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"But he also says he retreated into the cavern here because S.A. Jordan, the archaeologist from the Smithsonian, wanted to steal the treasure and sell it on the black market." Ashley rests her chin on my arm as she reads more of the letter. "Kincaid claims Jordan tried to kill him, and he was forced to defend himself with lethal force."
She's paraphrasing. But aye, that's the gist of it. Kincaid goes on to explain that Jordan wounded him before he killed the archaeologist in self-defense, and Kincaid hid his note here because he knew he was dying.
"I think I understand," Ashley says. "No wonder it was so hard to find any information about Jordan. He died on the expedition."
"ThePhoenix Gazettearticle stated there had been a large expedition to the Grand Canyon to find the hoard." I stare down at the stained and wrinkled paper. "Of course, the article might've been exaggerated. Back then, newspapers often embellished their stories or outright lied to increase circulation."
"Maybe Kincaid lied to the newspaper because he wanted to keep the location of the hoard a secret. He might've worried someone would steal it."
I read the letter again, trying to ferret out clues that Kincaid might've hidden between the lines. But then I have what my American mates would call a "duh" moment. I suddenly realize I haven't examined both sides of the paper. I flip it over—and see nothing. I'm about to flip the paper over again when Ashley lays a hand on it.
"Wait," she says. "There's something odd about the paper."
She picks at the top left corner of the sheet.
"Ah, what are ye doing there?" I ask.
"Hush." She peels the corner apart, revealing another sheet that had been glued to the first, though not literally glued. "Look at this. It's another page."
She separates the pages and hands me the one she just freed.
I read the handwritten text, which matches the writing on the first page, suggesting the same person composed both. "Kincaid says that someone should find the treasure, and he's made a crude map to show where it can be found. He hopes whoever discovers this letter will use the information wisely."
Ashley curls an arm around my waist. "That's exactly what we will do. The world should know the truth."
"They will know." I roll up the papers, gripping them in one hand. "We'll make certain of that."
I give the papers to Ashley so I can carry the GPS and GPR devices. Going down the path proves much easier than trudging up it, naturally. We arrive at the spot where we'd left Munro without dying from dehydration caused by too much sweating. My cousin is lying on the ground with his hands linked under his head, but instead of closing his eyes, he seems to be studying the rock formations.
"We found something," I announce. "There was a cavern, but it was hard to access. I crawled in there and found a letter apparently written by Kincaid."
Munro sits up as if he wants to hear what we found.
Ashley and I explain about the letter, and we show Munro the new map. He seems interested, and dare I say, rather excited by this new information. Munro MacTaggart excited? I never thought I'd see the day.
We drag our packs back down to the rocky shore and get back out on the river, following the new map created by the man who claimed to have discovered the greatest treasure in history. If Kincaid really did die in the canyon, his remains must have been washed away a long time ago. Will we find Jordan's remains inside the cavern? Or did Kincaid bury the body? Maybe he just left the bloke who tried to kill him lying out in the open. I guess that would depend on where Jordan died and whether Kincaid could haul the man's body out of the cavern on his own.
If he was alone. That's another mystery.
Map number three points us to a spot just past Crystal Creek. To reach our destination, we'll need to traverse the Crystal Rapid. When Munro informs us of that fact, Ashley's face goes a bit grey, and she straps her arms across her belly, probably because she's feeling nauseous just thinking about what lies ahead for us. The trauma of Hermit Rapid is still too fresh in the lass's mind, so naturally, she must worry about what might happen when we hit another class eight rapid, one Munro says can be very dangerous. We'll need to take care to avoid large holes and a feature he calls a "rock garden," which he assures us is an official term for the big rocks that stick up out of the middle of the river. Why anybody wants to call a treacherous rapid a "rock garden," I cannae understand. That term sounds innocuous, like a playground for bairns rather than a death trap.
"It's not a death trap," Munro tells me when I voice my confusion. "I'll get us through the rough parts, so donnae let it fash either of you."
I turn partway toward Ashley, where she sits at the rear of the raft, and give her a reassuring smile. "Munro is an expert at riding the rapids. You know that. We got through Hermit Rapid, and we'll come out of the next one unscathed."
"Errol, maybe you should ride in back with Ashley," Munro suggests. "The company might ease her anxiety."
"Sure you can handle the raft on your own?"
"Aye." My cousin aims an irritated look at me. "First, ye tell the lass I'm an expert. Then two seconds later, you imply I cannae guide the raft on my own."
"I meant no offense."
"Never said I was offended."
But he looked it. Well, if he prefers to pretend he didn't get touchy about how well he can steer the raft, I'll pretend it didn't happen.
I climb back to the rear seat and settle onto it beside Ashley. Her anxiety does lessen then, with her shoulders no longer bunched up and her arms relaxing too. She slips her fingers between mine, and I give her hand a quick squeeze.
