The Secret of the Stones by Ernest Dempsey (reading fiction .TXT) 📕

The keen leader didn’t buy it. This Indian had been far too smart to come so far and then just fall over a cliff. “He didn’t go over, Private. Men, get down there, and search the area. Someone get into that pool and check every inch of the bottom. Check the ground surrounding it too. If he came out of there, I want to know where. We can’t let him get away.”

The soldiers took off immediately, heading down by way of the path to the right of the falls. Thompson’s men and the dogs had just finished their check of the other side of the creek and were standing across from the old officer.

“Find anything, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir. Not a thing, Colonel.”

“How far did you check upstream?”  The lead officer looked toward the direction from where the water was coming.

“Three hundred feet, sir, just to be safe.”  Thompson’s voice was firm.

The Colonel frowned then turned his head and spit the other direction. His eyes narrowed, scanning the forest undergrowth. “Good man, Lieutenant. Get back over here, and head down there with the others. He must have gone that direction. Not sure if he jumped, but if he did, we should find him shortly.”

“Yes, sir.”

The remaining men and the dogs scampered back through the icy water and made their way down the little path. The old officer peered around the surrounding woods but could find no sign of the Indian. Deliberately, he turned and stalked down the trail to join his soldiers at the bottom.

Crouching in the dark, the Indian waited anxiously. The soldiers chasing him had surely not seen where he had gone. He must have just barely slipped from sight before they arrived at the river. He had moved carefully as he made his way from the water at the lip of the cliffs to the left of the falls.  It had been a risky maneuver to lower himself down to an almost unnoticeable rock ledge that led behind the mist to a small cave.

From his hiding place, he could barely hear the orders of the officer and the confusion of the men below. It was difficult to understand what was being said over the rush of falling water, but there was obvious frustration among the group. Leaning back against the rocks, he took the chance to catch his breath. His only option was to wait and make his way out of the rocks when they were gone. Slowly, he stretched out his legs on the cold, moist stone and tried to relax, a difficult task given the circumstances.  He hoped they didn’t notice the hidden ledge on the cliff. Unless one already knew it was there, the narrow path was almost invisible.

An hour or so had passed, and the soldiers had found nothing. The officer in charge had been barking out orders for the last five minutes and was clearly unhappy about the Indian’s odd disappearance. From behind the mist and falling water, he could make out that the blurry shapes of the soldiers were taking off farther downstream. Apparently, they thought he had jumped over the falls and continued on in the river. Again, he laid his head back on the satchel and let himself fall into an exhausted sleep, confident that the immediate threat was gone.

 The young brave suddenly snapped awake. He must have been asleep for many hours. Twilight had settled into the forest, and soon it would be dark. He figured night was probably a safer time to travel. Dogs could sense him, but men would have a much shorter field of vision. Before dozing off, he had considered what to do with his precious cargo. His mission was to keep it safe from the hands of the army. The United States government was to never learn of its whereabouts or contents. Today, he had nearly failed. If he were to leave his hiding place and try to make it west, he could be caught and lose everything that generations of his people had fought to protect.

Then he considered the place where he was sitting. Only members of the tribe knew about this little nook behind the waterfall. Indeed, who would even consider climbing out on the slippery ledge? Sitting quietly, he considered the options and risks.

Closing his eyes, he prayed a quiet prayer to the Great Spirit. There was really only one choice. His orders had been to take the satchel west and do whatever it took to keep it from the United States Army. Now, he was disobeying the council, unsure if it was right to do so.

He carefully laid the leather bag in the deepest recesses of the cave and untied the straps. His people had known what the United States government wanted. For over a decade, the Cherokee had worked to earn the trust of the government. They’d adopted their way of life, even worn clothes like the white man. But the Cherokee chiefs had always known that, eventually, greed would take over the hearts of the white men. They wanted gold and would do anything to get it. John stared at the beautiful, yellow metal. It seemed somewhat dull in the darkness.

With great care, he removed two golden bars and placed them in a small stack against the wall. It was difficult to see in the hollow rock, but, just to be safe, he scattered a few loose stones over the bricks to conceal them.

Climbing from his refuge, he looked back inside to make certain the stash was not visible to the casual eye. Acceptable for now, he thought. Hopefully, his people would only be gone for a year or two and then could return to their ancient lands—only then could he retrieve the gold. For the moment, though, it would be safe.

He