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.â¦
Chapter 4
----
W HEN 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 stooped 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 wonât 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 some
thing
want that kiva
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.â¦
Chapter 4
----
W HEN 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 stooped 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 wonât 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 some
thing
want that kiva
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