Tag Against Time by Helen Hughes Vick Read Free Book Online Page B

stomach twisted. How long could he stay before Sean would start asking questions?
Not long if I keep saying such dumb things
. He’d have to walk a tight line.
    A huge, blue-black raven circled overhead. The sun glinted off its long silky wings. Tag watched its effortless flight. It swirled down closer. Its harsh cry was a taunting laugh, “Caught, caught, Tag caught.”
    A two-seated, covered carriage and team of horses stood waiting near the trailhead at Walnut Canyon. Sean tied O’Riley near the carriage and mumbled, “I can never get a step ahead of Michael Riordan.” He started down the trail at a brisk pace. Tag followed on his heels.
    Rounding a bend, Tag saw two men standing in front of Singing Woman’s house. They swung around.
    â€œMorning, Sean,” said the younger man in an eastern accent. Like Sean, he was clean-shaven and in his early twenties. Though he wore a broad-rim felt hat, high leather boots,and work clothes, his bearing was that of a doctor or lawyer. “I was wondering how long you were going to sleep in.”
    â€œMichael Riordan, only you would start out to the canyon when the moon was still a shining.” Sean shook his hand. Turning to the older man he said, “James, it is good to see you again. I’m glad that you came back.”
    James Stevenson was a bit shorter than Sean and twenty years older. Graying, black hair showed under his broad-rimmed straw hat. He wore a neatly-trimmed mustache. “A year is too long,” he nodded toward Singing Woman’s house, “judging from the deterioration and destruction I’ve seen already. We are lucky the Major agreed to come. He wields a lot of power in Washington as the Federal Director of Survey and the new Director of the Bureau of Ethnology.”
    â€œA name that I hope to change to the Bureau of American Ethnology,” a robust voice said from Singing Woman’s doorway. A man with a black bowler hat, a long gray beard, and weathered skin crawled through the door. His denim pants were tucked into his high leather boots. He wore a dark vest and long-sleeved white shirt. The right arm of his shirt hung empty.
    â€œMajor John Wesley Powell!” Tag burst out. “I didn’t know that you ever came to Walnut Canyon!”
    Major Powell held out his left hand to Tag. His grip was iron. “It’s my first trip here, but not my last.”
    â€œI’ve read both of your journals on your explorations down the Colorado River.” Tag pumped Powell’s hand. “They are fascinating.”
    Major Powell dropped Tag’s hand. “Must have been one of my men’s journals. Mine hasn’t been published yet.”
    â€œMajor Powell, I’m Sean O’Farrell.” Sean took MajorPowell’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll find the ruins and relics here interesting.”
    â€œWhat little I have seen is most interesting.” Major Powell stared at Tag.
    â€œThis is Tag,” Sean put his arm around Tag’s shoulder and moved him toward the other men. “Tag meet James Stevenson, an archaeologist from the Smithsonian Institution. And this is Michael Riordan, one of the townspeople interested in the ruins.”
    â€œNice to meet you,” Tag muttered. He felt Major Powell still scrutinizing him.
    â€œShall we get started, men?” Sean suggested. “Tag and I will go up to get the picks and shovels.”
    James Stevenson spoke up, “Let’s wait on the tools. I want to show the Major more of the ruins before we decide where to excavate first.” He started up the path with Michael Riordan close behind.
    â€œPerhaps you know something about ancient cultures, young man?” Major Powell’s eyes measured Tag.
    Tag nodded.
    â€œGood. We’ll have plenty to talk about.”
    Tag wished he
could
talk.

9

    Tag knelt elbow-to-elbow beside Major John Wesley Powell in Arrow Maker’s house. Someone had