Sam Trinity stood in the doorway of his store until the dust from the helicopter's rotor blades slowly rolled away under a light breeze. Then he stepped past the asphalt drive, holding a two iron Bob Hope-style and came to a halt about six meters from the opening door.

Garza dropped out first and walked up to him. "Hello there, dirt-kicker."

Trinity's dark calfskin face stretched into a big Texas smile. "Herb, you old taco. Good to see you."

He pulled up his sunglasses, revealing blue eyes that squinted under the bright Southern Texas sun. Then he dropped them again like a curtain.

He was very tall, skinny as a fence pole, arms slender, shoulders narrow, but his voice had vigor and resonance.

Garza made the introductions, but it was obvious the names were hardly absorbed by Trinity. He simply waved and said, "Glad to meet yaal.

Welcome to Sam's Roman Circus." Then he noticed Pitts face, cane and limp. "Fall off your motorcycle?"

Pitt laughed. "The short end of a saloon brawl."

"I think I like you."

Sandecker stood jauntily with legs apart and nodded at the two iron.

"Where do you play golf around here?"

"Just down the road in Rio Grande City," Trinity replied genially.

"Several courses between here and Brownsville. I just got back from a quick round with some old army buddies."

"We'd like to poke around your museum," said Garza.

"Be an honor. Help yourself. Not every day someone drops in by whirlybird to look at my artifacts (he pronounced it 'arteefacts'). You folks like something to drink, sody pop, beer? I've got a pitcher of margaritas in the icebox."

"A margarita would taste wonderful," said Lily, dabbing her neck with a bandanna.

"Show our guests around to the museum, Herb. The door's unlocked. I'll join you in a minute."

A truck and trailer pulled in for gas, and Trinity pau sed to chat a moment with the driver before entering his living quarters adjoining the store.

"A friendly cuss," muttered Sandecker.

"Sam can be friendlier than a down-Texas ranch wife," said Garza. "But get on his bad side and he's tougher than a ninety-cent steak."

Garza led them into an adobe building behind the store. The interior was no larger than a two-car garage, but was crowded with glass display cases and wax figures in Roman legionary dress. The artifact room was spotless; no dust layered the glass walls. The artifacts were rust-free and highly burnished.

Lily carried an attached case. She carefully laid it on a display case, unsnapped the latches and pulled out a thick book with illustrations and photographs that resembled a catalogue. She began to compare the artifacts with those pictured in the book.

"Looking good," she said after a few minutes of study. "The swords and spearheads match Roman weapons of the fourth Century."

"Don't get excited," said Garza seriously. "Sam fabricated what you see here and probably aged them with acid and the sun."

..He didn't fabricate them," Sandecker said flatly.

Garza regarded him with skeptical interest. "How can you say that, Admiral? There's no record of pre-Columbian contact in the gulf."

"There is now."

That's news to me."

"'The event occurred in the year A.D. 391," explained Pitt. "A fleet of ships ed up the Rio Grande to where Roma now stands. Somewhere, in one of the hills behind town, Roman mercenaries, their slaves and Egyptian scholars buried a vast collection of artifacts from the Alexandria Library in Egypt '

"I knew it!" burst Sam Trinity from the open doorway. He was so excited he almost dropped the tray of glasses and pitcher he was carrying. "By glory, I knew it! The Romans really walked the soil of Texas."

"You've been right, Sam," said Sandecker, "and your doubters wrong."

I-All these years no one believed me," Sam muttered dazedly. "Even after they read the stone, they accused me of chiseling the inscription myself."

"Stone, what stone?" Pitt asked sharply.

"The one standing over in the corner. I had it translated at Texas A and M, but all they told me was, 'Nice job, Sam. Your Latin ain't half bad." They've kidded me for years for dreaming up a firstrate fish story."

"Is there a copy of the translated message?" asked Lily' re, on the wall. I had it typed and hung in a glassed frame. I cut off the part where they panned it."

Lily peered at the wording and read it aloud as the others crowded around her.

"This stone marks the way to where I ordered buried the works from the great Hall of the Muses.

"I escaped the slaughter of our fleet by the barban'ans and made my way south, where I was accepted by a primitive pyramid people as a sage and a prophet.

"I have taught them what I know of the stars and science, but they put little of my teachings to practical use. They prefer to worship pagan gods and follow ignorant priests' demands for human sacrifice.

"Sevenyearshavepassedsincemy arrival. My return here is filled with sorrow at the sight of the bones of my former comrades. I have seen to their burial. My ship is ready and I shall soon set sail for Rome.

"If Theodosius still lives I shall be executed but accept the risk gladly to see my family one last time.

"To those who read this, should I perish, the entrance to the storage chamber is buried under the hill. Stand north and look straight south to the liver cliff."

Junius Venator 10 August 398

"So Venator survived the massacre only to die seven years later on the return voyage to Rome," said Pitt.

"Or perhaps he made it and was executed without talking," added Sandecker.

"No, Theodosius died in 395," said Lily in wonder. .,To think the message was here all this time and ignored as a counterfeit. "

Trinity's eyebrows lifted. "You know this Venator guy?"

"We've been tracking him," admitted Pitt.

"Have you searched for the chamber?" Sandecker asked.

Trinity nodded. "Dug all over these hills, but found nuthin' but what you see here."

"How deep?"

"Used a backhoe about ten years ago. Made a pit six meters down, but only found that sandal over there in the case,"

"Could you show us the site where you discovered the stone and other artifacts?" Pitt asked him.

The old Texan looked at Garza. "Think it's okay, Herb?"

"Take my word, Sam, you can trust these people. They're not artifact robbers."

Trinity nodded vigorously. "All right, let's take a ride. We can go in my Jeep."

Trinity steered the Jeep Wagoneer up a dirt road past several modern homes and stopped in front of a barbed-wire fence. He got out, unhooked a section of the wire and pulled it aside. Then he climbed back behind the wheel and continued on over a trail that was grown over and barely perceptible.

When the four-wheeled Jeep crested a long, sloping rise, he stopped and turned off the ignition. "Well, here it is, Gongora Hill. A long time ago somebody told me it was named after a seventeenth-century Spanish poet. Why they named this dirt heap for a poet beats grits out of me."

Pitt gestured at a low hill four hundred meters to the north. "What do they call that ridge over there?"

"Has no name I ever heard of," replied Trinity.

"Where did you discover the stone?" asked Lily.