The Old Man of Castle Crags
Part one
Written by CJ McKee Copyright 2007

Callie Whitman shifted her eyes from the steep road to the temperature gauge in her car. She became more nervous as the needle slowly moved higher, well passed the mid-point and creeping closer to the large, angry red ‘H’ at the top of the gauge. She bit her lower lip and eased off the gas just as one of the local drivers honked their horn impatiently. She glanced in the mirror, then back to the gauge.

Letting out a sigh and a wave of her hand, she turned the steering wheel with a jerk and glided into a shallow turn out. She leaned out her window and glared at the car that sped up the road. She could have sworn she heard the passenger make a snide comment about tourists.

Callie sighed again, slammed the gearshift into park and shut off the engine. It sputtered and hissed before finally stopping. She managed to catch a glimpse of the needle barely scraping the ‘H’ before it settled back down into its normal space near the green ‘C’. Just as she breathed a sigh of relief she heard something pop and hiss under the hood. White clouds of steam gushed between the hood and the fenders.

“Damn Fords!” She said smacking her palm against the dashboard.

Callie reached down and released the trunk cable with a clunk and got out of the car, slamming the door so hard the cigarette lighter in the door handle flew across the cabin. She reached for the large ugly pink beach towel she kept in the trunk for drying her car after a wash and lifted the one-gallon water jug out with a grunt. Moving to the front of the car with another curse on her lips, she wrapped the towel around her hand and upper arm and reached underneath for the hood release.

“I wouldn’t do that!” A man’s voice shouted above the sound of the water gurgling in the radiator.

Callie stood up so quickly she nearly lost her balance. For a moment her vision was blinded by the steam. She looked around for the owner of the voice and did not see anyone. “What?”

An old man, tall, slender and pale looking with a voice of a kind soul smiled from behind the steam. She moved back away from the car and the steam to get a better look. She saw he sported a long gray beard…no wait, it was pure white. And an unusual, floppy hat. His clothes appeared as old as he; a tan trench coat, white laced shirt and baggy jeans, bottomed-off with leather lace up boots.

“I said I wouldn’t do that. If a hose has broken you would be scalded for sure, my dear.” He said with a smile. His green eyes twinkled and the wrinkles on each side deepened as he squinted in the daylight.

“Oh, yes. You are right, of course. This car. It does this to me every time!” She said throwing the towel at the hood.

“It is very old?”

“Yes, it’s a 1985 model.”

She watched as the old man just nodded and walked over to the front of her car. He lifted his hands, palms facing the hood and she cocked her head as she could have sworn he mumbled a word several times. She thought he might try to fix it himself…or maybe he is just warming his hands…

The steam stopped as suddenly as it started.

“Give it a few moments before you put the water in, my dear. It is still very hot.” He stated with a scowl.

“Thank you. What did you do? Do you…do you live around here?” She asked.

“Oh my yes. Just over that hill. Dunsmuir is the name of the town. We are in the Siskiyou county area near Mountain Shasta. Do you live around here?” She shook her head. “I did not think so. Well, Callie, I hope you will be all right from here on. Enjoy your stay!” He finished as he walked deeper into the woods and down a narrow path.

“Thank you again. Oh! What was your name?” He did not look back or answer. Wait a minute. How did he know my name? She shrugged and watched her hood for any signs of heat or steam. The only sign that it overheated reflected on the hood where some moisture from the boiling water remained. She gingerly touched the metal to see if it was hot and discovered the hood was no warmer than the rest of the car. She spun around to look for the old man but she could no longer see him. She grabbed the towel and lifted the hood with it, then slowly removed the radiator cap. No steam issued forth from the radiator. She shook her head and poured the remainder of the water from the bottle into the radiator. A gurgling sound made her stop and look behind the radiator where a hose appeared to be split. She could see moisture dripping from the crack and realized her dilemma.

Callie sighed and finished filling the radiator before capping it off and slamming the hood. She took comfort that Dunsmuir was not much farther away, as the old man had stated, and planned to make this little town her next stop.

The hardest part about working as an intern for a newspaper is not so much the paperwork, filing, errands, coffee runs, and general cleaning…well, ok, that is the hardest part!

Callie thought sarcastically to herself as she attempted to finish her first story for the Valley Times. Callie Whitman, an attractive woman in her thirtysomethings, long red hair, a decent job, an apartment and a cat. Other than the cat, Arthur, her work remained the only companion. A taste for natural fibers and casual dress proved her distaste for dressing up or business attire. Her small frame remained hidden under these non-tailored clothes and make-up rarely covered her natural allure. She kept her long red hair in a pony tail or bun and her reading glasses finished off the appearance of a librarian waiting for closing time.

Callie considered herself intelligent and witty, but definitely no genius. She mused to herself a number of times about going on Jeopardy and competing with others in a battle of wits. She quickly dismissed the idea when a particular subject arose of which she had no clue. Ancient history.

For nearly three years after finishing college, she went from small town newspapers, to larger county periodicals and magazines to apply for work as a journalist. Although she managed to work as a freelance journalist by submitting stories or articles for a meager sum, her dream had always been to work for the New York Times. So why am I here in Los Angeles?

Ah, yes. L.A. The city of opportunities.

“Callie, would you be interested in attending a journalist convention in Washington?” Her boss, Tami O’hare asked.

“I would love to! What do I need to do?” Callie asked eagerly. She felt this would be her one big break into the business. One after another she visualized CEO’s of major newspapers, magazines, and television news bombarding her with interviews and eventually signing her on with their prestigious company.

“Next week is when the convention starts, the twentieth, and goes until the twenty-fifth. If you leave tomorrow, you should be able to drive their well before they get started.”

Drive there? There goes my weekend. Cheap company.

“Um, okay. What will I be doing when I get there?”

“When you get to the Seattle Marriott, ask for the manager.” She handed Callie an agenda with addresses and names. “He will show you to your room, and then to the banquet halls where the convention will be held.” Silence followed. Tami cocked her head slightly as if to say, can’t you read my mind?

“Am I meeting with anyone else?”

“Yes. You will be meeting with new clients and presenting the material we will have; brochures, free t-shirts, buttons, etc.”

Callie fumed to herself. What am I, a spokes model?

“You will be a representative for the company and answer any questions about us.” She said as if in response to her thoughts. “Oh, and write a report about it for your journalism internship. Who knows, we might get it in the papers?” She stated with a well intentioned grin. “Oh, and don’t forget to write down your mileage so you can get reimbursed.”

Callie nodded and smiled as best as she could without showing disappointment. After all this time, she thought, you would think I could finally get my own stories to cover.

She watched her boss wander through the maze of cubicles, silently hating her, yet at the same time loving her. Tami was always fair-minded and honest, and Callie considered the idea that Tami believed she gave her this assignment as a favor. Getting her feet wet, in the door and…and to break the monotony. For the most part, Tami remained flexible when it came to hours, days off, and as many opportunities as her bosses would allow. They occasionally had lunch together, so there appeared to be no reason in Callie’s mind that this situation was a bad idea.

Tami wasn’t much older than Callie. She preferred her hair cut very short, just above the collar, and highlighted to cover her premature gray. Her tall stature betrayed her approach when entering the offices, and she nearly always had a smile on her face.

Callie watched her rushing from office to office, and from the building to home day in and day out. Where does she get all that energy? Callie began making the round of calls to hotels and personnel in preparation for her upcoming trip.

Perhaps this is just the thing I need, right now. It would be nice to get away, and I have never been to Seattle! At least I will have some time to sight-see on the way up!

It took Callie a better part of the following day to pack, research Seattle’s weather at this time of year and project the distance and time to travel. She lost herself on the internet investigating various sites to see, towns to visit, and possible side stories to write for the paper. She felt any story she can write about other places relatively unknown by Los Angeles residents, and placed in the travel section would be advantageous for her career. She plotted two courses; one direct route up the I5 through Northern California, Oregon, and finally Seattle Washington. The other, and the one where more time would be involved, took her over the mountains, past Lake Tahoe, and finally through Lassen Volcanic National Park and Mt. Shasta.

She packed extra batteries for her digital camera, charged her video camera, and packed plenty of snacks. After clicking the last snap on the last bag, she stood back to admire her handiwork. Then, after counting more than five bags packed, she began to unpack two of the larger suitcases.

I mean really, do I need all these clothes?

After another hour of tossing and packing, she sighed, satisfied with her choices – just two suitcases, to take on the trip.

Dunsmuir California. Hidden within the Siskiyou valley, and surrounded by beautiful mountain ranges, this little town contained a gentle charm and small town feel. The population barely reached two thousand, with hundreds of homes scattered throughout the valley. It took extra locomotives attaching to passing trains to travel through this area. The town was known as a small Union Pacific base of operations. For a small population, Dunsmuir bustled with activity and commerce. Nearly every resource needed could be found in the downtown area, or at least close by.

Callie inched the car into the nearest gas station; one of few with a repair garage. She stopped right in front of the open roll-up doors and shut the engine off as more steam sifted from beneath the hood and into the mountain air. A young, tall attendant walked out with a smile on his face as he watched the cloud of water vapor dissipate into the air around him.

“Hose busted, I’ll bet.” He stated.

“That’s it exactly.” Callie said throwing her hands up over the steering wheel. She opened the door and gestured towards the hood. “Do you have water hoses to replace the ones in this model?”

The attendant shrugged and adjusted the hat on his head which sported the name of the gas station. “I can look. It’s an older car, so we may have to order the part.” He reached under the front of the car and released the hood. After waving the air clear of the steam, he leaned in and inspected each hose. Once he found the broken hose, he nodded and wiped his hands on the cloth dangling from his pocket. “Be right back.”

Callie nodded and decided she better let Tami know of her possible delay. She punched the quick dial on her cell phone and explained the ordeal to Tami who waved it off and told her not to worry about it. She told Callie that another rep would be present whom will oversee the entire process so she would not have to be there at any time in particular. Callie sighed with relief, thanked her and disconnected just as the attendant returned.

“Going to be about a day to get the parts. Have to order them from another town.”

“I see. Well, is it safe to drive for now?”

“Not really. If it continues to overheat, you could blow a head gasket. Better to let it sit until it’s fixed. I tell you what I could do. I could cut the hose where it’s cracked, and reattach it, but it’ll only be good for a short time, not for long distance drives.”

“That’ll work. How long will that take?”

“I can do it right now, won’t take me but a minute.”

“Thanks!”

The attendant gathered the tools he needed and proceeded to complete the task. Callie walked a block down the road to look for the nearest hotel and found a small, quaint, family-owned bed and breakfast. She decided to make this her temporary home in Dunsmuir and checked into the B and B that minute.

Less than ten minutes later, Callie was on the road again, driving through town, and taking in the sights of the nearby mountains. On her way into town, she remembered seeing a sign for Castle Crag which peaked her interest. She decided to make that her first tour of the day and stopped at a souvenir shop to pick up a map. Once she knew how to get there she packed a sandwich and some sodas along with other snacks and made off for the Castle Crags.

The Crags actually lie six miles south of Dunsmuir, right near where her car broke down and the mysterious old man paid her a visit. She realized upon arriving that she was too busy worrying about the car to appreciate its beauty.
She saw a sign that said “Castle Crags State Park” and pulled into the entrance.

For the next hour, Callie wandered the trail from the campgrounds. She took numerous pictures and wrote several interesting notes regarding the history of Castle Crags, including its name.

Situated along an ancient trade and travel route known as the Siskiyou Trail, Castle Crags has witnessed dramatic events. Strained relationships between 1850s California Gold Rush miners and the local native Indian populations resulted in the 1855 Battle of Castle Crags, in which the poet Joaquin Miller was wounded, and which he later described in an essay of the same name. Exploitation of the land by lumber and mining operations encouraged concerned citizens in 1933 to acquire much of the land, which would eventually become Castle Crags State Park

During the Pleistocene eroded much of the softer surrounding rock leaving the towering crags and spires exposed, from which the Castle Crags rock face derives its name. Exfoliation of huge, convex slabs of granite yielded rounded forms such as the prominent Castle Dome feature of Castle Crags.

Callie breathed deep allowing the fresh, high altitude air to fill her lungs. Regardless of the fate of her car, she enjoyed the time away and the opportunity to explore this valley. Turning away from the trail and walking back towards the campgrounds, Callie nearly knocked over the old man standing alongside the trail.

“Oh! Sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.” She said as she inspected the man to ensure he wasn’t injured.

“It is quite alright, my dear. I should have known there would be travelers on this trail. Not paying attention, that’s it!” He said holding his hand up, the other leaning on a long branch, carved and decorated with an artistic flare.

“It’s you!” Callie said as she got a better look at him.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. The one who talked to me this morning when my car overheated.”

“Why, yes, that’s right! How is your auto-mobile doing, my dear?” He said with a smile.

“I have to wait for a part to be delivered, so I am staying the night.” Callie replied a little droll. She pointed to her car. “The mechanic fixed it temporarily, but I can’t go very far.”

“Ah. Sorry to hear you are delayed. I hope you are taking advantage of this time, then?” He said with a wink.

“Actually, yes! This is a beautiful area! I would love to stay longer but I have to go to a conference in Washington.”

“Con-frenz?”

“Conference. Yes, for my company. I am a journalist…reporter for a newspaper.” She corrected lifting her camera for him to see.

“I see. Find any interesting stories?” He said playfully.

“Only historical. Nothing out of the ordinary. At least this isn’t a total waste.” She indicated the Crags.

The old man chuckled and started to walk further up the trail where Callie just left. “Well, then, enjoy your stay, my dear. Until we meet again!” He waved and moved quickly up the path, his walking stick tapping against the dirt and rocks.

“Wait! What’s your name?” She shouted after him, but he disappeared behind a steep hill on the trail. She sighed and shrugged and looked towards the west as the sun began to sink behind the Crags. She thought it best to satisfy the growling in her stomach before retiring for the night.

Sitting in the large booth at the little café near her bed and breakfast, Callie watched residents and tourists come and go, carrying on conversations and taking endless photographs of each other sitting at the table, eating, laughing, and being silly. She ate her pasta slowly, taking in more of the atmosphere than the food, and happily sipping from her beer. The music in the back room drifted out to her ears and begged her to come and dance. She comprised by tapping her toes and taking another bite of pasta.

“Did you hear what the wizard did today?” A woman said from the booth behind her.

Callie’s ears perked and she wiped her mouth, not feeling the least bit guilty leaning back slightly to hear more of the conversation in the booth behind her.

“No, what?” A man’s voice asked.

“Well, there was supposed to be no snow on the peak this afternoon, so they were going to shut down the slopes.”

“But it’s early winter!” The man said as if to take it personally.

“I know. The tourism board didn’t take kindly to that, so they spread the word around, and before you know it, the wizard made it snow on the peak!”

“Oh, you lie.” He stated.

“No, NO. My friend is a park ranger and she said she saw him do it!” She insisted.

“Aw, come on, that rumor went around last winter.” Another man with a different voice said as he slapped his hand on the table.

“Well. Still. There is something about that old man of the Crags.”

Callie sat bolt upright. It went noticed. The three people behind her stopped talking and glanced in her direction. She knew they had to be talking about the old man that she saw twice in one day.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help but overhear what you said about an old man near the Castle Crags?” Callie said as she leaned back and turned to face them. The woman who spoke nodded.

“Yes! You’ve seen him then?” She smacked the man sitting next to her. “Told you!”

“Yes. Well. Sort of. He spoke to me twice today and then just disappeared into the woods.”

“Did he have a long white beard?” She asked nearly leaning all the way over the table.

“Yes he did. The first time, he called me by my name, but I never told him my name!” Callie remembered. I never did get his name.

“Does anyone know his name?” Callie asked.

“No.” The woman shook her head as did the two young men who shared the booth with her. “We just call him Merlin…because he looks like an old wizard with that long beard!” She said giggling.

“Is that the only reason you called him a wizard?” Callie urged as she got up and joined them in the booth.

The three of them leaned in and the woman spoke again. “They say he has magical powers. There is a rumor that someone hit a deer on the road, and he brought the deer back to life…right in front of the person who hit the deer!”

The men rolled their eyes and sighed. The one sitting closest to the woman made a crazy gesture with his finger next to his head and a chatty motion with his hand behind her head. Her eyes became wide and she whipped her head around to glare at him. He just smiled and shrugged.

“Anyway, they don’t even know where he lives. He just appears in the area near the Crags. Some believe he lives in the Crags! I have seen him here in town, too.”

“I see. Perhaps I should have a little chat with this man. He did seem to stop my car from over heating this morning.” Callie said remembering when he held his hands in front of the car, the steam stopped.

“You go right ahead. Uh uh, I will not have anything to do with him!” She sat back into the man next to her. Then she leaned forward again. “He really fixed your car?” Callie nodded. “Wooow.” She gave a satisfied glance to the man next to her and he just grinned.

“Thanks for talking with me. Is there anyone else who has talked with this old man? Merlin?”

The other man that sat next to Callie spoke after being silent for most of the conversation. “Yes. There is this Native American dude who lives near here. He has talked with Merlin quite often.”

“Where does he live?” Callie brought out a pen and a small note pad.

“He has a store at the end of the main street. It’s a jewelry store. You know, Native American stuff. Bows and arrows and dead animal stuff.” He gestured in the direction of the store.

“Thank you again. I will have to talk with him. See, I am a reporter and…”

“Cool!” The woman leaned forward so quick it made Callie jump. “Which paper? Los Angeles? New York? Hey Josh, I know a celebrity! Ha!”

The man next to her, Josh, rolled his eyes again. “She’s a reporter, not a movie actor.” He sighed and made an apologetic frown on his face towards Callie. Callie laughed and held her hand up in return.

“I am trying to be a reporter. That’s one of the reasons I am on this trip. I am going to this convention as a representative and doing the report. This old man, however, seems like a great story too!”

“Will you put my name in the paper too? After all, I did tell you about the wizard. I’m your source!” The girl said with jubilance.

“Absolutely. My name is Callie.” She reached her hand out to shake and they all introduced themselves. Callie asked a few more questions about Dunsmuir and Castle Crags before they all left to go home, Callie to her bed and breakfast.

When Callie arrived to her room, she plopped onto the bed and switched on the local news channel. She watched the simple occurrences in a small town that served for exciting news in Dunsmuir and the surrounding area. She flipped from one station to another, hoping to get more information on this town and Siskiyou county.

She sat up and leaned forward, her eyes wide as she watched a small fire burning near Castella, the town south of Dunsmuir near Castle Crags. But it wasn’t the fire that she noticed, nor the fireman that worked on putting the fire out. There, beside the fire engine, was the old man. He seemed to be gesturing, and the firemen did not even seem to notice he stood there. Before she could get a clear look at what he was doing, the camera panned back to the reporter who signed off.

“I gotta find this guy again. Who is this old man?”

The next morning proved gloomy with the approach of a storm. Callie did not want to wake up, so she compromised by pulling the covers up around her and watching television. She called the gas station to see if the part for her car had arrived. The attendant she spoke with the previous day replied with a solemn ‘not yet’, and promised he would call if there was any more delay.

Callie sighed and decided to come to life and start the day. So much to do, and I don’t even live here! She removed the oversized Los Angeles Kings hockey t-shirt that her ex-boyfriend gave her as a birthday present, and hopped into the shower. The steam rose quickly reminding her of the reason she stopped in this quaint little town in the first place. She stood for a long time under the almost-too-hot water before washing and getting ready.

The outside world appeared almost like dusk as dark storm clouds rolled overhead. Regardless of the weather, Callie opened her car trunk and removed the umbrella, deciding to walk to the Native American store she heard about the night before. She opened the umbrella and glanced overhead in anticipation of the rain, and then head down the street as quickly as she could.

After walking several blocks, window shopping, and stopping at the gas station to ask about the car parts, she asked the attendant if he knew about the Native American store. He nodded and gave her some quick instructions. After a few more blocks she saw the store across the street, arriving at the door just as the rain began to fall.

The small store contained far too many items for sale, considering its size. Callie used her arms to push aside dangling feathers and strips of leather hanging off dreamcatchers and hand crafted pipes. A large drum hand painted with the image of a wolf and another painted with another symbol she did not recognized took up half the wall near the window. On one counter, several furs with heads still attached draped across the glass. She looked closer and realized they were skins from a beaver. A bow with a quiver of arrows sat next to the counter, and dozens of dreamcatchers littered the ceiling. Beautiful works of art on canvas and mandalas on tanned skins stretched over a hoop sat along the floor leaning against the wall or a display. She had never seen so many pieces of Native artwork in her life. Her eyes searched the store for any sign of human existence.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

Callie called out again and a voice behind her caused her to jump. It seemed to her to appear out of no where. “May I help you?” The older gentleman asked.

From what Callie could remember about Native Americans, this man only slightly resembled what she expected. His salt and pepper hair, mostly salt, hung loose behind him, his face a deep brown, wrinkled from the sun and age. His eyes reflected a deep pool of brown, so deep she felt as if his soul spoke through them. His clothes were simple; a long sleeved t-shirt and denim jeans. Sandals poked out from under the bottom hem of his baggy jeans.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t hear you walk up. My name is Callie. I wanted to ask you some questions about…” She hesitated, not wanting to talk about the old man right away. “Dunsmuir. And the Crags.”

He contemplated her for a moment. He searched her face as if to read a book. She became a bit nervous when he didn’t answer her right away, then a bit annoyed. “I’m sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?”

The man shook his head and crossed his arms. “What did you want to know?”

“I am a…doing a report for my school project.” She lied.

“I see. You want to know the history? Or about us?” He said uncrossing his arms and picking up the bow.

“Um, both. Really. And, other things of interest too. Like, myths and such.”

“I see.” He placed the bow back into its stand and walked over to the counter next to the cash register. “Did you want to buy something?”

Callie shook her head and looked around at the items, searching for something to purchase. She thought perhaps he hinted that if she bought something in the store, he would give her the information she wanted. She reached into a bowl that contained arrowheads, and placed two of them on the counter.

He looked at them with a frown, then at her. “Arrowheads? Everyone gets arrowheads. Look around, there may be something more special. Just for you.”

Callie started to protest, and then stopped, figuring that if she cooperated, she could get what she wanted. She looked around the store again. Her eyes searched the dreamcatchers hanging from the ceiling. She saw one painted with a cat and, since she had a cat, made the choice. She placed it on the counter, right next to the arrowheads.

The man frowned again. “Everyone likes the dreamcatchers.” He said with a sigh. “I didn’t know we had one with a cat on it.” He looked up at her as if to say ‘try again’.

This time Callie let out a short sigh before turning back to the store. She started towards the drums and then stopped, realizing she could be doing this all day. What does this guy want? This guy. Aha!

Callie walked back to the counter and gestured to the items. “You know, I don’t actually want this stuff. All I really want is to know your name.”

The man smiled deep, his teeth shined bright and slightly crooked and his eyes beamed. “My name is Sal. Welcome to my store!” He said with reverence and reached out to shake her hand. “Now what can I do for you. Miss Callie?”

Callie, pleased with herself that she figured out his ploy, expressed her interest in the Crags and listened patiently and with interest as Sal gave his rendition of the last two hundred years in the valley. He spoke of the migration of his tribe, the search for gold by miners, the railroads being laid and the first train that passed through the town. He showed her old pictures of his family, the town and the baseball team from the local high school dating back to 1937.

They shared a few laughs and she found him to be utterly charming. She did not notice how the rain continued to pelt the windows of the small store. With the sun covered by the clouds, she did not realize that it was well past noon until her stomach gave her a kick.

“I had no idea it was so late already. She said glancing at the intricate clock on the wall. I need to get some lunch. Would you like me to bring you something?”

“Corned beef sandwich? A beer perhaps? Please?” He said with child-like eagerness.

“Okay then. Be right back.”

After Callie ran across the street to the deli in the pouring rain, she returned with lunch for them both, and found him sitting with a cigarette in his mouth on the covered patio next door. She deduced this must be his home and she set the lunch down on the table.

“Don’t you want to eat inside?” She asked scowling at the rain.

“On such a beautiful day? Nonsense.” As he made this statement, the rain let up and a streak of sunlight struck the mountain. She laughed and they both started in on their sandwiches.

“Thank you, Sal, for telling me about the valley.”

“You are welcome. And thank you for the sandwich.” He said taking a huge bite.

“I need to ask about something else. Well. Someone else. Do you know about the old man that lives in the Crags?”

Sal became quiet, swallowing the bite of sandwich and took a gulp of his beer. “What have you heard?”

“Nothing really. I talked to him a couple of times.” She said almost defensively.

“Nothing else?” He pressed.

“Well. A few of the locals told me they call him Merlin. They think he is some sort of wizard, or something.” She tried to seem unimpressed.

“He is a medicine man. He is well known among my people.”

“He is? But…he isn’t Native American.”

“He is not part of our tribe. But he has a good heart and helps to heal illness. Even helps prevent bad things from happening.”

Callie remembered the fire she saw on television. He stood right there, and watched as one fireman alone put out the flames very quickly. Too quick. And then there was her overheating car problem…

“I don’t suppose you could tell me where he lives?”

Sal shook his head and took another sip of his beer. “No one knows for sure. There is a legend about a hidden cave in the Crags. But no one has seen an entrance. He has no cabin or tent that we have seen.”

“I think I should check it out. Maybe I can find it. Or at least find Merlin wandering around in the forest.” She said with a chuckle.

“You might want someone to go with you. Don’t go alone. There are other legends to be wary.” He said with his eyes narrowed.

“What other legends?” This place was becoming more than just a vacation spot!

“My people have lived in this valley a long time. Sometimes we see the old man, sometimes he is gone for many months. Sometimes Mother Earth shakes underneath the Crags. And some of us have seen a great bird without feathers in the night sky.”

Callie sat back and pursed her lips. Come on. First a wizard, and now this. I am beginning to think these locals are just pulling my leg.

“No, it is true .” Sal said as if responding to her thoughts. “I have seen it as well. There are pictures dating back two hundred years. Here! Let me show you.” Sal walked into his house. Callie sipped her tea and watched the locals come and go up the street, in the shops, and chatting on the sidewalks. I guess these stories help with the tourism.

She heard the front door slam and Sal stepped down onto the patio, unwrapping the cloth from a large piece of what looked like tree bark. He tossed the cloth onto another chair and turned it around. She saw a painting done directly on the flattest side of the bark. In a dark paint, silhouetted against the deep reds, pinks, and blues of a dusk background, a bird without feathers flew within the confines of the painting. Strange looking bird. It almost looks like a …

“This is what we have seen sometimes at night, since our people came to this valley. They say it lives in the Crags. They say it eats large animals and stands as tall as some of trees in the forest. They say…its breath is like flame.”

To be continued...