chapter 99
THREE HOURS EARLIER, Trance Moser and Yancey Fuller, two grave robbers, had been dropped off at the eastern edge of the vast river-bottom swamp by one of their wives. Inside their backpacks were black tarps, small shovels, wire screens to shift the dirt for artifacts, and a variety of other tools and accessories. They carried one loaded AR-15 rifle and two four-foot sections of metal rod that they would push down into the earth until they felt something solid, and then they would dig.
While scouting a few weeks back, they had discovered an Indian mound along the edge of an old river run. The mound was inconspicuous to a layman, but these two easily recognized the slight rise in the terrain. It appeared to them to be unexplored, and they eagerly anticipated digging. This area of Mississippi was known among artifact hunters for the presence of long ceremonial-spear points that brought top dollar.
The grave robbers retrieved the waypoint of the Indian mound from their handheld GPS and started hiking toward it.
These guys had perfected their illegal activities. They dug only at night, arriving after dark and leaving before daylight. They preferred winter, when the soil was moist and easier to work; plus, there were no snakes, and the insects weren’t a nightmare. Following their new approach, last year they had sold over $95,000 worth of illegal artifacts to private collectors, mostly from Japan. Lately several law enforcement officers, tasked with protecting sacred Indian artifacts, had come close to catching them. Consequently, they now had to be dropped off and picked up to facilitate their concealment.
When they finally reached the mound, they spread the tarps to build low, tentlike structures over the area they wanted to dig. With this setup, they were able to use small battery-powered floodlights to illuminate their immediate work area. Inside, it was brighter than midday. Unless you were a few yards away and heard the shovels, you would never know that an excavation was occurring, about to unearth a Native American buried deep in the past. The grave robbers could not have cared less about the Indians. They just wanted the cache of beads, arrowheads, spear points, and ceremonial pieces buried with them for use on the other side.
Tonight had been a slow dig, so Trance stood outside the tarp, smoking a cigarette and thinking. His wife had recently left him for the UPS delivery guy, and he was having trouble focusing on the task at hand. He had almost finished the cigarette when he noticed vehicle lights on the other side of the lake. He immediately called to his partner, Yancey, to turn off the lights. Paranoia struck deep, and for a long while, they both stood stock-still but ready to flee, abandoning their project.
“Game warden?” Trance whispered nervously.
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Yancey responded as he looked through binoculars, watching the vehicle’s lights bumping down a logging road several hundred yards away. They could hear the engine rev and mud and water splashing.
“Well, at least they’re on the other side of the slough.”
His buddy didn’t respond as he intently glassed the truck.
“Sheriff?”
“Nah.”
“Corps patrol?”
“No.”
“Well, who the hell is it, then?”
“I don’t know. I can’t make it out. Just shut the hell up so I can think!” Yancey shot back.