us. Heaven only knows where he came from and
what
he brought with him.â She swung around almost knocking down the little girl still hiding behind her skirt. âCome children. Letâs go on.â
Mr. Pierce pondered Tag. âHow did you get out here, boy?â
âWalked.â
âGood long jaunt from town,â Mr. Pierce rubbed his stubby chin. âBeen here before?â
âA couple of times. My dad was . . . is, an archaeologist. The ruins are great, arenât they? Sort of like walking back into time and all.â Tag moved. âWell, I got to be going.â
Mr. Pierce blocked his path, âYou must be mighty interested in dead Indians to come clear out here from town alone. Maybe, I can persuade Mrs. Ayer to let you ride back with them.â
âNo thanks.â Tag nonchalantly dusted the dirt from the front of Seanâs shirt. âI want to spend more time in the canyon, you know, just looking around.â
âWhatâs your name?â
âTag.â
Mr. Pierce inspected him up and down. âYouâre mighty skinny. Been a while since you ate?â
âYears.â
âYou go on up to the ranger cabin, and tell Mrs. Pierce to feed you. Iâll be up after Mrs. Ayer and her children have seen enough. You need a place to sleep, too? Our front porch is a lot safer than sleeping out in the open with the bears.â He moved to one side.
Tag hurried passed him. âThanks, Mr. Pierce. Iâll be happy to work for food and a place to sleep.â
âJust you mind your manners around Mrs. Pierce. Sheâs a bit persnickety about all the pleases and thank yous.â
Tag trotted up the path. As soon as Mr. Pierce was out of sight, his first thought was to escape. He darted in the direction of the cave. His stomach growled in an angry response to his flight. âQuiet!â Tag put his hand on his empty stomach as he ran along. âIâll feed you at the next stop in . . .â
A cold breeze lashed Tagâs face. He jerked to a stop. Tingling sensations ran up and down his spine.
âMy son . . .â
âI knowâI know!â Tag interrupted Great Owlâs voice in the sudden cold breeze. âThere is something I need to do here.â He shrugged his shoulders, took a deep breath, and started back down the path. âI just wish youâd give me a little more help here, like telling me what it is I am supposed to do!â
11
Tag knew he could find the ranger cabin. It wasnât far from where the Visitor Center would stand in the nineteen-nineties. In the future, special ranger-guided tours would take a limited number of tourists to the old cabin, but he had walked there many times from his parentsâ trailer. It was one of his favorite getaway-to-be-alone places. What would it be like now, in 1916? His stomach twisted and growled in hunger. He sure hoped Mrs. Pierce was a good cook.
As Tag passed the destruction of Singing Womanâs home, new determination thundered through him.
âIâll make them listen this time!â he vowed.
The wind whispered in the trees, âHow?â
âThank you, Mrs. Pierce,â Tag took the tin plate heaped with scrambled eggs and thick slices of homemade wheat bread. His mouth watered at the aroma. âThanks for letting me clean up also.â
âYou are more than welcome. Sit there on the front porch and eat,â Mrs. Pierce said in a thick southern accent.
âYes Maâam. It looks delicious.â
Mrs. Pierce was a good number of years younger than her husband. Her long dark hair was twisted in a tight knot on the top of her head. Her clear blue eyes inspected Tag openly. âItâs just eggs. What did William think I would feed you at this time of day? That man is always sending hungry stomachs my way. Guess he remembers his own blue belly being empty all through the War Between the
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