It was Erik who had guided Mike Raglan through some of the labyrinths of mathematics and physics. Often they discussed Erik’s obsession with the canyon country of Utah and Arizona, and a place in which to build.
The final choice had been Erik’s own. Had Mike known, he would have strongly advised Erik Hokart to choose another place, yet what reasons could he have given?
Mike Raglan looked again across the snow where the mysterious white van had stood waiting. Another occupant? Or simply an empty van? Was there one man or two? Or more?
Uneasily, he considered what little he knew. Erik was in trouble. Erik had contrived, somehow, to have this daybook delivered to him. This man or these men knew of its delivery and tried to recover it. Hence, it was evidence, important evidence of what had happened or was happening to Erik.
After all, there need be nothing supernatural. Erik Hokart was a very wealthy man. Kidnapping was not impossible, nor was revenge. What he might have done Mike could not guess, although he doubted anything really serious, but in obtaining wealth one often made enemies, if only through jealousy. Was that element of strangeness all imagination? If so, the girl at the desk had felt it, too.
And what of the other girl? The beautiful girl who delivered the package? Who was she? What had become of her?
Mike reached over and picked up the daybook …
IV
When Mike Raglan first picked up the daybook it had opened almost automatically at the spot where he began to read, so there had been no reason to examine it in detail. Now he opened at the very first page.
The first half-dozen pages were notations having to do with the construction Erik was planning. Materials to be ordered, speculations on dimensions of rooms and what their views would encompass. Obviously he had carried the book in his pocket for just that purpose, and it had been convenient when he had more to relate.
Turning the pages, Mike went on to where his reading had stopped, and he began again.
When I awakened, the happenings of the night seemed like a dream, yet when I checked the blueprint the red glow was gone but the line I had drawn with the compass remained. Or at least, I had thought of drawing that line. Oddly enough, the circular room made architectural sense and fitted perfectly with what I had previously drawn. I went outside to check the location.
Had I dreamed it all? Was it a species of nightmare? Had there actually been such a glowing line? Had I further doubts, Chief would have dispelled them, for he kept sniffing about, whining a little, starting at the slightest sound. The Tibetan mastiff, let me add, has a much better nose than his English counterpart, and this dog had been given me, on his return from Tibet, by Mike Raglan. He was already a half-grown dog.
He seemed not to like what he smelled, but when he followed the trail outside and along the mesa, he lost it.
I went to the area where the circular room would be if built. Certainly, no leveling would be required, for the earth was utterly flat. Seeing what appeared to be a flat stone I stopped to pick it up and toss it out of the way. The stone refused to budge. Digging near it I discovered it was not simply a loose stone but part of a wall. I dug further and the wall showed a slight curving.
Wednesday. For two days I have been digging, throwing dirt like one gone mad. I must get Mike out here. He won’t believe this. Actually, I am not digging, merely excavating, for all this earth is fill. I have seen ruins half-filled with debris, but this is nothing of the kind. This was done purposefully with an intent to preserve.
I am a fool, but a frightened fool. Mike might make sense of this. I cannot. Once I began digging I worked like one obsessed. Each time I abandoned the dig something drove me back to the hole again. Chief has been pacing the rim of the kiva, for that is what it is, pacing and growling or whining. That he is worried is obvious but he refuses to descend into the hole with me.
Mike put the daybook down. His coffee had grown cold again. He emptied the cup and refilled it. Erik had made an interesting discovery and it should be reported to a competent archaeologist for study. It might very well be important, for most of the known kivas had been found in a state of at least partial ruin.
Erik had never, so far as Mike could recall, shown more than a casual interest in the Indians of the Southwest. Naturally, he would have seen some of the publications, available in the area, on the cliff dwellers. Possibly he had read some that would make him familiar with Anasazi architecture.
The glowing red line on the blueprint? Did somebody or something want that kiva excavated? If so, why? And who?
That mesa where Erik had chosen to build was remote, and in a rarely visited area.
Mike walked to the window and stared out at the snow. The footprints were there, a sharp reminder that he dealt with reality. Where was Erik? Why had he not kept their appointment? Why had Erik chosen such a remote place? Had he been kept from that appointment? Was he dead? Injured? A prisoner?
That was preposterous. Yet, was it? After all, a man had forced entry into his condo to steal this very book, and might well try it again when he realized, as by now he must, that he had been tricked.
Irritated and worried, Mike Raglan took up the book once more.
If their intent was to preserve that piece of the ruin intact they had succeeded. The question is, if all other ruins were abandoned to time and the elements, why preserve this one? Was it a shrine? Something so special it must be preserved at all costs?
Not only are the walls intact but the plaster as well, and the plaster is covered with symbols. The plaster is intact except at one point where there is evidence of water-staining.
Thursday. A restless, uneasy night! Chief apparently awake all night, growling during most of it although he would not leave my side. Several times I believed I heard stirrings outside and once I was almost sure that somebody peered in at me.
I awoke with a headache and a bad taste in my mouth. Starting a small fire in my stove I made coffee, then walked outside. Like a fool I forgot to look for tracks until both the dog and I had moved about enough to destroy any that might have been left. Looking at the kiva again I realized this one had no sipapu.
The sipapu, as I understand it, is a hole in the floor of the kiva symbolizing that opening through which the Anasazi emerged into this world. The sipapus I have seen range from the size of a teacup to twice that.
On the contrary, there is in this kiva, which must represent a cultural aberration, a blank window or niche in the wall similar to the mihrab in a mosque. In uncovering this niche the earth before it had fallen away and the concave wall of the niche seemed composed of some soft-looking gray substance which I felt a curious reluctance to touch, so did not.
Returning from my hurried look at the kiva, I noticed something I had overlooked. My drafting pencil was gone, but in its place was an exquisite little jar, not over three inches tall!
Putting down the daybook, Mike finished his coffee. He had better get back out there and find Erik. Even as the thought came, his instinct told him to leave it alone. It was Erik’s problem, not his. Erik was the one who had chosen to move into the area and build a home there, though Mike had advised against it.
“My conscience is clear,” he said aloud.
Even as he spoke the words he recognized their untruth. Erik had called for help, had called out to him, and Erik was not inclined to ask anyone for anything. If Mike did not help, who else was there? And who even knew Erik Hokart needed help? How many even knew he was out there?
After all, was Mike Raglan not the man who delved into magic and the supernatural? Was he not the skeptic? The man who took nothing for granted?
As for being a skeptic, he was so only up to a point. A half-dozen times he had touched upon something from which he shied away. The truth was, he liked his world and had no desire to venture into any other. Yet there could be a logical explanation for what was happening out there, even for those strange flares from atop the mesa.