ABSTRACT
The turnoff from the freeway was close to Florissant. Rasmusson then took control of the car and followed the old Highway 24. Tattered billboards advertised places where dinosaur fossils could be seen. There were occasional cowboy bars combined with pizza kitchens. The local garage touted a two-headed rattlesnake as an attraction. The highway wound down the canyon in a region known as The Druids. It was so named because of the large stone boulders, 10 meters or higher, which were strewn throughout the canyon and resembled a convention of ascetics in brown capes and hoods. They looked as if they had been carved in a minimalist art deco style, but the similarity to druids was unmistakable. At every turn, they stood as faceless, dispassionate sentinels, unconcerned with the flow of traffic that meandered at their feet. This time as Rasmusson passed The Druids, he noticed that some of them were standing in tight clusters as if conspiring together on some stealthy plan. He had not seen this before.
