Tag Against Time by Helen Hughes Vick Page B

do? Great Owl, please tell me!”
    Stillness echoed through the ruin.
    If Great Owl was indeed watching, he was leaving things up to Tag to handle. “Great, just great!” Tag whispered and turned to leave. The numerous handprints in the mud plaster on the front wall caught his eye.
    â€œThey’re still here!”
    Tag slipped his hand into his own print, a print larger than the rest. He had made this print hundreds of years ago. The memory of the day he placed his hand in the wet mud plaster swirled around him.
    Morning Flower’s daughter had just been born, with Walker’s help. The village women had come to replaster the walls.
It’s our tradition to make our homes as fresh as possible after the birth of a child
, Tag heard Morning Flower’s shy voice say as she cradled her hours-old daughter in her arms. Wrapped in a rabbit pelt blanket, the sleeping baby’s mouth moved in a sucking motion.
    â€œTag,” Sean’s brogue startled Tag back into the present. Sean stood right behind him. Tag jerked his hand away from the wall.
    Sean studied Tag’s face. Silence and tension saturated the ruin. Finally, Sean said, “We’re going down to the stand of walnut trees in the bottom of the canyon. Can you go get the box with our lunch and meet us there?”
    â€œSure.” Tag hurried out the door.
    Sean saw my hand in the print
. Tag carried the box of food back down the path. The canvas pack bounced on his back as his worries jostled his mind. How much longer till Sean or the others demanded to know who he was?
    Tag stopped in front of Littlest Star’s house. He set the heavy wooden box down on her metate. He had to thinkthings through before he saw Sean again.
It might be safer if I just left now. But how can I? There’s so much to do right now that I can’t
 . . .
    â€œLooks like we’re just in time for lunch, Kern.” Horace stood a few feet away from Tag. A mean smirk covered his grimy face.
    â€œYup. But first, we got us a skinny skunk to kill.” Kern stood right behind Horace.
    Tag bolted up the trail in the opposite direction.
    â€œGet him!” hollered Kern.
    Rocks slipped under Tag’s shoes, almost bringing him down.
    â€œFaster Horace.”
    Tag pushed harder. The trail became more overgrown with vegetation as it wound around a huge outcropping of limestone. Tag leaped over a rock, just missing a cactus. Rocks rolled. From behind, a scream of pain filled the air.
    â€œGet up, Horace. He’s getting away!”
    â€œI can’t. My ankle’s twisted.”
    Tag kept running, but noticed a long, narrow crevice in the top of the rocks, some five feet above his head. Would it be deep enough for him to hide in? Could he even squeeze through the opening?
    â€œLet me by, Horace. I’m going to get that stinkin’ skunk.”
    Tag scaled upward on all fours. With his pack on, he couldn’t squeeze into the narrow opening of the crevice. He slipped the pack off, pushed it in ahead of him. On his stomach, he wiggled into the crack. Rocks scraped his back and stomach as he slithered as far back into the crevice as he could. His lungs burned and his mouth felt like sandpaper. He tried to quiet his panting. Was he visible from the path?He scrunched tighter against the back wall of the crevice.
Please, Great Taawa. Let Kern be nearsighted
.
    Kern’s foul words saturated the air below him. “He’s disappeared—just vanished!”
    â€œHelp me, Kern. My ankle is swellin’ up like a melon,” Horace cried.
    â€œYou stupid fool, if you hadn’t fallen we could’ve got him.”
    It seemed like hours till Kern’s cussing and Horace’s whining faded away. Tag wormed out of the crevice and climbed down. He looked around to get his bearings. The trail to the cave was above him. Kern was somewhere between him and the men in the bottom of the canyon. Could he make it down to