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TiRAll OF THREE CROSSES 5y Patricia A. Davey My grandfather used to tell many stories when I was young of his travels around the world. He was quite an artist, too. His pen and ink sketches of faraw.ay places, full of intrigue and mystery, graced the walls of his large, sunlit studio. The tale I most loved to hear was about a journey he took in his youth, accompanied only by his faithful mule, to sketch the Andes Range of South America: "I don't remember the exact reason I undertook this first journey. Perhaps it was §i\\{L~ ~~u==:-- ,-----_ .. _ AUGUST -SEPTEMBER 1994 just because Ithe Andes were there, remote, beautiful and very dangerous to trave~ in those days. I was young and restless, ready to go anywhere, see anything, so long as it was far away from home and school. So [ set out along the trails with Archer, myoid black mule. We wandered here and there, and I got some good material for later paintings. One day, as we travelled slowly ,along the trail by a river, we met up with a very old man hobbling along. "You must take that branch," he quavered as we passed him by, pointing to a barely-used trail angling')ff away from the main stream. "It is your destiny!" 5 ::u..... At first I thought it was a joke, but he stepped in front of me and continued to point, jabbing a gnarled fmger at the air. So we turned off, on a whim, to follow the dim markings. I could tell the trail was very ol'd and hardly used any more. Perhaps, I thought, it would lead me to ,an unusual place with magnificent scenery to sketch. We had followed the trail for sev eral hours, climbing steadily up a deep' canyon with a smalJ stream bubbling cheer fully and the song of a distaJlt hawk wing ing IllZily above to keep us company, when I noticed the first sign of three crosses carved deeply in a large boulder almost blockiJlg the trail. They were ancient, their outlines dimmed by the passage of time. They seemed to speak of ancient secrets long forgotten by everyone. I was intrigued and urged old Archer to a faster pace. From there on I would come across more crosses, always carved in threes, and they were a very good guide as the trail was growing dimmer and harder to follow as we went. Obviously, we were the first ,to travel that way for many an age. That night we camped in a little box canyon off to the side of the main canyon. There was grass for Archer to crop to his heart's con tent, and a small sweet spring. I sat by the fire and ate my rations, feel NEXUS-59