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Page 37
itude of the area was much too pleasant for the intrusion of civilization.
But maybe a wagon train or two had ventured this way during the last century.
Mike was suddenly certain of it. After all, his cabin was not far from the Old Spanish Trailone of several routes taken by settlers of the West. Still, why was he so sure now that the pass had been a wagon train route?
It wasn't important. For a moment, he allowed his mind to wander to Arlen's Kitchens. Nono business, no worries. He forced himself to stare at the rock formations on the dry mountain slopes, the plants that grew along the path, the strange shapes in the shifting clouds above him. He inhaled the dustiness of the desert air. There were few sounds to listen to: the droning of an occasional plane, a whooshing of the increasingly gusty wind through the canyon, the clicking of insects. Now and then he stopped for a swig of water from the plastic bottle clipped to his belt.
After he had walked for nearly three hours, the light brightened as he neared the far end of the path. Soon he stepped from between the mountains. A vista of rolling, arid desert fanned out before him.
As Mike recalled, he had found the trove of fossils about a hundred yards to the left and about nine feet up the mountain. He headed in that direction.
He didn't notice anything else until he was nearly at the areafor the figure lay in a gully.

 
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