dadâs strong, capable arms.
âThere is something for you to do here,â Great Owlâs voice whispered amidst the devastation.
The hair on Tagâs neck stood up. He wiped his teary eyes with the back of his hand. âBut what?â His question blew away in the breeze.
The next group of ruins looked better. The long, continuous walls that made up five homes stood intact, although the T-shaped doorways were no longer recognizable. Tag crawled over the debris and through the gap where the first doorway had once stood. Decay singed his nose. Large pieces of yucca mats lay in a pile with pottery sherds and tin cans. Small brown corncobs lay in a heap in one corner. A once-neat pile of yucca cordage used for rabbit snares lay scattered nearby.
Whose house was this?
Tag searched his memory.
Scar Cheekâs or Fawnâs?
Tag started to climb out through the irregular opening.He spied something wedged in between the rock slabs.
What?
Tag picked it up.
A dynamite fuse! Someone blew the doorway out to have more light to pothunt!
His anger exploded. Walls that took hours of tedious and strenuous work to build had been blown apart in seconds by greed. He stared at the steep ledge below the house and realized why the stone slabs from the wall now littered the hillside.
âHow can man be so stupid?â Tag screamed. He hurled a broken slab as far as he could over the edge of the path.
Tag touched the smooth, empty trough of Littlest Starâs metate, surprised that someone hadnât blown it apart, too. The front wall of Littlest Starâs house still remained intact. Hope swelled in Tagâs heart.
Maybe Great Owlsâ home is okay too!
The destruction was random. Many of the walls had gapping holes, while others stood strong and whole. Tin cans, bottles, and yellowing newspaper littered the doorways. Tag knew he should stop and get a date off one of the brittle newspapers, but the uncertainty of the state of Great Owlâs home spurred him on.
âYes!â Both Great Owlâs and Morning Flowerâs adjoining home showed no significant damage. Crawling inside Great Owlâs house, Tag saw that it was cleaned out right down to the bare limestone floor. Not even a pottery sherd remained.
âThese two ruins were excavated some thirty years ago, back in 1885, by Richard Stevenson.â The gravely voice, coming from just outside the doorway startled Tag. âEverything found in these ruins is on display at the Smithsonian Institution back in Washington D. C.â The voice had a definite New York accent. âEverything that is, but the handprints in the mud plaster. You can see theseancient prints best in the ruin on the right. Go ahead and go on in. Watch your head, please.â
It would be only a matter of seconds before someone came into Great Owlâs house. Tag pressed himself against the corner of the front wall.
A childâs voice screeched, âThe ghost boy!â
âDonât be ridiculous, dear.â A large, flowered bonnet poked through the T-shaped doorway. âThatâs only a storyâ
ahhh!
â The womanâs head disappeared.
A manâs head and shoulders reappeared. âCome out here, boy,â his gravely voice ordered.
Tag gulped down his heart and crawled out. An elderly man, a middle-aged woman, and two small children hiding behind the womanâs long full skirts, stood on the path.
âWhat are you doing in there?â Deep lines molded the long face of the man, in his late sixties. He wore denim pants, a long-sleeved shirt, high black boots, and a sagging felt hat.
Tag tried to sound innocent. âLooking around like everyone else.â
âDonât remember you coming out with this group.â The man stared over his wire-rimmed eyeglasses at Tag.
âHeâs not with us, Mr. Pierce,â stated the woman. She folded her arms across her ample chest, âAnd I certainly donât want him with
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