“So someone thinks there’s an old mine filled with ore on Jake’s land?” The idea seemed far-fetched, but the intensity in Caleb’s eyes made me pause.
“Or something left behind.” He pulled up an internet search on his phone. “There was a mining dispute here in 1897.The Wolf Creek Mining Company versus several independent prospectors. It got ugly—property destruction, sabotage.”
“That was over a century ago,” I pointed out.
“History has a way of resurfacing. I’m sure there are a lot of locals around here whose families have
been around for generations,” he scrolled through the search results. “According to this local history site, one of the prospectors supposedly hid a significant cache of gold somewhere in the area before he died in a mysterious accident.”
Scout had settled at my feet, but his ears remained perked, alert to any sounds outside. The wind had picked up, whistling around the eaves of the house.
“So you think Jake unknowingly bought property with hidden treasure, and now someone wants to find it before he does?”
“It would explain the note.” Caleb set down his phone. “And Margret’s unusual interest in us.”
I stood up, moving to the window to peek through the curtains. The sky had darkened considerably, heavy clouds promising the snow Margret had mentioned. “We need to check these coordinates before the storm hits.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He reached for his crutches. “But we’ll need supplies. Flashlights, rope, tools.”
“Jake probably has everything we need in his shed,” I said. “I saw some rope when I was feeding the animals in the barn.”
He nodded, struggling to his feet. “I’m coming with you this time. No arguments.”
“Your leg—”
“Will be fine.” His jaw set in a stubborn way that I was beginning to recognize. “Besides, I’m not letting you explore potential mine shafts alone.”
I wanted to argue, but knew it would be pointless. “Fine. But we take it slow, and you tell me if the pain gets too bad.”
“Deal.” He gestured toward the notebook. “Let’s check the closest coordinates first.”
We spent the next hour preparing—gathering supplies, studying the map, and plotting our route. According to the notebook, the nearest marked location was only about a quarter-mile from Jake’s barn, near the creek that gave the valley its name.
As we bundled up against the cold, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched. I kept glancing out the windows, half-expecting to see Margret’s blue pickup returning or shadowy figures lurking among the trees.
“Ready?” Caleb asked, adjusting his coat over his shoulder holster. He’d insisted on bringing his gun despite my discomfort.
I shook my head, clipping Scout’s leash to his collar. “Not at all.”
Outside, the temperature had dropped further, and the wind cut through my layers like icy knives. Caleb moved slowly but steadily on his crutches, his face tight with concentration. I stayed close to his side, ready to catch him or, at the very least, break his fall if he should slip.
“There’s something else bothering me,” I said as we made our way toward Jake’s property. “If this is about some old mining treasure, why now? Jake has owned this land for years.”
“Good question.” Caleb’s breath formed clouds in the cold air. “Maybe someone found new information. Old maps,journals, and something that narrowed down the search area. Or maybe it’s someone who knew all along and is just deciding now to act on it.”
We reached Jake’s barn without incident, though Scout remained vigilant, occasionally stopping to sniff the air or stare intently into the distance. The shed stood adjacent to the barn—a weathered structure with a slanted roof and padlocked door.
“You got the keys?” he asked.
I nodded, fishing the keyring from my pocket, and handed it to him.
The lock clicked open, and he pushed the door. I thought for sure someone would hear the creaking of its rusty hinges; it was so loud that I looked around just to be sure we weren’t being watched.
Inside, the shed was surprisingly well-organized—tools hanging on pegboards, shelves of supplies, and equipment neatly arranged, and in the middle of the floor sat a UTV.
“Jackpot,” Caleb murmured, surveying the contents. “Grab those flashlights, and no need to go to the barn for the rope,” he pointed to a brand-new coil hanging from a nail. “I’ll get the shovel and pickaxe.”
We worked quickly, gathering what we needed. As I reached for a canvas backpack to carry our supplies, my hand brushed against something metallic tucked behind a stack of feed bags covered in a layer of dust.
