“I’m fine. Let’s head on up there. Even if we don’t find anything, it’s something to keep my mind off Toby.”

*

The Petrified Forest was closed when they arrived. Although it was only a little after five, the sky was thunderously dark, and the rumblings and shakings of an approaching storm were growing steadily louder. They parked the pickup outside the gates, and then Harry walked around to the office and gift shop, where a single light was still burning. He rapped on the window, and mouthed, “Let—me—in.”

A pretty brunette in a brown overall came to the door and unlocked it. She said, “I’m sorry, mister, we’re all closed up. But we’re open again tomorrow if you want to drop by. The place is really worth a visit.”

“Look,” said Harry, “is the manager in?”

The girl shook her head. “Not this evening, he isn’t.”

“Is there anybody here who knows something about this place, apart from you?”

She shook her head. “There’s only Professor Thoren. But he’s not really a tree professor. I should drop by in the morning if I were you.”

“Who’s Professor Thoren? What does he do?”

She frowned. “I’m not too sure. I’m only looking after the place while the manager’s out. He’s up at the Tunnel Tree right now.”

“The Tunnel Tree? What’s that?”

She smiled. “I don’t know why you don’t come see for yourself when we’re open. It’s real impressive. There’s this stone redwood and it’s more than three hundred feet long, lying on its side, if you understand me. It was buried deep in the rocks, and ever since about the turn of the century they’ve been tunneling alongside of it so that people can walk down the tunnel and take a look. It’s real neat.”

“And that’s where Professor Thoren is right now?”

The girl nodded. “He’s been here a year or so, trying to work out the Indian writing.”

Harry stared at her. “I don’t believe it. There’s Indian writing on that tree? You mean that?”

“Sure there is. It was in all the local papers. They found it round about two years ago, when they were digging the tunnel along further. It’s only scratches. What they call picture writing.”

Harry said, “Of course. In Misquamacus’s time, it must have been still hidden under the rocks.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked the girl.

“It’s granted,” said Harry. He felt ridiculously excited. For the first time since he’d flown over to help Neil, he felt he was making some headway. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was an advance against Misquamacus, instead of another terrified retreat.

“I want to ask you a favor,” he said. “I know you’re closed, and everything, but I really need to speak to Professor Thoren.”