A Boy Called Duct Tape (20 page)

And I was no fool. I knew Blood was lying. My suspicions were confirmed by the solemn, troubled expression on Monroe’s face. Blood had no intention of sparing anyone’s life. For now, he needed us. But when that need was over—and I guessed that time would come in the Hotel Lobby—Blood would get rid of us. And if Blood was able to somehow seal the cave entrance, nobody would ever find our bodies. I wasn’t quite sure how we would navigate the deep pit. That presented a whole new set of problems.

“Remember, Blood,” I reminded him. “You swore on your father’s grave.”

“Uh-huh, that’s a fact and I’ll abide by our agreement.” Blood flashed a big, phony grin.

Many of the old canvas moneybags fell apart when they were lifted out of the steamer trunk, and the process of filling the backpacks was done one handful at a time. A few of the coins spilled onto the cavern floor, and Blood scooped them up like a beggar chasing pennies.

We were filling the third of the five backpacks when I found a crumpled envelope lying beneath a tattered ROLLA STATE BANK moneybag.

“Hey, a letter,” I said, slipping the envelope from its hiding place.

“What kind of letter?” Blood asked suspiciously, grabbing a peek over my shoulder.

I read the writing on the outside of the envelope. “‘To Whom It May Concern.’”

“Read it, Pablo,” Kiki said, crowding in for a better look.

I tore open the crinkled envelope, which was a pasty shade of yellow. Inside was a one-page letter, written on both the front and back, and penned in longhand.

I began to read: “‘Dear Friend. The simple fact that you are reading my letter will tell you that neither Frank nor I was able to get back for our trunk, which we purchased in Neosho, Missouri for two dollars.’”

“It’s from Jesse James!” Kiki yipped. “Frank was his brother!”

“Sweet!” Pia cried.

“Go on, Pablo!” Kiki urged. “Read the rest!”

I continued: “‘The contents of this trunk are the sum total of more than ten years of robbing banks and stagecoaches. We spent some of the money, but most of it we saved. You may have read where we robbed a few trains. This is true, but we robbed fewer trains than the Pinkertons said. Robbing trains isn’t nearly as easy to rob as banks or stagecoaches, especially when they are moving.’”

“He’s funny,” Pia noted with a giggle.

“‘I can’t tell you for certain why neither Frank nor I never made it back for our trunk and the gold and silver. Maybe we robbed one bank too many. I hope this is not the case. If I have anything at all to say on the subject, I would just as soon die in bed reading my Bible.’”

I looked up. “He likes to read the Bible. I thought he was a bad guy?”

“Bad guys can read the Bible,” Monroe said, looking at Earl Blood. “Isn’t that right, Blood?”

“Shut your trap!” He pointed his flashlight beam at me. “Finish up reading that thar letter, kid. There’s still work to be done.”

I turned the letter over and continued reading: “‘I reckon I should congratulate you for finding our treasure chest. You came the long way. There is a shorter way into this beautiful cave, but me and Frank plan to close up that hole real soon with a keg of black powder. We first came the long way, but that deep pit sure enough killed more than one of my men. Frank and I have maps to this place. He’s going to spend some time with kin in Stark City, Missouri—’”

“A woman from Stark City donated the map to the Jamesville Museum!” Kiki blurted. “That’s what Clarence Conboy told us that day at the Outlaw Days Festival!”

“I remember that,” Pia said.

“The pieces to the puzzle are coming together,” Monroe observed.

I went on reading: “‘Me, I’m going up to a little town north of Kansas City called St. Joe and try my hand at living the respectable life. This robbing business has worn me out. St. Joseph seems like a nice little town. I think me and my wife and kids will like it there.’”

“Didn’t turn out that way,” Kiki said.

“Why not?” Pia asked.

“My book said Jesse was shot in his St. Joseph home,” Kiki said. “Shot and killed by a friend for the reward money. His brother Frank ended up in prison.”

“Read the rest, Pablo,” Monroe said, his light framing the yellowing paper.

“And do it fast!” Blood screamed.

I read the final paragraph: “‘So that’s my story. I’d sure like to know what year it is at the time you are reading my letter. I would be surprised if it was later than 1890.’”

I looked up again. “It’s signed Jesse Woodson James. June 12th, 1880.”

We were quiet for several long moments as the man named Jesse James and his history washed over us.

Blood broke the spell. “Okay!” he snapped. “You’ve read your little letter! Now git back to work!”

The weight of the backpacks was impossible for anyone—even someone as strong as Monroe Huff—to carry when filled with coins and jewelry. I wondered how we could carry the heavy backpacks through miles of tunnel back to the Hotel Lobby. And how would we ever get the treasure across the deep pit? That was a problem that would not go away.

Monroe has plenty of rope,
I thought
. Maybe he can rig up some sort of pulley—

I was stirred from my troubling thoughts when Mother Cave awoke with a quiver. The floor shifted, and a distant grumble echoed in the chamber.

The tremor quickly grew into something far more dangerous, and in a few moments it was difficult for any of us to keep our footing. The Cathedral swaying beneath us, a terrible, ear-splitting roar thundered throughout the huge cavern. Still half full, the old steamer trunk rattled and shimmied as the coins inside clinked together like a slot machine spilling its jackpot.

“You warned us, Mother Cave,” I said above the ear-piercing clamor.

Kiki and I came together, wrapping our arms around Pia as the cavern floor pitched beneath us.

The distant roar grew louder.

Blood took a few faltering steps toward the stone bridge, his flashlight beam crisscrossing the jiggling walls of the big cavern. A strange moaning sound arose from his throat as one of the smaller stalactites pulled loose from the ceiling and crashed to the floor not ten yards from where he stood. Blood held up one hand to protect himself from falling debris.

Monroe saw the cluster of stalactites pull loose from the dome above Blood, and he yelled a warning: “The ceiling! Watch out!”

Perhaps sensing treachery, Blood raised the rifle to his shoulder and pointed it at Monroe as if he meant to shoot him. Blood’s finger began to stroke the trigger at the same instant a large cluster of stalactites struck him. His body riddled with broken stalactite shards—head, shoulders, arms—Blood slumped to the floor dead. I covered my sister’s eyes with my hand.

As clusters of stone swords continued to crash to the floor, Monroe rushed over to where Pia stood between Kiki and me, our arms wrapped around her. Monroe looked down at Pia from beneath a tangle of wiry eyebrows.

“Do you trust me, Pia?” he shouted.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, her voice barely audible, her eyes wide with fear.

In one fluid motion, Monroe snatched Pia away from Kiki and me, one hand clasped around the rear straps of her coveralls, the other gripping the loose material in the seat of her pants. He stepped over to the river, paused, and then tossed Pia into the middle of it, shouting, “Swim to the light, Pia!”

The swift water carried her away.

“Are you crazy, Monroe!” Kiki screamed, dashing to the river and throwing herself in. “I’m coming, Pia!” she shouted, her arms digging through the water.

I leaped into the river a second later. “Hold on, Pia!”

The sudden chill of the water sucked the breath out of me and it took a few seconds to become oriented. I had managed to keep my flashlight shackled to my hand and above the surface of the water. Ahead of me was Kiki, her head bobbing in the underground river. Pia was a few yards farther.

Beyond Pia, the river disappeared beneath the cavern wall. I felt powerless to help, and I watched, terrified, as the current sucked Pia under the stone wall.

Over my shoulder, I heard Monroe yell again, “Swim to the light!”

I watched helplessly as Kiki, too, was pulled under the wall.

As I approached the stone barrier, I ducked my head and held my breath. I popped to the surface two seconds later in a world of darkness. I had lost my flashlight, and I raised my arms to judge the clearance. The ceiling raced along my fingertips, a foot above my head.

“Pia!” I shouted. “Kiki!”

There was no response for several agonizing moments, and then Kiki’s voice sliced through the noisy babble of the river. “I’m here, Pablo! I have Pia!”

Although I was confused by Monroe’s command, I shouted, “Swim to the light!”

The frigid river began to fall and I sensed my body descending down a smooth, underground waterslide. It rolled me left and then right. Someone screamed, but I couldn’t tell if it was Pia or Kiki. Maybe both.

“Swim to the light!” I shouted, holding my arms above my head as I slid down the rocky tube.

Ahead, a dim cloud of light appeared. It came at me fast, becoming brighter and brighter, and I suddenly found myself in a deep pool of water. The pool was flooded with light. Overhead, silhouetted against a clear Missouri sky, were the blurry figures of Pia and Kiki. They were swimming to the light. I was a few breaststrokes behind.

Gasping for air, one by one we burst to the surface of the water in Harper’s Hole. The quake had subsided by the time we reached the riverbank, and we climbed out of James Creek and lay exhausted beneath the cottonwood tree, the afternoon sun warming us.

“I hate caves,” Pia said shortly, her face beaded with water.

“Ditto that,” Kiki added, running her fingers through her drenched hair. “I never want to see another one.”

I was about to agree when something out the corner of my eye caused me to climb to my feet. I stared into the deep pool of water. “Look,” I said, pointing.

Pia and Kiki got to their feet and followed my gaze.

A treasure-laden backpack had been spit out by the underground spring feeding the deep pool, and now lay at the bottom amongst the shiny, colored stones. In a few moments a second backpack popped out, sinking to the bottom. And then a third. Now a fourth.

We stood on the banks of James Creek waiting for Monroe to pop to the surface.

“Where’s Monroe, Pablo?” Pia asked, choking back tears.

We watched and waited, but Monroe Huff never appeared.

A TV reporter named Matt Gordon poked a microphone at me. “So tell us, Pablo, were you confident that your sister, cousin, and you would find the treasure?” The handheld mike was inscribed with the words KMBC-TV – KANSAS CITY.

I looked into the camera, one of a dozen that had been set up on the steps of the Jamesville National Bank. “Only a fool pretends to know tomorrow,” I said. “Which made finding the treasure that much sweeter.”

The crowd of reporters and well-wishers laughed.

“What do you plan to do with the money, Kiki?” a balding newspaper writer from the
Tulsa
World
said.

“The first thing we’re going to do is get Pia’s leg fixed,” Kiki said, her arm around Pia’s shoulder. “I’m not sure what we’ll do with the rest.”

“Is it true, Pia, that your guide, a man named Monroe Huff, threw you into the river?” The question had been raised by a young woman from
People
Magazine
.

“If it hadn’t been for Mr. Huff,” Pia recalled, “we all would have died in the earthquake. He knew the river led to Harper’s Hole. He saved us.” Then, fighting back the tears, she said, “I wish he hadn’t died.”

Although the
QUAKE WITH LITTLE SHAKE
—as the
Jamesville
Times
headline reported—registered 4.1 on the Richter scale, it caused no damage in Jamesville or surrounding towns. The epicenter was located beneath Jesse’s cave, however, and delivered just enough of a jolt to destroy the magnificent, but fragile cavern.

A middle-aged man who wrote for
USA Today
got Pablo’s attention. “Pablo, I understand your mother was ready to file a missing persons report. What was that all about?”

“We were gone a little longer that we expected,” I said sheepishly. “We sort of forgot all about the time. We were too excited about finding the treasure.”

Mom filed the report with Sheriff Jimmy Hickman that Sunday afternoon. When she arrived home later, she began making telephone calls: the Ozark County Medicare Center; the Missouri Highway Patrol; a missing-persons hot-line in Jefferson City.

She had just gotten off the phone with Kiki’s parents in St. Louis—they planned to drive to Jamesville immediately—when Pia, Kiki, and I washed through the front door. It was nearly 9 p.m.

We were tired and wet, and chattered non-stop about finding the treasure. Mom was skeptical at first, but when Pia produced the walnut-sized emerald she had found at the deep pit her doubt turned to astonishment.

After a sleepless night, the three of us rode our dirt bikes to the outskirts of town and rented two canoes from the Jamesville River Tours. Paddling furiously, we arrived at Harper’s Hole just before noon.

I made four trips to the bottom of the deep pool of water, tying a rope around each treasure-laden backpack, and then hauling it to the surface. It took all three of us to lift each backpack into the empty canoe, which floated low in the water under all the weight. We then continued down James Creek, arriving at Ginger Blue Resort at sunset. Mom was waiting there in her beat up Buick Skylark.

The next day Jesse’s treasure found its way into the vault of the Jamesville National Bank. The bank president, a tall, thin man named Homer Wright, was stunned at the sight of the gold and silver coins, and the dozens of pieces of antique jewelry. After his shock had worn off, he told us that we could store the treasure in his bank for as long as we wanted. And at no charge. He said he was proud as punch to be a small part of history.

However, when word got out about the fabulous discovery, the State of Missouri sent two Revenue Department agents down to Jamesville. The agents claimed Missouri held the salvage rights to the treasure since most of the money and jewels had been stolen by Missourians from Missourians. Neither of the agents could quote the exact law, but they were sure the State of Missouri was entitled to the fortune.