The River of Tales

Purgatory Petroglyphs

 

            Walking gingerly over the boulder, Joe was looking downward as the boulder dropped off.  At the edge the incline was severe but Joe had his feet dug in.  Looking below saw the pathway he wanted.  The rubble pile from the avalanche stretched off in the distance but it was easy to skirt, just took some time.  Easing back up the slope of the boulder, Joe turned around to backtrack and begin a swing around the rock pile. 

            Off the boulder he scrambled, down the slope to where the pile of rocks ended.  Around the heap Joe walked.  Soon he was around the rocks and began scrambling over the loose rocks, carefully watching where he stepped.  These rock piles were notorious for snakes.  Stepping off the scree, his feet touched down on dirt.  Up the slope was a scramble to the crevice he could see between the boulders on the canyon wall.  Stepping around a house size boulder, Joe spied the path he was looking for.  A short ravine led back into the canyon wall.

            The rock path was damp from a small spring that oozed out from under the boulder.  The air was cooler from the dampness and ahead was the goal. 

            A whole wall of rock art, the Indians had came here for the cool spring and left their sign.  In the coolness of the small spring they could spend time chipping on the sandstone.  There were the circles, the deer, other animals, buffalo and signs of the spirits. 

            Going on back into the crevice, Joe discovered it was a cave, reaching back in the sandstone cliffs of the canyon.  Slipping the pack off, Joe mounted a miners lamp on his cap and took out a flashlight.  Putting the pack back on, he ventured on into the darkness.  Shining the flashlight on the walls revealed paintings.  The Indians had been in here and from the light of the fire had marked the walls.  Most were faded yet a few glowed in the light.  Pulse was rushing, heart was pounding, a treasure trove of ancient Indian art covered the rocks on the caves entrance.  Round and round the flashlight traveled, revealing all types of petro glyphs and pictographs from centuries ago. 

            On into the cave Joe walked, to see what was deeper inside.  A rock out cropping narrowed the entrance and Joe had to turn sideways to get around the rock.  As he stepped past the out cropping a cold wind whistled past him.  Shirt was waving and hair was standing on end.  Taking another step the wind ended and there was a cool breeze coming from the right.  Shining the light that direction, there was a small opening between the rocks.  Getting on knees, Joe shined the light into the opening.  Darkness was revealed until there was a glint flashing back at him. 

Waving the flashlight around the glint stayed there.  Now it was curious, what was causing the reflection.  On hand and knees he could crawl into the opening.  Turning on the miner’s lamp, Joe got down and began crawling into the unknown.  Cool air wafted past him, feeling good after being the hot sun most of the day. 

            A short distance in, Joe stopped, hair stood on end, he blanched, fear rolled over him.  Out of the opening a wail began, the moan of a crying woman.  Backwards Joe began to try and scramble but it wasn’t fast enough.  The low moaning built into a shrill cry, growing ever louder.  Ears were on fire from the noise.  Out of the small opening Joe scrambled as the scream reached ear piercing levels.  Running to the daylight of the cave opening, both ears covered trying to block the pain.  Out into daylight he popped.  Eyes bulged out, face white and ears covered. 

            In the daylight the scream subsided to a low wail.  Collapsing on the ground, Joe lay there.  Breathing going full throttle, ears throbbing from pain.  Passed out, he laid there.

            Coming back to consciousness, Joe groaned, rubbed his ears, looked at a now dim sky.  The sun was setting when Joe came around, shadows were long.  Sitting up, he looked around, the ground was damp where he had lain, below were piles of rocks, above were huge boulders.  Where am I, What happened, Joe was mumbling to himself. 

            There was no crevice nearby, no openings in the cliff and no rock fall.  Over there he could see his truck, beside him was his pack.  On his cap was the miner’s lamp and on the ground was the flashlight.  Stunned he looked around in disbelief, how did I get here, he asks himself. 

            There is only a dim memory of Joe scrambling over the boulders, climbing into the crevasse, finding the petroglyphs and the cave.  Then the wave of the screaming rolled over Joe’s foggy thoughts.  Covering his ears, he grimaces in pain as painful memories flood over.  Soon the ache subsides and he looks around again, not recognizing anything.  In a stupor, Joe sits there.  Thoughts are going 100 gazillion per second.  Head is ringing, the mother of all hangovers.  Turning eyes, twist around to survey the scene.  Everything is off kilter.  Joe looks at himself, asking, what happened to me.

            In a daze, Joe stumbles to his pick up, finds the water and sits down.  Taking sips, the cob webs become fuzzy.  Few more drinks and the fuzzier become clear.  Collecting the thoughts of a rambling mind, Joe accesses his situation.  Walking back to his pack, he picks it up, puts the flashlight in and lugs it back to the truck.  Into the cab he tosses the pack.  Going around to the other side Joe crawls under the steering wheel.  The motor roars to life.  Easing into gear, Joe begins a puzzled trip home.