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

tightly gripped the, now, much lighter satchel. The burden of the gold bars had been cumbersome, but what still lay within his leather pouch was far more weighty.

With that thought, he carefully shuffled out onto the cliff ledge and made his way back up to the top of the waterfall, backtracking toward his village. If he hurried, he might just make it back in time to blend in with the last migration caravan.

Several miles away, the search party had set up camp for the night. Sitting alone in his tent with a candle burning, the old officer was busy rereading a correspondence. The letter had been written on parchment and bore the seal of The president of the United States. A younger officer, probably no older than nineteen, stepped into the tent and cleared his throat, awaiting recognition.  His uniform looked remarkably clean considering the circumstances.

“Permission to speak with you, sir?” The young man seemed a bit uneasy about interrupting his commander and stood rigid, awaiting confirmation of his request.

The colonel finished up what he was reading as if no one was even there then folded up the letter and put his reading glasses down on a small box next to his cot.

“At ease, Charles,” the officer finally replied. He directed the soldier to a small stool in the corner of the tent. “What is it, Son?”

“Well, sir, we have been tracking this Indian for three days. I’m not complaining, sir. Don’t get me wrong. I will follow orders no matter what. I’m just curious: What is so special about this one Indian? There must be dozens that escape the relocation caravans every day, all over the South. Why bother with chasing down this one?”

The old man smiled and looked down at the letter he had been reading, clenching it a little tighter. He was not annoyed by the question. In fact, he would have probably been asking the same thing thirty years ago if the positions were reversed. It did seem odd. And Charles’s point was valid. He decided to tell the lieutenant just enough to ease his mind without spilling the beans altogether.

“Charles, this is no ordinary Indian. And our group is no ordinary military platoon. You have been chosen to be part of an elite government operation. This entire unit of soldiers was not assigned by random chance. We took the best of the best from the United States Army and were careful to make sure not a single one of you had any family because of the dangerous nature of our missions. You’re an orphan, aren’t you, Charles?”

“Yes, sir.” Confusion filled his face.

“Every single man in this group has a similar background and did unusually well during their military training. Each one of you shoots better, runs faster, and has been found to be far more intelligent than the rest of your peers.”

Charles was still listening. With the kind words from the hard man, pride certainly showed in his youthful grin, but he was still uncertain where the explanation was going.

“This unit has been put together by the highest office in the land. It was ordered directly by the president himself. We are to protect the national security of the United States at all costs. That boy holds something that is considered a threat to the safety of our government and this country’s future.”

The colonel let the words sink in with the young man.

“I cannot give you all the details, Charles. It has been deemed ‘for my eyes only.’ However, I will tell you one thing since I believe it necessary to keep up your morale and to ensure we handle this situation quickly.”

The young man leaned forward, his anticipation rising.

“The Indians have been fighting us for a long time now. Their little wars against the United States have been desperately futile. We have greater numbers and much better weapons. They seem to get sick easily and are primitive in many ways when it comes to battle tactics. Up until now, their uprisings have been trampled, for the most part. And now the Cherokee and what’s left of the Creek Nation are being moved west.

“Nearly all our campaigns against them have been successful because their efforts are scattered and largely independent. However, if the Indians could find a way to unite all the tribes, they might just have enough to cause problems for us. That is one of the reasons we are separatin’ the tribes. We must not let them consort with one another. A united Indian nation could drag out fighting for a decade. To make matters worse, there is something in existence that could unite all of the tribes. And with this thing, they could possibly lure a union with the Spanish, British, or even the French.”

“And this Indian we are chasing is carrying something that could do all of that?” The young officer was still unsure.

A nod of the head was his only reply.

“What is it?”

The older man paused. He had probably already told the kid too much as it was. But one more little bit of information would only help intensify their search.

“Gold,” he said simply.

It was difficult for the young man to comprehend for a moment. He leaned back, obviously disappointed with the answer.

“That’s it?”

“It is.”

“Please forgive me, sir, but I seriously doubt that one Indian can carry enough gold to unite all the tribes as well as bring in reinforcements from England, Spain, or France.”

“It isn’t the gold he has with him, Charles, though he surely has a sample. No, what he has is the knowledge of where the rest of it is. That is what we are after.”

“A map?”  The young man’s interest was piqued again.

“Exactly.”

1

Atlanta

Frank Borringer stared hard at the ancient script. It just didn’t make sense. If what his associate