The Secret of the Stones by Ernest Dempsey (reading fiction .TXT) 📕

Native Americans in full headdress. Smaller pictures with name plates and brief descriptions dotted the walls. Frames displaying Indians playing an ancient form of lacrosse were paired with some actual balls and sticks that had been used hundreds of years ago.

The museum was more like a large single room that had been divided by an artificial wall. Maybe the park thought it would seem bigger if it were split into two areas instead of just one. Display cases were propped around on the floor, showing a variety of old artifacts. Eating utensils, scissors, small bowls, sewing needles, and several other items of interest were presented in the first little spot.

As the group made their way around the room, they found containers displaying arrows and spearheads made from flint. Bows, arrows, rifles, pistols, and various other weapons were displayed on the walls behind these glass boxes. A few rusty knives hung precariously next to a picture of a sallow-eyed Native in what looked like a suit a lawyer may have worn in the 1800s. The name under the picture read, James Vann.

Tommy smiled and let out a snorting laugh when he saw this.

The men guarding him must not have noticed or even cared about their prisoner’s private thought.

Ulrich interrupted the moment. “What are we looking for?” he said in a direct tone.

Tommy cast him a buzz-off glance. “We’re just looking at this point. Red Clay was one of the most important spots in the Cherokee Nation. Logic would suggest that if the chambers exist, there is probably something that links to them here.”

The answer to his comment was the feeling of a gun shoved into his left kidney. “I would suggest, Mr. Schultz, that you look faster. Time is of the essence.”

Shivers went through his body, but Tommy remained calm. “Take it easy,” he replied and took a few steps toward a large standup of John Ross. The story of Ross’s life played out next to the image. It was a tale that Schultz knew well.

John Ross had been the primary leader of the Cherokee Nation before it was dissolved and moved to Oklahoma. He and many white members of the United States government had fought the removal of the Indians from their ancient lands for years before succumbing to a betrayal by a minority group acting on the Cherokee’s behalf.

Along the walkway, the images of other great Cherokee leaders hung from the walls. More display cases contained what seemed to be random works of art: drawings, paintings, cups, and other pottery.

Both the guards had lost looks on their faces. Tommy was unsure whether apathy or incomprehension caused the blank look on his captors’ faces, but he didn’t really care either way. His eyes wandered the room, scanning all the frames, hoping that whatever it was he was looking for would pop out like one of those 3-D pictures that were so popular in the late ‘90s.

After a few minutes of searching, he finally saw it. In the shadows by the exit doors, a small glass case stood alone on a pedestal with a single floodlight shining onto it at an angle. In a few long strides, Tommy was standing in front of the exhibit. Wonder filled his eyes as he ran his fingers along the edge of the glass next to the Do not touch sign.

The men watching him were momentarily alarmed at how quickly Schultz had moved toward the exit, but when he stopped in the corner, they reholstered the pistols drawn a second before.

Mesmerized by the exhibit resting in front of them, the four men stared into the case. Within its confines, a piece of clay pottery about the size of a typical flower vase sat inconspicuously in the pale light.

Tommy squatted down to get a closer look at the jar. It looked more like it had come from an ancient Greek society than a Native American one. Fluid snakelike carvings decorated the front of the clay container in shapes that crisscrossed like an elaborate pretzel. As he scooted around to the back of the display stand, he beheld an image of two birds almost identical to the ones on the stone disc he had discovered.

“This is it,” he whispered.

Jens appeared unimpressed. “What does it mean?”

Tommy had grown tired of these undereducated men. Nothing annoyed him more than ignorant treasure hunters who only searched because of the fame and money antiquities might bring.

He rose from his squatting position and sighed, “This is actually a very rare piece of history. As far as I know, only two of these have ever been discovered. One of them was found fifty or so years ago and is called Vessel Number One. Until now, I have never actually seen one that resembled anything close to that vase.”

“And how is this clay jar going to help us?” Ulrich looked bewildered.

Tommy pointed to the front first. “You see, the first vessel that was found had almost identical snakelike drawings. But it did not have the bird designs on the back, like this one.” He motioned at the carvings on the rear side of the pot.

Clearly, the three men still had no idea where he was going with this.

“The stone that I found in Chatsworth had the exact same birds carved into it. Don’t you see?” His voice pleaded while his hands extended outward. “This means we are on the right track. The fact that this vase and the medallion have the same designs means the clues are related!” Tommy was ecstatic about the discovery.

“So, what do we do? Take the vase?” Ulrich took a step closer to the glass case, removing the gun from his jacket.

“No, no, no! Hold on a second,” Tommy got in his way and