Prologue

Somewhere in the Bighorn Mountains

Autumn, 1866

The two men stumbled through the pine-covered forest, clutching their ill-gotten treasure in their arms. Something in these woods, something on this mountain had been watching them. That same something now chased them.

Only they could not see it. And the rain pounded at them.

Trembling in fear, half-running, half-turning back to see who or what followed, the two men staggered ever higher into the mountains. Rivulets of water, mud-colored from the filth which clung to their scalps, streamed down their faces, catching in their beards.

The men’s clothes, wet and reeking of sweat, stuck to their bodies. Overhead, black, swollen clouds grumbled, as though they, too, threatened bodily injury.

“Leave this place,” whispered the wind.

The two men froze midstride; they straightened up, and wide-eyed, turned to stare at one another.

Although neither man adhered to a firm religious belief—nor was either one given to flights of fancy—there was something about this place…

The Indians told of gods who lived and roamed in these mountains.

“Let’s cache this gold and get outa here,” said the smaller man.

“Yep,” replied the other fellow, a man whose beard was thick and black. “Have ya been keepin’ the map ah told ya ta keep, Jordan?”

“You dinna tell me to keep ’un, Dixon.”

“What are you? Some sort of idiot?” It was no question, and Dixon, the bigger of the two men fairly roared the words as he poked his companion with a hard jab to his ribs. “How’re we supposed ta find this place again?”

Jordan cringed. Sidling away from Dixon, if only by a few feet, he said, “We could leave some sign, somethin’ to mark where we’ve hid it. Like this.” He bent down to push together a couple of sticks, forming a cross.

“You numbskull!” said Dixon. “Think!” He gestured to the ground in a crude fashion. “Don’t ja know that them sticks’ll be washed away by mornin’.”

A streak of lightning bolted from the sky, hitting the ground so near the two men that the earth shook. Instantly, both men fell to the ground, landing in swollen puddles of mud and slime.

Said Jordan, the sandy-haired man, “Don’t matter what ja think. We gotta stash this loot and get outa here, ’afore whatever it is that’s out there gets closer.”

“Hmmm,” said Dixon, scratching his dirty beard and lifting his gaze up toward the rock face of the cliff. “Well, would ja look at that!”

“What? Ah can’t see nothin’.”

“Up ahead of us.” Dixon pointed. “D’ya see? Thar’s a cliff. We can dig a hole in it ’n’ cache the gold there. C’mon. Hurry,” he added, although it took little incentive to persuade his companion to move quickly. Another flash of lightning had both vagrants crouching on hands and knees, scampering toward the cliff.

Peering over the cliff, Dixon laughed. “Look at these caves. This’ll suit our needs real comfortable, like. We can stash the loot in one of these here caverns, then we’ll cover the whole thing up with dirt, an’ then you can mark the spot with some sort of carvin’, right here in the rock. The same sort of carvin’ that you’re good at, d’ya hear?”

Jordan grinned. “That’s a right good idea.”

“O’ course it is.” Dixon slapped the back of the littler man, making the poor fellow stumble forward. “Now get yerself ta work.”

As another streak of lightning blazed from the sky, Jordan propelled himself forward, and sliding down to a ledge below them, fell into one of the caves.

He worked quickly, on hands and knees, while Dixon, the darker, burlier man, stood guard.

“Hurry!”

“Ah’m hurryin’. Ah’m hurryin’.”

Finished, Jordan stepped out onto the ledge.

“Here,” Dixon handed down a knife to his companion. “Get yerself ta carvin’.”

Quickly, spurred on by his fear of the mountain and the gods he was certain watched them, he did as he was asked and etched a carving into the face of the stone.

Finished, he stepped back, as though to admire his handiwork, but at that same moment, another bolt of lightning hit the earth, causing the ground to tremble. And without another word, both men scrambled to their feet, neither of them wise enough to stop to get their bearings.

Or perhaps they both felt certain that, even if they did not remember the exact spot where the cave was hidden, the symbol would lead them to their treasure once more.

Oh, foolish, foolish men.