Chapter 7

The second passenger coach on the Monday southbound train was busy, though not crowded. Aboard were Judge Westcott, Raul Castillo, two of the district’s four regular deputy marshals, Sheriff Hanson from Franklin County, both Malik brothers and their wives, as well as June and Emmet Quincy.

Malik and Gabriela had spent the night, not quite together, but on adjoining bunks in Mrs. Kuiper’s barn loft. They had enjoyed Sunday’s meals and Monday’s breakfast at the Kuiper dining counter, as well. Mid-morning, he, Andy and Quincy had loaded the ore on the mules and then loaded the mules and horses onto a stock car, dropping the ore sacks again. Malik had arranged for Val Garcia to guard the car until it was switched onto the southbound train. Garcia, in turn, had enlisted his younger brother, Jorje, to assist. Meanwhile, the three mule wranglers hurried up to the hotel for a bath and to put on business suits.

On the train, while nothing was said specifically, both of the regular deputy marshals made it a point to shake Malik’s hand and mumble some phrase or other that amounted to “Welcome aboard.” Judge Westcott saw the interaction and gave Malik a wink and a nod, so he figured the other deputies had been made aware of his appointment.

Malik did get a chance to talk with the judge while in transit, and he reported on his encounter with the ore thieves and Bill Edwards’ killers. He explained that the value of the ore made the thievery worthwhile. He also told of Trey Gunderson’s confession to shooting Bill Edwards to protect the ore thefts. Westcott asked for a written report.

The oath-taking ceremony itself was timed to occur between the arrival of the southbound train and the departure of the northbound, a two-and-a-half hour window.

Westcott made a brief speech, welcoming the new deputies and taking note of the honor that they would share among all marshals and deputy marshals across the nation. He expressed his gratitude to the men for taking on the responsibility of helping others on the reservation. During the swearing-in, itself, Marshal Lonegan and his deputies, all in their Sunday suits, donned their badges and lined up on the judge’s left, while Blue Maize and Morton Quincy stood to his right, holding the framed print of the Constitution, facing the new deputies and the gathered observers. Sheriff Ulney stood with the Sonora deputies. He’d asked to be sworn in with them; Westcott had liked the symbolism and readily agreed. Two of the Sonora County governing judges stood to the side, along with the county clerk, prosecutor, and several other elected officials. County Judge Bart Hockney was conspicuous by his absence.

Westcott swore in each Sonora deputy individually, then pinned on his badge and shook his hand. Lonegan and each of the visiting deputies also shook the hands of their new Sonora colleagues.

Following that, Blue Maize addressed the gathering, in Sonora, then In English, acknowledging the responsibilities that had devolved on the tribe while assuring the clan that, with clan members in positions of law-keeping authority, it would make it easier to maintain clan traditions in the face of further pressure from white Americans.

And he was followed by a last minute addition to the ceremony.

Gabriela had come up with the idea of making the arrival of the first ore from the mine part of the swearing-in festival. So, after Blue Maize spoke, Malik stood before the group and introduced their new mining engineer, Emmet Quincy. Quincy, during Malik’s comments, had led the ten mules, secured in one string, to Blue Maize, handing him the lead rope and announcing, loudly, the contents of the ore sacks and how proud he was to be working for the clan in developing the mine. That presentation capped the ceremony nicely, bringing home one of the major responsibilities of the new deputies, the security of the mine, while also demonstrating that the white mining engineer was an employee of the clan.

Realizing that time was tight and social demands were at a fever pitch, Malik immediately snagged all the principals--Westcott, Blue Maize, Cowboy, Lonegan, Sheriff Ulney and both Emmet and Morton Quincy--asking for a very brief meeting in Morton Quincy’s outer office. There, with the men simply standing in a circle, he explained the probable high value of the ore and that the mine gave every indication of being an unusually rich lode, though it was impossible to be certain. He made it clear that the mine brought both opportunities and problems to the clan and both would require thoughtful management. He mentioned the potential problems should a silver rush develop and urged them not to divulge the details he’d presented regarding the ore’s quality. Finally, he said he thought the men gathered in the room should feel free to contact one another for advice or to report problems or opportunities. Westcott and Blue Maize commented favorably in support of that idea. Then the meeting broke up so they could mingle with the local dignitaries and with the clan, who were enjoying a festival of food, games, dancing, and visiting with friends and family.

In the meantime, Andy had concluded arrangements with the state land agent to purchase the optioned property as well as one more section, straddling Toonilini Wash and abutting the sections he purchased. That last section was part of their attempt to protect the drainage from becoming polluted if a silver rush did develop.

Cowboy caught up to Malik at one point. “I heard about the roan, Shadow. She was exceptional. I know you’ll miss her.”

“Thanks, Cowboy. I did count on her in some serious ways.” Malik sighed. “I don’t even feel like finding another horse. I’ll probably just use mounts from the ranch string.”

“You reckon Andy would be interested in purchasing some Appaloosas for the ranch?”

“Those are a little fancy for being in a remuda, don’t you think?”

“Sometimes I get an odd pattern or color that I don’t want in the breeding mix, so they’re not being sold as Appaloosa breeders. Did you see the one Juniper rode here? He knows one of the new deputies and another friend brought word. Actually, the other friend has asked Sargent if he can court Aspen, so I think there was another motive in his courier service.”

“Aspen? Courting? Is she even remotely old enough?”

“She turned seventeen in December.”

“Incredible. We didn’t grow up that fast. We were kids forever.”

Cowboy laughed. “Sometimes I think you still are. C’mon, I’ll show you that horse.”

They walked over to the clan’s corral at the west side of town, on the reservation proper. Malik immediately noticed a dark horse of uniform color but with the typical speckled hind quarters of an Appaloosa, the spots on this horse being white. “You mean that dark chestnut stallion over there? That horse is beautiful. Sure, it’s not any of the classic Appaloosa colors, but he’s a real standout and excellent conformity, if I don’t miss my guess. And I thought you said you’d taken him out of breeding? He hasn’t been gelded.”

They paused at the fence, and Cowboy looked at the horse. He said, “I named him Tsela. It means ‘Stars laying down.’ That color’s called smoky black. He’s a four-year-old, stock-trained, can be whistled up, ground-reined, of course, mounted and dismounted on either side, and he’ll lay down on his side and remain in place with a sign command. You’re right, he has too many excellent traits.” Cowboy paused. “He reminded me of you.”

Malik looked at his friend. “Don’t get all sentimental on me, Cowboy.”

Cowboy grinned. “I knew you’d like him. I asked Juniper to bring him over so I could tease you with him, get you salivating, then give you some excuse why I needed him at the ranch. I’ve been planning to give him to you since he foaled. I was going to present him to you for your second anniversary, but I’d just as soon you take him now, because I’ve got a recipe for pie crust I’d like to give you then, instead.”

Malik was silent. Then he turned away and sniffed. After a moment, still with his back to Cowboy, he said, in a husky voice, “You and your cheap, homemade anniversary gifts. But those cards you write the recipes on work good for cleaning my fingernails. So yeah, I’ll take your ugly-assed horse. But don’t expect a thank-you note.” He stood like that for a few seconds. Then, after another sniff, he turned to Cowboy and hugged him, saying, “Thank you, Akalii.”

Westcott, Lonegan, and Castillo got off the train in Waypoint, along with both Malik couples and Cowboy, while Sheriff Hanson and the three deputy marshals continued on to their home bases. Sheriff Hanson carried a letter from Westcott to Minnie Edwards informing her that the men who had shot Bill had themselves been killed by Malik. He had described the circumstances, including the fact that, contrary to what they had thought, Bill’s death was related to his assignment, not to the election.

Malik had wired ahead to ask Molly to prepare a light buffet for a group of twelve, arriving with the northbound, scheduled for six o’clock but usually twenty to thirty minutes late due to freight-switching delays. Molly’s Restaurant closed at seven and was usually not busy after six-thirty. Most of the group had enjoyed the various edible treats available at the fiesta and would not want a heavy supper just a few of hours later.

Cowboy had walked directly to the bakery, a block north of the depot, with his saddle packs. He’d forewarned Matilda by wire, so she was ready to accompany him to Molly’s.

Malik stopped briefly at the Inn for a quick trip to the wine cellar--one of the cells in the former jail--to pilfer two bottles to take to Molly’s. Westcott left his briefcase with Mitchel Anderson while Lonegan left his shotgun in the Inn’s general manager’s keeping.

When they arrived at Molly’s it was nearly seven o’clock and there was only one table still occupied, two men who looked like traveling salesman and who were just finishing.

When the Rademachers were free, Malik made the introductions. “Judge Westcott, Marshal Lonegan, Mister Castillo, these gracious people are my good friends, Molly and Maylon Rademacher, who own this restaurant. Molly, Maylon, this is US District Court Judge Clarence Westcott, US Marshal Connor Lonegan, and my colleague, Raul Castillo, all from Fort Birney.” After greetings and handshakes were exchanged, Molly said that the buffet table was ready and for folks to help themselves.

She had set out platters of fried chicken, sliced meatloaf, and ham, as well as a light and a dark bread and a potato salad, plus various condiments and, on a small display stand, squares of carrot cake. Coffee and lemonade were on a smaller table, with cups and glasses.

Cowboy and Matilda arrived at that point and Cowboy introduced her to the men from Fort Birney.

Molly asked Malik, “This is only nine people. Are you expecting more?”

“Why, yes. You and Maylon, of course. The twelfth place was just in case.”

She said, “Well, that was nice. Thank you. What do you want to serve the wine in? I don’t have wine glasses.”

Malik had already considered that. “How about the fruit juice glasses?”

“I’ll get Maylon to bring some.”

The conversation was relaxed and pleasant. Westcott mentioned the turnout for the Sonora deputies, which had included not only the Sonora clan members, but the Sonora County officials and even Sheriff Hanson from Franklin County. He speculated whether it wouldn’t be a good idea to arrange for all deputy appointment oaths to me made with more solemnity, maybe in open court, prior to a regular session.

Lonegan said that he liked that idea.

Molly, upon learning the others were fully informed, described the look on Malik’s face when she’d let him know she was aware he owned the Old Courthouse Inn. “Have you ever shouted at some cattle in a pasture? How they just look at you with an expression that seems to say, ‘Huh?’” That was Emil, when I asked about the Inn, like he suddenly didn’t understand English.” Several of them made the cow face at Malik, making the others laugh at the inadvertent resemblance to the pasture scene Molly had described.

Matilda, in talking about the operations of the bakery, mentioned that Cowboy had a habit of over-kneading the dough, making for an extremely smooth bread, but without the open texture that customers liked and were accustomed to. “I hope it never becomes a preference. It would take Maman and I twice as long to knead Cowboy dough.”

Andy said, teasingly, “Never had any, but I think I’m gettin’ a hankerin’ for it already.”

Christina punched him hard in the shoulder. “Ouch,” he complained, as he rubbed the spot and said, “What was that for?”

She said, “It’s like Cowboy’s over-kneading the dough. I’m just over-loving you.”

Relaxed and comfortable by that point, everyone laughed.

Even Westcott helped with the clean-up, carrying dirty dishes into the scullery, but Molly chased him out before he started scrubbing them in the big dish pan’s soapy water. Malik and Gabriela lingered after the others left. They did help cleaning dishes and sweeping floors, but Malik had other purposes in mind.

As Maylon and he were rolling down their sleeves and the ladies were removing their aprons, he said, “I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”

They stood around the big kitchen work table.

“This should be kept strictly confidential, as I think you’ll come to understand.” He paused and looked at Maylon and then Molly. “Andy and I have become worried about the possibility of a silver rush.”

Both of the restaurateurs looked puzzled for a moment, but, first Molly, then Maylon got that dawned-on look. “You mean the Sonora mine?” Molly asked.

Maylon slapped the table top and said, “Hellfire! How could all of us have missed it? If there’s silver in that mine, then chances are...”

“Exactly,” Malik said. “But it’s not just that. It’s what a massive influx of silver-crazed prospectors and miners and all their associated hangers-on would do to this town. And it’s what would happen to the Rio Isabella next spring or during the summer storms, when all the vegetation is destroyed up in the Toonilini Valley and there’s nothing to hold those hills down. Will the bridges even survive floods that are pushing huge rocks and a mud slurry?”

“No!” Molly declared. “This is our home. There’s too much of ourselves in this place.”

Maylon looked at her and said, speculatively, “You know, we could probably sell out for a--”

“Don’t even pretend you think that’s a good idea, Maylon Rademacher!” Molly fumed at him.

“I know, I know, sweetie. I agree. I just wanted to make sure you’d considered it.”

“Well I did! For about half a second.” Then she looked at Malik. “What are we going to do? We can’t just let-- Wait a minute. You’ve already got a plan, don’t you, Emil Malik?”

Malik smiled, then looked serious. “In fact, we only came to this realization on Thursday on the train to the Springs. We’ve taken what we hope is some effective, if expensive, action. But I want to have a meeting, maybe even tomorrow night. I want Robert Smith there, you two, Jacob Baylor, Hannah Isely, the Palmers. Who else can we trust to keep their mouths shut?”

“Jan Viddick?”

“Sure. Getting him to talk is the bigger problem.”

“What about Joshua Trent and Lucius Gibbons?”

“I can’t say I know Lucius well enough to judge. In addition, I’m not sure what Mister Trent feels are the requirements of his loyalty to the railroad.”

“What of your own, Emil?” Maylon asked.

That seemed to catch Malik off guard. “Oh. Yeah. Good point. I may actually owe them a fiduciary obligation. I’ll have to ask Raul for his advice. He’s a terrier for the legal proprieties.”

Maylon said, “I know Lucius pretty well. I think we’d be better off with him than without him. You should ask Jacob about Joshua Trent.”

Gabriela said, “Don’t forget Francine Kuiper.”

Malik nodded, then said, “With things moving the way they are, I think we need to meet immediately. Can you get away from here tomorrow evening? Maybe at six?”

“In fact,” Molly said, “we take Tuesday nights off. They tend to be slow. A couple of the women usually handle it.”

“I’ll be meeting with Judge Westcott and Robert Smith during the day. Can you get the quiet word out to everyone early in the day?”

“Once I get the kitchen stove hot and some water and coal hauled in, I can probably get out and about,” Maylon said.

“Tell folks not to let on that it’s a meeting. Just suggest they say that it’s a dinner invitation, if anyone asks. But try not to talk about it at all. We’ll use the private dining room at the Inn. We’ll see what Mister Collins can do with a buffet table, shall we? I’ll limit him to two breads, three meats and one salad, to match your table fare tonight. I’ll tell him to keep it simple, but I won’t let on it’s a contest.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Molly said. “But you’ll have to compare the price, too.”

“That’s only fair,” Gabriela said.

“Very well, but then I should be allowed to give him the instruction that I’d prefer it be hearty rather than fancy.”

“Agreed,” Molly said.

Malik went on. “But there’s another matter I wanted to bring up. This one is more for thinking about and less for talking about where certain ears might hear it.

“If the county elections this year and next somehow still leave us with a bunch of ... undesirables in the courthouse, I think we’d have to consider drawing up a town charter and move the town out from under their jurisdiction. I really hate to add another layer of government and its costs to our life, but some of our county officials have been using their positions to their own ends, without regard to the county in any way.”

“Why would a town council be any different?” Gabriela asked.

“Nothing’s guaranteed. We’d just have to be vigilant to some of the tricks that have been pulled to get the crooks into office. Except for our ranch, most of the farmers and ranchers voted for the candidates Senator Ranford campaigned for, even though they were all outsiders. Granted, enough of the town went along to make it a majority.”

Maylon said, “Plus a lot of it was party politics.”

“Yeah,” Molly said. “It’s like a never-ending civil war, one side pushing further away from the other just to keep the conflict alive.”

“That points up something else,” Malik said. “I think I’d like to see women able to vote. It’s stupid to throw their intelligence and abilities away. A town charter might allow it, as it’s not specifically prohibited in the state constitution. But the fact they can’t vote yet doesn’t mean they can’t run for office. Molly, maybe you might think about running for a county office.”

“What, me?” she said, looking at Malik in surprise. Then, noticing his expression, she said, “You’re not joking, are you?”

“Actually, either of you would make an excellent candidate for tax assessor or roads commissioner, or even one of the judge positions.”

“The thought’s crossed my mind,” Maylon admitted.

“What, you? You’re not joking either, are you?” she said to her husband. Then she whirled on Malik. “Emil Malik, I want you out of this restaurant in ten seconds. Now neither of us will get to sleep tonight. We’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

Robert Smith, managing partner and Chairman of the Jackson County Agricultural and Mercantile Bank, and Jacob Baylor, proprietor of Baylor’s Mercantile and General Store and President of the fledgling Waypoint Business Association, joined Westcott, Lonegan, Castillo, Andy and Christina, Malik and Gabriela, and Cowboy for breakfast in the smaller of the two private dining rooms, filling its ten-place table. Though it was Malik’s meeting, he gave the head and foot end seats to Westcott and Smith. He seated himself at Smith’s left, with Jacob Baylor across from him, on Smith’s right.

Cowboy was providing security. Periodically he would slip out one of the room’s three doors and assure that no one was standing nearby, indoors or out, where they might overhear the discussion.

Malik finished his breakfast quickly and then clinked his spoon against his plate. Everyone immediately gave him their attention.

“Please take your time finishing your breakfast. Mister Collins has left us the heated coffee urn, so serve yourself when you need a refill. I want us to be informal and comfortable.

“Mister Smith, you and Mister Baylor will need some background. I’ll be succinct and will be glad to fill in details for you later, or now, if you feel it’s necessary. In a nutshell, for various reasons outside their control, the Sonora have decided to develop their silver mine in Long Valley. This decision was reached only last week. Moreover, it’s since been determined that it may prove to be an unusually rich lode. When the complete picture is examined, several opportunities and an equal number of problems stand out.”

“Silver rush!” Robert Smith whispered, shaking his head. Baylor looked at him, then back to Malik.

“Exactly as he says, Mister Baylor. We can anticipate the rapid arrival of thousands, possibly tens of thousands of silver-crazed prospectors and miners along with thousands more who want to prey upon them and anyone else from whom they might wrest a dollar. This quiet town would quickly turn into an all-day, all-night spectacle peopled by sneak-thieves and pickpockets, whiskey peddlers and land swindlers, purveyors of opium and pistol-wielding drunks, all intent on ripping a piece off for themselves without regard to any other person, be they grizzled miners or the daughters of the established townspeople. What’s more, the Rio Isabella would be turned into a mud flow, subject to vicious floods likely to take down the bridges that now span it, and, to be forthcoming, destroying the water that is the lifeblood of the Malik ranch.

“But,” and he leaned toward Smith and said in a stage whisper, “An opportunity for the bank to make a lot of money, and then get out.”

There was silence for a moment, then Smith said, “I have become inured to your overwrought presentations, Mister Malik, else your last suggestion might have had me showing you the thirty-two caliber revolver I now carry at your insistence.”

Malik sat back in his chair, smiling, and the others chuckled.

“I am first convinced of the gravity of this matter, Mister Malik,” Smith went on. “While it was quite florid, I envisioned the truth to what you described. It’s happened elsewhere. It’s happening this minute at Leadville, in Colorado. The bank’s interests, as you well know, are in long-term growth and stability.” He looked at Malik for a moment. “And, with that growth and stability in mind, I’d be willing to bet the bank’s money that you already have taken steps to forestall this tragedy and even devised a way to find the silver lining in these gathering storm clouds, so to speak.”

Malik smiled grimly. “I hope you’re right, Mister Smith, because Andy, Cowboy, and I have bought about a dozen sections of land along Shepherds Ridge and the Toonilini Valley, as well as virtually all of Isabella Canyon and the adjoining canyon rim. There is a trail easement through the canyon, though, so we can’t block access. Our purchases along the wash, the river, and the canyon are an effort to protect the Rio Isabella. As I mentioned, besides its importance to the town, the Isabella is vital of the Malik ranch.

“At this point, however, the three of us have exhausted almost all of our ready cash and the only way to get more cash would be to liquidate other investments, which would cause other problems, so we’d prefer not to do so. Instead, we determined to seek other investors. Both of you, Mister Smith and Mister Baylor, are being enlisted in that recruitment effort.”

Baylor sputtered, “You expect us, I mean that we’d just--”

Smith had laid his hand on Baylor’s arm. He said to him, “I don’t think we’ve heard the whole story yet, Mister Baylor.”

Baylor looked at Malik and demanded, “What is the whole story, Emil?”

“As you know, Mister Baylor, we -- Christina and Andy, Gabriela and I -- went to the mine at the end of last week. We were accompanied by a mining engineer, Emmet Quincy, and his wife, June. He’s the nephew of the Sonora reservation Indian agent, Morton Quincy.

“Now, I must cite an important disclaimer. I am going to be using words like ‘indicate’ and ‘similar’ and other words that will illustrate educated speculation but not absolute fact,” he said, stressing the last half dozen words. “As Emmet Quincy told us, ‘In mining, nothing is certain until the vein plays out.’” He looked at Baylor to make sure the notion sunk in. Baylor looked back at him like he was ready to spit.

“I mention that caution because I’m about to tell you that the vein of silver ore at the Sonora mine not only gives evidence of being extraordinarily rich, but it also contains a narrow vein of nearly pure silver.”

Jacob Baylor, clearly exasperated, said, “Well, hooray for the Sonoras.”

Smith laid a hand on Baylor’s forearm again. “Patience, my friend. I think it’s important this story is told in its own order.”

Malik stood up and went to the large coffee urn, where he filled a carafe. He continued to address the group as he walked about. “Mister Quincy identified two prominent ore-bearing bodies that surrounded the silver. First, though, I should mention that Mister Quincy told me it is very rare to find a vein of pure silver. He said it is much more common with gold than with silver. Usually silver is bound to other minerals and elements, like galena or copper, or even gold.” He went to Baylor’s cup first and re-filled it, then Smith’s, then he held up the carafe to see who else might want a refill. Westcott raised his cup.

Malik walked toward the other end of the table as he continued. “As I started saying, Mister Quincy noted two other ore bodies carrying an especially rich mix of silver. One was galena and the other was copper.” When Malik reached Westcott, the Judge took the carafe and poured for the two ladies and himself, then he rose and went to refill the carafe.

Malik continued to walk slowly around the perimeter of the room. “I’m sure that most of you know that copper tarnishes to a green or blue-green hue. From the mine, there was a traceable band of greenish stones and gravel on the surface of the slope, along the same level as the mine. Keep in mind: while the greenish rock suggests copper, it says nothing at all about silver, though it hints that it might be the same silver-bearing copper ore. We followed the greenish band of gravel south, deeper into the reservation, about three-quarters of a mile. There, the greenish rocks stopped.”

“If there’s no silver, why follow it at all?” Baylor wanted to know.

“Mister Quincy said that we were following it because we had evidence that the vein carried silver at one point so it was a reasonable conjecture that it carried it throughout, but far from a certainty. Where the color stopped, he explained, the vein may have ended or it may simply have run off in another direction, deeper into the ridge. There was no way to tell without a lot of digging.

“We searched further south and soon came to an arroyo which cut into the slope. Mister Quincy had us search the bottom of the arroyo for greenish rocks. When we could find none, he said that there was no point in searching further with the limited time we had.”

Malik looked at Baylor to see if he was following. He looked a bit more relaxed.

Malik continued his description. “After lunch, we followed the greenish band north. It continued to the border of the reservation, which is only about a mile from the mine. I’ll bet whoever drew the borders for the reservation had no inkling about that mine.”

Lonegan said, “Another safe bet.”

Malik nodded at Lonegan’s remark. “Mister Quincy and I followed the rock for another two miles, north of the reservation, into Jackson County. In a dense patch of trees, we came upon a steep-sided gulch. It was ... it was like Isabella Canyon if Isabella was only thirty feet wide and maybe sixty or seventy feet deep. It wasn’t like an arroyo with caved-in sides, it had sheer walls. Mister Quincy called it a fault, a place where the layers of the earth shifted in different direction for some unknown reason, and the earth had cracked open right there. He likened it to raising a piece of layer cake without slicing it, first. You’d end up with a jagged crack.”

Christina looked at Andy and said, “I’ve actually seen that in a layer cake I left alone with Andy one morning. He tried to convince me it wasn’t his fault, but now I know it was his fault, by definition.”

That earned smiles and a question from Lonegan as to the flavor of the cake. Christina whispered, “Lemon.”

The group soon quieted and Malik said, “We went to explore the fault, as we had explored the arroyo that morning. We found it easy to enter where its lower outlet finally met the angle of the slope. We went up some distance and Mister Quincy pointed out an odd formation in the rock layers, maybe thirty feet up. Then he jumped off his horse and started digging in the sand along the bottom. To me, the odd rock formation...,” Malik was pulling an object from his pocket, but he was gesturing and looking upward as if he could see the vein in his mind, so no one noticed the hand rummaging in his pocket, “ ... reminded me of a big pillow in a pillow cover with one stripe, smashed between layers of quilts. Just then, Mister Quincy shouted and he rushed over to me and showed me this.”