Only three steps inside, and the detector started to go off, emitting high-pitched beeps. Caleb froze, then passed the wand over the same spot again. Another beep, stronger this time.
“We’ve got something,” he said, his voice tight with excitement. “About two feet down, I’d guess.”
I moved to stand beside him and positioned the shovel. “Do you think the ground is too frozen?” I asked, poking it with the shovel.
He shook his head. “It’s surprisingly warm in here. Look, you can’t see our breath.” He puckered his lips like he was going to kiss the air and slowly breathed out. “See?” he grinned.
Truth be told, all I saw was his lips, but instead of admitting it, I started to dig. Carefully, hoping not to damage whatever might be buried. The ground was partially frozen, making progress slow and difficult. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cold as I excavated a hole about eighteen inches wide.
“Let me check again,” Caleb said, passing the detector over the hole. The beeping intensified. “It’s close. Maybe another six inches. Give me the shovel.”
I started to protest, but then he shot me a look. One that zinged up my spine and had me clamping my mouth shut.
“I hit something,” he announced, as Scout popped his head between my legs.
I pushed him aside and dropped to my knees to brush away the remaining dirt with my gloved hands.
A metal edge appeared—rectangular, rusted, but unmistakably man-made. Working together, we cleared enough soil to reveal what appeared to be an old military-style ammunition box.
“Can you lift it out?” he asked, balancing precariously on his good leg.
The box was heavier than it looked. I strained, finally managing to hoist it from the dirt. Setting it on level ground, I examined the rusted latch.
“It’s locked,” I said, tugging at the corroded mechanism. “But the metal’s so degraded, I think—” With a snap, the latch broke off in my hand. “Never mind.”
Caleb lowered himself to sit on a nearby rock, leaning forward intently as I lifted the lid. Inside, protected by a weathered oilcloth, lay several items: a leather-bound journal,yellowed with age; a small canvas pouch; and what appeared to be mining documents, old from the looks of them, as the papers were brittle and discolored.
“Careful,” Caleb warned as I reached for the journal. “Those pages could disintegrate if handled roughly.”
I gently lifted the journal, opening it to reveal faded, handwritten entries. The ink had browned with age, but the flowing script remained legible.
“Property of Thomas Wolf, 1897,” I read aloud. “Account of discoveries.”
Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. “Wolf? As in Wolf Creek? This could be the original settler.”
I turned a few pages, scanning the entries. “April 18, 1897—Located promising vein in shaft three. Estimate yield at twenty ounces per ton. Must keep location secure from company men.”
“He was one of the independent prospectors,” Caleb said, excitement coloring his voice. “The ones fighting against the mining company.”
I reached for the canvas pouch next, carefully untying the drawstring. It contained several rough stones, dull at first glance but with veins of something metallic running through them.
“Are these—?” I began.
“Gold ore samples,” Caleb confirmed, taking one to examine more closely. “Not refined, but definitely valuable to someone who knows what they’re looking at.”
A sudden bark from Scout drew our attention. The dog stood rigid, staring into the tree line, hackles raised.
“What is it, boy?” I called, instantly alert.
Scout barked again, more urgently this time. Through the trees, I caught a flash of movement—too large to be wildlife.
“Someone’s watching us,” Caleb whispered, reaching for his gun.
I quickly gathered the items, shoving them back into the ammunition box. “We need to go. Now.”
Caleb nodded, struggling to his feet. “Get to the UTV. I’ll cover you.”
“I’m not leaving you behind,” I hissed, grabbing his arm to support him.
