"Kathleen O' Neal & Michael W. Gear - People 3 - People Of The Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Neal Kathleen)

Skip climbed up beside him and looked down to where the cat had made
its last cut. Charcoal had smeared in a black stain as the blade
scraped the surface, but he could make out the large, round
discolorations in the soil. Charcoal and dark, organically rich soil
contrasted with the tan sand, where large pits had been dug into the
dune. Each of the discolorations measured three paces in diameter.

Skip stepped down, kicking at the charcoal. Flakes of colorful stone
littered the ground. "Yeah, these are some of those house pits the
archaeologists wanted to find. I saw some of them when I worked down
in New Mexico."

He stared around at the sage flats. On the remains of the dune, rice
grass and wild rye waved in the afternoon breeze. The star-burst
flowers of wild onion bobbed along the margins of the disturbed area.
In the distance, a herd of antelope watched from one of the taller
dunes. Skip shook his head, squinting in the bright sunlight. "Lord
knows what those idiot Indians saw in this goddamned country."

Swenson came down to kick around in the dirt. "So, what do we do? I
was at that meeting with that asshole BLM compliance guy. He said if
we uncovered anything, to shut down. Now what?"

Skip chewed on his thumb as he studied the ground. The archaeologists
would love to get their hands on this. And if they found out just how
good this site appeared to be .. .

"Look, we can't have those archaeologists back here. They'd fool
around for another couple of months, maybe even a year for all I know.
That's bucks .. . and delays. Time's, money, Red. We're an industry,
not the National Geographic Society. Those guys had their chance. We
did our part, followed the law, and let the arkys snoop around. We've
got a schedule to keep."

Swenson stuck his fingers in his back pockets, staring at the big
circles. "Who'd dig a hole that size? What for?"

"Go get the shovel outta my truck. Let's see what this is."

When Swenson returned with the shovel, Skip peeled back the dirt, the
blade clunking hollowly on rock. He levered up
a piece of sandstone. "Grinding slab," he said. "See where they wore
out the top like a trough? That's from grinding seeds and stuff into
flour."

"What's under it?" Swenson got down on his hands and knees to look. He
brushed away the sand and scooped up a handful of charred seeds.

"Storage pit. Just like the Injuns left it. Been waiting there like
that for thousands of years." Skip chuckled. "I read that damn report