On the Trail of Dragons

The stone was a little larger than a big man’s fist. The glittering, golden nuggets that studded its nearly black stroma were thickly arrayed. The black areas of the stone looked to be crystalline, but it was the weight of the thing that intrigued Wyatt. A quick glance to the door confirmed that Joseph was still down the hall in the bathroom, so Wyatt slipped the rock into his backpack and sat down again. They hadn’t mentioned the paperweight since the last time he had come to Joseph’s room for his tutoring session. Not that there would have been any chance that it could have been mentioned because he never hung out with Joseph. All Joseph ever wanted to do was study. But staying in good standing with a nerd could have its advantages if a guy knew how to get them. Just as long as no one that was anyone ever found out.

When Joseph got back to the room and started to sit down at the desk, Wyatt stood, stretched, and yawned, Well, I gotta get going. Sure you don’t want to hang out with the rest of us at Marletta’s?

Joseph was more than happy to see the creepy kid get bored and leave. No, but thanks, I really do have a lot to do this evening. Maybe I’ll have some time in a couple of days.

Suite yourself, then. See ya.

Wyatt walked into the hall, closed the door, and then down the hall, and out into the parking lot. His 1996 Charger sat in the handicap zone. He smiled as he slid into the seat, slipping behind the wheel, and starting the car. Hearing the throaty snarl as he revved the engine, he removed his pilfered handicapped handicap hangtag from the rear view mirror, backed out of the parking space, and turned to leave the lot. He drove out onto the street making a beeline to the city’s south side where fifteen minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of Billy’s Pawn and Gun Barn.

Billy Evans Sneed had run the Pawn and Gun for thirteen years. It had a reputation as a place where a guy could get a deal on just about anything. The cops were always stopping in asking tough questions, but because the books were clean, and because Billy was careful, they had never made any of their suspicions stick. Billy wasn’t stupid and he knew that the day would probably come that they would find something wrong, but he planned to be out of business and out of the country long before that ever happened. And he was well on the way to making that dream a reality. He had invested in all the right things and figured it would only be another three years before he could fly off to Rio and never look back. Billy smiled to himself as he leaned on the counter and stared across the wide sales floor at the smattering of customers and help staff, not really seeing them as he mused.

And then Wyatt Wesinik walked in his shop door.

Billy! Hey, look at this.

Wyatt approached rapidly, not seeing the frustrated anger in Billy’s face. In a harsh whisper, Billy snarled into Wyatt’s ear, What, Wyatt? Jeez kid, keep your mouth shut.

Billy grabbed the weaselly little snake by the scruff of his neck and shoved him behind the counter and into the back of the shop. He released his grip on the little punk and then pushed him down the short hallway and into his private office. Wyatt took the seat in front of the desk and Billy closed the door roughly with his boot.

Aint you got nothing in that greasy skull of yours. You don’t step into a pawn shop with a guilty-as-sin look written all over your mug and then at the top of your voice start calling out to the owner! He moved behind the desk and sat heavily into his chair. Now what are you yammering about anyway?"

Well, that’s just it, Billy. I just walked into the biggest thing you or anybody else is ever going to find in this town. Look at this thing!

Wyatt extricated the stolen paperweight from his backpack and cerimoniously placed it on the desk top.

Billy watched the kid struggle to get the item from the pack with mild disinterest. He could hardly resist shaking his head at the pathetic example of the typical college flunky trying too hard for acceptance and never getting it right. But when he pulled the stone from his backpack and the light from the overhead fluorescents shone glittering on its multilobulated golden nuggets and the scintillating black crystals in which they were embedded, Billy did a double take. Though self-taught in this pawn business, he knew what was needed and wanted by his buying customers. There seemed to be an ever increasing number of collectors that roamed the pawnshops around the country and they often stopped in to see what he had in his store. He had picked up a lot over the years from the network of experts he had developed. He could call on them whenever he needed to verify and validate the true collector’s items from the every-day junk that came through his doors. One of the things he had picked up was a working knowledge of the various crystals that glamorized the jewelry section of his domain. He had developed almost a sixth sense that allowed him to spot a truly rare or unusual piece. When Wyatt laid the stone on his desk, Billy’s distain for the loser took a back seat to his sense of the unusual and valuable. That stone looked to be composed of gold studded garnet. He knew it without even calling in Jules –yeah Jules was his real name. He reached across the desk and hefted the thing from the desk top.

So, who’d you take this from, kid? I know you didn’t come up with something like this by digging for it.

Let’s just say, a friend let me borrow it for a while. And I’m not selling it. I just gotta find out if it’s real gold or if it’s fool’s gold like J…, I mean, my friend thinks it is.

While the kid talked Billy had looked closer at the rock. He was certain of it. This was the real thing and it had come from one of the richest sites he could imagine. Billy reached into his drawer and pulled out the 15x loupe he kept there and focused on the edge of a nugget where it jutted from the black, crystalized garnet. Without looking up he asked, And where did your friend find this?

Really, Billy? You expect me to tell you just like that? What kind of an idiot do you think I am?

Lowering the loupes and looking directly into the wide, nervous eyes of the punk kid, he said threateningly, Well, now that you ask, I think you are about the stupidest idiot there is, but I’ve got to admit, this time you’ve brought in something that has a great deal of value, and more importantly, there’s probably a lot more wherever this came from.

Ignoring the jab, Wyatt prodded excitedly, "So, you think it is gold! How much is it worth?

Billy lifted the loupe to his eye again and continued to stare at the beautiful, sparkeling surface of the stone. Then, abruptly, he set the stone down and looked at Wyatt.

Well, that’s kind of hard to tell at this point. Unrefined as this is the value is hard to determine. There is a lot of gold here and the garnets are enormous. Even the little ones collectively could bring in a fairly good price. The gold is very yellow, so there probably isn’t much silver in it. A quick estimate would put this whole thing in the ballpark of about nine thousand dollars. But then, you’re not selling it. Ain’t that right?

A low whistle escaped Wyatt’s lips as he realized what he had. He had expected around five hundred tops, but nine thousand!

He was still staring at it as Billy watched from the other side of the desk. Hey, Wyatt.

The young man looked up and into Billy’s eyes.

You do realize you have now committed your first felony, don’t you?

Stark terror, bordering on panic, came into the youth’s eyes! Billy had seen it before. He even remembered his own first time. His poker face began to grin as he fixed the boy with his eyes. Welcome to the club.

Wyatt was confused by the comment at first, but then realization dawned and he too began to grin.

Abruptly Billy’s grin disappeared and he leaned quickly forward. All you gotta do is take the thing back. Make some excuse like ‘I accidentally dropped it into my back pack’ or ‘I just wanted to show it to my girlfriend.’ You can walk away from it now… or you can totally commit.

Commit? Commit to what?

Billy sat back and rolled his eyes. He blew air through his lips and looked exasperatedly at the imbecile kid on the other side of the desk. Commit to what? he mimicked, Are you really that stupid? You know, I think you are. Just forget it. I can’t help you. Get out a here. He started to rise from his seat.

Ah, come on, Billy. Sit down. Come on.

Billy had known the youth would react that way, but he played out the act a bit more by looking reluctant to sit down and then appearing to grudgingly do it. Before he could start talking though, Wyatt surprised him by rising to his feet.

Wyatt leaned onto the desk and moved his own face right up to Billy’s. Billy immediately drew back a little involuntarily and was going to speak, but Wyatt started talking, Listen, man. I know you don’t think much of me. You think I’m stupid and weak and all bluff and big talk. But I’m gunna get my share and I really don’t care how I get it. I don’t know your story, how you got your start, but I’m sure you were a little unsure of yourself when you started out. I might appear to be inexperienced and too young, but with or without you, I’m committed to getting my share and more! He leaned back and sat down and then continued, I’m committed. I AM committed. By now he was almost yelling. Then his voice fell to nearly a whisper and he said, I just don’t understand what I’m getting committed to.

Billy guffawed. He laughed and laughed until the tears streamed down his cheeks. Wyatt was getting more than a little uncomfortable and annoyed by the time Billy finally slowed down and stopped. When he did and had regained control of his voice, he crossed his arms in front of himself and leaned up to the desk resting his arms on the calendar blotter. With the last vestige of a smile on his face he wiped his eyes with his hand and then spoke in a business-like tone.

Well, I can see the wolf pups got some teeth! Now all I gotta do is get him educated in the ways of wolves. Listen up.

Wyatt sat up a little straighter. Billy continued. What you brought in here is the tip of a potentially very large iceberg. Handled poorly, this iceberg is going to sink your ship. Notice: I said your ship, because I’m not sticking my neck in any noose I can’t get out of. Now, I know I’m mixing my metaphors, College Man, but I think you get what I’m saying. If I help you, any risk is on your shoulders, not mine. Got it?

Yeah, Wyatt said.

Alright, now, this rock is more than likely high quality gold ore, and these black crystals embedded in here with the gold are very fine garnets – a semi-precious stone – pretty valuable in their own right. But this is surely not the only gold in the deposit. A chunk this big must have come from a vein that runs through the bedrock. Some of those veins run for miles beneath the mountains in which they are formed. What we’ve got to do is find out where this came from, find out who owns the land, and then we’ve got to find a way to get the rights to this vein of gold away from whoever that is and into our hands.

But I already know where it came from and who owns the land. Joseph told me straight out that it came from a stream on his dad’s land and that … Now wait a minute, what do you mean get it into our hands? How are we going to do that? Then realizing there was a good chance that Billy might resort to violent means to accomplish their purposes, he continued, Is someone going to get hurt? I don’t want any…

Billy was suddenly on his feet. He reached out and grabbed Wyatt with his right hand by his shirt front and jerked him forward almost onto the desk top. Now you listen to me, you little punk! You’re either in this all the way or you’re not in it at all! Do you understand me? Billy shoved him back toward the chair he had been sitting in.

Wyatt fell back, shaken and obviously frightened. He stared momentarily at Billy and then calmly straightened himself up in the chair and smoothed out his shirt. I’ll take that as a yes, someone is going to get hurt. He paused and looked at Billy and then continued. I guess I should have known it, but as I said, I don’t care how I get what I want so, I guess it can’t be helped. Yeah, Billy, I understand you. And I think you better understand me, too. You might be bigger and stronger than me right now, but you had better remember, little dogs grow up. Quit shoving me around! Keep your hands off me! Am I making myself clear? He asked this with a low menacing voice that Billy could not miss as a threat. At first his temper flared, but he bit back a response and paused a moment, thinking.

Yeah, kid. Yeah. You’re dumb and untested, but I can see you’ve got what it takes. Yeah, I’ll keep my hands off you and I’ll quit shoving you around, but if you mess up, I’m out of here and you’ll take the fall. So keep your nose clean and do as I say and… well, … were both going to become very rich.

Wyatt looked at Billy as his face broke into a wide smile. Then Wyatt smiled as well and the two of them leaned over the desk to start outlining a plan for their upcoming criminal operation.

Three Weeks later Wyatt found himself parked in a little pull-out in the deep forest on the north shore of Lake Pend Oreille in the upper pan handle of Idaho. The road had long since been abandoned by the loggers who had originally made it. Now it was just designated as a forest road the number of which they had both forgotten as soon as they quit looking at the GPS mounted on the windshield of their Hummer H3. Billy had rented it for the anonymity the occasion required. Wyatt wondered how a Hummer H3 made one inconspicuous, but Billy seemed to know best.

Wyatt remembered that Joseph had said that his dad had found the fools gold on a rocky outcropping beside a stream on their property. It hadn’t been that hard to find out who Joseph’s dad was, but it had been rather difficult to find out where they lived. But when Billy happened to be in Joseph’s dorm room again when his dad called, he had been able to see the number on the phone when Joseph had gotten up to open the window. Seeing it was a 208 area code and the only large lakes with mountains around them in the state of Idaho were in the north, they had something to go on to begin tracking down the man’s residence. Billy’s hacker friends had helped find the actual location of the estate where Mr. Soolyn resided. Once that had been determined and a look at a map had shown where the known rivers and streams were, the two had found that only one stream was very likely to be the one they needed to find. Then they determined that following State Highway 200 around Lake Pend Oreille and then taking national forest road 278 would get them within hiking distance a little east of the estate.

Wyatt got out of the Hummer and the three thugs Billy had sent along climbed out and stood beside him. Billy was not with them, claiming he had urgent business in South America, of all places. The four of them were all dressed in camouflage appropriate for the area. Mike Boulang was the leader of the three. He had been a sergeant in the Army and had served in Afghanistan where it was rumored he had instigated the slaughter of thirty civilians, including women and children, in a small town market in the highlands near the Pakistani border. He was wily and smart and Billy had every confidence in Mike’s ability to get them in and out of the area efficiently.

Erich and Scott Simpson, the two other thugs Billy had assigned to this project, were brothers. Most people thought they were twins, but in reality they were almost a year apart. They, like Mike, were burly, muscle bound giants who, standing beside Wyatt, made him look like he was still in high school. But that didn’t bother Wyatt. He was used to people being bigger than him and had learned to take advantage of it. Billy might think he was an idiot, but he knew his own abilities and knew how to take control of lesser intellects and turn them to his own advantage. He also knew that he had a natural ability to stay focused in tense situations.

Alright, the map shows the stream is about two hundred yards through the trees from here in that direction. He pointed off to the southwest from where they were standing. They all looked in that direction as if they could see the stream and then, with Mike in the lead they shouldered their gear and set out.

The area was extremely rugged. Huge, bare, black rock outcroppings rose out of the heavily forested terrain. The trees were mostly tall Douglas firs, or red firs as the locals called them. they were mixed with Englemann Spruce, Poderosa Pines, and Mountain Hemlock with many other varieties of bushes and trees filling in where light broke through the canopy. The map had shown the stream flowed in and around these trees and rocky escarpments. The road itself ran through a relatively thick area of forest where the rock outcroppings were minimal. They had no idea which of these huge escarpments could be the source of the gold ore they sought.

The big men carried shovels and picks and Wyatt carried a small case for field analysis of the soils they dug into, which would give them a covering alibi in case any nosey law enforcement happened to question their activities. They each carried a small close fitting backpack. Mike’s looked like he had used it for many years, while the others were new. Ostensibly, the four were working for a soil analysis firm hired by the forest service to determine how acid rain was affecting the watershed. So poking around here and there would look natural as the tried to locate the stream where Joseph’s father had originally found the golden ore. They wanted to determine if there was further evidence that a rich gold vein existed on Mr. Soolyn’s property. Then they were going to try to locate the best place to start excavating. Billy had told them that since the garnets had sharp angles on their facets, the sample had not tumbled down the stream very far from its original source. He reminded them that gold is a very malleable metal and any time spent tumbling down a stream would gouge and mar the exposed metal surfaces of the individual nuggets.

Mike moved through the thick trees and underbrush like a wolf. No sound came from his feet; no brush whipped back as he passed. His body seemed to weave into the tapestry of the forest as if he were an essential element of the trees and brush, or even the wind itself. A good tracker might have been able to follow his trail, but most people would have never known he had passed.

The other three, however, were anything but adept at walking through dense underbrush. Twigs snapped, braches swished and slapped, and whispered curses and grunts were plentiful as the group moved forward. Mike continually outdistanced the other three and several times thought about just leaving them behind. He could have easily done the job and been back with the report long before these clowns even found the stream.

Mike was raised in these woods. As a child, nearly every day he and his brother had wandered through its environs hunting – or rather poaching – whatever they could shoot for profit. Mike’s grandfather was some kind of Indian from British Columbia, but he had never met him. But, Mike’s father had idolized him and had learned well the secrets of the forest, which he had passed on to his sons. Louis was older than Mike by almost ten years and had watched over his little brother like a mother hen. Sometimes, Mike had resented it, but now he acknowledged that without Louis’s watchful care, it was likely he never would have made it through his childhood alive. It proved to be Louis’s undoing, though. Mike involuntarily shuddered as he remembered with perfect clarity that tragic moment when Louis lost his life saving Mike’s.

The touch of his finger on the trigger was gentle. He peered over the open sight at the young bull elk that stood a good sixty yards away at the edge of the trees. It was nibbling nervously at the tender young growth of a current bush. Every few seconds it would raise its snout to the wind and scan the open area below the little drop off where it stood. Mike timed his shot carefully, knowing the animal would not stay exposed long. When he was sure of the shot and sure the animal would fall on the grass and not tumble down the steep drop off resulting in bruised meat, Mike took a full breath. Letting it out slowly, he developed the sight picture once again and at a half breath he stopped, holding the remaining breath. Then he very slightly increased the pressure on the trigger. Even though his brother had helped him file the release mechanism, Mike was still surprised when the rifle fired and kicked. But with steady nerves he maintained his position and drew his next breath. Then he quickly dropped the muzzle and surveyed the scene. The animal lay just as he had anticipated.

With an exultant yell of triumph and praise, Louis clapped him on the back and the two stood. Mike slipped his safety on and together the two brothers hurried to the fallen beast.

Mike was the first to reach the bull and he carefully stepped up beside it. He slipped the safety off and chambered a round. He then carefully prodded the animal with the muzzle and waited for any sign of life. The glazed eyes stared off into the treetops. Nothing happened. Taking his eyes off the elk he glanced back at his brother who was grinning. Suddenly, Louis’s grin vanished and Mike snapped his eyes back to the fallen beast. The animal laying on its left side so its right eye was now staring right at him. It shook its head and its right hind leg, which was on the upper side of the stricken animal lashed out catching him squarely in the chest. Fortunately, Mike was almost out of reach so the blow was not hard enough to do any serious damage. But he was wearing a thick hunting jacket against the cold of the late September evening. The sharp hoof tore through the outer shell of the garment and entangled itself in the soft stuffing. The bull twisted to get to its feet and in its thrashing, dragged Mike to the ground. Now the elk had all four legs under itself but it was too far gone to rise with its let foot badly entangled. Louis was only a few steps away. He yelled a warning, screaming for Mike to get back. Louis jumped onto the bull’s hind quarters with his drawn hunting knife, cut the entangled hoof free and then turned to attack the elk itself. Free of the entangling jacket and newly stimulated by the weight on its hindquarters, the elk defended itself. It reared back its head impaling Louis in the back and chest repeatedly with the wickedly sharpened tips of its five-tined antlers. Mike had struggled free and Louis had not suffered. The initial jabs had punctured his heart. The huge deer struggled out from under Louis’s body, took two bounds, and crumpled to the ground, dead.

Mike’s mind was brought out of his reflection abruptly as he stepped from the bushes and found himself facing a chain link fence. He turned and looked back, waiting for the idiots on his back trail. As they struggled through the last of the dense brush Mike turned to face the fence. Clearly displayed on the fence at face level were warning signs attached to its length every sixty feet or so which read, NO TRESPASSING, Guard Dogs and Armed Patrols on Duty.

The other men arrived panting and glowering at each other. They stopped and considered the barrier before them. Mike was the first to speak. Well, Boss, it looks like we have arrived at the property line. What do you think?

Wyatt stared at the fence, not looking at the big point man. He stood with his hands on his hips gasping for breath because of the brutal pace Mike had set, and considered the six and a half foot height of the metal mesh. I guess we can throw our stuff over the fence and then climb over. It doesn’t appear to be electrified.

Mike laughed and slipped his pack off and started to rummage through it. The big land owners around here always have these fences around their properties. The deer just hop over them. Bears either smash them or dig under them. But we are neither bears nor deer. Humans… and here he pulled from his pack a compact bolt cutter and held it up, …cut through them. He stepped over to the fence and in a couple of minutes he had opened a rift in the fence from top to bottom which he and Scott then rolled up on itself and shoved aside.

Stepping back from his work and shouldering his pack after stowing the bolt cutters, he calmly said, Shall we? He then led off, gliding effortlessly through the dense growth beyond the fence line.

The four men walked on for only another few yards when they chanced on a well-used game trail. It led off eastwardly and higher up the mountain. Without even pausing to consider his actions, Mike turned onto the trail and started walking eastward.

Hey, where ya goin? Wyatt had no idea what Mike was thinking. He wanted to get in, find the stream, get their samples, and get out of there. The idea of armed men and dogs patrolling the area made him very nervous.

Mike stopped and looked back at him. He looked into the brush and then gestured invitingly toward the trees through which they had been moving. If you would like to continue smashing through the forest like a bulldozer making all kinds of racket inviting any dog or guard within a hundred yards to find you, sure, be my guest. I just thought that you might rather approach the stream a little more quietly and at a location where we will have a good crossing in case we need to. This trail is well used and there are no human tracks on it. It is a main trail leading to where a lot of animals want to go. That could only mean water, food, or salt. I’m betting its water. The path will cross the stream at a protected place or a wide open place where the animals can scan the area for danger before proceeding to the water. I’m betting it will be an open place because the trail is so well traveled small groups of deer probably feed there at the same time. We will see. Not waiting for acknowledgment of any kind, Mike turned and started up the trail again, confident the rest would follow. No one said anything and they all followed docilely along.

Within four minutes they had come to the open area at the stream crossing. Mike slowed to a stop and cautiously peered out of the forest into the clearing. In a moment he moved confidently forward toward the edge of the stream and the other men filed out of the forest behind him.

The clearing was a grassy meadow thickly grown up with thistle, mallow, and raspberry clumps. Small huckleberry bushes graced the edges under the trees and Mike thought he would love to come back to the place in late July to pick them. The stream flowed out of the trees on the eastern edge. The noise of rapids could be heard upstream, and from the lay of the mountain Mike suspected there must be a waterfall farther up. He figured it had to be behind a rocky escarpment that stood towering over them, almost blocking the sun which had just crested the top. The meadow stretched down the gradual slope about three hundred feet before the stream entered the dense forest again. A well-traveled path could be seen at the edge of the stream a few yards down from them and it was evident someone came here often to fish. A picnic table had been set up on that side of the stream, but there was no one around now. They could see that the path entered the meadow where the stream left it farther down the slope. The sky was clear and the sun was beginning to warm the meadow nicely. Mike slipped off his pack and the rest of the men laid their things down as well. They stretched and groaned as if they had been hiking all day. Mike shook his head disgustedly and started toward the stream. Eric and Scott crouched down on the path and sat in the dirt to rest. Wyatt stood slack-legged, gazing about the meadow.

When he reached the side of the stream, Mike looked around to be sure they were still alone. He did it out of long engrained habit, honed to near perfection from the years he spent as a youth poaching for his father who sold the meat and pelts they brought in on the black market. On one knee he opened his pack and drew out a small, shallow pan he had picked up at Wal-Mart the day before. It was just a cake pan really, not the true panning instrument of the old gold rush days, but he figured it would do the trick in a pinch. All he needed to do was find out if there were any flecks of gold in the stream. He had read about it and seen it on television so he figured he could at least make a passable attempt. Before disturbing the water he looked into a riffle. Normally he would be looking for any sign of a trout or perhaps a pattern of depressions caused by some animal he was tracking that might have passed this way and whose tracks had not yet been completely obliterated by the fast moving water. But this time he was looking to see if the bottom looked at all like the rock he had been shown that had started this whole business. At first glance he would have said that it did not, but at he looked closer he noticed that interspersed among the normal gray-brown gravel and sand and plates of rocks and small boulders that normally made up the bottom of a mountain stream in the northern Rockies, there were also small crystalline fragments of black. They appeared to be very much like the larger crystals he remembered from the pilfered paperweight. Scooping up a healthy portion of gravel and sand from the stream bed, he began to swirl and swish it in a circular motion. He understood that panning for gold was an art and that he probably was not doing it right at all, but he figured the idea was to allow the heavier flecks and chunks of gold to settle out of the water while the lighter gravel and sand would be washed away over the lip of the pan. After a couple of tries he succeeded in holding back the heavier elements of the sample he had retrieved. Looking into his pan, he at first did not see anything unusual. Then he noticed the black crystals were much more common in the pan and that when he turned a few over with his fingers there were indeed very small flakes of a golden residue in the pan.

Mike looked up from his panning to see the other men starting toward him as they realized what he was doing.

When he saw Mike look up, Wyatt called to him, So, did you find anything?

Mike did not answer but instead looked back down into the stream. He shaded his eyes from the sun and slowly followed the stream bed with his eyes. All along the bottom he could now pick out larger crystals of the black garnet he had been told was in the sample Billy had shown them. As the men began to gather around, Mike showed them the results of his panning experiment and then started to move up the side of the stream. In a few steps he had reached the edge of the clearing and was moving into the thick grass and bushes bordering the stream as it flowed down from the distant heights. After walking a few yards Mike and the rest of the group passed through a densely grown willow break. On the other side Mike stopped and looked ahead. He followed the stream with his eyes and realized that it appeared to come from the closest outcropping of the mountain face just fifty yards above them. Mike began walking again moving upstream watching the bottom and noticing that the closer he got to the cliffs above, the denser the black crystals became. Finally, the stream bed was nearly covered with them and Mike began to see unmistakable glints of sunlight reflecting off bits of golden metal on the bed of the rollicking stream.

The other men were following silently behind Mike. They were full of questions but they had already learned that Mike was the kind of man who would talk when he was good and ready and not a minute before.

The noise of falling water was becoming louder and louder as the group moved closer to the rocky escarpment above them. When the stream rounded the northern-most extension of thet rock wall they could tell that the sound must be emanating from just behind it. Eagerly they moved forward until they came abreast of the rocky wall and could peer around it.

Water fell in an eight foot wide curtain from a shelf about thirty feet above their heads. The small grotto formed behind the waterfall was cast in shadow because the sun was still well to the east. Yet its light had crested the mountain heights enough that the rays fell directly on the edge of the broken shelf from which the water fell. The light shining through the falling water was mesmerizing and the men stood silently for a minute gazing at the stunning sight. As so many things are in nature this was a very fleeting moment and when it started to fade the men began to look around. It was Wyatt who first noticed the black band in the rock. He stepped forward to the edge of the pool that had formed under the waterfall and squinted across its water at the exposed black streak on the wet, gray wall.

Anybody got a light? he asked.

Yeah, just a sec. Scott replied, and he squatted down to rummage through his backpack. In a moment he reached over to Wyatt and handed him a pencil-thin Maglight.

Without taking his eyes off the ragged black seam, Wyatt twisted it on and focused the beam on the line that spread like a crack across the shadowed wall behind the watery curtain. A brilliant dazzle like sintilating starlight sparkled under the beam. Wyatt ran the light slowly along the black streak of rock and stared in awe. The black streak was transformed into a glittering vein in the otherwise drab gray rock. It was clear to him immediately that this was the source of the fist-size paperweight he had lifted from Joseph Soolyn’s desk.

Looking down from the moving beam of light and into the pool below the black vein, Mike whistled quietly and stepped into the knee deep water. The water was frigid and it momentarily took his breath away. He paused a second to breathe again and then waded across the pool to the waterfall. He stepped around the liquid sheet and then mooved on until he stood before the wall. Stooping, he submerged his arm and retrieved a large chunk of rock from the stream bed and held it up to the light confirming that it too contained a black crystalline stroma with large facets of golden metal strewn liberally throughout.

Well, looks like we found the mother lode.

The men whooped and charged forward grabbing rock hammers from their packs and rushing to smash away at the wall.

In a thunderous, booming yell, Mike angrily called them down and demanded their attention. What are you idiots doing? Quit pounding and smashing things up. That black crystal could bring almost as much as the gold when everything is processed and sold. Settle down and let’s do this right.

The men took a little more persuasion than that, but soon they were all busily unpacking the equipment they had carried in. Mike realized he had left his pack lying beside the stream on the trail so he stepped back into the sunshine and started back the way they had come to retrieve it.

His first step around the edge of the escarpment brought his chest up against the business end of a very large shotgun barrel.

Any other man would have frozen in place. He glimpsed the hard eyes and security uniform of the man holding the gun at the same time his highly tuned reflexes took over. Mike never even considered stopping in his tracks as the man with the gun presumably wanted. He simply played out what his mind had repeatedly postulated he would do if he ever found himself in such a situation. Mike stepped even harder into the gun barrel forcing the man holding it to shift his position to avoid discharging the weapon. With lightning focus and unworldly quickness Mike grabbed the gun from the man’s hands, dropped into a roll as he rotated the captured gun, and on his second log-roll, pointed the barrel at the first security guards partner who came running onto the scene and pulled the trigger. The man would not rise again.

Continuing to roll, Mike bumped up against a tree trunk. This gave him enough leverage to bound to his feet. As he did, he shifted the aim of his captured gun toward the man from whom he had wrested it and raised the barrel, already tightening his finger to fire the next shell into the gut of the man. A blinding flash was all that registered in his mind before his thoughts ceased and his lifeless body slammed upright against the tree and then slumped to the ground, a well-placed forty-five caliber pistol slug lodged deep in his brain.

Samuel Sammy Fredrickson’s chest hurt where the stock of the shotgun had rammed him when the big man charged. It had been so many years since anyone had resisted him while he was making an arrest that he had been momentarily surprised. He was fortunate he wasn’t dead. It looked like Swanson was. As soon as Sammy’s butt hit the ground he rolled into the cover beside the trail and freed the compact Colt forty-five pistol from its holster on his hip. Recovering immediately, he took careful aim and dropped the rising aggressor with a well- placed shot to the temple. Jumping to his feet he ran forward and kicked the shotgun away from the fallen trespasser and would have handcuffed him, but he could see the man was no longer a threat; the wound had been instantly fatal.

Turning toward his partner he wanted to run to his side; he could see him lying in the thick vegetation at the side of the trail leading up from the stream. But the shouts of Dick Shaffer, Ed Martinez, Caleb Hawks, and Winston Presley were echoing off the walls of the cavern around the rock at his left. He turned in their direction and rushed around the rocks, his pistol raised two handed in front of him ready to fire if needed.

As he rounded the prominence, the scene he took in was ordered chaos. The four other security men had come into the cavern from three sides, completely overwhelming the unarmed intruders and subduing them. Dick stood with his shotgun directed downward at a skinny young man who lay in the rock scrabble, Winston’s efficient movements securely trussing him up like a rodeo cowboy hogtieing a young steer in the arena. Ed Martinez and his partner Caleb had two burly men up against the wall, their arms raised and Caleb was just moving in to start to cuff one of them. Sammy hurried forward to Ed’s side, watching the two suspects for any suggestions that they were going to try to resist. When Caleb had the first one down on his face and cuffed, Sammy moved forward and quickly subdued the other. He then called Ed over and told him to take the two men to the front of the cavern, secure them, and call in the Sheriff if they could get reception. Then he hurried back to his partner, Jim Swanson.

As he left the cavern and rounded the rock wall, he held his pistol at the ready. He knew the man he had shot would not be a threat, but he was taking no chances. The man had not moved. He carefully moved to his side and quickly checked his neck for a pulse. The man was dead. Rising he rushed to Jim’s side.

Jim! Jim! How bad is it, buddy? He crouched down beside him, holstering his forty-five.

Hey, Sammy. Jim was no longer lying in the brush but had pulled himself up against a tree trunk and sat slouched at its base. His uniform was shredded around his middle and Sammy could see he had caught the full charge of buck shot just below his rib cage. That he was even able to make a sound was astonishing. Sammy could see he was severely injured. The man’s blood was fast draining from his body. Wasting no more time he pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket and called 911. He didn’t know if Ed had reached them or not but when the dispatcher came on he was all business. "This is Security officer Sammy Fredrickson. I’m on the western slope of Packsaddle Mountain just off NF 1050 near the Lake and about two miles south of Wiskey Rock Bay. We’re on the property of Mao Soolyn, my employer. I’ve got two men down with gunshot wounds. One is gut shot and bleeding profusely, the other is dead. I need a helicopter up here stat. We will transport the wounded man to a clearing beside an unnamed stream a few yards from the cliff face where we are and well send up a flare when your chopper gets into the area. We have four trespassing suspects in custody that are unarmed. Please send officers to take them in. We will render first aid until you arrive."

The dispatcher acknowledged and asked a few more questions. In a couple minutes Caleb came running up. Taking in the scene, he saw that Sammy was preparing to move the wounded man. He stepped up beside Sammy and dropped to one knee to help. We’ve got the suspects subdued and secured said Caleb, I left Winston and Dick collecting evidence and Ed just called for assistance. He paused to catch his breath. How’s Jim?

I just called for a chopper. I figure we’ve got about ten minutes to get him down to the clearing. I told dispatch we’d fire a flare when they got within range. Help me get him wrapped up and down the slope.

Jim was a lean, tough, athletic man and his two rescuers were his equal in strength and endurance, but even though they had less than one hundred yards to carry him, the terrain and brush made the going slow. They had reached the clearing and had just settled the man on the ground when they heard the rescue helicopter in the west. With the trees obscuring the horizon they could not yet see it, but Sammy scrambled through his pack looking for the flares. Within a minute he had secured one, settled its butt on the ground and fired it skyward. The brilliant fuchsia glow rocketed into the clear sky above them trailing a billowing white streamer of smoke clearly marking their location. In less than another minute the blue and silver AS 350 Airbus medical evacuation helicopter was descending quickly to the ground. An hour later the Boner County Sheriff had arrived with four deputies from the Marine Patrol.

The four suspects spent the next two months awaiting trial and then the next eight years in the North Idaho Correctional Institution at Cottonwood convicted of conspiracy, and trespassing.

Chapter 1

The purpose of this assignment is to help the student develop excellent researching skills. Its secondary purpose is to correct the oft seen problem of college students, even graduate students, displaying inadequate writing skills. The topic you are assigned might at first seem trivial, but it is hoped that you will learn to appreciate its value.

Joseph Soolyn: With at least three supported points, show that dragons are mythical.

Joseph Soolyn read the assignment and then re-read it. Concise and to the point, the statement was easy enough to understand, but Joseph read it yet again to be sure there was no possibility that there might be some hidden meaning behind it. His professor, Dr. Keith Schroeder, was notorious for giving assignments that were much more than they seemed. He looked around the room as his classmates received their assignments and watched their reactions, trying to pick out which of the other sixteen students were the lucky two to receive the same assignment he had. Dr. Schroeder had explained before handing out the assignments that three people in the class would be given each topic, and since there were sixteen students in the class, one would be given an assignment nobody else had. That lucky individual would be given some references to help him or her begin the research needed. Joseph normally would have dreaded working with other students on an important assignment. More often than not, when he had had assignments like this in the past, he had ended up doing most of the work while some of his partners drifted along, benefitting from his hard work and not contributing. But with this assignment he could see that any help he could get would be appreciated. He knew the professor’s reputation and realized that this paper was going to be one of the hardest he had ever written.

After everyone had received their assignments the professor told the class he would give them the last fifteen minutes of class to get together with their partners and begin collaborating. Then he announced to the class that Joseph Soolyn was the lucky one to receive the solo assignment. He then called Joseph to his desk.

Research in Archeological Problems had sounded like an interesting class when he signed up for it. This was one of the unique classes offered at University of Washington in Seattle. It was a required course in the equally unique major of Archeology with a special emphasis on Natural History and Ancient Man. Joseph had never heard of the major until he enrolled. It had just sounded like the answer to his interests. He had never known anyone who had a Doctorate in Archeology. He didn’t even know what possible use anyone would gain from it if they had to make a living. But that did not bother him. Joseph Soolyn had no need to worry about finding a job when he graduated. He was in school to gain knowledge and to develop his mind.

Joseph grew up very wealthy. In reality, Joseph’s father was one of the ten wealthiest men in the world. Possibly, he was the wealthiest. No one but he would ever know. Mr. Mao Soolyn did not allow others to know