Liam relaxed. “Why I defied death getting down here. You said at Jeff’s that you thought human habitation went back farther in the Bay than is generally understood.”
Erik snorted. “Yeah, mostly because archeologists just don’t fucking listen.”
“Listen to whom?”
“The people who lived here first, for starters.”
“Alaska Natives, you mean?”
“The Sugpiaq locally. Aleuts or Alutiiq they’re better known by, but their own name is Sugpiaq. And then the Russians showed up and of course that’s where all the history books start.” He shook his head. “Littera scripta manet.” He saw Liam’s blank look. “The written word survives. It’s pretty much the only thing that does. Why we get Homer forced down our throats in high school.”
“I remember,” Liam said, with feeling. “So, you’re saying because the Sugpiaq didn’t have a written language—”
“Exactly.”
“So there’s no written record there was a trail but—”
“Exactly,” Erik said again, beaming.
“Have you asked them? The Sugpiaq?”
“Not yet. I’d like to have some concrete evidence before I do.”
The guy was so excited that it was hard not to like him. “Where is your evidence?”
Berglund grinned. “Trooper,” he said without heat.
Liam grinned back. “Guilty as charged.”
“Too much to eat not to have,” Erik said. “There was a monograph written by Hilary Houten—the old fart you saw yelling at me at the brewpub, he’s not a fan—anyway, Houten wrote a paper thirty-odd years ago that claims the lack of artifacts proves that no one settled here, or at least on this side of the Bay. Well, maybe they didn’t settle here, but they sure as hell used it.” He stood in front of one of the tables, where many unidentifiable objects were neatly laid out and labeled. At least half the names on the labels were followed by question marks. “This is for sure a harpoon head—see the barbs? No flies on the old folks when it came to building something that would hang on to what they stuck it into.”
“Arrowheads?” Liam said, pointing.
“A bunch of them. If I can get them dated I might be able to work up a decent timeline, but you can see the evolution of the technology, stone to iron to stainless steel.” He grinned. “I admit the metal ones don’t exactly help prove my thesis, but it does show that the locals have been using this cave for a long time. These are axe heads.”
“What’s that groove?”
“Where they tied it on to a handle. See where the twine or rope or whatever crossed over?” Erik was practically glowing with excitement and appeared delighted to share his expertise, and Liam warmed to him. People who liked their jobs were the luckiest people in the world, and by far the most fun to talk to. “Those shaved areas are where they shaped the striking edge with another tool.”
Even Liam could recognize a fish hook when he saw one, but Erik had discovered one carved from wood that was as big as his hand, flat with wicked-looking barbs.
“For halibut,” Erik said. “You’ll see stainless steel hooks almost exactly like that on a halibut boat today.”
“If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.”
“Exactly.” Pleased, Erik nodded his head. “This is that snare I told you about.”
To Liam it looked like a jumble of old bones, although he could see in places where they had been shaped by human hands. For what purpose, he had no clue.
He turned to look at the Bay. The rock outcropping extended out at least a hundred feet and was almost exactly perpendicular to the bluff that edged the beach. Nothing but sand on either side. Good bottom for landing a boat. The location was halfway between the head and the mouth of the Bay, so reasonably accessible to anyone living on the other side, especially experienced seamen like the Aleuts. He looked at Erik. “How did you find this cave?”
The archeologist’s smile faded, but he said readily, “A friend and I were beachcombing around here when I was a kid. I remembered the outcropping, and since it’s such an anomaly on this side of the Bay, I thought I’d take a look.”
“Lucky guess.”
“No kidding.” Erik’s voice was flat. He dropped one of the snare parts and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It would be something.”
He spoke in such a low voice that Liam was not sure he was meant to hear. “What would be?” he said.
“If I pull this off. If I find proof. It would be something to give. Something to leave behind. Do you have kids, Liam?”
“Two,” Liam said. Charlie might have died but he was never gone to Liam. “You?”
“I’m told it makes you think differently about things.”
“It does.” Liam pointed. “Is that a rock hammer?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Shawshank.”
Erik laughed. “Good movie.”
“Any movie with Morgan Freeman in it is a good movie. I would have thought the last thing an archeologist would need is a hammer. You’re all about the not breaking of stuff.”
“It’s not mine. I found it here.” He gestured. “With the rest of the artifacts.”
Liam picked up the hammer. The head was rusty and the paint had faded from the handle.
“Erik!”
They both looked up as if trying to see through the top of the tent.
“Erik? You down there?”
“Hey, Gabe!”
“You got company, I see. You mind more?”
Erik laughed. “Not that kind of company, Gabe. Come on down.”
A cascade of small stones preceded the visitor, who maintained a lot more control over his descent than Liam had. Probably only because he’d had more experience.
“Who’s Gabe?”
“He’s just my neighbor up the hill.” Liam was pretty sure he was holding back a smile.
Liam remembered the big roof and the stone chimney. “Ah. Your landlord?”
“Sort of, but not really.”
“Cryptic.”
“I try.”
A pair of long jeans-clad legs appeared beneath the top of the tent and both men turned to watch as the owner of the voice galloped down the incline and jumped the last four feet of the trail to land neatly on the beach,
