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New Spain-1810
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Juan Alvaro drew in a breath of hot, arid air and tried to imagine he was anywhere else. The sun baked the parched earth and sapped the life from those foolish enough to cross this barren landscape. They burned in the daytime and froze at night. He licked his cracked lips, tasted the salt from evaporated sweat. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had done the right thing.
Diego, one of his most trusted men, came trotting up to ride alongside him. “Another burro is dead.”
Alvaro nodded. There was nothing to say.
“We do not expect Francisco to last much longer, either. His wounds are deep.”
For days they had fended off attacks from the local Indians. The Spaniards were better armed and equipped, but the natives, who had the strength of numbers on their side, knew the land and Alvaro’s men did not. Every attack exacted a price, as did every step they took in this oven.
“We must find a place to hide the treasure before all our burros are dead and we are forced to leave it in the middle of the desert.
“I understand.” The treasure they had gathered was a hefty burden for their pack animals, and the daunting journey across the desert had already claimed half of their burros. They soon found themselves stashing gold and gems in caves because they could no longer carry it all.
“We should never have listened to you,” Diego said. “We murdered priests, robbed churches. This treasure is cursed because of what we did.”
Alvaro did not answer. His mouth was too dry. Besides, there was nothing to say. How could he explain that Jesus had told him to do it? Alvaro had walked into a church, and there he had found Jesus staring back at him with a placid expression that seemed to peer directly into his soul. At that moment, Jesus had spoken to his heart, told Alvaro to rescue him. Now they talked every day. It was Jesus who had led them into the desert, and Alvaro trusted Him.
“Are you listening to me?” Diego asked.
“I am putting my trust in the Lord,” Alvaro said. “He brought us here and it is He who will save us.”
“That is not the real Jesus.” Diego pointed with his thumb back in the direction of the surviving pack animals. “And he does not speak.”
“He speaks inside my heart. Perhaps if you prayed more often, you would hear His voice, too.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes, but Diego had never been good at holding his tongue for very long. It was that trait that had gotten him shipped off to New Spain in the first place and later had gotten him into such trouble with his commanding officer, leading him to desert his post and join Alvaro’s band.
“They say that the Indians can change their skin, turn into monsters.”
“That is a heathen myth.” Alvaro closed his eyes and prayed. Guide my steps, oh Lord. Show me the way. He received his reply in the form of a single word that echoed in his mind—Trinity. And then the Lord sent him a vision—a symbol he had occasionally encountered along his journey. Thank you, Lord.
“What are we going to do?” Diego asked. “The vultures will be dining on our carcasses in short order.”
Alvaro smiled for the first time in days.
“I know where to go. The Lord has shown me the way.”
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Salt Lake City- 1861
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A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence. Brigham Young twitched involuntarily. His hand jerked and he drew a fat line of ink across the letter he had been writing. The knock came again. Young closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for patience before he replied.
“Come in.”
His assistant, Thomas, opened the door just wide enough to peer inside. “Mister President, there is someone here who wishes to see you. He says his name is Croslin.”
Young frowned. The name did not ring a bell, but he met so many people it was impossible to remember them all. “Do I know this Croslin?”
“No, but he insists you will want to hear what he has to say. He seems quite earnest.”
Young nodded. “I am a servant to all the people no matter their station. I can give him five minutes.”
Croslin was a tall man with thinning hair, gray at the temples. His skin was leathery from working in the sunshine. His clothing was simple but clean and neat. He did not quite meet Young’s gaze as he entered the office.
“Mister Croslin, how may I help you?” Young kept a smile on his face and tried to remain patient. He was a busy man.
Croslin clutched the brim of his hat tightly with both hands and looked down at the floor. He cleared his throat, swallowed hard.
“It has to do with gold, Mister President.”
Young frowned. His position on the search for gold, and the lust for wealth that came with it, was well known. “I hope you have not come to seek my blessing because I cannot give it. It is your soul I am concerned with.”
“No, it is nothing like that,” Croslin murmured. “I need guidance.”
“Tell me your problem and I will help if I can.”
“I was out searching for lost sheep. My search led me down into a canyon I had never seen before. There was a cave there and a strange symbol carved above the entrance. There was something about it...” Croslin looked up at the ceiling, searched for the right words. “Something told me I needed to find out what was inside. It was more than that. It was as if a force compelled me.”
Young nodded encouragingly.
“I had a lantern with me, so I went inside and began exploring. After a while, I saw something shiny in the distance. It was gold!”
“I thought this was not about gold mining.”
“No, sir Mister President. It was not a vein of gold. It was treasure, like a pirate’s horde or something. I could not imagine how it ended up in such a desolate place, much less deep in a cave.”
“Treasure?” Young frowned. This was unexpected.
Croslin nodded vigorously. “Gold coins and much more.” He described in detail what he had seen.”
“A treasure in the desert?”
“Yes, but that wasn’t the strangest thing about the cave.” Croslin looked away.
“Tell me,” Young said patiently. He could not deny, the man’s story piqued his interest. He had no use for gold, but such riches could potentially help the church. Perhaps this man was a messenger from God, and Young was preordained to find the treasure.
“You will think I am a madman, but I give you my word I am telling the truth.”
“I trust you. Go on.”
Croslin took a deep breath and continued his tale. As Young listened, a wave of dizziness swept over him. He felt as if he were floating. What the man described did sound mad, but he seemed sober and earnest. Young detected no prevarication. And what would someone gain from telling him this tale?
By the time Croslin finished, Young’s heart was beating like a snare drum. Invisible bands seemed to constrict around his chest, and he found it hard to breathe. The situation was much more serious than a shepherd discovering a vein of gold. It was critical that Young find Croslin’s gold—not for the treasure, but to protect the world from evil.
“Have you told anyone else this story?
Croslin frowned, shook his head. “I came directly to you.”
“Very good. Can you tell me how to get there?” Young asked.
“I think so. I noted the landmarks along the way.”
“Very good. Young took out a fresh sheet of paper. “You may begin by drawing a map.
