Read Online The Vanishing Point by Judith Van Gieson - Free Book Online
Authors: Judith Van Gieson
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In Farmington she checked in at a motel. Ten oâclock the next morning was the time Curt had arranged to meet at Slickrock. It allowed him to spend the night at home in Gallup, but it meant Claire had to spend the night on the road.
Chapter Five
C LAIRE WOKE UP EARLY , had coffee and a doughnut at the motel, and drove the rest of the way to Slickrock Canyon, stopping at the ranger station to get a day permit. As she crossed Cedar Mesa, she was intrigued by the way the trees rippled and blew in the wind like an ocean of green, hiding the mesaâs secrets, giving no indication that it was crisscrossed by canyons. Curt had warned her that the turnoff to Slickrock was difficult to find and told her to watch for Mile Marker 23. She kept track of the miles and pulled over when she reached 23. There was no sign for the canyon, but she saw a gate in the barbed-wire fence. She opened the gate, drove through, then got out and closed it behind her. This was Bureau of Land Management land, and much of it had been leased for grazing. To leave the gate open was an invitation for cattle to wander onto the highway. The primitive road leading from the gate to the canyon was a bonerattling combination of ruts, rocks, and sand. Only the dedicated would consider following it very far. Claire didnât see any cattle, but she did see their droppings in the road. She had been down some of the primitive canyon roads in the early morning when marks left in the night were clearly visible in the sand. Sheâd seen tracks with the chevron pattern of rattlesnake skin and the curving tail prints and tiny footprints of lizards. Dawn was the best time to go into the canyons, and she was annoyed that Curt had arranged the meeting for ten oâclock. Not only had she been forced to spend the night on the road, but starting at ten oâclock gave them fewer daylight hours in the canyon. At least in late October midday wouldnât be unspeakably hot and afternoon thundershowers would be unlikely.
Claire came to a point where the primitive road forked. She didnât know which way to go until she saw that the left fork ended in a grove of cedar trees with shaggy, red bark. There was only one parking spot here, and it had been taken by a white Dodge van with the new-model New Mexico license plate celebrating the balloon festival. Claire liked the colors on this plate, and every time she saw one she was tempted to trade in her old orange-and-yellow Zia sign plate.
She took the right fork, driving until she found a parking space large enough for several cars. Two were already parked here. The red Nissan with the UNM parking sticker had to be Timâs. The government sedan would belong to Curt Devereux. Neither driver was in sight. Was she late? She immediately had the sinking feeling in her stomach that she always got when she was late. She checked her watch and found that, true to form, she was twenty minutes early. She parked her car, picked up her day pack full of trail mix and water, and walked to the edge of the mesa, where she saw the silhouette of a cedar that had been charred by lightning and a pile of stones that had once been an Anasazi lookout tower or storage cist.
The walls of the canyon were the color of sand and burnt sienna, streaked gray in places where minerals had seeped through. Claire could see several hundred feet down into the canyon. Ahead, she could see for miles across the mesa. At a point a mile or so into the canyon, Claire saw two freestanding rocks, several stories high, that had been shaped into sentinels by the elements. In places like this it was easy to understand why people found their destiny in Utah. The hands of the gods appeared everywhere. She knew that petroglyphs were likely to be found near prominent rock formations. The sentinel rocks looked extremely inaccessible to Claire, but the Anasazi favored inaccessible places, where they were protected from intruders.
Slickrock Canyon was a side canyon
Chapter Five
C LAIRE WOKE UP EARLY , had coffee and a doughnut at the motel, and drove the rest of the way to Slickrock Canyon, stopping at the ranger station to get a day permit. As she crossed Cedar Mesa, she was intrigued by the way the trees rippled and blew in the wind like an ocean of green, hiding the mesaâs secrets, giving no indication that it was crisscrossed by canyons. Curt had warned her that the turnoff to Slickrock was difficult to find and told her to watch for Mile Marker 23. She kept track of the miles and pulled over when she reached 23. There was no sign for the canyon, but she saw a gate in the barbed-wire fence. She opened the gate, drove through, then got out and closed it behind her. This was Bureau of Land Management land, and much of it had been leased for grazing. To leave the gate open was an invitation for cattle to wander onto the highway. The primitive road leading from the gate to the canyon was a bonerattling combination of ruts, rocks, and sand. Only the dedicated would consider following it very far. Claire didnât see any cattle, but she did see their droppings in the road. She had been down some of the primitive canyon roads in the early morning when marks left in the night were clearly visible in the sand. Sheâd seen tracks with the chevron pattern of rattlesnake skin and the curving tail prints and tiny footprints of lizards. Dawn was the best time to go into the canyons, and she was annoyed that Curt had arranged the meeting for ten oâclock. Not only had she been forced to spend the night on the road, but starting at ten oâclock gave them fewer daylight hours in the canyon. At least in late October midday wouldnât be unspeakably hot and afternoon thundershowers would be unlikely.
Claire came to a point where the primitive road forked. She didnât know which way to go until she saw that the left fork ended in a grove of cedar trees with shaggy, red bark. There was only one parking spot here, and it had been taken by a white Dodge van with the new-model New Mexico license plate celebrating the balloon festival. Claire liked the colors on this plate, and every time she saw one she was tempted to trade in her old orange-and-yellow Zia sign plate.
She took the right fork, driving until she found a parking space large enough for several cars. Two were already parked here. The red Nissan with the UNM parking sticker had to be Timâs. The government sedan would belong to Curt Devereux. Neither driver was in sight. Was she late? She immediately had the sinking feeling in her stomach that she always got when she was late. She checked her watch and found that, true to form, she was twenty minutes early. She parked her car, picked up her day pack full of trail mix and water, and walked to the edge of the mesa, where she saw the silhouette of a cedar that had been charred by lightning and a pile of stones that had once been an Anasazi lookout tower or storage cist.
The walls of the canyon were the color of sand and burnt sienna, streaked gray in places where minerals had seeped through. Claire could see several hundred feet down into the canyon. Ahead, she could see for miles across the mesa. At a point a mile or so into the canyon, Claire saw two freestanding rocks, several stories high, that had been shaped into sentinels by the elements. In places like this it was easy to understand why people found their destiny in Utah. The hands of the gods appeared everywhere. She knew that petroglyphs were likely to be found near prominent rock formations. The sentinel rocks looked extremely inaccessible to Claire, but the Anasazi favored inaccessible places, where they were protected from intruders.
Slickrock Canyon was a side canyon
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