Adventure in Grand Canyon National Park: A Mystery Adventure in the National Parks

THE QUEST

Dear Reader,

Thirteen-year-old Jake Evans possesses something valuable: a scrapbook passed down to him by his grandfather, who used it to document his visits to sixty-two United States National Parks.

Inside the scrapbook, his grandfather hid clues, codes, maps, and riddles leading, first Jake, and now his cousin, Wes, and their friend, Amber, on a scavenger hunt through ten national parks.

But the three friends have learned that it’s more than a game. For decades, his grandfather had been discovering hidden relics and signs in the national parks. He pieced enough of the clues together to realize he was uncovering an ancient mystery. Knowing he would die before solving the puzzle, he entrusted his quest to Jake.

Ten days ago, Jake’s family traveled from Ohio to Colorado to begin a two-month vacation in the national parks—a trip his grandfather had planned before his death. In Colorado, at Rocky Mountain National Park, Jake and his friends discovered two important clues. The first came in a package. Inside, he found a heavy, old wooden box and this note:

The box remains locked. There’s no keyhole or any other apparent way to open it. A letter from his deceased grandfather instructed Jake to Keep it locked. You’ll find the key in due time.

The second clue they found was a journal, over a century old, containing drawings of an ancient silver spearhead.

They made their next discovery in Great Sand Dunes National Park: a small wooden cube, not much bigger than a golf ball.

By twisting one side of the object, they unlocked the cube, and it unfolded into the shape of a flat cross. Now, as they travel across Utah toward the Grand Canyon, the three friends are trying to understand why Jake’s grandpa left this as their next clue.

Though Jake has no idea where this adventure will take him, deep in his heart, he understands that it leads to something of great value—because someone else is after it, too. For decades, maybe even more than one hundred years, a shadow group has been on this same quest. The kids have already encountered two suspicious men who they’ve nicknamed the Twin Owls. They’ve also learned about Owls’ boss, a mysterious and powerful figure, known only as the Director. The men want the box and the journal. They need the scrapbook and now the cube. And they’ll do whatever is necessary to find and take them.

Enjoy the adventure,

Aaron Johnson, Author

Chapter 1

1880 - North Rim of the Grand Canyon

A gunshot echoed off the walls of the canyon. Nahmida startled and crouched low to the ground. Creeping to the edge of the canyon, Nahmida lay on his belly and peered down into the chasm. The sun was in the west, and the shadows made it impossible to see who or what was down there. So, he listened.

He could make out the distant voices of men shouting. He scrambled to his feet, ran along the rim toward the sounds, and then inched out again to listen.

Boy! an angry voice yelled. All we want is that little box. You come out with it, and we leave ya be.

They spoke English. Haygu. Outsiders.

Nahmida could see the men now. Their dark suits were covered in the red and gray dust of the canyon. Bowler hats, their rims soaked in sweat, lay upon their heads. And both men trained lever-action rifles on a boulder almost directly below him.

Behind the boulder, he saw a boy, perhaps two years older than himself. His exposed, white skin was baked red from the sun. He had a gash across his forehead, and his arms were abraded. He must have taken a fall, Nahmida thought.

Kid! This is it! one of the men called out. You mighta outrun us and outsmarted us, but this is the end of the line. Either you come out with the box, or we put you in one!

This wasn’t right: two grown men hunting a kid as though he was a canyon bear. Nahmida searched for something to trundle over the cliff. If he distracted the men, the boy might have a chance to run. Then a dry, airy rattle filled his ears. He froze.

The rattler’s bleached body snaked across the dirt and dust toward Nahmida’s face. He didn’t move.

Boy, I’m given ya ‘til the count of ten! The man cocked his rifle. One…two…

Ignoring Nahmida, the snake coiled itself tight to bask in the fading sunlight. It tucked its head under its shimmering body.

Three…four…

The rattler twitched just inches from Nahmida’s face. Its thin pink tongue flickered, then withdrew into the reptile’s mouth.

Five…six…seven… The man’s words ricocheted through the canyon.

In one fell motion, Nahmida’s hand shot out and seized the snake by the tail. Springing to his feet, he launched the rattler down toward the men in the canyon below. He watched as its golden body spun through the air.

The men looked up just before the snake landed at their feet. The man who had been counting never made it to eight. He screamed and jumped back. Unharmed by the fall, the snake slithered toward the men, who quickly retreated.

While they were distracted, the boy behind the boulder dashed away and sprinted deeper into the recesses of the canyon. Nahmida knew this place well. There was only one way out, and without his help, the boy would never find it.

Chapter 2

Present Day - Utah

Jake stared at the wooden cube, oblivious to the orange desert landscape outside the window of his aunt and uncle’s RV. A dull headache throbbed behind his eyes. Wes’s and Amber’s nearby voices faded from his awareness. He picked up the cube and carefully twisted one side, unlocking the ancient object. Its sides unfolded on hidden hinges and lay flat on the table, revealing a red Maltese cross. He ran his finger along the golden grooves carved into its wooden surface.

Miss Elmyra said it was a map, he mumbled to himself. But how could this be a map? He recalled the old woman who had given him the cube, her warm smile, and what she had said: Folks looking for treasure often forget themselves, and they forget what they’re really after.

No matter how long he examined it, the five-hundred-year-old artifact refused to reveal its secrets.

I need the scrapbook.

Amber’s voice interrupted his pondering. Jake, come over here and see this.

Whoa! Wes said, pressing his face close to the window. Yeah, Jake, you’ve got to check this out!

Jake blinked and looked up from the table. Lit by the sunlight streaming in the window, his cousin’s red curly hair blazed like a wildfire. The freckles on Wes’s brown skin had darkened during their recent adventures. And like Jake’s, the edges of his ears were tinged with sunburn.

Jake steadied himself on the floor of the moving RV. He walked to the small sofa and sat down between Wes and Amber. Outside the tinted window, towers of orange rock vaulted into the sky. Three of the larger columns stood like sentinels guarding an endless desert landscape. Jake felt like he was in a dream, moving from one wondrous scene to the next. He’d hiked in the Rocky Mountains, had just left the Great Sand Dunes, and was now crossing a desert ruled by giant pillars of stone.

It’s Monument Valley, Wes said. Those two,—he pointed out the window—the ones with the narrow towers on their sides, are called the Mitten Buttes. And that big one there is Merrick Butte.

It’s amazing, Amber breathed. Her caramel-brown hair gleamed in the sunlight. The purple streaks she first arrived with had faded from the sun. I’ve seen this place in commercials and movies and stuff, but I had no idea it was this big. She turned to Jake and smiled. Any luck figuring out the cube?

He shook his head and grimaced. No. Nothing. He sighed. I’m hoping to find a clue in the scrapbook. When we stop, I can get it from the camper.

As if on cue, the RV slowed, and Jake heard the crunch of gravel under its tires as his uncle turned into a pullout on the side of the road.

Kids! his uncle called back from the driver’s seat. We’re going to make a quick stop to take pictures.

Okay, Dad! Wes shouted back over the rumble of the diesel engine.

"But it’s going to be five minutes. Uncle Brian held up five fingers. I want us to get to the campground before dinner. Got it?"

Got it! all three kids answered in unison.

As soon as the RV came to a stop, Jake bolted for his family’s truck.

Whoa! his dad said through the open window. Let me bring this to a stop first.

Jake bounced on his feet, waiting for his dad to put the truck in park. He hopped the trailer hitch, slid his key into the camper’s side door, and went inside. Pulling up the bench to reveal a storage compartment, he pushed his jacket and backpack aside and began rifling through its contents. There it is! Jake grabbed the black leather book and raced back to the RV, ignoring his family’s photo op.

He settled back into the dining table booth, set the scrapbook on the table, and began turning its pages. The brown paper smelled like burnt vanilla and dust. The scent reminded Jake of his grandfather’s attic, where he had found the scrapbook hidden in a secret bookshelf compartment. He flipped past black-and-white photographs of delicate stone arches, Half Dome in Yosemite, and the wildflower-laden meadows of Mount Rainier. Carefully turning each page, he arrived at the Grand Canyon. The old color photographs were like small windows looking out upon a vast wilderness. Muted reds, oranges, and browns showed the colors of the canyon, a jagged layer cake of stone.

The next set of photographs had been taken more recently. Their colors were vibrant. In one of them, his grandpa leaned against a metal railing beside a wooden sign. He held a piece of paper in his hand, and the Grand Canyon filled the space behind him. Jake’s eyes lingered on the image of his grandpa.

Amber stepped through the doorway, sat down across from him, and took a drink from her water bottle. You should get some water in you, Jake, she suggested. It might help with that headache.

How’d you know?

It’s kinda obvious. First, we’re in the desert. Second, you’re quiet. And third, you’ve been kinda grumpy. She kicked him playfully under the table.

Jake sighed and glanced around the RV for his blue Nalgene water bottle. You’re right. I’ll get some in a bit. He stared at the photograph again. I just want to figure out this clue.

So that’s him? Amber leaned forward over the scrapbook. Your grandpa?

Yeah. Jake swallowed and took in a deep breath. Seeing his grandpa sent a fresh wave of sadness crashing over him, like a homesickness that never goes away.

He looks happy, Amber added. And kind.

Wes burst through the door, checking his watch. Four minutes and forty-three seconds. He slid into the booth beside Amber. Are you guys checking the backs of the pictures for clues? he asked.

Jake nodded, then gently pulled the photo of his grandpa out of the triangle photo mounts that had held it to the page. The back was empty. When he pulled a second photo from its mounts, he found something. In faded blue ink, his grandpa had written the letter P.

It wasn’t the first clue Jake had discovered inside the scrapbook. On his way to Rocky Mountain National Park, he’d found a message scribbled on the back of a photograph. But it had provided instructions. Even the other clues had given him at least a word or two. This was a single letter.

Amber stared down at the letter P. Can we help you check the others?

Sure. Jake pulled another photograph from the mounts. On the back, he found a letter M.

The photo Amber pulled out had a letter T on the back.

Wes’s photograph showed the letter A. He looked up at Jake with widened eyes. I bet it spells something!

Shooting up from his seat like a rocket, Wes pulled a pad of paper and a pencil from the kitchen drawer. When he sat back down, he started writing.

P A M T

Pamt? Wes screwed up his face at the sight of the strange word.

"Maybe it’s MAP?" Amber offered.

Oh, yeah. Wes wrote MAP onto the paper.

It might be more than one word. Jake flipped a page back to the black-and-white photos. Maybe the picture of my grandpa, the one with nothing on the back, is supposed to be the space between two words.

He took out another photo, and on its back found the letter N.

Wes jotted it down beside the others: P A M T N. Then he put down his pencil and helped Jake and Amber remove the rest of the Grand Canyon photos. Counting the one of his grandpa, there were twelve, eleven with letters.

Wes wrote down the remaining letters and pushed the piece of paper to the middle of the table so everyone could see it.

P A M T N I E H O R T

They stared at the letters.

Amber tapped the table. What if we write each letter on a separate piece of paper? That way, we can rearrange them.

Wes climbed out of his seat again. Brilliant! I’ve got sticky notes. He grabbed a small yellow block from the drawer and stuck eleven of them onto the table.

Okay, Jake said, "let’s start with the word MAP."

They began moving around the other letters: T N I E H O R T.

Wait, I’ve got an idea! Wes pulled a phone from his back pocket. We can use a word unscrambler.

They have those? Jake asked.

I’m not sure, but I thought I’d check. Wes furiously typed in the search. Found one! Read me those letters.

Wes plugged the eight remaining letters into the website and hit the unscramble button. His face fell. Nothing. He stared at the screen. I mean, there are no eight-letter words. The biggest one has seven letters and makes no sense at all.

Well, read it anyway, Jake said.

"It’s thorite."

Thorite map? Amber wrinkled her brow.

"Like I