravado, reached for the tin, and, not having missed the implication of the first sergeant's "dear departed souls" euphemism asked, despite fearing the answer, "Where's McGinnis and the other guy, O'Donnell? How come we got their horses?"

"Ambush, it be, me lads. T'weren't but five or six mile from the garrison, route-stepping along the Rio Gran-dee, headed this way, and the devils — Apaches — jumped us. Maybe two. Maybe three. McGinnis and O'Donnell made up the rearguard. Cowardly devils be hitting us there — the rearguard — real quiet like, too; none of them usual war whoops, you know. Before the rest of us knew what happened, Mac took an arrow clean through his neck — bled out mighty quick like a stuck pig — right there in the saddle, it be.

But O'Donnell, now, he was a tough ole bird — been with me since '51, well, he took two arrows, one in his left side and one, low in his back, he did. He died in me arms, lads, but took near an hour.

"Lieutenant decided not to be chase'n them devils, a'fearin' it be a trap to get the whole platoon in a bigger ambush, he did.

"God bless that man there, the lieutenant, or we'd maybe met poor ole Mac and O'Donnell's fate. 'Tis mighty true we'd a'not stood much chance in catching them devils anyways about in the thick bosque... and probably ambushed to boot, we'd a'been."

Kevin and Curt sat wide-eyed as First Sergeant O'Malley narrated the fate of McGinnis and O'Donnell.

After a long pause, Curt tentatively asked, "But... but, who are you? I mean, you look like cavalry. Where are you going?"

First Sergeant O'Malley squatted down in front of Kevin and Curt and said, "We'd be dragoons. Dragoons be infantry a'usin' the horse for getting us where we be a'wantin' to fight. Part of Company H, First Dragoons, we be. Me boys and the lieutenant — that's Lieutenant Beauregard Knox Wheeler — from down 'round Austin way, Texi-can, he be.

"Rest o' Company a'comin' a half day behind through these same mountains. Second Artillery is a'followin' the Rio Gran-dee and be a'comin' as riflemen a-foot 'cause them artillery pieces be a mite difficult in the mountains where we be a'figurin' we be doin' most of the fighting.

"We'd be headed for some Jicarilla Apaches up north, 'round Ojo Caliente — White Wolf and his bunch. We'd be aimin' to get revenge — White Wolf and his bunch done butchered a white family a tad east of Fort Union couple weeks ago. So it be revenge, that it be, me lads, and afters we be a'makin' example of ole White Wolf and his'n band of butchers, we be a'makin' the Territory a score safer from them thieving, murdering savages."

Kevin, having difficulty comprehending the surreal happenings of the past couple of hours, decided to ask the key question in a roundabout way: "First Sergeant, when did you join up with the Dragoons?"

The first sergeant's shocking answer was, "Well, lad, it be back in '42 when we be in Florida a'chasin' Seminoles, they be. I be a private back then."

Kevin looked at Curt and Curt looked at Kevin. They both immediately realized that the first sergeant was not talking about 1942. He meant 1842!

The first sergeant continued, "Came out here last year. March, it be. Colder than... well, lads, it be so cold the Irish whiskey froze, if ya be believin' that. T'was at garrison in Albuquerque for no more 'an three days and what folks be a'callin' the Big Blizzard of '53 come a'rollin' in outta the east through that canyon — Cañon de Carnué.

"The winds be fierce for three days, for sure. Bit a'snow, but the winds be the thing. Body a'couldn't stand agin it and if'n ya could, body'd froze in no time."

~~~

1842? 1853? 1854? Kevin was stunned. Were he and Curt caught in a time warp? How could that be?

Curt was having similar thoughts. As the implications of their situation sunk in, Kevin and Curt were staggered.

The first sergeant noticed and asked, "Ya lads be sick?" He frowned, cocked his head, and drilled first Kevin and then Curt with steely blue eyes, and said, "Ya be not looking well."

Curt gave a nervous cough, his mouth and throat suddenly dry. He started to speak but his dry tongue was momentarily stuck to his palate. Kevin came to his rescue and said, "No. No. We're fine. Just tired. That's all."

First Sergeant O'Malley's warm demeanor suddenly changed as he stood up and said, sounding unconvinced about Kevin and Curt's fatigue, "Aye, ya be knackered, right," then he added in a tone of warning, the warmth gone, "Lads, don't be a'wanderin' 'round tonight. Guards be posted."

And, with that, the first sergeant turned and walked over to a clique of nearby dragoons sitting in a circle chatting.

~~~

Kevin and Curt, totally confused by the situation, spoke softly to each other.

Curt said, "Been noticing how they're dressed: They all have those short black boots and them funny cowboy hats. Those dark blue — what do you call 'em — waistcoats? Man, those things look like they're made of wool. I'd be sweating bullets wearing one of those! The light blue trousers are kind of cool, though, especially the ones with the yellow stripe down the side like the lieutenant's and the first sergeant's."

Kevin said, "Yeah. I noticed. What's odd is that the first sergeant's uniform's got more trim and stuff than the lieutenant's. And the first sergeant's huge epaulets and gold-trimmed collar compared to the lieutenant's rank patch on each shoulder and plain collar, well, there's no comparison — you'd think the officer's uniform would be fancier, although he does have that waist sash with the gold tassels that the first sergeant doesn't have — and, of course, the fancy feather — but from what I've seen of the lieutenant's personality, I'll bet he's jealous of the first sergeant's fancier uniform. What do you think?"

"You're probably right," replied Curt. After a long pause, he added, "Man, I'm tired, but I'm so wound up, I don't think I can sleep tonight. Everything is just too weird!"

"You got that right, but we do need to get some rest. Who knows what's in store for us tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

~~~

As darkness settled in and the camp quieted down, Kevin and Curt removed their day-hiking backpacks, utility belts, and footwear, and spread their inherited bedrolls next to each other, pulling the lightweight blankets over their physically and emotionally spent bodies.

A few minutes later, sensing the oncoming chill of the nighttime mountain air, Kevin said, "It's going to be cold tonight, and this bedroll's no sleeping bag like we had down at camp. I'm going to put on my windbreaker for some added warmth. Suggest you do the same."

Both retrieved their windbreakers from their backpacks and in the darkness put them on.

Curt, settling back into his bedroll and turned to face Kevin. He whispered, "I can't believe this! How did this happen?"

Kevin whispered, "Well, I don't know, but the situation is what it is, and it doesn't look like we're going to get out of it anytime soon, if ever."

And Kevin got a catch in his throat as he said "if ever" as he thought about his father and mother and the possibility of never seeing them again.

"What are we going to do?" whispered Curt.

Kevin thought for a moment, "Well, we can pray. God was... er... is also here in what I figure is the year 1854. We also need to survive. Somehow, some way, we may have a chance to get out of this — whatever it is — and get back home. Until we can figure out what's going on, I think we need to play ball with these guys. You know, fit in; gain their trust."

Curt paused for a long minute as he pondered Kevin's words. Finally, he whispered, "You're right. I'll buy that. Makes sense."

Long minutes passed. Only an occasional snort from the staked horses on the far side of the camp broke the silence of the camp and the forest.

"Kevin? Kevin? You asleep?" whispered Curt.

"No. What?" whispered Kevin.

"You know the guy they call 'Mr. Carson'? I just figured out who he is — that's Kit Carson, the famous frontiersman in the 1800s."

"Wow, I think you're right. But he's not very big. Doesn't quite match the legend, I think. You sure it's him?" whispered Kevin.

"Yeah, pretty sure. Think about it. How many Carsons do you know from history who spoke Apache — I'm pretty sure that's what the scout is, Apache — and a Kit Carson would have no problem talking with him, and our Carson didn't."

"I see the logic," whispered Kevin.

There was silence for about a minute and then Curt whispered,"O-o-o! I just had a thought! How about my GPS receiver? I can get a fix on our position. If this is some kind of a time warp, we may need to get back to this spot in order to get back to our own time. Oh, wait... that won't work. Forget it. If we're in 1854, there's no satellites."

"Nice try. Get some sleep, Curt."

~~~

Through an opening in the canopy of trees on the moonless night, Kevin saw two meteors streak across the star-studded sky in parallel.

The two grains of cosmic dirt seared the night sky for a moment and then disappeared.

An omen? As a Christian, should that even be a question?

As he wrestled with that question and his and Curt's plight, Kevin's head began to hurt even more.

# Chapter Nine

### The New "Recruits"

Kevin was startled awake — someone was kicking his blanketed feet!

"Cheers, me lad. And wake up ya friend. We be back on the trail soon."

And, with that rough, gruff, non-coddling start to Kevin's day, First Sergeant O'Malley turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Kevin reached over to Curt in his bedroll and pushed hard several times on the blanket wrapped figure. Curt turned over with a groan.

"Hey. Get up. We're moving out."

"Dude, it's pitch black. And, br-r-r, cold! No way. I want to sleep."

"Can't. Get up. Looks like these guys like to get an early start. Remember our plan to fit in. So, get up. Get your boots on. C'mon. Get up. Roll up your bedroll. Let's look like we got our act together. We need to survive this thing."

Curt groaned, but finally extricated himself from his bedroll, his breath creating clouds of white condensation in the cold of the dark morning.

The rest of the camp was stirring with activity also. Kevin no sooner got his work boots laced and stood up when a horsehandler brought both their horses already saddled, and handed the lead ropes to Kevin.

When the horsehandler left, Curt asked, "Do you think they left them saddled all night?"

"Don't know. Probably. They'd be able to mount up quicker if attacked," replied Kevin.

"Attacked? Man, that never crossed my mind. I'm glad they're saddled though; I doubt we could have done it."

"Aw, c'mon. I think we could have done it. See that long strap that goes under the horse's belly?"

In the dim starlight, Kevin, still holding the tethers, directed Curt's attention to the saddle cinch.

"Check it out. See how it's attached? Squeeze a couple of fingers between the strap — I think it's called a 'cinch' — but squeeze your fingers between the cinch and the horse to see how tight the cinch is. Check the saddle blanket, too. See where it's position on the horses back and see where the saddle is on the blanket? I think we could saddle up, if we had to," said Kevin.

Curt said, "How do you know all this stuff?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson. Elementary."

"Okay, Sherlock. Seriously, you sure are calm about all of this," replied Curt.

"Well, I've got faith. God says that all things work together for good to those who love the Lord. I love him, and whatever situation we're in, I know he is by my side. Am I scared? Yeah, but only of the unknown. Even then, God says his shield will protect me."

~~~

And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28 NKJV

~~~

"The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer;

The God of my strength, in whom I will trust;

My shield and the horn of my salvation,

My stronghold and my refuge; 2 Samuel 22:2-3 NKJV

~~~

Although still dark and cold, a sudden thought hit Kevin. "We need to take off our windbreakers!"

"Why? How come? It's cold."

"Well, first they're red and make for great targets. Second, they're nylon. Nylon wasn't even invented until maybe the 1930s. Then there's the zippers. I remember from a trivia game or maybe it was on TV but at the time I was surprised to find out that zippers weren't around until like after World War I. So, if we don't take off our windbreakers, we're going to be trying to answer a whole lot of questions that we don't have answers for, know what I mean? It's still dark enough, hopefully, nobody has noticed yet."

"You're right. But what about our backpacks?"

"Oh, man, you're right. Nylon, too. And we got another problem..." said Kevin.

"Like what?"

"Velcro, bro. Velcro. My pockets have Velcro fasteners. So do our backpacks. I seem to remember that Velcro came out in the '50s — and I don't mean 1850. So, we got a problem: How do we hide Velcro?"

"Yeah, and what about our canteens and army surplus belts? They're all like World War II or Korean War, maybe Vietnam War vintage."

"I think we've got some serious problems if we get asked about this stuff," Kevin said. "Oh! And, wow! Our cell phones! Our cell phones will blow their minds! And your GPS thing! We got to keep those really hidden."

Kevin paused for a moment and then said, "You know, actually, it's weird we weren't asked about some of this stuff yesterday — my rifle got their attention, but, they didn't ask about anything else, although the lieutenant gave me a hard once over and remarked that we looked strange and we'd have some explaining to do later, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I remember."

"So, let's think about how we're going to handle any questions that get thrown our way."

After a few seconds, Curt said, "I know. We could tell them that we knew someone in Albuquerque who was with the Army and he gave this stuff to us."

"Well, if you're talking about the canteens and belts, I don't think so. If we're asked, let's just tell them the truth — we bought them in a shop in Albuquerque as army surplus. That answer may raise some eyebrows and raise a question like why their unit hasn't been supplied stuff like ours, but that'll be their problem. We'll have at least told the truth," replied Kevin. "On the other hand, that does not solve the problem with the nylon and the zippers and the Velcro."

Then Kevin added, "You know, there's another issue here."

Curt said, "No, what?"

"We've got to be careful whatever we say or do doesn't somehow affect future history. You know what I mean? I mean, if we tell them we're from the future — or they figure it out — what are they going to expect from us? I mean, zippers and nylon and Velcro are not the only things we know about that's in the future — we know about other inventions, and the Civil War, and other wars, and slavery, and things like Lincoln's assassination... and cars, and telephones, and computers. My head hurts to think what else," replied Kevin.

The two sat there for a minute and then Curt said, "Hey, I know what: Let's just leave the backpacks and windbreakers behind. You know, hide them. Do we really need them, now?"

Kevin thought for a moment, weighing the idea then he said, "You know what? You're a genius! I think you're right. We don't need them. Yeah! Let's ditch them. The dragoons will supply what we need. Here, hold the lead ropes and give me your backpack and windbreaker."

So, in the darkness, pretending to go into the woods to relieve himself, Kevin hid their backpacks and windbreakers deep in some scrub brush and returned to camp.

Upon Kevin's return, Curt said, "I've got an idea on the cell phones. Why don't you give me yours, and I'll put it in one of my boot tops and my cell and GPS in the other boot. The sixteen-inch stovepipes have more than enough room. What do think?"

"Genius, again!" replied Kevin, and he carefully hid his movement, even though it was still too dark for any of the dragoons to see, as he handed over his cell phone to Curt.

Curt, equally secretive, placed his cell phone and GPS receiver and Kevin's cell phone in his boot tops.

Then another thought struck Kevin, "Our wristwatches! No such thing for men in 1854. I remember seeing on the Antiques Roadshow TV program that only women wore them back then — I mean now — I mean in 1854. We need to take ours off. Put 'em our pockets."

"Good thinking."

"I got extra room in my cargo shorts. Give me your watch and I'll put it in one of my pockets," said Kevin.

"Okay, but I'll bet your camo cargoes already have their attention. I mean, I don't remember ever seeing any camouflaged uniforms in any of the John Wayne westerns, much less shorts. I mean guys' shorts as a fashion statement have not been around all that many years, I don't think. And your Velcro pocket fasteners could be a problem, too. Your John Deere cap's gotta get their attention, too — I'm guessing there's no such thing as baseball styled caps in the 1850s. Know what I mean?"

"You're probably right. I think John Deere and his new steel plows were probably known even then, but a baseball cap style and the fancy machine stitching of the logo could raise questions, you're right. I need it for sun protection, though. I guess we'll just have to play some of this stuff — actually, the whole thing — by ear until we can figure out what's happening."

~~~

A few minutes later, cinches checked and tightened, and bedrolls secured behind their respective saddles, Kevin and Curt were next to their horses ready to mount up at the command to do so.

Curt said, "I think we need to do something with these lead ropes. We can't just leave them hanging."

"Ah, you're right. I remember seeing like a noose knot under the horses' necks yesterday. Come to think of it, that's what a rider must do with the lead rope — must swing it over the horse's neck and connect the loose end with the halter end using a noose knot. Problem is I don't know how to make a noose knot. Do you?"

"You may know saddles, but I know ropes. Of course, I do," replied Curt. "Pay attention now."

And, with that half-mocking comment, Curt placed the loose end of his horse's lead rope over the horse's neck, made a loop with the halter end, looped the loose end through the loop, and wound the rope down the loop, making a coiled bundle.

"Piece o' cake. Now, all you gotta do is pull it a bit snug like this — how snug were the ones you saw yesterday?"

"Fairly loose. Maybe hanging down about ten or twelve inches from the horse's neck."

"Like this?" and Curt snugged the lead rope to the looseness Kevin had described.

"Yeah. Looks good."

"Okay, bro. Now it's your turn. Show me you were paying attention," teased Curt.

Kevin did a respectable noose knot on the lead rope for his horse on his second try.

Kevin and Curt had no sooner finished securing their respective lead ropes when the first sergeant loomed out of the waning darkness, did a quick inspection by tugging on the saddles and noting the bedrolls were in place behind the saddles.

"Atta boy, me lads," he said with a bit of warmth returning, and walked away.

Curt and Kevin grinned at each other.

Several minutes passed, and Curt, holding the reins of his horse and stroking the horse's neck, was idly looking around when he looked up and through an opening in the trees, said, "Dude, check out the stars. They're awesome!"

Kevin said, "Did you know someplace in the Bible it says that God stretched out the heavens using one hand? You got to agree that's a pretty big God. None bigger."

Curt let Kevin's words soak in. After several heartbeats, Curt said, "Uh-huh. Yeah. That's big, alright."

~~~

Indeed My hand has laid the foundation of the earth,

And My right hand has stretched out the heavens; Isaiah 48:13NKJV

# Chapter Ten

### Corporal Yates, Jenny, and Jericho

The command came from the first sergeant: "Mount up. Column of Twos. Look lively, now!"

In the predawn darkness, the sky had lightened to a point where riders and horses were visible but detail indistinguishable.

The lieutenant and his big roan Morgan took the column lead, followed by the first sergeant on his bay Morgan. The buckskin-clad assumed-to-be Kit Carson and his pinto were to the first sergeant's right. Kevin and Curt's Morgans again self-guided themselves with little urging to the obvious opening behind the first sergeant and Kit Carson's mounts.

Kevin ended up positioned behind the first sergeant and Curt behind Kit Carson.

Kevin noted that the scout was apparently long gone, doing what scouts do.

The first sergeant, saluting the lieutenant, said, "Ready, sir."

The lieutenant returned the salute and then raised his left arm, his white gauntlet-gloved hand barely visible in the pre-dawn and commanded, "Forward, Ho!" and lowered his arm.

Kevin and Curt's first day as members of Company H, First Dragoons had begun.

~~~

Although Kevin was apprehensive about their situation, he had no idea how terrifying and grave it would become later in the day.

~~~

No more than five minutes had passed in the semi-darkness on the trail when the lieutenant made a seemingly off-hand request of Kit Carson when he said, "Mr. Carson, if y'all'd be so kind as to come up here and ride next to me, ah would be most grateful for your company, sir."

Kit Carson urged his horse forward to take up position to the lieutenant's right, and with a momentary single file juggling of positions, the first sergeant and his horse dropped behind Kevin so that Kevin and Curt remained side-by-side but now directly behind the lieutenant and Carson.

Kevin tried to analyze the situation: Either the lieutenant was looking for social company, although that seemed to be a stretch because the lieutenant had not seemed to Kevin to be all that gregarious or talkative, being more caught up in that affected aloof personality that command, at least in the lieutenant's opinion, dictated.

The other possibility was that the lieutenant, although from all appearances an excellent horseman, either was not familiar with the trail or was having difficulty picking up signs of the scout who had left earlier and who was scouting a quarter-mile ahead of the column.

Whatever the lieutenant's motive, Kevin noted as the day wore on that although Carson would periodically point out a feature of the landscape such as Redondo Peak or cite the names of the creeks or canyons ahead and their distance, casual conversation was notably lacking.

~~~

What surprised both Kevin and Curt, as they would talk about it later, was the diminutive stature of Kit Carson now that they could see him plainly and up close in the daylight.

Kevin guessed that Carson was no more than five feet and a couple of inches tall. Curt guessed five-foot, four inches. Regardless of Carson's small stature, Carson's powerfully built physique impressed Kevin and Curt. Even Carson's fringed buckskin sleeves and leggings appeared strained to contain his muscular arms and thighs.

Later, when Kevin and Curt discussed Carson, they agreed that what little they remembered from references to Kit Carson in their American history classes, each had him mentally pictured as a strapping giant of a man to match his "giant" deeds found in the history books.

They concluded strapping he was; giant, he was not.

~~~

To keep his mind off his aching back and numbed bottom side, Kevin made a game of trying to hear Carson and the lieutenant's infrequent dialogue with each other.

The lieutenant appeared begrudgingly deferential to Carson. Carson, in turn, seemed to be tolerating his companion, all the while, exuding a level of confidence and competency that the lieutenant could not match, and the lieutenant knew it. In addition, Carson seemed to delight at the lieutenant's barely suppressed anger when Carson would occasionally nudge the lieutenant's steed gently to the left with his pinto when the lieutenant missed the need to go left on the trail.

To Kevin and Curt riding behind and observing the lieutenant and Carson, it was obvious the two men were not fond of each other.

~~~

The trail and the company of dragoons angled north. The trail featured steep slopes of dense conifers and an occasional dip into and out of a canyon. The trail often wound around massive rock formations — complex formations of ancient cooled lavas, welded tuff, and rock from ancient faults and uplifts.

By mid-morning, after five hours in the saddle, the dragoons came upon Redondo Creek winding through a meadow of grass and small yellow mountain flowers.

The lieutenant called a rest halt, and the dragoons and Kevin and Curt dismounted, and following the lead of the other dragoons, unknotted lead ropes, and led their horses to the banks of the creek where the horses drank their fill.

When the turbidity of the creek had settled, the dragoons began filling their canteens. Kevin and Curt, conscious of their uniquely shaped canteens verses the round canteens of the dragoons, walked about thirty feet upstream from the nearest dragoon and filled their almost empty canteens, discretely adding a water purification tablet in each.

However, as secretive as Kevin and Curt tried to be, more than one sharp-eyed dragoon noticed Kevin and Curt's very differently shaped canteens, their unique canteen covers, and the unique manner with which the canteens were attached to equally unique belts.

No dragoon said anything to either Kevin or Curt, but it was obvious the two were a topic of hushed conversation and many a sideways glance — and not just because of their canteens.

Kevin and Curt led their Morgans to a spot of grass where the horses could feed and where Kevin and Curt could rest their aching, unaccustomed-to-hours-in-the-saddle bodies when a dragoon leading his horse approached them.

"Hello, fellas. I'm Corporal Yates. Is there anything I can do for you?"

~~~

Corporal Billy Yates had a shock of red hair sticking out from under his regulation narrow-brimmed black hat. His face seemed to have perpetual sunburn with scattered freckles blooming through the redness.

The corporal was the same height as Kevin — five feet, nine inches tall — but rail-thin in weight at maybe one-hundred and thirty pounds.

What immediately struck Kevin and Curt was that Corporal Yates was not much older than they were, yet his bearing and demeanor made him seem much older, a characteristic that Kevin realized accounted, at least in part, for or was the result of his rank of corporal.

The three shook hands.

"Looks like you got a good spot here. Let's sit and get acquainted."

Somewhat apprehensively, Kevin and Curt sat down in the grass and Corporal Yates joined them.

"Let me tell you about myself. First, you can call me 'Billy' when it's just the three of us and no one else is around. Call me 'Corporal Yates' when we're with the others. I have to maintain appearances in keeping with my rank," he grinned. "You understand?"

Kevin and Curt said, "Yes," in unison.

"Good. First Sergeant O'Malley wants me to kind of look after you two and teach you the ropes. Not soldiering, but making yourselves useful to us. How does that suit you?"

Kevin looked to Curt, and Curt nodded. Kevin said, "No problem."

"Now, about me. I've been with the dragoons since I was fifteen years old. Joined up with them four years ago in San Antonio after I wandered for a year after my pa had a tree fall on him and got killed. Then Ma died of consumption six months later. Ain't got no brothers or sisters — well, had twin brothers but they died as toddlers — died with the fever.

"Anyhow, we had a farm on some nice bottom land in Ohio — on Sciodoe Creek — but I never did take much to farming, so after Ma died I just saddled up ole Rusty — Rusty was our old plow horse — and up and rode off. Headed west. Ended up in Texas after 'bout a year. Was in San Antonio where the Army was doing some recruiting, saying they were heading west to New Mexico Territory and then Cali-for-ni-a, and, well, that sounded like adventure and suited me just fine, so I signed up, and here I am pouring out my life's story to you fellas.

"Now it's your turn. Tell me about yourselves."

And, with a disarming smile, Corporal Yates pointed at Kevin's head and asked, "Where did you get that strange green cap, and is that John Deere thing on it the same John Deere what made that steel plow like my pa used?"

~~~

Oh-oh, here it comes. The interrogation. The lieutenant has sent a surrogate our own age — thinking we'd be more open to someone our age — to wheedle information out of us to explain our strange clothes and stuff. We got to be careful and dance around the trap questions. The opening soft question is about my cap, but I know it won't end there; it'll quickly get impossible to skirt evermore-direct questions. Oh, boy!

With that panicky thought, Kevin knew he had to deflect a direct answer. He needed time to get his thoughts in order and his rapidly beating heart under control.

"You're well-spoken, Corp... er... Billy. You must have had some good schooling?" inquired Kevin.

"Ma was a school teacher before she met Pa. She taught me my ciphers and reading pretty good. One of the reasons I made rank quick. And you...?"

The corporal's smart. He's playing the game, and he's quickly put the ball back in my court.

"Well, Curt and I have been going to school in Albuquerque. I know we must seem old to you to still be going to school but my father wants me to follow in his footsteps and be a preacher — a minister — and he says I need a good education to do that."

"Hmm. Didn't know there was any school in Albuquerque. Is that what you want to do? I mean, be a preacher man?"

"Well, it is... or was. Being up in these mountains for a few days helped me make up my mind. Now, of course, things have changed — looks like we've been recruited by the US Army."

"I think the lieutenant had you 'recruited' for your own good and safety. You know what happened to McGinnis and O'Donnell, right?"

Kevin and Curt nodded.

"Well, I think the lieutenant recruited you to save your scalps — and his. I think the lieutenant figures keeping you with us is the best decision."

"So, there's more to it than just saving our scalps? His, too? How can that be?" ventured Kevin.

"Yep. The lieutenant would have a lot of explaining to do if you'd been killed and scalped."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, the lieutenant covets captain's bars; in fact, he would covet highly a promotion to major or lieutenant colonel by doing something heroic. That being said, if he left two civilians in the Jemez and the Apaches got to them and word got back to the garrison in Albuquerque — and word would get back 'cause your folks or somebody would have raised the alarm about you being missing — and all thirty of us would testify to having seen you in these here mountains — well, the lieutenant's goatee and mustache would be white before he saw captain's bars, if even then, much more seeing major or light colonel. Understand?"

"So, we've been recruited for our safety and the lieutenant's career. Is that right?" asked Kevin.

"Precisely," answered Billy with a grin.

The ridiculous thought flashed through Kevin's mind, How can I tell Billy that my dad was going to pick us up in an old Ford truck, and we would have been as safe as safe could be?

"Well, we can understand that. Right, Curt?"

Curt nodded, having the good sense to keep his mouth shut. He was more than content to let Kevin maneuver them out of Billy's low-keyed, probing, and subtle interrogation.

~~~

Before Billy could ask any more questions, Red Hawk got everyone's attention when he rode hard into camp and, slid off his pinto next to a group that included Kit Carson.

Carson disengaged from the group, and he and Red Hawk walked off a few paces and squatted down, Indian style, facing each other.

Red Hawk began to earnestly gesture and converse with Carson.

In less than a minute, the lieutenant strolled over, but instead of squatting with Red Hawk and Carson, he stood silently with arms crossed, the front of his hat raised, exposing his white, untanned forehead. His chin was lifted also, giving him an air of aristocratic superiority.

After a minute or so, the lieutenant spoke, his words unintelligible except to Red Hawk and Carson. An animated conversation broke out between the three of them. Carson translated Red Hawk's message to the lieutenant and translated the lieutenant's questions and comments back to Red Hawk.

After a couple of minutes of back and forth, the conversation between the three paused. A few seconds later, the lieutenant unfolded his arms, made a small circular motion with his right arm, and said something that apparently did not set well with Carson who stood up abruptly, immediately followed by Red Hawk standing up.

Red Hawk and Carson stood in silence staring at the lieutenant who was also silent, all three exchanging standoff stares. Several long seconds passed in silence. The lieutenant's face became noticeably flushed, the red creeping from his neck into his face. A few more seconds passed and then the lieutenant seemed to come to a decision. He spoke to Carson and made a gesture as if to poke Carson in the chest with the index finger of his right hand when he noted the look in Carson's eyes and apparently thought better of a poke and instead slowly lowered his arm and rested his right hand on the hilt of his scabbard saber, which, in turn, caused Carson to place his hand on the handle of his sheathed twelve-inch Bowie knife.

Carson then appeared to respond calmly to whatever the lieutenant had said. None of the nearby observers could make out Carson's words, but, at the conclusion of whatever Carson said, the lieutenant simply stood there in apparent incredulity at either what Carson said or with Carson, himself.

The atmosphere around the three continued pregnant with tension. Carson's body language was equivalent to a cougar ready to spring upon prey. The lieutenant's body language was one of that assertiveness common to a certain class of well-born military officers when dealing with supposed inferiors. Red Hawk simply stood motionless much like a coiled and silent rattlesnake watching a pending supper of field mouse.

The lieutenant looked skyward for a moment, his lips moving with what appeared to be a single expletive. He took a small step backward, pulled his hat down to regulation position, shook his head from side-to-side, white feather fluttering, either in disagreement or to reinforce a negative answer, then glared at the diminutive Carson, and said no more than a half-dozen words to him — no one watching could tell what was said.

The lieutenant then abruptly turned on his heel and walked away, calling for the first sergeant.

Carson stared long and hard at the lieutenant's back as the lieutenant walked away. Carson then turned toward Red Hawk, spoke to him in Apache, and made a sweeping gesture with his right arm. Red Hawk nodded once and began to mount his pinto while Carson walked to fetch his pinto.

By some sixth sense, the dragoons already knew what was coming next and were already mounting up.

Sure enough, the first sergeant hollered, "Mount up!"

Billy swung into his saddle and said, "John Deere will have to wait. Secure your lead ropes, mount up, and follow me. Your training is about to begin. Let's go meet Jenny and Jericho."

~~~

Neither Kevin nor Curt had any clue what information Red Hawk brought into camp or why the sense of urgency, but they figured it was not good news given what appeared to be the apparent negative and strained conversation between Carson and the lieutenant.

The dragoons, however, seemed to take the observed confrontation between Carson and the lieutenant and the abruptness from rest to going back on the trail in stride, although there seemed to be a heightened alertness as several scanned the nearby trees and brush and double-checked the readiness of their rifles and pistols.

Kevin and Curt were sore and aching in areas of their respective bodies that each thought would not be able to endure another hour on horseback; nevertheless, they secured their lead ropes, mounted up with barely suppressed groans, and followed Billy to the rear of the dragoons now forming up by twos.

Billy wheeled in the saddle and with an arm gesture said over his shoulder, "Boys, meet Jenny and Jericho..."

To the amazement of Kevin and Curt, there stood two grey-brown pack mules, laden with so much gear that they thought it a wonder the mules could stand — they looked like they would topple over any second and would have difficulty keeping up with the mounted dragoons and their sturdy mounts, but, obviously, that had not been the case.

Billy instructed the dragoon mule handler to hand Jenny's lead rope to Kevin and Jericho's lead rope to Curt.

The private grinned as he did as directed by the corporal.

Kevin wondered, Is that a grin of relief or a grin of amusement?

Billy, with a grin himself, said, "I'll ride back here with you boys to make sure you got the hang of it and what to do when either mule — especially, Jericho — gets a bit reluctant on the trail."

Curt said, "Oh, great!" His inflection was not one of enthusiasm but one of mock despair.

Kevin thought, Uh-huh. Just as I thought: That private's grin was a grin of relief.

# Chapter Eleven

### White Wolf, the Apache

The column began winding its way in a north-northeast direction, following Redondo Creek for about six miles as it meandered and skirted eleven-thousand foot Redondo Peak.

Shortly before noon, the column entered the mouth of a narrow canyon than ran west-to-east, downwind of a sulfurous-smelling trickle-stream of water flowing through it, a reminder that the ancient volcanic activity that had formed the Jemez was anything but dormant.

A further five miles, much of it through another narrow valley between two one-thousand foot higher hills and the column came upon San Antonio Creek.

The dragoons followed San Antonio Creek for about a mile through a widening valley surrounded by lower hills until they crossed what was called the Rita de los Indios Creek.

Once across the Rita de los Indios, the column headed due east and began the long descent to the Rio Chama river valley some eleven miles distant, arriving at the Rio Chama in early afternoon at a point about a mile and one-half southwest of the San Juan Pueblo, which was on the opposite side of the Rio Chama.

~~~

In a sweet-smelling stand of giant cottonwood trees, the ground covered with fluffs of cotton as if it had snowed, the weary dragoons dismounted and removed the saddles from their mounts. Two horsehandlers moved the dragoons' horses into a makeshift rope corral and hobbled each horse.

The first sergeant posted four guards around the perimeter of the camp. He posted two additional guards at the makeshift horse and pack mule corral downwind of the main camping area.

Several dragoons busied themselves starting three campfires, each some twenty feet from the other.

Less than an hour after the dragoons had arrived in the cottonwood grove, Red Hawk came into camp trailing a makeshift travois on which was an already dressed, large mule deer. A half-dozen dragoons ran to relieve the travois of its burden and the mood of the dragoons took a decided uptick at the prospect of venison for early supper.

A private whom Kevin had heard others call "Cookie" rummaged in one of Jenny's packs and found a pot and apparently some beans to add to the pending feast.

Soon the aroma of roasting venison and boiling beans permeated the camp. The smoke from the three fires hung heavy in the upper branches of the cottonwoods.

Curt, saliva glands watering, complained to Kevin as they sat with their backs against a giant cottonwood trunk, "I thought we'd never eat. These dudes don't eat. We never had breakfast and we never had lunch. What gives with these people?"

Kevin thought a moment and said, "I think we missed something. I think the dragoons must kind of snack on jerky while on the trail. Let's find Billy and ask him."

Corporal Yates was standing with a group of four other non-commissioned officers at one of the campfires. A member of the group was slowly turning a spit containing a decent-sized chunk of venison rump. The roast was browning nicely as fat and juices dropped, sizzled, and flared in the fire.

Billy noticed Kevin and Curt standing several feet away and said, "Gentlemen, won't you please join us for supper?"

Billy did not have to ask Curt twice. Curt, with a big grin, literally bounded over and stood next to Billy.

"Thank you, Corporal. Thank you!" said the famished Curt, eying the roasting venison.

Easing to the other side of Billy, Kevin said, "Yes, thank you, Corporal."

"Allow me to introduce this distinguished group," said Corporal Yates, and he commenced doing so. Two of the non-commissioned officers shook hands with Kevin and Curt, but the other two were more reserved and simply nodded when their name was said.

Kevin and Curt squatted down by the fire and on either side of Billy as he, too, squatted.

One of the two friendlier non-commissioned officers named Charlie, asked, "Where y'all from?" The question obviously directed to Kevin and Curt.

Kevin said, "Albuquerque."

Charlie said, "Hmmm," and turned his head and let loose with a stream of brown tobacco juice into the bushes behind him and to his side, "Y'all don't say," his tone conveying more than a hint of disbelief.

"That's right," chimed in Curt. "Albuquerque. Been there my whole life."

Kevin immediately knew that was the wrong thing to say.

"What Curt's trying to say is that we've been in Albuquerque for... for, well, for a long time. Our kin came from back east. Mine's from Ohio. Curt, don't your roots go back to Pennsylvania...?"

"Ah, yeah. Yes. Yes, they sure do," replied Curt, picking up on the danger in the original question because, although he did not know it for a fact but could sense it, the population of Albuquerque in the 1850s, less the military garrison, was probably not more than a thousand, meaning to be a teenage non-Hispanic in a small, largely Spanish population, and, at the same time, having lived in Albuquerque one's "whole life," although not impossible, was improbable.

Kevin's heart was pounding. There's going to come a point — a question — that we can't avoid and the truth's going to come out, one way or the other, that we're from the future.

Billy, seeming to sense the potential for a confrontation that he felt was neither the time nor the place for one, said, "That venison looks mighty fine. I suggest we begin." Whereupon, Billy took out his Sheffield Bowie knife and, while Charlie held the spit motionless, Billy carved a nice chunk of meat onto one of three tin plates he had. He handed the first plate to Curt. Billy then picked up a second plate and repeated the carving, handing the plate to Kevin. He then carved a chunk of meat for himself on a third plate as the other non-commissioned officers began to fill their plates.

Kevin was impressed with Billy's initiative in bringing two extra tin plates in anticipation that Kevin and Curt would not have plates of their own; Billy had apparently intended to invite Kevin and Curt to his supper group all along.

Seemingly on cue, Cookie entered the group caring a steaming pot of beans. Cookie heaped ladles of beans swimming in thick, brown, aromatic juices onto each plate to the delight and whoops of the men.

Like magic, Billy produced three large tin spoons for the beans, kept one, and handed the other two, one each, to Kevin and then Curt.

After the early supper, the first sergeant called the dragoons to assemble in the middle of the camping area, instructing them to fall in by squad and stand at attention. He then gave the order to the squad leaders to assign five men from each of their squads to gather firewood for the night — three to gather the firewood and two to act as guards and keep a watchful eye for "hostiles."

Twenty-five minutes later under the shading canopy of the giant cottonwoods, the squads began returning to camp with armloads of driftwood from the bosque and the banks of the Rio Chama.

It was at this time that Kevin saw Red Hawk ride into camp at a hard gallop, his brown and white pinto streaked with foaming bands of sweat.

Red Hawk's entrance caught the attention of all of the dragoons because Red Hawk's usual entrance into camp was at day's end and usually stealthy and ghostlike, befitting the myth the white man had come to believe about the Indian, a myth that Red Hawk delighted in reinforcing at every opportunity and especially by sneaking into camp at day's end when he would appear suddenly with few, if anyone, having seen him come in.

As he slid off the bareback of his pinto and handed the reins to the nearest dragoon, Red Hawk immediately sought out and engaged Kit Carson in animated conversation.

After a minute or so of talk and gestures, both squatted to the ground, facing each other. Red Hawk drew his knife, and began to draw something in the dirt.

To Kevin, the communication between the two men seemed to be one of Carson asking a series of questions and Red Hawk giving answers. Carson pointed at the drawing in the dirt several times, and each time Red Hawk responded in Apache and with hand gestures to Carson in the universal sign language as used by most Native American tribes.

None of this escaped Lieutenant Wheeler's attention. He strode over to Red Hawk and Carson, but, then, apparently remembering the earlier confrontation with Carson that afternoon, stood silently and simply observed the two men with what appeared to be growing impatience.

After another minute or so of animated conversation between Carson and Red Hawk, they both stood up.

The lieutenant towering over each by almost a foot in height, said, "Mr. Carson, y'all's little pow-wow appears important." The lieutenant's comment was said with a rising inflection that was less of a question and more a command to Kit Carson to give an answer in light of Red Hawk's uncharacteristic display of urgency.

Carson, through years of stoic experience and learning never to betray emotions in his dealings with the Indian — or with anyone else — hid the contempt he felt for the lieutenant's condescending manner and replied without expression, "White Wolf wants to parley."

~~~

Word of White Wolf's request quickly spread like wildfire throughout the camp by that mysterious communication process common to all military units.

Lieutenant Wheeler considered the situation: There was still four or five hours of daylight left. The parlay site was less than an hour ride from the cottonwood campsite. He figured that the second contingent of Company H were just then breaking out of the Jemez and descending the plateau to the Rio Chama, following the same route that his unit had traveled hours before. By the lieutenant's calculations, the remainder of Company H was at least four hours away from reaching the lieutenant's command.

In addition, the Artillery Company apparently had had some difficulties negotiating the steep and ambush-prone La Bajada south of Santa Fe, according to a dispatch rider who reached the camp during the venison feast. The difficulties at La Bajada would delay the Artillery Company's arrival at the cottonwood rendezvous point by a least a half day, maybe more, the lieutenant figured.

But, prior to the mission, Lieutenant Wheeler also had instructions from the commanding officer of the Post of Albuquerque, Colonel Poindexter, not to attempt anything unilaterally with the Apaches without first having the strength of the combined forces of the rest of Company H and the Artillery Company joined up with Wheeler's unit.

Lieutenant Wheeler was well-aware that for him to parley with White Wolf on his own would be in violation of Colonel Poindexter's direct orders; however, the lieutenant had a particular incentive to disobey orders: If he could effect a capture — or even a killing — of White Wolf, his action would put him alongside the Wheeler family's proud military tradition, most lately that of the lieutenant's father, Brevet Major General William "The Daring" Wheeler, who had fought with distinction in the War of 1812, been wounded twice, and had two battlefield promotions for conspicuous bravery.

In addition, the lieutenant's grandfather, Winfield Knox Wheeler, a sniper under the command of colonial Colonel Prescott at the Battle of Bunker Hill in 1776 was reputed to have been a deciding factor for the colonials, that is, until ammunition ran out and the colonials and "Winney" had to retreat.

Consequently, blinded by ambition and the pressure of family tradition, Lieutenant Wheeler made the decision to disobey orders and take his dragoons to ostensibly meet with White Wolf for parley, but with a true intent to capture or kill White Wolf and his band, which would result, he hoped, in personal glory for initiative, daring, and bravery, and a place of prominence alongside his father and grandfather's military exploits.

~~~

Tension was running high among the dragoons. First Sergeant O'Malley instructed Corporal Yates to keep Kevin and Curt to the rear once the dragoons arrived at the parley site, especially if fighting broke out.

Yates gave Kevin and Curt quick instructions on how to hold the pack mules in the rear and how to alert him at the first sign of a pending sneak attack by one or more Apaches to steal the mules and the dragoons' extra ammunition and foodstuffs.

~~~

The site for the parley was on top of a mesa that abutted the Rio Chama.

The east side of the mesa was a steep one-hundred foot drop to within twenty feet of thick bosque beyond which after another fifty yards was the river. The west side of the mesa was simply an extension of the plateau that led back into the Jemez mountains but partially cutoff from that plateau by a seventy-five foot wide arroyo that often gushed water runoff from the Jemez mountains even on clear days when the only storm clouds were over the Jemez.

Both the north and south sides of the mesa had the same relative one-hundred foot drop off as the east side; however, as opposed to the more or less sheer drop on the east side, each of the three sides bore centuries of erosion characterized by sloping rock fall and soil erosion common to Southwestern mesas.

The Lieutenant and his thirty dragoons would have to take a steep, narrow, one horse wide, zigzag trail on the west side of the mesa, part of which was through a mini canyon of red rock columns and rubble, to gain the parley site at the top of the mesa.

The lieutenant was aware of the potential for ambush and the vulnerability for trap on such a trail.

The dragoons were well aware, also.

Nevertheless, despite the concerns of the dragoons as voiced by the first sergeant to the lieutenant, and blinded by ambition and committed by pride and a mistaken sense of duty, the lieutenant led his dragoons up the treacherous path, notwithstanding the unease and danger that the dragoons felt.

~~~

As Lieutenant Wheeler acquired the top of the mesa, he halted the column of dragoons still strung out on the trail below him to survey the Apaches approximately one-hundred and seventy feet distant, kneeling in a single, north-south row on the mesa top.

Each Apache warrior, separated by eight to ten feet from the Apache warriors on either side, was kneeling on one knee, and each had a cap and ball musket at his side, musket butt on the ground and barrel pointed skyward.

The lieutenant took in the scene and then suddenly realized that the number of Apaches exactly matched his number of dragoons. With that realization, the lieutenant knew that White Wolf had scouted him prior to asking for the parley.

The lieutenant also knew that White Wolf's scouting meant that White Wolf had evaluated the dragoons' strengths and weaknesses, giving White Wolf the edge in military intelligence. Nevertheless, the lieutenant felt himself to be the superior tactician of the two of them, dismissing what White Wolf had done as giving the Apache no particular advantage. Nevertheless, deep inside the lieutenant, a warning bell rang, but the lieutenant ignored it and, caught up in a flush of adrenaline and a sense of invincibility, resolved to carry on for what he anticipated would be finally his day of military glory and yet another chapter in his family's storied military history.

~~~

The Apache warriors arrayed on the mesa top were dressed in traditional Apache warrior garb — most wore knee-high, fringed leather moccasin leggings. Some wore off-white or tan cotton trousers tied off just above the leggings while other warriors wore only a breechcloth covered by a front and back apron.

About half the warriors wore long-sleeved, muted color shirts while the remainder wore no shirt; however, all appeared to be wearing a vest of either deerskin or fabric. In addition, each Apache wore a wide headband of red cloth, restraining shoulder-length or longer black hair.

Without exception, streaks of red and yellow war paint decorated each warrior's face.

The Apaches were silent and as motionless as statues.

Lieutenant Wheeler continued his evaluation, weighing the tactical implications before him. He quickly noted that the mesa was about three-hundred feet square. He considered that favorable in that his dragoons would have maneuvering room on horseback, if needed. He also could see that the Apaches had their backs to within thirty feet or so of the eastern bluff-edge and the one-hundred foot drop to the bosque of thick mesquite and undergrowth that led some eighty yards farther to the Rio Chama River.

The lieutenant considered the positioning of the warriors to be favorable to him and a mistake on the part of White Wolf, denying the Apaches an escape route except over the steep, riverside bluff.

By the same token, a part of the lieutenant at once admired but continued troubled by the Apache line that stretched one-hundred and fifty feet in the north-south direction because it had an air of military precision calculated to spread out the dragoons, giving a combat advantage in close quarters to the more nimble afoot Apaches verses the horse-mounted dragoons.

In addition, although the lieutenant could not know it at the time, his impression that White Wolf had made a tactical mistake by having no escape route for his warriors was the lieutenant's mistake, not White Wolf's. White Wolf had indeed considered the possibilities, and because he knew the mesa better than his adversary, and because his warriors were not encumbered by horses, White Wolf knew his warriors could, if need be, scramble down the bluff-edge and escape through the Rio Chama bosque to their waiting horses.

But, as remarkable to Lieutenant Wheeler as the arrayed Apaches warriors were, what was even more remarkable to him was the single, solitary Apache kneeling ten paces in front and center of the Apache line.

The lieutenant knew that Apache had to be White Wolf.

White Wolf, too, had a musket or perhaps one of the US Army's newer Sharps rifles — from the distance, Lieutenant Wheeler was not sure. However, in the same disciplined military manner as the war painted Apache warriors to White Wolf's rear, White Wolf had his rifle's butt to the ground, barrel pointed up, as he and his warriors stared at the lieutenant some one-hundred and seventy feet distant.

Despite the distance, Lieutenant Wheeler could also see White Wolf's war paint.

Deep inside the lieutenant, a twinge of doubt about the wisdom of engaging White Wolf on what was clearly White Wolf's turf began to trouble the lieutenant, but, again, as before and for the same reasons, the lieutenant suppressed the warning. Anyhow, he was committed.

A solitary crow flew over the mesa raucously commenting on the scene below, the cawing sounding ominous.

A small dust devil danced in the middle of the mesa for a few seconds and then vanished.

The silence on top of the mesa was deafening.

The lieutenant, completing his evaluation of the situation, quietly passed an order to the first sergeant. As the lieutenant's and the first sergeant's instruction rippled down the single file of mounted dragoons still on the trail, he urged his horse forward in a slow walk. The mounted dragoons followed, each cresting the top of the mesa with their Model 1851 Sharps rifles removed from their scabbards, as they had just been instructed to do, barrels pointed skyward, each rifle butt resting on the dragoon's right thigh.

As each dragoon crested, they smartly alternated right and left so that two dragoons at a time were circling in from opposite directions to take up position, again, as instructed, twenty paces in front of an Apache counterpart.

Had another overflight by a crow occurred then, it would have seen a one-hundred and fifty foot line of kneeling Apaches fronted, one-for-one, by a parallel one-hundred and fifty foot line of mounted dragoons separated from the Apache line by no more than twenty paces.

While his dragoons were taking up position, Lieutenant Wheeler and Kit Carson remained mounted and slow-walked their horses to meet White Wolf in the middle of the two opposing lines.

As the two closed the distance to within fifteen feet, Kit Carson dismounted and, leading his pinto, walked the couple of paces to the kneeling White Wolf while the lieutenant remained mounted.

Carson knelt down on one knee, facing White Wolf and slightly to White Wolf's right, separated by five feet. Carson and White Wolf exchanged greetings in the Apache language and universal sign of greeting.

Carson and White Wolf completed their greetings and looked expectantly at Lieutenant Wheeler.

Lieutenant Wheeler cocked his head back slightly and tilted his chin up, giving the impression he was looking down his nose in that universal expression of distain — and that's exactly the way White Wolf interpreted it.

To compound the tense situation, not only did the lieutenant not speak a greeting, the lieutenant breached protocol by not dismounting and mirroring the kneeling posture of White Wolf — a mirroring customarily done as a courtesy acknowledgment by the main participants to show equality of rank and authority, real or imagined, in a face-to-face parley.

White Wolf and Kit Carson exchanged glances. White Wolf was angry and confused by the breach of protocol. Carson looked up at Lieutenant Wheeler as if the lieutenant had lost his mind.

The lieutenant indeed did seem to have his mind elsewhere. Seemingly oblivious to the gravity of the situation and the mounting tension, the lieutenant was lost in thought as he took stock of White Wolf.

So this is the feared Apache butcher, Lieutenant Wheeler said to himself, not impressed by the swarthy figure of the Apache of undeterminable age and diminutive size whose black eyes blazed with obvious contempt for the lieutenant.

Adding fuel to the tense situation, White Wolf and his warriors interpreted the display of the rifles by the dragoons as a sign of distrust, whereas White Wolf could not see the other side of the coin that Lieutenant Wheeler interpreted the display of Apache rifles as a threat and attempt at intimidation.

Unfortunately, the situation was further aggravated by the lieutenant's failure to understand that the Apache display of rifles was simply one of practicality from White Wolf's perspective — his warriors, unlike the dragoons, had no scabbards for their rifles, and hand-carried them everywhere, all the time. In that sense, the Apache rifles were as much a part of the Apaches as their moccasins or headbands.

The parley was not starting well. Nevertheless, perhaps in deference to Kit Carson whom the Apaches, like most tribes, held in high regard, White Wolf spoke to Carson, expressing a desire to begin the parley.

White Wolf was reasonably fluent in English and understood it as well; however, his status as a leader among his people dictated that when conducting official business, he must speak Apache and be spoken to in Apache; therefore, Kit Carson translated Apache into English for the benefit of the lieutenant, and translated English into Apache for the benefit of White Wolf.

And so the parley began. White Wolf initiated the discussion with a long and earnest string of Apache to Carson. Carson translated White Wolf's words to Lieutenant Wheeler. The lieutenant remained silent and impassive astride his horse. Although the trio's conversation was not audible to either the line of Apaches or the line of opposing dragoons, every person on the mesa top — dragoon and Apache — felt the tension in the air.

~~~

Kevin and Curt, along with Corporal Yates had remained with the pack mules at the point where the zigzag trail had broaden out as it entered the mesa top.

All three had a commanding view of the two opposing forces who were separated by twenty paces; one force, the Apaches, kneeling, rifles at their sides, barrels pointed skyward, and the other force, the dragoons, mounted on horseback, rifle butts on right thighs, barrels pointed skyward.

All three also had a commanding view of the kneeling White Wolf and Kit Carson. The lieutenant was less visible because one of the dragoons and his horse was blocking the view of the lieutenant.

~~~

The parley had been going on for only a couple of minutes when White Wolf suddenly swung his rifle in the direction of the lieutenant and fired a shot.

What precipitated White Wolf's sudden action, according to a later account by Kit Carson, was Lieutenant Wheeler's first and only words to White Wolf to the effect that the lieutenant had no interest in parley and was instead placing White Wolf and his warriors under immediate arrest. Before Carson could say a word, White Wolf's understanding of spoken English proved more than adequate to prompt a White Wolf preemptive rifle shot at the lieutenant.

White Wolf's reaction and sudden movement did not take the lieutenant by surprise because simultaneously with White Wolf's movement, the lieutenant, with cat-like reflexes, jerked his reins and leaned forward behind his horse's neck for protection. As the lieutenant's horse reared and as the lieutenant ducked behind his horse's neck, White Wolf's rifle shot went whizzing by the lieutenant's left ear, instantly followed by the lieutenant's drawn pistol firing and wounding White Wolf, who then rolled in front of the lieutenant's horse. The horse reared to avoid stepping on White Wolf, which in turn caused the lieutenant's kill shot to go awry.

Mayhem was breaking out all over the mesa top, and the lieutenant, believing discretion the better part of valor at this point, given thirty armed Apaches in front of him, jerked his reins hard right, bent over his saddle, and spurred his horse to the rear of his dragoons, now engaged in a pitch battle with the Apache warriors.

At the same time, Kit Carson was swinging into the saddle of his pinto and then immediately sliding completely off the saddle and hanging on the pinto's neck in classic Indian-style to make as small of a target as possible as he urged his horse to the protection of the line of dragoons who were now charging past Carson in the opposite direction, firing at the kneeling Apaches who were also firing at the charging dragoons.

The mesa was a pandemonium of sounds and sights — war whoops from the Apaches and shouts from the dragoons intermingled with gunfire and the phffffft sound of bullets in the air and the twanging of ricochets.

The first rush of the dragoons had taken them past the kneeling Apaches and near to the bluff-edge where they wheeled around, but were suddenly at a disadvantage. To continue to use the single-shot Sharps, each dragoon would have to open the rifle's breech, open his ammunition pouch, grab a paper-wrapped .52 caliber cartridge from the pouch, insert the cartridge into the breech, close the breech, and place a new percussion cap on the nipple, aim, and fire.

Although a dragoon, trained as an infantryman, could reload and shoot the Model 1851 Sharps five to six times per minute when on the ground, to accomplish the same reloading task on a nervous and twitching horse in the heat and confusion of battle was too time consuming.

So, after the initial rush through the kneeling Apaches, most of the dragoons realized that their rifle was not the weapon to use to continue the fight — the lieutenant's early order to display the rifles failed to take into account their disadvantage in a close quarters firefight when there would be a need to reload quickly.

Most of the dragoons took precious time — and several paid for that time with their life or a wound — to replace their rifles in their scabbards, and instead draw their .44 caliber Colt Dragoon, six-shot revolvers or their Model 1840 Dragoon Sabers and charge back, firing and slashing away through the few remaining Apaches who had not otherwise scattered.

During the mêlée, Kevin saw eight or ten dragoons fall from their horses, obviously killed or wounded. He also saw an equal number of Apaches sprawled motionless or writhing in the dirt of the mesa top.

In a matter of less than three minutes, the battle was over, climaxed by a dragoon giving the coup de grâce to a several times wounded White Wolf; the remaining Apaches long gone over the riverside of the mesa to their horses hidden in the Rio Chama bosque below.

~~~

The acrid-sweet smell and bluish haze of gun smoke settled over the mesa.

Given the noise of gunfire, shouts of attack, cries of pain, and the general chaos of battle moments before, the mesa was now strangely quiet.

Kevin was shocked by what he had seen. He turned to say something to Corporal Yates, but the corporal disintegrated — seemed simply to melt — before Kevin's eyes.

Kevin turned to face Curt, but Curt and his horse were receding into the distance, floating in mid-air and becoming ever smaller.

Kevin then experienced the sensation of spirally down, down, down, into a black bottomless vortex. He felt nothing. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. Then the falling and swirling slowed and came to a halt. He felt suspended in a space of nothingness.

Far, far off in the distance was a pinpoint of light. Kevin seemed to be drawing closer and closer to the light. In milliseconds, light surrounded Kevin.

Kevin tried to open his eyes to see the light, but try as he might, his eyes would not open.

It was at that moment that Kevin heard and recognized a familiar voice, "Kevin... Kevin... Can you hear me?"

"Dad...?"

And then blackness returned.

# Chapter Twelve

### The Hospital

"Kevin... Kevin... Can you hear me?"

Kevin lay comatose on the hospital bed on the eighteenth day of his hospitalization as his father held his hand and repeated the plea for what seemed like the ten-thousandth time since that heart-wrenching morning when he saw his son for the first time after eight hours of emergency surgery — surgery that lasted into the early morning hours.

# Chapter Thirteen

### The Accident

Standing more than twenty feet up the rock face at the cave entrance, Curt had, in a sickening moment of realization of what was about to happen, watched in horror as he saw Kevin simultaneously lose his handhold as his foot slipped on that same narrow ledge that had bedeviled Curt minutes before.

Curt shouted, "No!" and he went numb in unbelief as he saw Kevin fall backward and hit the hard ground some twelve feet below at the base of the rock with an audible whomp and a puff of dusty gravel. Kevin landed on his back; Curt saw Kevin's head snap back with the force of the fall and smack the ground hard, the John Deere cap falling askew.

Curt immediately knew that Kevin was hurt and hurt badly because Kevin neither moved nor moaned.

"Kevin! Kevin! You okay?" shouted Curt as he scrambled with both a sense of urgency and a sense of extra care down the face of the rock — it would do neither of them any good if he, too, was hurt, he instinctively knew.

In a matter of seconds, Curt was kneeling at Kevin's side. Kevin's eyes were closed; his breathing shallow; his coloring, pale. A small amount of blood trickled from Kevin's nose and from his right ear.

Curt evaluated Kevin's condition quickly. In a strange way, Curt seemed to transition into another emotional gear — a feeling that he was outside himself, watching another person attend to his friend.

Curt remembered basic first aid from his Boy Scout days: stop the bleeding; protect the wound; prevent shock. With that knowledge, Curt gently raised Kevin's head to see if there was a wound at the back of Kevin's head. Yes, there was a wound — Kevin's hair was matted with blood but the bleeding from the back of Kevin's head was minimal. However, Curt's concerned reached a new level when he saw that the ground where Kevin's head had struck was less gravel than it was unforgiving solid rock — with a smattering of blood on the pebbly gray and black surface.

Curt gently lowered Kevin's head.

Curt unsnapped his canteen cover and removed his handkerchief from his back pocket. Removing the canteen and unscrewing the cap, Curt wetted the handkerchief and mopped Kevin's brow.

"Kevin! Kevin! Wake up! Can you hear me? Kevin? Kevin?"

But Kevin remained motionless, eyes closed.

Suddenly, Kevin mumbled something that sounded to Curt like a name — it sounded like "Lou Tenant" and then Kevin, becoming increasingly agitated, said, "H-o-r-s-e-s..." drawn out and slowly. Then he said, "Funny feather," and then something that sounded to Curt like "Oh, malady," before Kevin's words trailed off with unintelligible mumbling and he became silent.

Curt noted Kevin's shallow, albeit, rhythmic breathing, but Curt also sensed the situation with his friend was dire. Curt wetted the handkerchief one more time, folded it in quarters, and raised Kevin's head and placed the handkerchief on the rock to act as best of a cushion as Curt could fashion at the moment. He then gently lowered Kevin's head.

The day turned suddenly darker as a near-black cloud obscured the sun. The splat of dozens of giant raindrops added to Curt's anxiety; however, within seconds, the rain stopped and the sun reemerged, but the afternoon was waning and more rain could come, and within hours, it would be dark.

Curt needed to make decisions quickly and he sensed that each decision carried the weight of life and death for Kevin.

Curt silently prayed for Kevin and guidance and wisdom for himself.

Although the weather had been typically moderate at their estimated eight-thousand foot elevation with temperatures in the upper sixties, Curt knew that as the sun began to set, the mountain would turn cold with nighttime temperatures in the upper forties.

With that knowledge and the need to prevent Kevin from going into shock, Curt took off his nylon windbreaker draped it over Kevin's upper body. Next, Curt rummaged in both day-hiking backpacks and removed their respective plastic raincoats — the $1.99 specials the two had bought at the Walmart sporting goods section the previous Saturday. Curt thought, How ironic. On Saturday when we were at the army surplus store, we considered buying the heavy, rubberized military ponchos, but then thought better of it because of the weight, settling instead for the Walmart lightweight plastic raincoats. Now I could use a poncho.

Curt draped first one and then the other raincoat over Kevin, covering him from the neck down. Curt quickly tucked the excess plastic gently under Kevin to keep the raincoats secured from any potential wind gusts and to keep Kevin as dry as possible if it rained.

Curt knew it was a fruitless gesture, but he pulled out his cell phone anyway and turned it on. He had no bars — no cell phone signal. He had to get help! Kevin was badly hurt. Curt sensed that Kevin could die without prompt medical help, but how could he get Kevin the help he needed? He turned off his cell phone. There was no choice — Curt knew he had to get back down the mountain as quickly as he could and as close to the highway and civilization as he could in order to get a cell phone signal and be able to call 911. Then it hit him: His GPS receiver! He couldn't call anyone, but he realized he needed to mark this location so a search and rescue team — or perhaps, yes! perhaps, a rescue helicopter! — using GPS tracking could find Kevin.

Curt retrieved his GPS receiver from his pocket and turned it on. He saw the receiver recognize six satellites. Good! Curt toggled the receiver to Mark and saw N35.4843.54 and W106.3817.19 as his location at an elevation of 8,252 feet. He entered the information as a new Waypoint. In the Waypoint's Notes, he simply entered the letter "K."

Next, Curt wanted to know how far he was from the meadow where Pastor Ken had dropped off the two what now seemed like an eternity ago; he knew he would have a cell phone signal there.

He toggled to Waypoints and scrolled to select the "Pick Up" Waypoint he had entered into his receiver on that Monday morning that held so much promise of fun and adventure but had now turned tragic. In the box on the receiver labeled From Current Location, he noted that he was 7.22 miles from where Kevin's father had dropped them off.

He selected the receiver's Map feature and a screen popped up showing Curt as an elongated triangle and the "Pick Up" destination — the pick-up meadow— as a flag. He knew from experience that the triangle would move with the apex end pointed in the direction Curt was headed. He also knew the GPS map's 7.22 miles was a straight line distance between where he was now and the Pick Up location — a straight line that he could not follow because he was obligated to stick to the trail he and Kevin had used on the first day, otherwise he could end up in a box canyon, lost, or worse, himself hurt.

He glanced at his wristwatch: 4:27PM. He quickly calculated how much time it would take for him to run the 7.22 plus miles downhill at a quick jog, knowing he had to be careful not to build up too much downhill momentum and risk a fall on any of the steeper downhill portions. I'll bet I can do it in under two hours — by seven o'clock, for sure. I have to; there is no choice. Kevin needs help now!

Curt also remembered that the sun had been setting a few minutes after 8:00PM each camping evening. Would daylight run out for rescuers? Could rescuers get to Kevin in time? In the dark?

Curt put his GPS receiver in his shirt pocket and snapped the pocket closed. He took a long drink of water out of one of his canteens — he knew he had to stay hydrated for the run. He placed his canteen back into the felt-lined cover, snapped the flaps closed, and grabbed his mini-backpack that he intended to drop at the fork in the trail as a marker.

Next, he knelt down next to his ominously still and unresponsive friend. He took Kevin's hand, and with a reassuring squeeze, said, "I'm going now to get help, my brother. Hang in there!" and then he prayed, "Dear God. Kevin loves you so much. He's badly hurt. Be with him. Keep him safe. Please keep him alive. Please give me the strength for what I need to do. In Jesus Name, I ask this. Amen."

One more reassuring squeeze and Curt gently placed Kevin's hand and arm under the layers of windbreakers and raincoats. A tear trickled down Curt's cheek. He brushed the tear away with the back of his right hand as he stood up, a look of determination on his face.

He began a brisk jog, compromising between speed, endurance, and safety.

# Chapter Fourteen

### Rescue

Curt broke out of the stand of Gambel oaks at the meadow trailhead where the adventure, now turned tragic, had started five days before. He dropped to one knee, unsnapped his shirt pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He turned it on. Three bars! He punched in the numbers.

"Nine One One. What is your emergency?"

Curt heard the 9-1-1 system's "beep" indicating the call was being recorded.

"My friend is hurt. We're in the Jemez Mountains."

"What is your friend's injury?"

"We were climbing a rock and he fell. He hit the ground... he hit his head on the ground... and didn't move."

"Are you with him now?"

(Beep.)

"No! No! He's way up on the mountain!"

"Where are you?"

"I'm close to Highway 4... in a meadow... I had to come down the mountain to here to get my cell phone to work... to get any bars."

"Is the meadow a large meadow?"

(Beep.)

"It's... it's about the size of a football field... maybe bigger."

"Can you be more precise about where you are right now?"

Yes. I can give you my GPS coordinates."

"Please give me those coordinates now."

"North 35.4704.57 and West 106.4043.36."

(Beep.)

The 9-1-1 operator repeated the coordinates and Curt confirmed.

"Do you have coordinates for the location of the injured party?"

"Yes. North 35.4843.54 and West 106.3817.19. Elevation 8,252 feet."

(Beep.)

The 9-1-1 operator repeated the coordinates and Curt confirmed.

"Your name, please."

"Curt. Curt Williams."

"The injured party's name?"

(Beep.)

"Kevin... Kevin Miller. We're from Albuquerque. Please hurry."

"Please stand by. Do not hang up."

About sixty seconds passed and Curt was getting anxious about the delay when the 9-1-1 operator came back on and said, "Sir, a New Mexico National Guard helicopter with a paramedic aboard should arrive at your location in approximately twenty minutes. Be prepared to board the helicopter and help direct the crew to the injured party's location. Do you understand what I have said?"

(Beep.)

"Yes. Twenty minutes. Board the helicopter. I understand. And thank you."

"You are welcomed. Good luck."

~~~

Curt would later say that he could not recall but two or three moments of his run back to the meadow where Pastor Ken had dropped off him and Kevin five days before. He said he had no conscious sensation of distance, time, or fatigue during the run. Instead, he had mentally and emotionally placed himself next to Kevin, holding Kevin's hand, praying. He would say, yes, he did remember the 9-1-1 call and the helicopter, but for the most part during the ordeal, it was as if he was outside of his normal self, and God had given him a special strength.

~~~

Curt terminated the call but left his cell phone on. He glanced at his wristwatch for the first time since arriving in the meadow. The time was 6:52PM.

He dreaded his next call but he knew he had to make it. He speed dialed Kevin's home phone number and was thankful that Kevin's father, not his mother, answered on the third ring. Curt explained what had happened and that help was on the way. Pastor Ken asked only one question: "How bad is it?" and Curt could only answer truthfully, "I don't know, sir. He hit pretty hard," and then Curt said something that surprised himself because it was something he would not have said just two days ago, "We can only pray."

Pastor Ken, surprisingly calm but with a certain tightness in his voice said, "I agree. Do you know where they will take him?"

"No, I don't know, but as soon as I find out, I'll call you," and with those words Curt heard a distant whump-whump-whump of a helicopter. "I got to go. The helicopter's coming. I'll call. Pray."

"Thank you, Curt. God be with you... and Kevin."

Curt ran to the middle of the meadow and began waving his arms as the New Mexico Air National Guard Blackhawk UH-60A helicopter came into view a couple of hundred feet above the scrub juniper and piñion trees at the south end of the meadow.

Curt backed away from the center of the meadow as the Blackhawk lowered, nosed up, hovered, and then settled into a soft landing, stirring up and blowing out to the side of the rotor wash an amazing amount of dead grass, dust, and other debris.

The crew chief was standing at the large side door, motioning Curt to come aboard. Curt ran to the beckoning crew chief who gave Curt a hand and hoisted him into the craft. The crew chief plopped a helmet on Curt's head and all of a sudden the whine of the turbines and the whump-whump of the main rotor lessened and gave way to a voice inside the helmet— the crew chief's voice — directing and pointing Curt to a jumpseat next to the door.

"Buckle up," hollered the crew chief, and as Curt fumbled and figured out and finally buckled the four-point harness, he felt the vibration of the machine increase and heard even through the noise dampening helmet the turbines pitch higher and the whump-whump of the main rotor increasing. The next thing Curt knew it felt like his stomach was still on the ground as the Blackhawk leapt into the sky.

"Welcome on board, Mr. Williams. I'm Major Anderson, and I'm driving this bird. I've got the GPS coordinates for your friend. Do you think we'll be able to land there?"

"No, sir. There's no clear area where he's hurt."

"No problem, son. We'll hover and use our hoist to get him onboard. Crew Chief, ready the hoist and basket. Sergeant Zimmer, you'll go down on the hoist with the Stokes, do your paramedic thing, and get the patient in the basket for medevac. Everybody clear?"

Curt heard a chorus of yes sirs in his helmet.

"We'll be there in five. Standby," Major Anderson said.

~~~

One-hundred and twenty feet above Kevin and only sixty feet above the black outcropping of rock from which Kevin had fallen, the Blackhawk hovered as Sergeant Zimmer and a Stokes basket were lowered by cable within four feet of comatose Kevin.

Sergeant Zimmer immediately checked Kevin's vital signs and lifted each eyelid to check pupil dilation and hemorrhaging. He next fitted a cervical collar around Kevin's neck and requested more slack in the hoist from the crew chief. Gaining the slack, Sergeant Zimmer moved the Stokes next to Kevin and gently but efficiently maneuvered Kevin into the basket and strapped him in securely. Sergeant Zimmer then signaled the crew chief to reel up the basket containing Kevin. Several minutes later, Kevin safely onboard, the crew chief once again lowered the cable and Sergeant Zimmer hooked himself to it and gave the signal to hoist him aboard.

Once Sergeant Zimmer was onboard, Major Anderson swung the nose of the Blackhawk in a southwesterly direction while applying maximum power. The pitch of the turbines increased dramatically as the helicopter tilted in slight nose-down attitude and began to climb rapidly to clear the nearby nine-thousand foot saddle between it and Albuquerque and the medical help that Kevin so desperately needed.

Curt looked at unconscious and too pale Kevin. Curt closed his eyes and silently prayed for his friend.

~~~

Curt's prayer was interrupted by the crew chief saying, "You and your friend are lucky, young man. We're out of Santa Fe but we were on a training mission to the Grants area and had just cut south of the Jemez Pueblo when we got the request to divert, otherwise it might have taken a crew an hour or more to get to you."

"Thank you, sir. Where... where are we headed?"

"Sergeant Zimmer talked to the pilot after he checked your friend and recommended the University of New Mexico Trauma Center. It's the only Level One trauma center in the State."

The crew chief did not have to say more; Curt understood that the destination meant that Kevin's condition was indeed serious.

"May I make a cell phone call while we're in the air?" asked Curt.

Major Anderson cut in, "Probably not a good idea, son. You'd have to take your helmet off and I think the noise would be too great for you to hear or for the called party to hear. Know what I mean, son?"

Curt replied, "Yes, sir. I understand."

"We'll be at the hospital landing pad in twenty-six minutes. You can call then. Okay, son?"

"Yes, sir."

~~~

It was only during the flight to the hospital trauma center in the Blackhawk that Curt, adrenaline wearing off, realized the heel of his left boot was missing and his left ankle was throbbing with pain.

~~~

Exactly twenty-six minutes later, the Blackhawk was settling down on the rooftop helipad at the University of New Mexico Trauma Center.

As the Blackhawk's turbines spun down and the main rotor slowed, Curt unbuckled and jumped to the ground, momentarily forgetting his painful left ankle only to be reminded in an instant by the shock of his left foot contacting the ground.

Zimmer and the crew chief along with the trauma center medical staff quickly maneuvered the Stokes basket containing Kevin from the helicopter onto the hospital's wheeled gurney. As Curt watched, the medical team rushed Kevin through the hospital's large sliding glass double doors, quickly disappearing down a brilliantly lit hospital corridor.

Curt limped painfully toward the entrance and then remembered his promise to call Kevin's father. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and speed dialed Pastor Ken. As he did so, waiting for his call to be answered, he turn and faced east and, despite all that had transpired in the past few hours, marveled at God's palette of pink splashed on the Sandia Mountains east of Albuquerque as the sun began to set in the west.

Curt glanced at his wristwatch — it was 7:57PM. Has it only been three and half hours since I left Kevin's side on the mountain and began my run to the meadow? Curt asked himself. It seemed like an eternity ago.

Images of the events of the past three and one-half hours flitted through Curt's memory banks. Curt remembered that his cowboy hat blew off just after he rounded that large boulder below the fork where the trail made the sharp right turn onto one of the steeper parts of the trail. Well, my hat's a loss, and we left a lot of things up there, mused Curt. All our camping gear — tent, sleeping bags, backpacks, fishing gear, even Kevin's rifle, but that stuff can be replaced. Getting Kevin help is what mattered.

On the fourth ring, Kevin's father answered.

"Pastor Ken, Curt here. Kevin's at the University of New Mexico Hospital Trauma Center. That's the hospital on Lomas Boulevard..." said Curt, but before he could continue, Pastor Ken cut in and said, "I know. I made some calls and found out that they'd more than likely bring Kevin here. I'm here. Look behind you."

Curt turned from the pink-hued Sandias and saw Pastor Ken standing at the hospital's sliding glass double doors. Curt limped the thirty feet to Pastor Ken, and they embraced, each overwhelmed with emotion. Curt, voice tight with emotion, said, "I'm sorry... so, so sorry."

Breaking the embrace, Pastor Ken, tears streaming and looking like he had aged twenty years since Curt last saw him five days ago, simply said, "Nothing's your fault. You've done everything you could. It's in God's hands." Then Pastor Ken said, "You're hurt. Here, let me give you an arm to lean on. Let's see if we can get you some medical help."

Curt was awestruck. This man's son is seriously injured, probably being prepped for critical brain surgery at this very moment, and the man is concerned about my bum ankle? Incredible.

# Chapter Fifteen

### The Transition

Kevin died on the twenty-first day following the accident. Actually "died" is a misnomer. Kevin, as a born-again Christian, simply transitioned from his earthly life to his heavenly life on that twenty-first day.

Medical complications had set in three days before Kevin's transition as Kevin's major organs began shutting down. The medical staff performed heroic measures, including two additional surgeries, but the consequences of prolonged intracranial pressures, low blood pressure, and hypoxia took their toll.

When it became obvious that Kevin's condition was deteriorating and no miracle would be forthcoming, the sadness of Pastor Ken and Kevin's mother was palpable. Their collective tearful demeanor was not only heart wrenching but at the same time they exhibited a peace and confidence about their son that baffled many of the staff, in turn, allowing both parents to witness to all that God has His purposes and that although we may not understand those purposes, the Bible says that all things work together for good to those who love God.

Some otherwise well-meaning persons whispered after Kevin's passing that perhaps God had not listened to the prayers for Kevin's healing. When Pastor Ken became aware of such sentiment, he was quick to point out that Kevin was indeed healed, the recipient of ultimate healing. Pastor Ken would often add that even the fall of a sparrow does not happen except by God's will, the clear lesson being that Kevin's transition was not without God's knowledge and was indeed part of God's sovereign will and purpose, adding, "One day, we'll understand."

~~~

And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28 NKJV

~~~

Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father's will. Matthew 10:29 NKJV

~~~

For now we see in a mirror, dimly... Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. 1 Corinthians 13:12 NKJV

~~~

On a sunshine-brilliant morning under a classic New Mexico turquoise sky, family and friends attended graveside services for Kevin at Canyon Memorial Gardens in the foothills of the Sandia Mountains east of Albuquerque.

Pastor Ken, not emotionally up to the task of presiding over his son's funeral, had asked his father-in-law, the elderly Reverend "Gus" Gustafson to leave his church in Midland, Texas, for a week to assist in the funeral plans, lead the services, and lend spiritual support to his daughter, Kevin's mother, and to his son-in-law, Pastor Ken.

Curt drove his family's second car and was the first to arrive at the gravesite. Curt noted ten empty folding chairs were set back some eight feet from the near edge of the grave and aligned parallel to the grave. The whole of the immediate area had a ground cover of multiple blankets of green artificial turf.

Within minutes, other people began to arrive. Soon a couple of dozen or more people had gathered in groups of two, three, and four, conversing quietly. Many of the people simply wandered around the gravesite, lost in their own thoughts; handling their grief the best they could.

Kevin's parents and Kevin's grandfather, Pastor Gus, arrived. It took the group several minutes to negotiate the outpouring of love from so many. There were tears and hugs aplenty. Finally, Kevin's parents were able to seat themselves on the middle two chairs facing the grave.

A gleaming off-white hearse arrived and parked at the curb. The driver and another member of the funeral home staff exited the hearse as a dark blue town car from the funeral home arrived, parked behind the hearse, and two men exited the town car. Two other men, the youth pastor at Pastor Ken's church and Pastor Ken's younger brother, Kevin's uncle, from Las Cruces, who had been standing unobtrusively at the street curbing came over and joined the four.

The hearse driver opened the rear door of the hearse. The six men expertly and with due respect removed the polished bronze casket containing the empty tent — the body — that once contained Kevin. The six then carried the casket the one-hundred or so feet from the hearse to the grave where they placed the casket on the rollers and support straps of the lowering mechanism immediately above the grave.

Curt noted that the funeral home staff had done their job well earlier in the morning because the canopied gravesite was overflowing with bouquets and sprays of greenery-enhanced and ribboned chrysanthemums, gladiolus, carnations, roses, and lilies, mostly in the traditional white color but many in more emotionally uplifting colors like pink, red, and yellow.

A single row of a dozen or more floral displays bordered the grave and casket in front of the seated family and friends. Of special note within the row was a large bouquet of ivory white snapdragons and pink daisy chrysanthemums with a single red rose tucked in the middle. The card was signed simply "Megan."

Curt's floral tribute was a standing spray on an easel near the head of the casket. The spray was resplendent with white orchids and orange lilies accented with greenery and featuring a matching orange ribbon imprinted "Brother" in gold script.

Finally, a simple but elegantly beautiful casket spray — more like a floral blanket — containing an astonishing number of red and white roses accented in greenery covered virtually the entire top of the casket. A wide, white, diagonally placed, satin ribbon said, "Beloved Son."

~~~

Heavy-jowled and stooped shouldered Pastor Gus, looking every bit his seventy-seven years, led the group in opening prayer, his sonorous voice thanking God for the time that each of the mourners had with Kevin before Kevin was "called home" to be with Jesus.

Pastor Gus ended the prayer and then began to explain to the assemblage that we have three great enemies in our earthly life: sin, Satan, and death. He went on to say that because Jesus Christ rose from the dead, "...we know that sin and death and Satan have been defeated. And, because Jesus conquered death, we know — as Kevin knew and is now experiencing — there is life after death — Jesus proved it."

Pastor Gus said that we should take great comfort in knowing that when we belong to Jesus — as Kevin knew he did — we need not fear death because Jesus said, as recorded in the Gospel of John, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die."

Pastor Gus continued, "And, of course, Jesus was speaking about the gift of eternal life that one gains when the person commits to Jesus Christ, confesses and repents of their sin, and asks Jesus into their life as Lord and Savior."

Pastor Gus said, "Kevin had gained the gift of eternal life four years ago by doing exactly that. We have the confidence because of our faith in Jesus Christ that Kevin, right this moment, walks hand-in-hand with Jesus, Kevin's Savior.

"Yes, although you see tears this morning as we commit the mortal body of Kevin to the grave, unlike non-believers, our tears are not tears of irreconcilable loss or tears of fear of death or tears of no hope. No, instead, our tears as believers are tears of sadness for ourselves, not for Kevin because we know he is not lost. No! Kevin is not lost. We believers know exactly where Kevin is at this moment. And we have the unshakeable confidence and faith that one day we will join Kevin in Heaven, and, like Kevin at this moment, be in the glorious presence of Jesus, our Savior. Amen!"

~~~

Jesus said..., "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live.  And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die. John 11:25-26 NKJV

~~~

At the end of the gravesite service, Pastor Gus announced that Pastor Ken's church would be hosting a celebration of Kevin's life at noon and that all were welcome to attend.

An hour and twenty minutes later, after everyone was seated in the church sanctuary, Pastor Gus took to the pulpit and began the celebration of Kevin's life with prayer. In his prayer, Pastor Gus thanked God for the Holy Spirit and the Holy Spirit's role as Comforter to believers during times of grieving.

~~~

But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all things that I said to you. Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. John 14:26-27 NKJV

~~~

After the prayer, Pastor Gus began a tribute to Kevin, his deep voice resonating with tightly held emotion. "We can take solace, even joy, in knowing that Kevin rests today in the bosom of his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Yes, it is a bittersweet time. It is bitter because we no longer have the companionship of our son, our grandson, our nephew, our friend.

"An hour ago, we committed Kevin's earthly 'tent' — that temporary abode for the soul — that mortal vessel called a body — to the ground. And, although there were tears at the gravesite, all believers who attended remembered that the apostle Paul used the tent analogy, saying that we will one day exchange our mortal tent for a building — yes, like the tent, an analogy, a 'building' called life eternal in the heavens.

"Yes, it is a bittersweet time. But the 'sweet' of the bittersweet is that we know Kevin is in his new building in heaven.

"The apostle Paul said it well in his second letter to the church at Corinth when he wrote in chapter five, beginning with verse one:

'For we know that if our earthly house, this tent, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this we groan, earnestly desiring to be clothed with our habitation which is from heaven, if indeed, having been clothed, we shall not be found naked. For we who are in this tent groan, being burdened, not because we want to be unclothed, but further clothed, that mortality may be swallowed up by life. Now He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who also has given us the Spirit as a guarantee. So we are always confident, knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord. For we walk by faith, not by sight. We are confident, yes, well pleased rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord'

"Yes, to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. Kevin experienced that transition from the body to presence with the Lord last Thursday morning when, in an instant, he left his mortal tent — he became absent from his body — and in that same instant took on his new building of immortality — eternal life — and was immediately in the presence of the Lord. That's what Scripture tells us. That's what we believe. That's why the sweet of the bittersweet is also a healing balm, a comfort, and an assurance — an assurance that one day we who also believe will once again be united with Kevin in glory land — in the presence of Jesus Christ, our Savior.

"Notice that the Apostle Paul stated that God has given us the Holy Spirit as a guarantee. A guarantee that that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. Paul says that because of that guarantee, we should always be confident and walk by faith. Because we do walk — wrapped in the Holy Spirit's guarantee and in confidence and in faith — we today celebrate Kevin's life.

"I hope that my words this afternoon have been a comfort, and I pray that you will feel the Holy Spirit within your spirit assuring you — comforting you — that Kevin indeed lives, not just in our hearts, but this very moment in heaven in the presence of Jesus Christ, Kevin's Lord and Savior.

"Finally, I would be remiss in Kevin's memory; indeed I am sure I would be remiss in his wishes if he were here, if I did not offer those of you who do not know Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior— if I did not offer you an opportunity to know Jesus and to receive the gift of eternal life.

"If your spirit is troubled and if you do not have the confidence, the assurance, that if you died today — if you left your tent today — that you would be instantly in heaven, please, please, see me this afternoon. We will be able to retire to a private room within the church where I'll be most happy to explain to you how you can receive the gift of eternal life and experience Jesus as your Savior. Know this: Jesus loves you and he is standing at your heart's door, knocking, waiting for you to open the door and let him come into your heart and life.

~~~

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. John 3:16 NKJV

~~~

Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him... Revelation 3:20 NKJV

~~~

"At this time, several family and friends would like to pay tribute to the memory of Kevin."

And, with those words, Kevin's grandfather, emotionally and physically spent, turned from the pulpit and slowly walked to a large, upholstered, wood-framed chair on the side of the dais and sat down heavily. As Pastor Gus did so, Kevin's father and mother stood from their seats in the front row of the sanctuary and walked to the pulpit.

Kevin's father stood silently at his familiar pulpit with his head bowed for a long moment. He then placed his right arm around the waist of Kevin's mother and drew her close. He raised his head, eyes glistening, and viewed family and friends in the audience. He began to speak, barely able to control his emotions, thanking those in attendance for their love and support. He reiterated the essence of what Kevin's grandfather had said and the confidence and comfort that he and Kevin's mother had in knowing their son was a born-again believer and where Kevin was at that very moment — in the loving arms of his Savior. He then spoke about Kevin and the blessing that Kevin had been, citing several poignant events in Kevin's life as examples. At the remembrance of those examples, Kevin's mother, face composed but drawn, laid her left cheek on her husband's chest, tears freely flowing.

A half-dozen others, including one of Kevin's high school teachers and including Megan, also offered eulogies.

The last to speak was Curt. Seated in the front row of the sanctuary, Curt stood, walked to and stepped up onto the dais, and walked to the pulpit. Curt grasped the left and right edges of the top of the lectern, his head hung low as he attempted to compose himself. Finally, he looked up, took a deep breath, and made eye contact with the audience. He began the eulogy with no notes, from the heart.

"My name is Curt. Kevin was..." Curt stopped, looked up to the ceiling of the sanctuary, took a deep, ragged breath, and then lowered his gaze to those seated in the pews, "Kevin is my... my best friend. I use the present tense, because I know he lives because, while on Earth, he believed in Jesus as his Savior and, by believing, the Bible tells me that Kevin had eternal life. So, last Thursday, Kevin simply — as Pastor Gus said at the gravesite — simply transitioned from this life to his new life — life eternal — with Jesus in Heaven.

"I want to tell you about two encounters that Kevin and I had while in the Jemez. Most of you know that Kevin and I were camping in the Jemez — just having a good time hiking and exploring — kind of a way to wrap up our summer vacation before school started up again.

"But, the day before Kevin's accident, well, that day was special. You see, Kevin wanted some time by himself — he'd been reading a lot the past couple of days in the New Testament his dad had given him before we started to hike that first morning.

"So, like I said, he told me he needed some quiet time so he took off from camp, walking upstream from our camping spot we had next to a trout stream.

"Kevin was gone for maybe two hours. I stayed in camp and busied myself whittling on a piece of wood. After a while Kevin came strolling back into camp and I immediately saw something in his face — I don't know how to explain it — but he had like changed. I can't explain it, but I saw it. His eyes had a different — I don't know — call it a different light.

"I didn't know what happened to him, but I could tell, could sense, that something had happened, so I asked him. He explained that he had a spiritual experience — he used the word 'encounter' — he said he had an encounter with God, not in the physical sense but in the spiritual sense — and that encounter, through prayer and reading the New Testament his dad had given him, had persuaded him to follow his father's footsteps in the ministry and preach the good news of Jesus and the eternal life He offers.

"Now, you need to know that just a couple of days before, Kevin and I were talking and he explained a concept that I had never heard before, but a concept that, well, bothered me. Kevin said that his dad had once preached a sermon about something called the God vacuum that exists in each of us. You know, it's... it's that place deep inside each of us where God wants to exist, if we would let Him.

"Well, like I said, that bothered me. It just kind of ate at me. And, thinking back on it, I now know that it was the Holy Spirit working in me to convince me of my need for Jesus as my Savior.

"Anyway, Kevin came into camp a changed man — I knew it; I saw it — and then it hit me: I knew I wanted whatever Kevin had — his joy, his confidence. I wanted his kind of relationship with God — saying it another way, Kevin showed — he displayed — what believing in Jesus was all about."

Kevin paused for several seconds and then, his voice husky with emotion said, "I wanted what Kevin had. I wanted Jesus. I wanted my God vacuum filled. So, right then and there, I asked Kevin to help me have Jesus — receive Jesus into my heart and life. And Kevin did exactly that."

Again, Curt's voice choked with emotion as he said, "Kevin led me to Jesus. Yes, on that afternoon in the Jemez, I, too, had an encounter. My encounter, thanks to Kevin, was with Jesus Christ. Kevin explained the plan of salvation to me and led me in what I have since learned is called 'the sinner's prayer.' Through that prayer, I asked Jesus into my heart and into my life, and my life has not been the same since.

"So, you see, Kevin did follow in his dad's footsteps. Although Kevin would have the accident the next day and not be able to preach to hundreds or thousands, he did, in fact, preach the Gospel — the good news of Jesus Christ — just like his father, except it was to only one person, me. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.

"I'll close by saying that on that special afternoon when Kevin led me to Jesus, Kevin told me that I was now his brother in Christ. I felt that kinship then, and I feel it now."

Tears began to roll down Curt's cheeks.

"I look forward to that day in Heaven when I have two encounters — encounters of happiness and joy so great that I can barely imagine — the first encounter with Jesus, my Savior, and then the second encounter with my brother in the Lord, Kevin."

His voice husky with emotion, tears streaming, Curt said, "After Jesus and I embrace, I know I'll see Kevin, and when I do, I'll embrace him and I'll say, 'We meet again, my brother. This time, forever.' "

Curt released his grip on the lectern, turned, and resumed his seat in the front row of the sanctuary.

Curt's eulogy was the last of the eulogies.

~~~

Pastor Gus stood and walked to the pulpit. "Let us pray." He then thanked God for Kevin and for the time Kevin's loved ones and friends had with him. He thanked God for the Comforter, the Holy Spirit. He thanked God for sending His Son, Jesus, and the gift of eternal life made possible through Jesus. Finally, he asked God to bless the fellowship and food as the celebration of Kevin's life continued.

During Pastor Gus' prayer, the song Precious Memories played softly in the background through the sanctuary's sound system.

With that prayer ending the formal services, a sense of finality swept those attending, and the collective mood gradually transitioned into that unique time of fellowship common to many family and friends following the formal rituals of a funeral.

# Epilogue

### The Mysterious Ways

Curt began his senior year of high school on a Monday, exactly two weeks after Kevin was buried.

Curt's experiences during the waning months of summer had been so marked by the two main events of that summer — Curt's personal encounter with God and Kevin's accident — that his life had taken on a new purpose and a new direction. Unlike his previous school years when he slid by with minimal effort, he bore down and excelled academically with straight A's in all of his classes throughout the year, much to the surprise of his friends, teachers, and counselor.

Curt also contacted his uncle in Alaska and told him that he had changed his mind about doing the salmon counting stint in the Aleutians the following summer, explaining instead that he was going to early enroll in a Bible college, get a degree in theology, and become a pastor.

His uncle expressed surprise and said he could not understand why Curt was passing up such an opportunity that would probably result in a great, well-paying job and career with the Alaska Fish and Game Department. However, Curt turned the tables on his uncle, saying that there were other jobs, other careers, and preaching the gospel was the one Curt had settled upon.

Curt then used his uncle's incredulity to witness to his uncle about his life-changing encounter in the Jemez and the impact it had on his life, in turn, inviting his uncle to learn about Jesus and accept the gift of salvation.

Curt was disappointed when his crusty old uncle said at the conclusion of Curt's witness, "Ain't for me, nephew. Don't believe in that stuff."

Curt said that he was sorry to hear that but that he would pray for his uncle anyway. "Maybe one day when you're faced with eternity and sense your God vacuum, you'll change your mind," challenged Curt.

The uncle was silent for a moment and then replied, "Don't think so," and Curt's heart sunk but his spirit lifted a prayer to God, beseeching God to work in his uncle's life toward the acceptance of Jesus and the born-again experience and salvation.

After Curt hung up from his conversation with his Alaska uncle, he thought about the story in Exodus and how Egypt's Pharaoh kept hardening his heart to God time after time with devastating consequence. He worried for his uncle that his uncle's hard heart toward God would eventually have devastating and eternally damning consequences.

~~~

Four years later upon graduation from Bible college, Curt secured a position as a co-pastor in a small, non-denominational Bible-believing church in Odessa, Texas, thanks to a good word from Pastor Gus in neighboring Midland.

During the second year of Curt's pastorship, one of the church members, an unassuming, down-to-earth Texan, took a particular liking to Curt. Several months later, Curt was surprised to get an invitation to lunch from this particular parishioner. Curt was even more surprised by the location of the lunch — the executive dining room of the Petrochemical Building. Curt soon discovered that his low-keyed, unassuming parishioner was the principle in a thriving oil exploration company. The man, flush with West Texas oil wealth, told Curt that he felt led by the Holy Spirit to purchase several acres of real estate suitable for a Christian Bible camp for underprivileged and at-risk youth. He said he could not shake the feeling that God wanted the location to be in the Albuquerque area, and because he also knew Curt longed to be back in New Mexico, he felt God was telling him that Curt was the man to manage the property and act as its executive director.

Curt was taken aback by the man's revelation. Nevertheless, Curt prayed for several months, seeking God's direction and a sign if the Bible camp was indeed what God's will was for Curt.

One day, out of the blue, Kevin's father, Pastor Ken, phoned Curt. They had had very little contact for the past several years except for an exchange of newsy greeting cards at Christmas and Easter. Pastor Ken said that God had laid on his heart that Curt was wrestling with an important decision, and Pastor Ken wanted Curt to know that he was praying for Curt.

In that same telephone conversation, Curt explained, that, yes, he had been wrestling with an important decision, waiting on God for an answer. Curt then explained the offer made by the wealthy Texas oilman.

Pastor Ken listened quietly and then said, "Two days ago, the Baca sisters — you may remember them, twins, spinsters, in their nineties, and regular members of my church — well, and they came to me and said they own twelve acres next to the Santa Fe National Forest in— you won't believe this— in the Jemez. They want to give the land to the church. A gift.

~~~

Sixty-four days later, Curt, having given notice, left the Odessa church, and, with land ownership details completed, Curt took on his new role overseeing construction at what would be called the Baca Bible Camp.

The Christian oilman paid for the construction within the Bible camp, including a chapel, combination kitchen and dining hall, showers, and four twelve-person cabins, all in rustic, natural pine planking. In addition, four outdoor assemble areas each capable of seating fifty youths were strategically constructed throughout the grounds. Two of the assembly areas were covered with a roof only, sides open. The other two assembly areas were completely in the open.

During construction, Curt made sure that the contractors preserved as much of the natural mountain landscape of towering ponderosa pines, elegant blue spruce, and massive granite outcroppings and huge boulders as possible, incorporating them into the camp design and construction wherever possible.

During the construction phase, there was one piece of construction that Curt reserved for himself. The northwest corner of the camp featured a blue spruce-wooded plateau approximately two-hundred feet more or less square. It was the highest point in the camp and overlooked most of the buildings and pathways that were not otherwise hidden by trees, boulders, and rock outcroppings. Curt cleared the underbrush from the area and fashioned five eight-foot wooden benches made from large logs split lengthwise. Each bench had a separate pathway from the main path and each bench was separate from all the other benches either by large existing boulders or by several of the blue spruce trees. In that manner, each bench location had a degree of privacy from all the other benches. Curt's intent was that this plateau be a special place for camp goers to have quiet time to read, meditate, and pray.

When Curt was satisfied with the work he had done on the plateau, he hand painted and varnished a sign on a six-inch wide piece of rustic pine lumber, nailed the sign to a post, and drove the post and sign into the ground where the path from the camp below crested the hill immediately before the plateau.

The sign simply said, In Memory of Kevin.

~~~

Over the ensuing years, Curt and his staff would be instrumental in helping to lead hundreds of camp attendees to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ.

~~~

I hope this book met your expectations — that was my goal. To the extent that I achieved that goal, please take five minutes and give the book a candid review on the site where you purchased it.

If you would like to contact me directly via email, please use this address: bookreviewer2002-encounters(at)yahoo.com.

And, most importantly, _thank you_ for reading my book!
