Bess stared at the quicksand in horror. It was gray and slimy, and small bubbles made sucking noises as if some monstrous creature lurked underneath. A foul odor wafted up from it, making us feel sick. “I can’t do this, Nancy,” she moaned. “I can’t lie down.”
“Yes, you can, Bess. But do it now, before it’s too late.”
Bess shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay,” she breathed. “Wish me luck.”
I held her hands steady as she gently lowered herself onto the surface of the quicksand. An expression of utter misery crossed her face as her back made contact with the stinky muck. Another moment and she lay perfectly horizontal across it.
She stopped sinking. Just as I predicted, her feet began to rise as her weight shifted upward. “That’s right, Bess,” I said soothingly. “Excellent job.”
I held onto her hands the whole time, leaning across the patch of quicksand that separated us. My back was killing me as I arched over, but I had to get Bess to safety. I began to ease her along the surface toward firm ground.
Now that she lay flat, it was much easier to pull her. A big sucking noise bubbled up from the slime, like a drain unplugging, and Bess’s feet were free!
“You did it, Nancy!” she cried as I skimmed her off the quicksand. The moment Bess lay safely on the ground, I dropped her hands.
“No, Bess, you did it,” I said, breathing hard with relief.
Bess pushed herself off the ground. “Did George find the guide?” she asked.
“I kind of hope not,” I said. Now that Bess was safe, I didn’t want the guide anywhere near us. I wanted to look for Ned and Sasha on our own.
Fortunately, a minute later George appeared—without the guide. “I’d almost reached him,” George explained. “But then I heard that sucking sound. Then I heard a little of Bess’s voice, and she sounded pretty happy. Nice work, you guys!” She stopped talking for a second to hug Bess. “Fortunately the guide didn’t hear you guys—I guess he was too busy. Everyone was getting back into the vehicle, but no one saw me, and the guide isn’t taking attendance.”
“Excellent.” I mopped Bess’s back with the sweatshirt I kept in my backpack, then added, “Now, where were we?”
The badge.
I picked it up, and it flashed in the sunlight. I had this odd hunch it was trying to tell me something.
I turned it around, and my heart leaped. A small piece of paper was stuck onto the pin in back. George and Bess looked on as I slid the paper off.
I held it up for all to see. A name had been written there in shaky pink lipstick: Nigel.
A lightbulb went off in my brain. I turned to my friends.
“Remember that dinner we had in Moab with Nigel Brown, the old friend of Sasha’s mother?” I asked them.
“Sure. He’s that British archaeologist, the expert in Indian artifacts,” George replied.
“Well, this must be the same Nigel,” I said. “I mean, Nigel isn’t exactly a common name around here.” I took another look at the note. The l looked shaky, as if the writer had been interrupted while finishing.
“Sasha must have dropped her badge here on purpose as a clue,” Bess said. “She’s probably nearby.”
Our gazes scanned the area. I knew that Canyon De Chelly stretched deep into the land, and at one point it forked. If Ned and Sasha were really here, they could be hidden in any one of a zillion nooks in this endless place. And it was so remote that no one would ever hear them cry for help. At least it was cooler and greener than Canyonlands. I felt hopeful. Maybe they could survive if someone was bringing them food and water.
“Nigel!” George exclaimed, her voice full of wonder. “Who would have thought? But why would he kidnap Sasha and Ned?”
“I think he kidnapped Sasha because she interrupted him doing something illegal,” I said.
“In Canyonlands?” Bess asked.
I nodded. “Maybe he was stealing Anasazi artifacts from that cave—the one where I found Mr. Littlewolf’s note.”
“Wait a sec, I don’t get it,” Bess said, frowning. “Why would a letter with Mr. Littlewolf’s name have been in that cave? What does he have to do with all this?”
I fished the letter from my pocket and studied it. “I bet Mr. Littlewolf wrote this letter to Nigel. Maybe Mr. Littlewolf was never even in the cave. Nigel probably had it with him and dropped it by mistake while he was raiding the place.”
“But Mr. Littlewolf must be involved somehow,” George said. “I mean, we saw him driving the red car. With Ned inside!”
“Oh yeah,” Bess said. “He’s involved up to his eyeballs.”
Once more I scanned Mr. Littlewolf’s letter, then looked back at my friends. “If Mr. Littlewolf wrote this letter to Nigel—and let’s assume for now that he did—why would he have written him about the Corn Maiden legend?” I asked.
George shrugged. “Maybe Nigel and Littlewolf are a team, and they needed to know about the legend.”
“A team of what, though?” I asked. “Thieves, kidnappers? What are they after?”
“Maybe they’re after something to do with the Hopi tribe,” Bess said.
I was intrigued. Though it sometimes seems as if Bess only cares about clothes, desserts, and flirting, she can take you by surprise with her sharp observations— stuff that other people don’t always see. “But Bess, why the Hopi?” I asked. “Why not the Navajo? After all, Mr. Littlewolf is Navajo, and Sasha and Nigel are here in Canyon De Chelly. Or at least, they were.”
Bess hesitated, gathering her thoughts, then said, “Remember, Mr. Littlewolf didn’t feel welcome on Hopi land without a neutral person. As a Navajo, Littlewolf needed Mr. Brown to cool things for him at the Hopi Reservation. So maybe they teamed up to do something there.”
“I see why Andy needed Nigel. But why would Nigel need Andy?” George asked. “How would the team benefit him?”
“And how does Ned figure in?” I asked.
Bess shrugged. “He might have overheard something they wanted to keep secret.”
The three of us were silent for a moment, mulling over all these possibilities. But we couldn’t waste another moment theorizing. Ned and Sasha were missing, and we had to find them.
My gaze shifted to some cliffs on our right. The rock face was broken by thin crevices slicing downward. If you weren’t looking carefully, you might assume they were just shadows. Nodding toward the cliffs, I said, “See those openings? If I were Nigel or Andy, I’d consider those prime hiding places.”
“Let’s hike closer,” George suggested. “That’s not such a far-fetched thought. Sasha’s badge was found just a couple hundred yards away.”
“And don’t forget the red sedan,” I added. “My gut tells me that red flash was it.” We marched toward the cliffs, and I inspected some dried mud along the way. “Look guys. Tire tracks and footprints in the mud. Big ones and small.”
“Sasha’s?” George asked.
“Maybe,” I replied.
Soon we reached the nearest cliff, the one with the most crevices. As I stared up at it my heart sank. There were so many crevices. I didn’t have a clue which one to search first.
Not knowing what else to do, I yelled Ned’s name, then Sasha’s. George and Bess joined in. Our voices echoed eerily off the canyon walls.
And then, amazingly, we heard a response. I knew it wasn’t an echo. Ned and Sasha were shouting back from a crevice on our right!
Bess, George, and I grabbed each other in excitement. “There!” I exclaimed, pointing. We made a beeline for the crevice, climbing up to it boulder by boulder like mountain goats. Just outside, we paused for breath—and then I saw the red sedan! Parked far below us, half hidden in a patch of brush, it seemed vaguely sinister, like a wild animal sleeping. Not a hint of movement disturbed the bushes around it.
“Watch out, guys!” George said, pointing to the left. A large boulder leaned precariously by the crevice, looking as if the slightest bree
ze could cause it to topple and seal the opening.
“Come on,” I whispered.
Gingerly we slipped inside. The cave was black. I couldn’t see my hand in front of me. But that didn’t matter, because I could hear.
“Nancy!” Ned exclaimed, his familiar voice ringing through the darkness. “I can’t believe you found us.”
“Bess and George, too,” Sasha said joyfully. “You’re amazing!”
In a moment my eyes adjusted. Ned and Sasha were sitting on the cave floor, their legs shackled to an iron bar in the wall. I rushed over to give them hugs, followed by Bess and George.
But wait. Did I see three prisoners? I blinked, and the image sharpened. Farther back in the cave, Andy Littlewolf sat in the dim light, his legs shackled to the same iron bar.
But before I could speak to him, his eyes shifted from me to the space behind me. My skin prickled.
A noise crunched near the cave opening. Footsteps! I pivoted toward them. Against the bright blue of the entrance, a dark silhouette loomed up.
“So, girls, we meet again,” a British voice snickered.
14. The Stolen Relic
Silence filled the cave. You could have heard a pin drop. In the dim light, I could barely make out Bess and George’s tense faces, but I knew what they were thinking: How do we get out of this one?
A kerosene lamp flared up. In the sudden brightness I watched Nigel set it down on the cave floor next to his backpack.
Andy Littlewolf eyed him with loathing. “Thief!” he cried. “You tricked me!”
“Littlewolf, put a lid on it,” Nigel said in a bored tone. “I’ve heard enough complaints from you to last me a lifetime. Thank goodness I’m flying back to England today.”
“You’d better let us go first,” Mr. Littlewolf said. “You promised you would.”
“Promises are made to be broken,” Nigel proclaimed. “But before I seal you people up in this cave to rot forever, let me show you why it’s all been worth it.” He reached inside his backpack and pulled out a wad of newspaper. Then he lovingly peeled it back to reveal a beautiful earthenware pot about eight inches wide. “Can everyone see the picture on it?” Nigel asked.
I crept closer, curious, following George, who also wanted a peek. On one side of the pot under a geometric pattern was an illustration of a Corn Ear Maiden, similar to the kachina we’d seen at the Hopi Reservation.
“Be careful,” Sasha said. “He has a knife.”
Nigel turned the pot as we backed away slightly. On the other side was a coyote. “This is an exceedingly rare pot,” Nigel said. “Not only is it unbroken, but it shows a link between the Hopi and Anasazi cultures through the Corn Maiden myth. It will make my gallery in London famous! My gallery will be a major showcase for pre-Columbian American art outside of the United States.”
“But you stole that pot,” Andy said bitterly. “And you forced me to make your theft legal.”
Nigel smirked. “What good would the pot do just sitting in a cave for the rest of eternity? Much better to bring the achievements of the Anasazi to the world’s attention.”
“It wasn’t yours to take,” Mr. Littlewolf said. “You found it on federal land. It’s a Native American possession, not yours.”
“But the only people who know I stole it will be sealed up in here,” he declared. “The moment I leave, I’ll give that boulder outside a push. Gravity will do the rest of the work for me.” He chuckled. “Hey, the world won’t know I’m a thief. They’ll just think I’m a clever collector.”
“You’ll be a murderer,” Sasha said, “if you trap us in this cave.”
“Whether I’m a thief or a murderer makes no difference to me,” Nigel said. “What’s important is that the world will never know.”
“How can you do this?” Sasha moaned. “You’re one of my mother’s oldest friends.”
“Don’t make me feel guilty,” Nigel said. “Your mother is a delight, Sasha, but I don’t want to do jail time. This little theft of mine got a bit out of hand, and now too many people know about it. It’s your fault really, my dear, for catching me red-handed in Canyonlands.”
I couldn’t listen anymore. It was too frustrating to hear Nigel trying to justify his crimes. And even though I was curious to learn the details of the case, like how Andy and Nigel are connected and why Ned had been kidnapped, I knew we were running out of time. Nigel was putting his pot away, still blocking the cave entrance. At any moment, though, he could leave, and we’d be sealed inside.
I did a quick scan of the cave. Was there anything here I could use as a weapon? There were no sticks that I could see, just a stone the size of my hand on the ground between Nigel and George. But even if I’d had a weapon, Nigel stood between us and the entrance. The second he sensed trouble, he’d just run outside and seal the cave.
I thought fast. There was no way I could fight him, but maybe I could outsmart him. There was one thing I didn’t fully understand—why Mr. Littlewolf had written to Nigel about the Corn Maiden legend. But I knew it had to be important to Nigel, or he wouldn’t have taken the letter with him into Canyonlands, and he wouldn’t be so captivated by the particular pot that he’d stolen. My mind clicked back to the basic facts of the legend. The nice Blue Corn Maiden became a coyote, and the treacherous Yellow Corn Maiden became a snake.
In as calm a voice as I could manage, I began to speak to Nigel. “I read about the Corn Ear Maidens, Mr. Brown. It’s an interesting story.”
Nigel perked up. “Ah, Nancy, which story do you mean? There are several legends about Corn Maidens, you know.”
“I think it’s called ‘The Revenge of the Blue Corn Ear Maiden.’ The Blue Maiden turns into a coyote, and the Yellow Maiden becomes a snake after they trick each other.”
“Ah, trickery! A most admirable quality,” Nigel said, casting a gloating look toward Mr. Littlewolf.
I spoke fast, before Nigel could get distracted. “Mr. Brown, I’m guessing your pot shows the Blue Corn Ear Maiden because she turned into a coyote. So wouldn’t a pot with a drawing of the Yellow Corn Ear Maiden and a snake be a perfect match for yours?”
Nigel’s eyes gleamed with interest. “It certainly would. But I doubt such a rarity exists.”
“Oh, but it does,” I told him, fudging. I couldn’t believe such an intelligent man was buying this. He was probably exhausted by all of his lying and cheating. “Just before you came, I found a pot in this cave with that very picture on it. It’s about the same size as your pot.”
“Impossible!” Nigel snorted.
“No, it’s true. I mean, the Anasazi lived here in Canyon De Chelly. So why wouldn’t they have made a pot like that? I mean, they made yours, didn’t they? Here, take a look. I’ve got it in my backpack.”
Greed flickered in his eyes, and I could tell I’d actually caught him. I held my breath as he came closer, deeper into the cave, past George and Bess. I stalled for time, rummaging through my backpack, pretending I was looking for the pot. He knelt down next to me, totally absorbed.
I sneaked a look back at George, then nodded toward the stone on the cave floor. Her face brightened with understanding.
“Here, Mr. Brown, you can judge whether these two pots make a pair,” I said, still fishing in my pack.
“I can’t believe you found such a pot. What an extraordinary find,” he said. He peered into my backpack, completely unsuspecting of what lurked behind him.
With the stone in her hand, George paused behind Nigel for a split second, judging her aim. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t turn around, praying he wouldn’t realize my ruse. Because if he did, we’d be sunk. Or more accurately, we’d be buried alive.
But before another moment passed, George raised the stone. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as George rescued us from a very grim fate. In one fluid motion, she brought the stone down on Nigel’s head, and he slumped to the cave floor, unconscious.
“I didn’t hit him very
hard,” George said anxiously. “I didn’t want to seriously hurt him. He’s going to come around any second.”
Sure enough, he’d already begun to moan and stir. “Nancy, get his keys,” Ned said. “They’re in his pocket. Unlock our cuffs, and lock him up instead. Quick!”
I acted fast, and when Nigel came to a few moments later, he found his ankle chained to the same bar that had once held his prisoners. Surprise filled his face as they now stood over him, free.
“So the tables are turned, Nancy Drew,” Nigel murmured as he struggled to stand. He immediately sat back against the wall, his face pale with the effort. He touched the back of his head and winced. “You tricked me, Nancy. I give you credit for that. It’s not easy to pull the wool over the eyes of Nigel Brown.”
“I guess you’re usually the one to fool people, Mr. Brown, judging from what Andy Littlewolf had said,” I threw back. “Now maybe you’ll tell us what your relationship with Mr. Littlewolf is. Were you guys a team? And did you double-cross him?”
“We were never a team, Nancy!” Mr. Littlewolf blurted out in a shocked tone. “I’m no thief. But he did force me to sign some papers.”
I frowned. “What papers?”
“Let me clarify that,” Nigel said. “Nancy, I see you don’t know everything, so I’ll fill you in. As you are aware, I’ve been looking for clues linking the Hopi and Anasazi cultures, and I’ve become fascinated with Hopi legends and whether they trickled down from the Anasazi. So when I found that pot in the Canyonlands cave, I figured it must be about the same Hopi legend. I wanted the pot for my gallery, but I needed papers showing that I owned it in case anyone ever asked. And that’s where Andy Littlewolf came in.” He shot Mr. Littlewolf a taunting look.
“So you were a team,” George said.
“Never!” Mr. Littlewolf said angrily.
“We were a team of sorts,” Nigel went on. “We knew each other in Moab because we were both interested in Indian antiquities and legends. When I first stumbled across my pot, I didn’t have a way to conceal it and remove it safely from the cave. Upon returning to Moab, I asked Andy if he knew of a legend involving a corn maiden and a coyote. He did a bit of research, then wrote me a note describing the legend, which he knew to be Hopi. So I returned to the cave, realizing this pot was a rare find indeed. I took the pot, but inadvertently dropped the note. Fortunately I’d torn my name off in case I happened to lose it, so no one could link me with the theft. See, it was quite possible someone else knew the pot was there.”