CHAPTER 1

“What do you think it’s gonna look like?” Trevor asked.

“I don’t know,” Nick replied between heavy pants of air. “All I know is it’s been two weeks since the flood and Dad finally gave me permission to come down here!”

“Yeah, it’s gotta be good if our folks banned us this long!”

Nick Morrison and Trevor Devane were pedaling furiously down the poorly maintained dirt road that led to the now-receding Elk River. Giant green pine trees lined the road on either side, towering over them like big city skyscrapers. The boys gazed up at their massive spires as they traveled. The wind brushed at their faces as the slumbering muscles of their legs struggled against the long winter of camping on the couch with television and video games.

“Watch out for that pothole!” Trevor called out.

Nick broke out of his trance and swerved the front tire of his bike, narrowly avoiding a hole so deep he could have buried a pirate’s treasure in its expanse.

“Whew, that was close! Thanks Trev!”

Trevor looked over at his buddy and smiled. They both knew that this day only came once a year in Northwestern Montana. It was the first Saturday of spring sunshine with temperatures warm enough that you could wear a tee shirt comfortably and look forward to the impending summer. It was mid-May with only a week left of school before the twelve-year olds would be set free for the summer. For the next three months their lives would be a new story of discovery, freedom, and adventure—and they knew it.

The boys rode on in silence, basking in the glory of the warm weather. Winters like the past one were particularly hard to take for young adventurers on the verge of entering Junior High. The snow had been fun for the first few weeks in December: Your first trip down the big hill in back of the gravel quarry on your toboggan, your first snowman, and of course your first elaborate multi-room snow fort. It was a wonderful time of year.

But the novelty wore off in a hurry. Their Christmas vacation had actually been cut short to make up for the blizzard that dumped almost four feet of snow in two days in early December. Snowplows had a difficult time getting around after that, while school buses were buried in their parking lot.

January and February weren’t much better. A barrage of Pacific storms had pummeled the Northwest for nearly four weeks, piling snow deep in the valleys and even deeper on the mountains. March had been bitter cold, but brought a welcome relief from heavy snow. It was late April that had caused the whole mess for the town of Elk River, where Trevor and Nick’s parents made their homes.

Several warm fronts had moved in toward the end of April, bringing temperatures suddenly into the fifties with full sunshine beating down. This began a near tidal wave of rushing water out of the mountains, swelling rivers and streams throughout the Canyon Valley. Elk River, being at the north end of the valley, was hit the hardest. It had been all over the local news. Dozens of people that lived along the Elk River had lost their homes, and three of them lost their lives. The river had crested at nearly fifteen feet above the norm, stealing property, trees, and the familiar landscape of the river banks in its fury. Now, nearly two weeks later, the river had returned to its safely meandering ways with no threat of further torment.

“What do you think it’s gonna look like?” Trevor asked again as they approached the river.

“I bet it’ll look like the Grand Canyon!” Nick replied. 

“Nah, not that big.”

“Maybe it’ll turn up some gold nuggets the size of softballs!” Nick said. “We’ll be rich!”

“We don’t have gold in Montana, dumb ass. Alaska has all the gold.”

“Uh-uh, my Uncle Arthur said he pulled one out of Beggar’s Crick that was bigger than a jelly-bean!”

“Well, a jelly-bean is a lot smaller than a softball, Nick.”

“Still, it would be cool.”

“Yeah,” Trevor finally agreed. “Maybe a nugget the size of a golf ball?”

“Yeah!” Nick grinned back. “We won’t get as much money for a golf ball nugget though. I was thinking of getting a Dodge Viper, but I may have to settle for a dirt bike instead.”

“I want a go-kart, like those down at Fun-World. We can make a track out at my dad’s farm.”

“Yeah, that would be cool! We could chase the horses around!”

The boys laughed their way through every possible scenario where they could put their gold nugget-finding rewards to use; everything from brand new dirt bikes to buying the school from Principal Crandall and turning the classrooms into a video game parlor. But the fun and games were over when they arrived at the river.

“Holy shit,” Trevor said as he skidded to a stop on his bike, kicking up a weak cloud of dust.

Nick slid in next to him, “Wow, I never imagined this!”

The riverbanks, as the two boys knew them, were long gone. All the nice, clean river rocks they had perched their feet upon while fishing over the years were gone. All that was left was a deep, muddy canyon littered with fallen trees, broken boards, corpses of animals, chunks of concrete, and various collections of human trash. The only thing normal was the Elk River itself, once again quietly wandering its way south in search of some far off ocean.

“I can’t believe it,” Trevor said. “Our fishing hole is gone!”

“Everything is gone,” Nick replied, his eyes surveying the damage done by the flood. “I’m not sure I like this anymore, Trev.”

“Me neither,” his friend shook his head.

The boys looked on, dejected at the mass destruction. All the excitement they had expected out of the aftermath of the flood was gone in an instant. The raging water had devoured everything in its path, including something that both boys held close to their hearts but never realized it—the  riverbanks themselves. The very path they had walked or ridden down hundreds of times had been ripped away at the canyon edge. Most of the comfortable, familiar old trees that had once lined the river were either missing or toppled against one another like fallen soldiers. It was obvious that a battle of nature had taken place on this land, and the river had won the war.

The boys dropped their bikes where they had skidded to a stop. Almost like sleepwalkers, Nick and Trevor plodded along what little remained of their path to the river. Neither said a word to the other, each lost in his own thoughts as their sneakers splashed through the few remaining puddles in the trail. At the edge of the canyon, they stopped in synchronicity.

“Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s the rock I hit my head on when I crashed my bike last summer?”

“I dunno.”

“I was hoping to show it to my kids someday. I got sixteen stitches in that crash. Most ever.”

“Yeah,” was all Nick could say.

While racing down to the river the last summer, Trevor had lost control of his bike on this very path. Thinking back, Nick remembered it vividly, as if it had happened just a few days ago. The weekend before the Fourth of July, the two boys had decided to try an afternoon of fishing on the Elk. They loaded up their bicycles with a sack lunch, fishing poles and a tackle box and set off in a dead race for the river. Loser has to eat the others first worm! They had raced along the same crumbling and potted road that brought them to the river on this day. It was neck and neck as they dodged potholes and rocks in the road. Nick remembered looking over at Trevor. While blinking the sweat out of his own eyes, he could see the moisture glistening off of Trevor’s face and catching in the long dark ringlets of his hair. He remembered their eyes meeting in defiance of each other and the thrill of the competition. Side by side they entered the final thirty yards, the long-trodden path from the road through the thin line of trees to the river’s edge. Their foot pedals and elbows bumped once as they rounded a turn and Trevor had taken the lead on the inside.

Nick had dug deep to keep up, his feet a blur of rotation, but it seemed like Trevor had caught some bizarre kind of tailwind as the trail began its final descent to the river. Nick could tell Trevor was going too fast to make the final turn before the river’s edge. “Slow down, Trev!” he had shouted. His buddy had gamely fought the handlebars for control but he overshot the curve by a wide margin. He crashed hard into the trunk of a pine tree, tumbling through the air like a deformed bowling ball. Nick skidded to a stop behind him, fearing his friend might be dead. He ran to where Trevor lay, head broken open on a large stone protruding from the mossy soil. His blood had already painted the rock a dark crimson. With his friend unresponsive to his pleas, Nick had ridden like the wind back home where his mother had called 9-1-1. It had been a long, scary wait in the Canyon County hospital that night, but Trevor pulled through like the trooper that he was. He had suffered only a concussion and a few cuts and bruises. Two days later the hospital had sent him home with his head still wrapped in gauze.

“I suppose the rock’s halfway to Knight Falls by now,” Trevor groaned. “We’ll never see it again.”

Nick put his arm around his buddy to console him, despite his own feelings of sadness and loss. “Maybe we should just go back home,” he suggested.

“No, it’s okay. This is our first adventure of the summer, let’s see what we can find down there.”

CHAPTER 2

 The two boys scrambled down the steep embankment where the flood waters had torn the ground asunder. Their feet slipped and skidded as they pin-wheeled their arms to keep their balance. Loose rocks slid along with them, clacking off of other stones in their path with a sound like popcorn popping. At the bottom, Nick and Trevor stood with their hands on their hips waiting for their heartbeats to slow down.

“Bank’s as high as my house,” Trevor pointed out, looking back at the steep incline they had just come down.

“Higher, I think,” Nick replied.

They turned back toward the river and carefully picked their way through the debris. If the familiar rocks along the river still existed, they were buried under at least a foot of drying mud. The broken tree trunks and branches that weren’t lying flat reached instead for the sky at all angles—as if stretching out for a hand that would pull them to safety. The two boys carefully wound their way around the worst of them and climbed over the easier ones.

“Hey, I found something,” Trevor said, bending over. He grasped a black handle that stuck out from the mud and pulled. A dirt-filled metal coffee percolator pulled loose with a sucking sound. Trevor looked at his buddy, smiling. “Someone didn’t get their coffee this morning!”

“Cool,” Nick said. “Can I see it?”

Trevor handed his find over to Nick who tipped it upside  down and shook as much of the wet dirt out as he could. He brushed at the surface to expose the bare metal. The bottom was discolored by thin strips of rainbow, scars from the flames which had heated it. “It’s old, that’s for sure,” Nick commented. His small hands continued to caress the percolator for a moment as his eyes glazed over. “This belonged to ‘Lightning’ Rod Whitley,” he said with confidence.

“That crazy old trapper that always gets hit by lightning? What makes you think it was his?”

“Dunno. Just do.”

“Is he still missing?”

“Yep, Dad said his old shack got washed out in the flood.”

“Probably so drunk he never knew what hit him.”

Nick tossed the old coffee pot back into the mud where Mother Nature had placed it. The boys continued to pick their way through the destruction, finding everything from a tattered old Cabbage Patch doll, to a hairbrush, to an automobile license plate. Some things found their way into the boy’s pockets; Nick found a porcelain figurine of a cavalry soldier on a horse while Trevor snagged a rusted old pocket knife and the bowl off a mud-caked tobacco pipe.

“What are you gonna do with that?” Nick had asked his friend of the pipe. “Take up smoking?”

“Maybe,” Trevor smiled. “I know where my big brother stashes his pot!”

Nick laughed, “No way, dude. You don’t wanna be an idiot like your brother!”

Trevor joined in his laughter. “That’s true! But just in case,” he patted the bulge of the pipe in his pocket.

They continued up the river a little further in search of other treasures. The whole landscape looked alien to Nick; there were no familiar landmarks left to help them keep their bearings. The further they walked, the more uncomfortable they became with the carnage around them.

“You think we should turn back?” Nick asked.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I just got a weird feeling. Plus, I’m not sure I remember where we came down. Everything looks the same now.”

Trevor slowly spun around in a circle, taking the whole scene in. “It does all look the same now. Let’s just go up a little further, then we can go back. I can remember where we came down.”

Nick hesitated, “Are you sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure! I got a built in compass,” he said, one finger tapping his head.

“Oh yeah? Is that why you got lost in Willowbury Woods that one time?”

“Hey, gimme a break! I was only ten then!”

“Yeah, and what are you now? A whopping twelve?”

“Hey, a guy can learn a lot in two years.”

Nick shook his head. “You, my friend, are such a dickweed!”

“Takes one to know one!” Trevor’s tongue slithered out and waggled at Nick.

“Don’t call me a dickweed!” Nick warned and went for a headlock on his buddy. Trevor ducked his assault and made a run for it. Nick followed in hot pursuit, laughing all the way. “I’m gonna nail your butt when I catch you, Devane!”

“You couldn’t catch me if you were driving that Viper in your dreams!” Trevor called back. The boy wound his way through fallen trees and other piles of debris as his friend panted a few steps behind him. His impromptu path through the river bottom led them back toward the deep cut of the canyon wall. The bank was much steeper here as a natural bend in the river forced the raging waters to change direction. Spotting something of interest ahead, Trevor slid to a stop in the still damp soil. Nick quickly caught up to him, jumping on his back and reigning fake blows down upon his head.

“Gotcha, Devane!” Nick yelled.

“Wait, hold up,” Trevor said as Nick relinquished his hold on his friend’s skull. “What’s that?” he said pointing.

Against the steep cut in the canyon, the boys could see a large wooden crate, broken in half and upturned against the nearly vertical dirt wall. It appeared to be one end of a long rectangular box, the splintered boards at the center pointing at the sky like two broken fingers. The wood was dark with moisture and mold, nearly the same color as the soil in which it rested.

“What do you think it is?” Trevor asked.

“Probably just an old ‘frigerator case or something.” Nick said.

“Could be. Must be old though, ‘cause they’ve been using cardboard for as long as I can remember.”

“Yeah, remember when your folks got that new fridge a few years ago? Man, we made such a cool fort out of that thing.”

“Yeah, until you forgot to remind me to drag it into the garage before that rainstorm!”

“Remind you? What am I? Your momma?”

“Well, you do kind of look like her!”

Nick slugged Trevor in the arm as the two boys playfully teased each other. “Let’s go see what it is!”

“Last one there is a steaming road apple!” Trevor called as he made a mad dash for the old crate. He could hear Nick’s footsteps plodding through the moist dirt behind him a few paces, his lungs heaving air in and out. Trevor was determined to beat his friend to their destination. “Gonna kick your ass, Viper boy!” he said as he splashed through a large puddle of dirty standing water.

“That’s what you think—oof!”

Trevor heard Nick hit the ground behind him. It was a good solid thud, like a sack of potatoes hitting the grass in the yard.

“Ow—ow—ow!” Nick cried out in pain. “I think it’s broken!”

Trevor stopped and looked back. Nick was down in the drying mud on the edge of the puddle, rolling around holding his ankle. Trevor’s heart skipped a beat in terror. “Nick! You okay?” he called as he ran back toward Nick’s writhing body.

“I think my ankle’s broken,” Nick wailed.

Trevor slid to a stop beside his friend. “Hold on buddy, maybe it’s only sprained. Let me see it.” One side of Nick’s tee shirt and pants were covered in mud, while some of it streaked his face. Tears formed new paths through the muck on his cheeks as he held his knee up near his chest. Both hands were clutched around his ankle in a death-grip.

“I think the bone is poking out!” Nick cried.

“Hold on, hold on,” Trevor said, bending over his fallen comrade. “Move your hands so I can see.”

“I can’t, I can’t!”

“Move your damn hands so I—ayuuuup!” Nick’s hands shot off his ankle in a blur, grabbing Trevor by the collar of his shirt. One second later Trevor found himself crashing into the mud puddle like a cannonball! Dirty water spewed in all directions from the impact; the majority of it felt like it went right straight up Trevor’s nostrils. He coughed and spit grimy spools of saliva and snot, trying to clear his breathing passages.

“Wha—fuck?” was all he could manage before the sound of Nick’s bellowing laughter began ringing in his ears. He blinked away the dirty water from his eyes, seeing his best friend, his most prized possession, cackling and crowing like a rooster at his expense.

“Ha! Gotcha Devane!” Nick was back on his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna win this race!” With that, he dashed off toward the old wood crate grounded against the canyon wall. So much for a compound fracture, Trevor thought. Despite his posterior resting in two inches of muddy water, he could only laugh at his friend’s clever gag.

“You got me this time, ‘Nicholette’ Morrison! But paybacks are a bitch! Remember that, girly man!”

CHAPTER 3

“You’re looking a bit wet, Devane,” Nick told his friend as he came sidling up, still dripping muddy brown water.

“Just wait, butt-wipe. You’re gonna pay for that one!” Trevor feigned a couple of punches at Nick.

The two boys were standing at the foot of the bank, the crate lodged in the soil above them. Much of the wood box was buried in the mud of the canyon wall. The boys gauged it to be at least a six foot crate, possibly eight, broken in half. The open end looked up on the nearly cloudless afternoon sky, about ten feet above their heads.

“What do you suppose is in it, Trev?” Nick asked.

“Dunno. Maybe pirate’s treasure?” Trevor said.

“Pirates? In Montana?”

“Mountain pirates! Ayyy, Matey!” Trevor growled with one eye squinted shut.

“What a dork,” Nick shook his head. “I’m gonna climb up and take a look.”

“Be careful you don’t get your dress dirty.”

Nick shot an evil glance back at his friend before turning his attention to the river bank. The wall was nearly vertical, littered with twisted, exposed tree roots drying in the sun. Nick reached up and grabbed a root that he hoped would hold his weight. He began pulling himself up with his arms, while his feet fought to find traction in the wet, slippery dirt.

“Come on, you can do it Nicky!” Trevor called out encouragement.

The muscles in Nick’s arms strained against the force of gravity on his body. Trevor could see his face turning red and veins popping out on his blushing neck. Nick managed to get his foot hooked on a smaller tree root, and boost himself up a little further. He looked up. The opening of the box was still two feet away. His groping hand searched for another root to grab for leverage.

“Use that rock, Nick,” Trevor pointed to a large rock that had been half exposed by the raging waters of the flood. “It looks sturdy  enough.”

Nick nodded his head and stretched the limits of his muscles to grasp the protruding stone. His splayed fingers finally found a purchase on its rough exterior. Again, he strained to pull himself up inch by inch. Just a foot short of the top he could hear Trevor down below yelling, “You’re almost there! Almost there!” With a final grunt of exertion, Nick put all his energy into the effort. Then the rock came loose.

“Lookout!” Nick yelled as he plummeted back down the bank. His feet landed near the bottom and caught in the mud, flinging him into a backwards somersault. At the bottom, Trevor performed an Olympic-caliber hurdle to avoid first the rock that Nick had torn loose and then Nick himself. His friend crashed to a final stop laying face down in the dirt.

“Wow. Nick, you okay?”

Nick groaned, but with a smile. “Man, that one hurt!”

“No doubt, you sure went ass over teakettle!”

Nick slowly rose back to his feet. He did a quick damage control check, but nothing seemed to be out of place. He considered himself lucky that the landing was in the soft dirt exposed by the flood rather than bare river rocks. He brushed himself off, and looked back up at the crate.

“Well, that didn’t work.”

“How ‘bout you go up and get a foothold on that first strong root,” Trevor replied. “Then you can give me a boost from that position.”

Nick shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

He climbed back up to the spot on the bank where he felt he had the most support, and then reached down to help Trevor up. Trevor set his foot in the same stirrup-shaped root that Nick was standing on. “Hope this holds us both,” he commented.

“Yeah, me too!” Nick said as he cupped his own stirrup with his hands. “Alley oop, my friend.”

Trevor dropped one foot into Nick’s outstretched arms and pulled himself up. Fortunately for Nick, both boys were able to lean against the slight angle of the dirt bank so he didn’t have to support all of Trevor’s weight. Nick squeezed his eyes shut against the miniature landslide of dirt and rocks that Trevor’s movement broke loose. “I can’t see,” Nick said. “How close are you?”

“I’m right there,” Trevor replied. His eyes were even with the open end of the crate, but he could barely see inside. “I can’t see inside though. Hang on, I’m gonna reach in.”

“Your luck it’ll be a bear trap in there, Devane!”

“Don’t remind me!”

Trevor blindly reached inside the crate and fished around with his arm. He could feel dried mud and something that felt like cloth. “I’ve got something, Nick!”

“What is it?”

Trevor yanked at the material as it slowly tore free. One end broke loose first, then finally the rest of it, still wadded up in a muddy ball. “Looks like a shirt. A girl’s shirt. But I’m not sure, it’s all wadded up.”

“Toss it down, we can look at it later. What else is in there?”

Trevor tossed the wadded up material, still sticky with moist soil, down the river’s floor. He reached back into the crate and groped for more treasure. “All I can feel is dried mud. There may be more in there, but I can’t reach. Can you boost me higher?”

“No way, dude,” Nick panted. “Let’s get down for a few. I need to rest. My arms are about to break off!”

“Okay, let me down.”

Nick eased Trevor back down and the boys jumped the final two feet to the river bottom. They stood over the wad of material they had managed to wrest from the box above, hands on hips, chests heaving from the exertion. A cool breeze went to work drying the sweat from their foreheads.

“Whew… I thought my… arms were gonna fall off,” Nick said.

“That’s ‘cause my dick weighs… eighty pounds alone.” Trevor grinned.

“Yeah, maybe with an anvil tied to it!”

“No, really. I weighed it on my mom’s bathroom scale a couple of days ago. Seventy-nine and three-quarters pounds.”

Nick scowled in disbelief. “You weighed it?”

“Sure did!”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why? ‘Cause you’ve never seen a trouser sausage that big?”

“No, because they don’t make a magnifying glass and tweezers that small!”

“Ha, ha, Morrison. You’re just jealous,” Trevor laughed.

The boy’s attention returned to their find. The material was a light tan, but may have been white at one time. It was hard to tell through all the mud still caked to the surface. Some of the edges displayed a tattered lace weave and one lone pearl button poked up out of a clod of dried dirt.

“Looks like a girl’s shirt alright,” Nick agreed.

“Probably just an old box of clothes,” Trevor replied, bending down. He began pulling at the fabric, breaking loose bits of soil. He stretched the cloth straight into a shape that was unmistakably a girl’s blouse with lacing on the front. From the fabric something dropped and hit the ground with a muffled clink.

“What was that?” Nick asked.

Trevor reached out and picked up the object, brushing at the clinging mud. He turned it around in his fingers. “Looks like a bracelet. Let’s go wash it off in that puddle back there.”

Moments later Nick watched on as Trevor shook the bracelet in a few inches of standing water. He wiped it off on his already soiled shirt and held it up in the sunlight. A metal plaque at the center of the jeweled loop glistened with the reflection. On either side of the plaque were various small turquoise, ruby and agate stones held together by a flexible, twisted gold band..

“It’s personalized,” Trevor said. “WENDY. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah, pretty cool. For a ladies bracelet anyway.”

Trevor nodded. He was staring at the nameplate on the bracelet when his eyes suddenly widened. Watching him, Nick thought he saw a light bulb go on above his buddy’s head. “Uh-oh,” Nick said.

“Dude! I can give this to Wendy Burkhalter! I wanna get into her pants so bad.”

“Buddy, she’s so far out of your league it’s not funny.”

“Hey, you never know. With a beautiful bracelet like this, maybe I could win her heart!”

“Well, I guess you could give it a shot. But even if you do win her heart, I wouldn’t advise getting in her pants just yet.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with what you found in there!” Nick razzed him.

“I would too!”

“How do you know?”

“Remember? Out in my dad’s shed?” Trevor grinned like a fool, his eyebrows dancing up and down on his forehead.

Nick chuckled at the memory.

It had been last summer. Trevor’s dad had set the boys to work on the lawn and trimming some of the bushes in their yard for extra money. While searching for the hedge clippers, Trevor had made a surprising discovery at the back of his father’s tool shed; a hefty stack of magazines called Juggs, Oui, and Hustler. The boys had looked at each other like they had just discovered gold. They had grabbed a few of them and made a mad dash for Willowbury Woods where they would be less likely to be caught. As they oohed and awed over the photos in the magazines, they received an education that a boy just couldn’t get in grade school. In full graphic detail! Although they were far too young to get the same kind of stimulation they would in a couple more years, those magazines had gone further in satisfying their curiosity than they could have ever imagined.

An hour later, they returned to Trevor’s house and replaced the magazines just as Mr. Devane had come storming out the back door demanding to know why the lawn hadn’t been cut yet. They had lost a dollar each over that little escapade. Trevor’s father refused to pay them the full five dollars after running off to play for an hour before the work was done. Still, it was well worth that dollar in both boys’ opinions. That was the day they both became men—in their eyes anyway.

“Too bad Dad caught Todd looking at them right after that,” Trevor said, dejected.

“That’s what you get for telling your dopey big brother about them,” Nick scolded. Trevor nodded agreement. “Hey, let’s see what else is in the box!”

Trevor quickly brightened up. “Yeah! Maybe we’ll find some bras and panties too!”

“You are one sick puppy, Devane,” Nick said.

Trevor stuffed the Wendy bracelet deep into the front pocket of his jeans and  picked up the girl’s shirt the bracelet had fallen out of. “You wanna keep the shirt?” Trevor asked.

“Why would I want that dirty old girl’s shirt?”

“Might go well with your skirt!”

Nick playfully punched his buddy in the shoulder.

“Ouch. You broke my arm!” Trevor complained in mock pain.

“Shut up, Devane. This time you give me a boost.”

Trevor got into position on the steep bank and helped lift Nick up. Being two inches taller and a little bit stronger, Trevor was able to lift his buddy up several inches further than he had been able to get in their last attempt. Nick’s head was above the level of the opening to the crate, allowing him to see much of its contents—which was mostly dried mud. Poking through, he saw remnants of more material, something plaid and a sheath of denim that might have been from a pair of pants.

“What’ve you got?” Trevor called out below.

“All I see is mud and clothes, Trev. I think you were right. This is just an old clothes chest.”

“Well, dig around if you can. We found the bracelet didn’t we?”

“Yeah. I’m going in as far as I can.” Nick hooked his arms around the edge of the crate, the ragged edges of wood cutting into his pits. “Ouch,” he commented as splinters threatened to tear into his flesh. With both arms he fished around inside the crate, pulling the cloth loose from its mooring in the drying river bed soil. Below the plaid material, he spotted something glittering in the afternoon sun.

“Trev! I think there is gold in here! I can see a gold nugget!”

“See, I told you there was something more than clothes in there! Pull it out!”

Nick stretched his arm as far as it would go, his fingers stopping just a few inches short of their prize. “I can’t reach! Boost me higher!”

Trevor strained to lift Nick another couple of inches, breath hissing through his gritted teeth. Nick re-situated himself atop the crate’s edge and reached again for the gold nugget. He felt his finger brush the little glimmer of gold and slide away. Again he adjusted his position and made another attempt. The old wooden box groaned with the pressure of his weight, and slowly began tipping out of the thick soil.

“Ack, the crate’s coming loose!” Nick yelled to Trevor, but it was too late. The river bank lost its hold on the crate as it tore loose from its dock and toppled over. It fell, crashing to the riverbed, taking Nick and Trevor with it. Being at the bottom, Trevor was able to jump and tumble on the ground below. As he rolled to a stop he heard the crate hit the ground with a crack, the rotting boards snapping with the impact. Then the thud of his best friend’s body as it found the earth from nearly ten feet in the air.

Trevor looked up to see that Nick landed just a few feet away, lying on his side. His face had turned some shade between crimson and purple. His mouth was agape, his eyes wide. Trevor could hear the slow scratching sound of Nick’s lungs trying to draw a breath from the air around him. He bounded to his friend’s side, placing a hand gently on his upturned shoulder.

“Nick? You okay, man? Nicky? Breathe, man, breathe. Just little breaths at first!”

Nick gasped again at the air, this time sucking a little bit in. The next time, he got a little more. Slowly his breathing accelerated until he was actually heaving in the cool spring air. What little natural color he had in his face slowly began to return. Trevor watched the transformation in awe.

“Buddy, I thought I lost you there.”

Nick offered a wane smile. “Nope. Not. Me,” he managed between gasps. “Tougher… than the shoe…leather. On… Old Lady Crandall’s… face.”

Trevor helped Nick sit up as his lungs eventually replenished the lost oxygen. Nick moved his arms and his legs, again grateful that he had landed on soft dirt and not stone. His shoulder and ribs were a little sore, but other than that he had survived the second tumble of the day with little injury. “Now I know what Troy Aikman must have felt like,” he said.

“Well, if your Cowboys knew how to make a good offensive line, the poor guy wouldn’t have had to retire!”

“Yeah, I know,” Nick agreed. “Help me up.”

Trevor reached down and grasped his buddy’s hand. He began pulling Nick to his feet when he suddenly stopped. Nick saw Trevor’s eyes widen as they stared directly over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong—oof!” Nick sat back down in the dirt hard as Trevor’s hand lost its grip with his own. “Thanks a lot,” he was about to say before Trevor interrupted him.

“Holy shit, Nick. Look!” he pointed.

Nick spun his head around to see what had brought such shock to his friend’s face. Although his breathing had almost returned to normal, Nick’s lungs suddenly found themselves struggling for air once again. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The fallen crate had dumped its contents in a stream of litter across the river bed floor. In that litter of mud and tattered fabric were various curves and cylinders of bone poking out from the debris.

And, at the head of the stream, was one grinning, human skull staring back at them.