The Arrow That Would Not Miss



  The Arrow That Would Not Miss

  by

  Matt Musson

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  The Arrow That Would Not Miss

  A Jeep Muldoon Adventure

  Copyright © 2009, 2011 by Matt Musson

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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  Chapter One - Just Hanging Around

  Dangling from an impossibly thin climbing rope, sixty feet up the sheer rock face of Mingo Falls, I pleaded with God.

  “Dear Lord, please don’t let me splatter across the forest floor like an overripe melon!”

  Suspended twenty yards above certain death, I bargained with the Creator. If by some miracle I got over the ledge safely, I promised not to strangle Charlie Sinclair, our club president, for organizing this insane rock climbing expedition to the Qualla Boundary of the Cherokee Nation.

  Now, I am not afraid of heights. I am terrified of them!

  So, all I could hear was the thump, thump, thump of blood coursing through my ears. And, my single minded focus was on making it up the rock face alive. So, at first, I did not recognize the persistent tone of treasure buzzing through my subconscious like a gnat flying circles around my head.

  I know at some level I must have heard it calling. Take it from me, there's nothing that compares to the sound of a 40 caret blood red ruby. But, I was centered on my climbing harness, my foot and finger holds and anything else keeping me from plunging to an untimely death. So at first, I overlooked that little ditty.

  If I had not passed directly in front of the drilled out crevice where the ruby's song was loudest, I probably would have kept moving up the slab like the thousands of other climbers that have scaled these falls before me. After all, a contoured stone plugged the small cave opening. And, it was covered with a plaster-like mixture of hardened clay and lime. Finally, the entire wall was carpeted by thick clumps of damp slippery moss that camouflaged the site so effectively that for 800 years the cache inside lay unnoticed and undisturbed.

  The ruby’s song was so clear and resonant that it finally broke through my fear. The crystal called out with a tone unlike any I have heard before. But, I never dreamed I was being summoned by a legendary artifact of the Cherokee people.

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  Chapter Two - Retrieving a Mystery

  Even though I knew there was something amazing hidden in the sheer cliff face in front of me, I was still dangling sixty feet off the ground. And, I still felt like barfing up my breakfast. So, I did what any sane person would do in my situation. I used my climbing boot to scrape an ‘X' in the moss to mark the location of the hidden cavity. Then I got my skinny butt up Mingo Falls as quickly as I could!

  When I was safely over the top, I kissed the ground, thanked God, and celebrated my safe deliverance from certain tragedy. True to my pact with the Almighty, I resisted the temptation to grab Charlie by the neck and squeeze with all my might. But, as I lay sprawled there on the summit, my anger rose to the surface when the guys began to kid me about what I believe is a completely natural instinct for self preservation.

  “Come on, Jeep. Don’t be a baby. It's not that bad,” said Charlie. ”We all made it to the top and it was fun!”

  “That's easy for you to say!” I replied. ”But, I have a healthy respect for Gravity. If God had meant for us to climb, we would have been born Kudzu!”

  Charlie Sinclair is a nice guy. He is tall and good looking and probably the most popular guy in our entire middle school. And, not only is he a smooth talker, he has big green eyes and fine brown hair that girls are always running their fingers through. (I finally had to put my foot down to keep my Mom’s hands out of our Charlie’s locks.) But, at this point I did not care that he was our club president. After that climb, I was ready to start a revolution.

  However, before my insurrection got started, Freddie Dunkleberger added his two cents.

  “Yeah, Jeep. It’s not that high,” the little red head chided.

  “Not that high? Are you out of your mind? That fall would kill you quicker than a Great White Shark with rabies!”

  “That fall wouldn't kill you,” Shad McReynolds disagreed.

  “No?” I asked in disbelief.

  “No,” he said. ”It's the Stop that would kill you. The fall would be fun… while it lasted.”

  I let the subject drop.

  I had only myself to blame for this climbing expedition anyway. A few months back I found a gold watch in the lining of a jacket in a thrift shop in Granite Falls. The watch belonged to a recently deceased railroad worker named Tolbert Brown. When we returned the watch to the family, Mr. Brown's grandson, Alton, who runs a camping outfitter called ExtremeClimb, offered to take us mountaineering for free.

  I guess I should mention that I live in the small mountain community of Granite Falls. And, I go to Granite Falls Middle School with my friends Charlie, Thor, Bogdon, Toby, Freddie and Shad. We are the Granite Falls Rangers – a science club that solves mysteries and has adventures.

  My crazy Aunt Starshine would say we ‘embrace life', while walking that fine line that boys face today. You know the one - where if you are caught having too much fun they pump you full of Ritalin?

  I should also mention that I find things. And, the reason I find things because I sort of inherited the finding ‘gift’ from my grandfathers.

  My Grandpa Gus was a well driller that could always find water. My Grandpa Charlie was a mining prospector that found fortunes in precious minerals and gemstones. When the two families mixed together I was born with a double shot of locating genes.

  Grandpa Gus and I have a special bond. When I was small, he trained me to use my gift. And today, he never misses a chance to give me a word of encouragement or wisdom about how to survive in this crazy old world. And I am even named after him: Gustaf Philip Muldoon II.

  Because Grandpa Gus lived with us for a while, everyone called me G.P. to keep the two of us straight. Everyone that is, except my little sister Jenny who was too lazy to say G. P. She called me ‘Jeepie' instead. That nickname was eventually shortened to Jeep. (Although Jenny still calls me Jeepie whenever she feels like being a butthead.)

  Anyway, to sum things up: I'm Jeep Muldoon. I find things. Grandpa Gus trained me. And, my little sister Jenny is a butthead.

  I don't tell many people about my gift because things can get all hinky. Either they start calling me up every time they lose their car keys – or they start acting like I am their own personal Lotto ticket and they want to mount an expedition to the Amazon to find the lost treasure of the Incas.

  So, I try to keep a low profile. But, here at Mingo Falls, I located a treasure of historic importance to the Cherokee people. As much as I wanted too, there was no way to stay inconspicuous. This was way too big to hide. This was way too important to walk away from.

  Anyway, after I caught my breath, I explained to the guys that hidden in the side of the cliff about twenty feet below was some sort major treasure. Knowing me and my history of locating good stuff, they did not have any problem accepting my story. But, we did have to talk Alton into rigging up Freddie, so we could lower him over the edge to explore my find.

  We chose Freddie, because he is the climbing monkey of the group. He has shocking red hair and freckles and is just a smidge taller than a munchkin. And, although Freddie is overstuffed with old jokes and lame groaners, he
is still the lightest of the Rangers. He is also a junior Daredevil – ‘the boy without fear.’

  As soon as he was harnessed up, Freddie scampered over the side with a hammer and some climbing spikes called pitons. He quickly found the X in the moss and began his excavation. After several blows from his mallet, the plaster covering fell away and revealed the contoured stone plug. Freddie sank a piton into the plug and attached a rope we lowered down to him. When we pulled on the rope, Freddie pried at the edges and the stone popped right out.

  From atop the waterfall, we could hear Freddie below us admiring the contents of the open cavity. Then, he called for us to lower down a gear bag, and he placed several items inside. When he was done, we pulled Freddie and the bag back up the stone face and over the ledge.

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  Chapter Three – A New and Ancient Friend

  With Freddie back on top, we were anxious to see what he recovered. We had even drawn a small crowd by this time, made up mostly of other climbers and few day hikers drawn by this natural beauty of the falls. Freddie slipped out of his harness, lay the gear bag down and unzipped it.

  Gingerly, he reached into the canvas sack and removed a carved wooden stick about eighteen inches long, covered in a checkerboard pattern of fine black and white beads. From one end of the stick stretched the well preserved foot of a raptor; like a hawk or maybe even an eagle. A cluster of feathers tied with leather straps, dangled from one end.

  “Any ideas what that is?” asked Charlie, eyeing the black clawed talons.

  All eyes turned to big Shad MacReynolds: the all time hamburger eating champion of Granite Falls. We turned to Shad because in addition to an almost unquenchable appetite, Shad is blessed with a televistic memory. He remembers everything he has ever seen on TV. And, because he has a fondness for documentaries and science programs he comes in handy in situations like this. If you ever have to phone a friend for a million dollar answer – Shadrack Mac Reynolds is the guy you want to call.

  “It looks like an Eagle Wand to me,” Shad suggested.

  “What's an Eagle Wand?” asked my best friend Toby Trundle.

  Shad’s brain kicked in gear and he recited some ancient documentary answer word for word.

  “The Eagle Wand was a native American peace symbol. It was made of Eagle feathers and sourwood. Only a professional Eagle-Killer could kill the Eagle, and then only with proper ceremony and preparation.”

  “That’s from ‘Way of the Red Man’: A History Channel Production,” he explained.

  “What else did you find?” asked Toby.

  Freddie reached back into the bag and carefully pulled out two stone tablets and placed them on the ground in front of us. They were about a foot wide and a foot tall, and were covered with small symbols that reminded me of a picture of Sumerian clay tablets in our world history book.

  “Holy cow!” exclaimed Toby. ”Native American writing! This is huge. This is like finding the Rosetta Stone or something.”

  “I'm confused,” I said. ”I did not know that Native Americans had their own writing. I thought they just relied on spoken languages or signing.”

  Shad enlightened us with another documentary tidbit.

  “The Cherokees have their own alphabet invented by a tribal silversmith named Sequoyah. Sequoyah dealt regularly with whites who settled in this area. He was impressed by their writing and referred to white correspondence as ‘talking leaves'. Around 1809, Sequoyah created the system of writing for the Cherokee language.”

  “That's from ‘The Red Man's Way', a special presentation of the Discovery Channel,” Shad added.

  We stared at the tablets for a few seconds. Then our club’s chief scientist Bogdon Peabody made an observation.

  “This is not an alphabetic representation. Those are pictographs. The words in these tablets are represented by pictures and not letters. I don't believe this is Sequoya’s alphabet.”

  “It's not even the Cherokee language,” added a voice from behind us. ”It's Ani-kutani.”

  “Ani-ku-Whatie?” I asked, turning to see who made the comment.

  That is when I came face to face with what looked like the oldest man in the world.

  He was dressed in dark blue strait leg jeans and a blue work shirt buttoned to the top. He was short and wiry with prominent Indian features. His nose was large and beak-like. He had high crinkled cheekbones and dark sunken eyes. Wispy snow white hair flowed down across his shoulders. And he had wrinkles on his wrinkles.

  The old Indian explained, “The Ani-kutani were the ancient priesthood of the Cherokee people. According to Cherokee legend, the Ani-kutani were exterminated during a mass uprising by the Cherokee approximately 300 years prior to European Contact. The People revolted because the Ani-kutani had become despotic and oppressive.”

  “That's from ‘History of the Cherokee' – a Learning Channel special feature,” the old man chuckled.

  “I'm George Guess,” the old Indian continued. “Call me George,” he said, extending his hand and shaking with each of us.

  “I'm sort of an amateur Cherokee historian,” George continued. ”Do you mind if I have a look at your find?”

  I handed over the wand and the tablets. He examined each item in a precise and meticulous manor, like he was committing every detail to memory. And, he was not just relying on his eyes; he ran his finger tips over the items and then delicately smelled each piece.

  “Yes,” he concluded. “This is a very old Eagle wand and these are Ani-kutani tablets.”

  George explained, “these are very important items for the Cherokee people: historically, culturally and spiritually. We need to show these to Walter Yellow Horse over at the museum. He has an Ani-kutani Syllabary, kind of like a translation manual. He may be able to decode these tablets for us.”

  “George?” said Freddie. ”There is one more thing.”

  Freddie reached into the gym bag and pulled out the gemstone that interrupted my scaling of the falls. It was a flawless pigeon blood ruby of about forty carats. (Pigeon blood is the darkest, most sought after type of ruby.) It was a priceless stone, easily worth millions. But, there was something special about this ruby. It had been chipped and flaked into a menacing, razor sharp point. And, that point was at the head of perfectly straight wooden shaft with spotless white feathers inserted at the end.

  It was an arrow.

  I don't believe that Freddie could have gotten more of a reaction if he had reached out and slapped the old Indian! George’s eyes almost popped out of their sunken slits and he crossed himself. Then, he began to kind of sway and hop and started chanting in a language that I assumed was Cherokee.

  Freddie just stood there looking sheepish and holding the arrow as George danced a complete circle around him. Then the aged Indian bent over and picked up a handful of the copper colored dirt. Sticking his hand out in front of his face, he blew dust to the East, to the North, to the West and to the South. Finally George blew a cloud of dust directly into Freddie's face.

  Freddie coughed and choked. ”Hey! What's the big idea?”

  “Sorry,” the ancient Red Man apologized. ”But, this arrow is very dangerous. It’s the reason that the Ani-kutani were exterminated.”

  Then, George reached out and gingerly took the arrow from Freddie's hands. He examined the object carefully, holding the arrow up to his eyes and sighting down the length of the shaft. He drew his thumb and fore finger across one of the feather fletchets. Finally, he grasped the shaft at the top and ran his finger over the ruby arrowhead – testing its razor-sharp edge.

  “This beauty here helped establish that dark period of oppression and cruel tyranny of the old priests. It gave them absolute power over The People. And, there is an old Cherokee saying: ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely.'”

  George held up the vintage dart and pronounced, “This is ‘The Arrow That Would Not Miss.'”

  The words hung in t
he air like campfire smoke on a calm day.

  ”This arrow is very powerful. Its return is a tremendously important sign.”

  “A sign of what?” asked Toby.

  “A sign of Great… or Terrible times,” George answered thoughtfully.

  The old Cherokee held the ruby arrowhead strait up and looked carefully at the crimson rays reflected by the afternoon sun. He studied the arrow for a few seconds in silence. Then he gingerly placed it back into the gym bag. He brushed his hands off and then announced to the group.

  “There's no time to spare. We have something we must do immediately.”

  “What's that?” Toby asked.

  “We have to sweat.”

  ***************

  Chapter Four – Sweating with the Oldies

  It seems kind of funny to me now that we spent all afternoon getting dirty and sweaty trying to climb Mingo Falls. Then, we got up before dawn the next morning to attend a ‘sweat' where the purpose was to clean and purify ourselves by perspiring. But, as outsiders, we were honored to take part in such a solemn and sacred ceremony.

  George built the sweat lodge not far from the public campgrounds where our tents were pitched. The lodge had a willow framed dome covered with a tarp and some animal skins. There was a single door in the dome that opened up to a fire out front. As we sat in a circle inside the sweat lodge, a fire keeper heated up stones outside and brought them in one by one while they were glowing red. When enough hot stones were in place, the flap was closed and temperature inside began to climb. As leader of the sweat, George arranged for several other Cherokee Elders to join us and they brought drums and rattles. Together, we took off our shirts and sat around a circle of hot stones and prayed and sang.

  We began the ceremony with the Lord's Prayer in English. Following that, most of the praying and singing was in Cherokee. However, some of the songs had familiar tunes. One song that we recognized was Amazing Grace. The elders sang it in Cherokee. Several of us joined in with the words of the English version that we remembered.

  The entire ceremony lasted about as long a Sunday morning church service. It ended just about the time that the first orange rays of the morning sun began to peek over the eastern mountains. That's when George picked up one of the drums and began beating steadily. Without saying a word, he got up and moved toward the doorway. The fire keeper pulled back the skins and George walked outside, still beating his rhythm.