In a previous post, I published the eight part to a story a wrote a while back. Here is the next installment.
The silence in the SAR helicopter following the story of Everett Ruess lasted a long time.
“What was Everett's final fate?” Dyss asked.
“That remains a mystery to this day,” Desi said. “And here's the bizarre part. Each possible scenario is just as likely, or rather, just as unlikely, as the next.”
“What are all the possible scenarios?” Haas asked.
“He could have been murdered,” Dyss said.
In his mind, Dyss saw Everett and his two donkeys hiking through Davis Gulch. An unknown assailant approached Everett from behind and killed him. The person ruffled through Everett’s supplies on the back of his donkeys. He took out Everett’s painting supplies, then threw them into the sand.
“Yes, that is one theory,” Desi said, interrupting Dyss’ thoughts. “But who would murder him, and why? The only things he had were his painting supplies. And the only people near Davis Gulch were farmers and shepherds, most of whom knew and even helped in the search for Everett.”
Dyss next saw in his mind a half-buried, half-exposed set of bones lying in the sands of the Davis Gulch canyon floor.
“But even if he was murdered,” Desi said, “disposal of the body in the desert without detection would have been virtually impossible. But of course the strongest evidence to disprove the murder theory…
“There were no other tracks leading into Davis Gulch,” Dyss said. “Only Everett’s.”
Desi nodded. “And that is, without a doubt, the place where the trail of Everett Ruess ends.”
Dyss next saw in his mind a young Everett Ruess on the side of the canyon wall. He was teetering hundreds of feet above the ground, desperately clinging to the loose sandstone. Everett slipped and fell to his death.
“Everett could have climbed a cliff wall and fallen to his death,” Dyss said.
Desi again nodded. “The locals suspected that this was the most likely cause of Everett’s death. Because of that, they carefully and repeated searched the edge of every cliff wall in every direction. They never found anything.”
Dyss continued to play out the scenarios in his mind. He saw Everett Ruess, without his donkeys, enter into the wide Colorado River and swim across to the other side. Dyss also saw in his mind numerous Navajo patrol guards watching Everett cross the river.
Almost in sync with his thoughts, Desi said: “Another possibility is that without any other purpose than a little sightseeing, Everett Ruess had managed the impossible by crossing the Colorado River without trail or detection. But Natani, the medicine man, had been able to detect Everett’s presence five miles before Everett even reached the Colorado, much less tried to cross it. And the Navajo patrols were renowned among the Escalante settlers as never failing.”
“And more importantly,” Dyss said, “why would Everett leave his donkeys behind in Davis Gulch?”
Dyss envisioned another scenario in his mind. He saw Everett corral his donkeys into a secluded spot in the canyon. Everett then left his donkeys and began traveling down the canyon. As he went, he carefully covered his tracks so that the sand on the canyon floor looked relatively untouched.
“The final theory,” Desi said, “is that Everett deliberately and purposely disappeared. He left his donkeys in Davis Gulch and carefully, more carefully than any human before, covered his tracks until he reached the Colorado River. He somehow managed to avoid detection from the Navajo patrols and crossed the river into the Navajo nation. He then lost his identity and became a Nemo, wandering the beautiful Southern Utah wilderness in search of inspiration for his artwork. Some even say he married a Navajo woman and had a child. But how could he conceal his identity for so long, especially among the Navajos who were incapable of keeping a secret?”
Finally, Dyss saw Everett inside a cave-like alcove in Davis Gulch. He saw Everett grab a rock and carve ‘Nemo, 1934’ into the canyon wall. He saw Everett walk away.
Dyss blinked his eyes, as if in a trance. In his mind’s eye, he saw the carving slowly fade over time. He saw water surround the carving as the Lake Powell floodwaters rose. Though diminished, the carving still remained.
“That is the story of Everett Ruess,” Desi said. “Either Everett died and left no body, or he disappeared and left no trail. And, still, the most tantalizing and bizarre part of the whole story: ‘Nemo, 1934’. There is always the engraving on the side of the Davis Gulch canyon wall, now buried beneath the floodwaters of Lake Powell: ‘Nemo, 1934.’”
“But the story of Everett Ruess continues to baffle and mystify,” Desi continued. “Earlier this year, on the seventy-fifth anniversary of his disappearance, a skeleton was found near the Colorado river, approximately fifty miles upriver from Davis Gulch.”
“Let me guess,” Dyss said. “The dental records again failed to match against Everett Ruess.”
“Wrong,” Desi said. “The dental records matched perfectly. In May of this year, forensic scientists happily laid the Everett Ruess story to rest.”
“What’s so baffling about that?” Dyss said.
Desi frowned at Dyss. She paused, trying to find her wording correctly. “It is easy for us to look back even to a time as short ago as 1934 and scoff at the evidence of our predecessors,” Desi said. “We hear of this story and think that the search parties must have made some error in judgement. They must have missed some seemingly insignificant but obvious detail. They must not have interviewed enough farmers to find Everett’s true killer. They must not have scoured the countryside closely enough. People don’t just disappear into thin air!”
“I must admit,” Dyss said, “the thought had crossed my mind. I mean, for that time I’m sure any scenario the search parties could think of was impossible.”
“And what about our time, Jeff?” Desi said in a somber tone. She searched Dyss’ eyes for skepticism. “Aren’t dental records evidence enough? Isn’t that conclusive enough to prove that the search for Everett is finally over, that the mystery of his disappearance must finally be dead.” Desi spoke this final word ‘dead’ with emphasis. “To believe anything else would be pure superstition!”
“Yes,” Dyss said.
Desi nodded slowly, then spoke with a tone of finality. “Along with the dental records, a DNA test was conducted on the skeleton that was found earlier this year,” Desi said. “The DNA was tested against Everett’s grand-nephew.”
Desi looked directly at Dyss. “The DNA test failed,” she said. “According to the test, the skeleton did not have any blood relation to the Ruess family. Scientists published the results of their tests only a few weeks ago. The lower jaw that was a dental match to Everett Ruess is now believed to be the jaw of a Navajo man.”
“That’s impossible,” Dyss said in shock.
“Just as impossible as it was seventy five years ago,” Desi said. “This legend is still alive and thriving. It’s impossible that a skeleton’s dental records could say one thing but for its DNA to say another. That skeleton belonged to Everett Ruess, and yet it didn’t. Where is Everett now? He is just as lost in the desert as he was seventy five years ago.”
Dyss’ brow lowered as he frowned in confusion.
“Jeff,” Desi said slowly, “it’s time you start to consider seemingly impossible scenarios if you ever want to find those missing hikers.”
A long silence.
“We’re almost to Davis Gulch,” the pilot said from the front of the chopper.
Dyss nodded. “We might have a copycat situation on our hands,” he said.
“That’s all you can say,” Haas said in disgust. “You listened to that entire story and no other possibility crossed your mind?”
“What are you talking about?” Dyss said.
“You know exactly what I'm talking about,” Haas said, almost yelling. “I'm talking about Sarah Callahan’s map. I'm talking about the fountain of youth. Sure, it's ridiculous, even laughable. But the thought must have at least crossed your mind. You heard what Desi said, the fountain is not some cemented water structure, it’s a symbol of something. What if Everett Ruess had been able to find the fountain of youth? How else was he able to vanish? And what about Sarah and her friends? They were after the same thing, the fountain. And they were searching for it in Davis Gulch. Their tracks go in, but don’t go out.”
Dyss spoke strongly in protest. “We’re talking about the plausible and the possible here.”
“Didn't you hear a word that Desi said?” Haas yelled. “Everett did the impossible. He completely disappeared.”
“Not everything in this world can be empirically proven,” Desi said softly to Dyss. “There are certain places science can't go, certain places reserved only for those with faith.”
Dyss again spoke emphatically. “This is an investigation into the disappearance of three hikers. Investigations can't be based on faith. We need evidence. Eternal youth, it isn’t possible.”
“What would you do?” Desi said, again softly. “Jeff, what would you do if you had the power over life and death?” She paused. “What is so impossible about extending life longer than nature would indicate? Isn’t that the purpose of medicine? Ponce De Leon was not a stupid man. No explorer as successful as he ever was. His search must have been based on some kind of scientific evidence.”
There was a long pause, then Haas spoke: “Dyss, what did you mean when you said you knew about a lake that moves? Back in Zebra Canyon we found the word meaning ‘The Lake of the Wounded’ in the sand. Desi said that the lake sometimes moves to keep the impure from defiling it. And you said you knew about a lake that moves.”
Dyss nodded. “There are numerous natural sand dams inside Scorpion Gulch. A small lake forms at the base of one of these dams, but the location of the lake depends on the last flash flood that raged through the canyon. It changes with every heavy rain.”
“I know it’s crazy,” Haas said, “but it all makes sense in its own way. To prevent the discovery of such a sacred treasure, the waters of the fountain of youth are continually moving via rain water. A flash flood washes down a canyon. The desert heat dries the waters up and sends them skyward. They move on to their next destination. Sarah Callahan and her group were in search of these moving waters, which is why they traveled to all the canyons on her map; canyons that had ancient markings inside them. These ancient markings indicated that the waters of youth had at one time resided inside that particular canyon. Everett had been able to find these waters, and had left his own unique marker. Seventy five years later, the waters have found their way back here. Our current scientific tools are finally able to detect these sacred waters, and four men are sent out to investigate the cause of the recent anomalies in the water.”
“But why are these men being killed?” Dyss said.
“Because of the contamination that comes when an impure soul enters these waters,” Haas said. “What was it that those old Navajos said to the pilot? They warned him to stop seeking after the thing which would destroy him.”
Dyss shook his head. “There are still too many unanswered questions,” Dyss said. “What does the word Manhattan have anything to do with the fountain of youth?”
“We’ve got a problem,” the pilot said in a panicked voice.
The group looked forward. The pilot pointed to the ground. The group looked out the chopper door to where he was pointing.
Davis Gulch was directly below them. At the floor of the canyon were the three deformed Navajo men from Zebra Canyon. They stood around a small, poorly constructed altar of sandstone rocks. There was another man tied to the altar.
“Those are the same three Navajos we saw near Zebra Canyon,” Dyss said angrily.
“How did they get here so fast?” Haas said. “Zebra canyon is fifty miles away.”
One of the Navajo men raised a knife and plunged it downward towards the man on the altar. Desi looked away from the horrible sight.
“Get us down there,” Dyss said angrily.
“There’s not enough room,” the pilot said. “You're gonna haf' ta' rap in.”
Without hesitation, Dyss grabbed an end of the rope lying on the floor of the helicopter and threw it out the window. The rope fell earthward. The other end was attached to the chopper.
The three Navajo men looked up to the helicopter, then turned away and ran down-canyon.
Dyss quickly clipped himself into the rope and stepped away from the helicopter, preparing to rappel down.
Desi grabbed Dyss’ arm and pulled him back inside.
“Jeff, the man that just died,” Desi said, then hesitated. “That was an ancient Aztec sacrifice to Tlaloc, the god of rain. Those men are after the waters.” She paused. “You must not let them enter the Lake of the Wounded.”
Dyss nodded, then stepped out of the helicopter and slid down the rope.
Continue reading the next chapter >>>
<<< Go back to the previous chapter
Chapter 9
The silence in the SAR helicopter following the story of Everett Ruess lasted a long time.
“What was Everett's final fate?” Dyss asked.
“That remains a mystery to this day,” Desi said. “And here's the bizarre part. Each possible scenario is just as likely, or rather, just as unlikely, as the next.”
“What are all the possible scenarios?” Haas asked.
“He could have been murdered,” Dyss said.
In his mind, Dyss saw Everett and his two donkeys hiking through Davis Gulch. An unknown assailant approached Everett from behind and killed him. The person ruffled through Everett’s supplies on the back of his donkeys. He took out Everett’s painting supplies, then threw them into the sand.
“Yes, that is one theory,” Desi said, interrupting Dyss’ thoughts. “But who would murder him, and why? The only things he had were his painting supplies. And the only people near Davis Gulch were farmers and shepherds, most of whom knew and even helped in the search for Everett.”
Dyss next saw in his mind a half-buried, half-exposed set of bones lying in the sands of the Davis Gulch canyon floor.
“But even if he was murdered,” Desi said, “disposal of the body in the desert without detection would have been virtually impossible. But of course the strongest evidence to disprove the murder theory…
“There were no other tracks leading into Davis Gulch,” Dyss said. “Only Everett’s.”
Desi nodded. “And that is, without a doubt, the place where the trail of Everett Ruess ends.”
Dyss next saw in his mind a young Everett Ruess on the side of the canyon wall. He was teetering hundreds of feet above the ground, desperately clinging to the loose sandstone. Everett slipped and fell to his death.
“Everett could have climbed a cliff wall and fallen to his death,” Dyss said.
Desi again nodded. “The locals suspected that this was the most likely cause of Everett’s death. Because of that, they carefully and repeated searched the edge of every cliff wall in every direction. They never found anything.”
Dyss continued to play out the scenarios in his mind. He saw Everett Ruess, without his donkeys, enter into the wide Colorado River and swim across to the other side. Dyss also saw in his mind numerous Navajo patrol guards watching Everett cross the river.
Almost in sync with his thoughts, Desi said: “Another possibility is that without any other purpose than a little sightseeing, Everett Ruess had managed the impossible by crossing the Colorado River without trail or detection. But Natani, the medicine man, had been able to detect Everett’s presence five miles before Everett even reached the Colorado, much less tried to cross it. And the Navajo patrols were renowned among the Escalante settlers as never failing.”
“And more importantly,” Dyss said, “why would Everett leave his donkeys behind in Davis Gulch?”
Dyss envisioned another scenario in his mind. He saw Everett corral his donkeys into a secluded spot in the canyon. Everett then left his donkeys and began traveling down the canyon. As he went, he carefully covered his tracks so that the sand on the canyon floor looked relatively untouched.
“The final theory,” Desi said, “is that Everett deliberately and purposely disappeared. He left his donkeys in Davis Gulch and carefully, more carefully than any human before, covered his tracks until he reached the Colorado River. He somehow managed to avoid detection from the Navajo patrols and crossed the river into the Navajo nation. He then lost his identity and became a Nemo, wandering the beautiful Southern Utah wilderness in search of inspiration for his artwork. Some even say he married a Navajo woman and had a child. But how could he conceal his identity for so long, especially among the Navajos who were incapable of keeping a secret?”
Finally, Dyss saw Everett inside a cave-like alcove in Davis Gulch. He saw Everett grab a rock and carve ‘Nemo, 1934’ into the canyon wall. He saw Everett walk away.
Dyss blinked his eyes, as if in a trance. In his mind’s eye, he saw the carving slowly fade over time. He saw water surround the carving as the Lake Powell floodwaters rose. Though diminished, the carving still remained.
“That is the story of Everett Ruess,” Desi said. “Either Everett died and left no body, or he disappeared and left no trail. And, still, the most tantalizing and bizarre part of the whole story: ‘Nemo, 1934’. There is always the engraving on the side of the Davis Gulch canyon wall, now buried beneath the floodwaters of Lake Powell: ‘Nemo, 1934.’”
“But the story of Everett Ruess continues to baffle and mystify,” Desi continued. “Earlier this year, on the seventy-fifth anniversary of his disappearance, a skeleton was found near the Colorado river, approximately fifty miles upriver from Davis Gulch.”
“Let me guess,” Dyss said. “The dental records again failed to match against Everett Ruess.”
“Wrong,” Desi said. “The dental records matched perfectly. In May of this year, forensic scientists happily laid the Everett Ruess story to rest.”
“What’s so baffling about that?” Dyss said.
Desi frowned at Dyss. She paused, trying to find her wording correctly. “It is easy for us to look back even to a time as short ago as 1934 and scoff at the evidence of our predecessors,” Desi said. “We hear of this story and think that the search parties must have made some error in judgement. They must have missed some seemingly insignificant but obvious detail. They must not have interviewed enough farmers to find Everett’s true killer. They must not have scoured the countryside closely enough. People don’t just disappear into thin air!”
“I must admit,” Dyss said, “the thought had crossed my mind. I mean, for that time I’m sure any scenario the search parties could think of was impossible.”
“And what about our time, Jeff?” Desi said in a somber tone. She searched Dyss’ eyes for skepticism. “Aren’t dental records evidence enough? Isn’t that conclusive enough to prove that the search for Everett is finally over, that the mystery of his disappearance must finally be dead.” Desi spoke this final word ‘dead’ with emphasis. “To believe anything else would be pure superstition!”
“Yes,” Dyss said.
Desi nodded slowly, then spoke with a tone of finality. “Along with the dental records, a DNA test was conducted on the skeleton that was found earlier this year,” Desi said. “The DNA was tested against Everett’s grand-nephew.”
Desi looked directly at Dyss. “The DNA test failed,” she said. “According to the test, the skeleton did not have any blood relation to the Ruess family. Scientists published the results of their tests only a few weeks ago. The lower jaw that was a dental match to Everett Ruess is now believed to be the jaw of a Navajo man.”
“That’s impossible,” Dyss said in shock.
“Just as impossible as it was seventy five years ago,” Desi said. “This legend is still alive and thriving. It’s impossible that a skeleton’s dental records could say one thing but for its DNA to say another. That skeleton belonged to Everett Ruess, and yet it didn’t. Where is Everett now? He is just as lost in the desert as he was seventy five years ago.”
Dyss’ brow lowered as he frowned in confusion.
“Jeff,” Desi said slowly, “it’s time you start to consider seemingly impossible scenarios if you ever want to find those missing hikers.”
A long silence.
“We’re almost to Davis Gulch,” the pilot said from the front of the chopper.
Dyss nodded. “We might have a copycat situation on our hands,” he said.
“That’s all you can say,” Haas said in disgust. “You listened to that entire story and no other possibility crossed your mind?”
“What are you talking about?” Dyss said.
“You know exactly what I'm talking about,” Haas said, almost yelling. “I'm talking about Sarah Callahan’s map. I'm talking about the fountain of youth. Sure, it's ridiculous, even laughable. But the thought must have at least crossed your mind. You heard what Desi said, the fountain is not some cemented water structure, it’s a symbol of something. What if Everett Ruess had been able to find the fountain of youth? How else was he able to vanish? And what about Sarah and her friends? They were after the same thing, the fountain. And they were searching for it in Davis Gulch. Their tracks go in, but don’t go out.”
Dyss spoke strongly in protest. “We’re talking about the plausible and the possible here.”
“Didn't you hear a word that Desi said?” Haas yelled. “Everett did the impossible. He completely disappeared.”
“Not everything in this world can be empirically proven,” Desi said softly to Dyss. “There are certain places science can't go, certain places reserved only for those with faith.”
Dyss again spoke emphatically. “This is an investigation into the disappearance of three hikers. Investigations can't be based on faith. We need evidence. Eternal youth, it isn’t possible.”
“What would you do?” Desi said, again softly. “Jeff, what would you do if you had the power over life and death?” She paused. “What is so impossible about extending life longer than nature would indicate? Isn’t that the purpose of medicine? Ponce De Leon was not a stupid man. No explorer as successful as he ever was. His search must have been based on some kind of scientific evidence.”
There was a long pause, then Haas spoke: “Dyss, what did you mean when you said you knew about a lake that moves? Back in Zebra Canyon we found the word meaning ‘The Lake of the Wounded’ in the sand. Desi said that the lake sometimes moves to keep the impure from defiling it. And you said you knew about a lake that moves.”
Dyss nodded. “There are numerous natural sand dams inside Scorpion Gulch. A small lake forms at the base of one of these dams, but the location of the lake depends on the last flash flood that raged through the canyon. It changes with every heavy rain.”
“I know it’s crazy,” Haas said, “but it all makes sense in its own way. To prevent the discovery of such a sacred treasure, the waters of the fountain of youth are continually moving via rain water. A flash flood washes down a canyon. The desert heat dries the waters up and sends them skyward. They move on to their next destination. Sarah Callahan and her group were in search of these moving waters, which is why they traveled to all the canyons on her map; canyons that had ancient markings inside them. These ancient markings indicated that the waters of youth had at one time resided inside that particular canyon. Everett had been able to find these waters, and had left his own unique marker. Seventy five years later, the waters have found their way back here. Our current scientific tools are finally able to detect these sacred waters, and four men are sent out to investigate the cause of the recent anomalies in the water.”
“But why are these men being killed?” Dyss said.
“Because of the contamination that comes when an impure soul enters these waters,” Haas said. “What was it that those old Navajos said to the pilot? They warned him to stop seeking after the thing which would destroy him.”
Dyss shook his head. “There are still too many unanswered questions,” Dyss said. “What does the word Manhattan have anything to do with the fountain of youth?”
“We’ve got a problem,” the pilot said in a panicked voice.
The group looked forward. The pilot pointed to the ground. The group looked out the chopper door to where he was pointing.
Davis Gulch was directly below them. At the floor of the canyon were the three deformed Navajo men from Zebra Canyon. They stood around a small, poorly constructed altar of sandstone rocks. There was another man tied to the altar.
“Those are the same three Navajos we saw near Zebra Canyon,” Dyss said angrily.
“How did they get here so fast?” Haas said. “Zebra canyon is fifty miles away.”
One of the Navajo men raised a knife and plunged it downward towards the man on the altar. Desi looked away from the horrible sight.
“Get us down there,” Dyss said angrily.
“There’s not enough room,” the pilot said. “You're gonna haf' ta' rap in.”
Without hesitation, Dyss grabbed an end of the rope lying on the floor of the helicopter and threw it out the window. The rope fell earthward. The other end was attached to the chopper.
The three Navajo men looked up to the helicopter, then turned away and ran down-canyon.
Dyss quickly clipped himself into the rope and stepped away from the helicopter, preparing to rappel down.
Desi grabbed Dyss’ arm and pulled him back inside.
“Jeff, the man that just died,” Desi said, then hesitated. “That was an ancient Aztec sacrifice to Tlaloc, the god of rain. Those men are after the waters.” She paused. “You must not let them enter the Lake of the Wounded.”
Dyss nodded, then stepped out of the helicopter and slid down the rope.
Continue reading the next chapter >>>
<<< Go back to the previous chapter
A common view of Lake Powell canyon country from a helicopter
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