White Sands Gold

By Mike Torreano

New Mexico Territory, 1890

In a hidden cavern, a treasure trove of gold sits alongside an ancient relic.

To find her treasure-hunting brother, Lottie Durham enlists the help of an easygoing lawman. When a mysterious woman known only as Ma asks her to join the relic’s guardians, Lottie’s world spins. Should she take on this solemn obligation?

Twill, leader of the mysterious guardians, has sworn a vow to protect the centuries-old religious relic. Regrets bedevil him and his dedication to his oath is repeatedly tested. If he breaks his promise, he’ll fail Ma, the one person he’s never wanted to let down.

Will a looming raid by a band of determined killers be the end of the guardians, the gold, and the relic?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Sep 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781509244324

Mike Torreano

Mike Torreano has a military background and is a student of history and the American West. He fell in love with Zane Grey’s novels about the Painted Desert in the fifth grade, when his teacher made her students read a book and write a report every week. Mike recently had a short story set during the Yukon gold rush days published in an anthology, and he’s written for magazines and small newspapers. An experienced editor, he’s taught University English and Journalism. He’s a member of Colorado Springs Fiction Writers, Pikes Peak Writers, The Historical Novel Society, and Western Writers of America. He brings his readers back in time with him as he recreates American life and times in the late 19th century. He lives in Colorado Springs Colorado with his wife, Anne.

Book preview

Chapter One

White Sands region, New Mexico Territory

Spring 1890

Boulders crashed to the rocky floor with the sound of rolling thunder. Yancy Durham huddled under a broken timber as the rough-hewn mine shaft shattered around him. His lamp disappeared in the roaring chaos along with its light.

Damn! The caustic smell of coal oil surrounded him as flames danced among the fallen debris. Dust billowed while sharp stones pinned his legs. Daylight from the shaft entrance dimmed, then vanished behind the mounting rubble.

He held a hand out against the heat of the crackling blaze, shaking his head at the mass that closed off his escape. As the lamp fire burned itself out, he struggled to slow his breathing amid his panic. Never had liked tight spots to begin with, especially ones on fire. Acrid smoke hung in dusty air and stung his nose. The jagged wood that angled over his head like a narrow roof had saved his life.

His right arm had a nasty cut he outlined with his fingers in the sudden darkness. Sticky wetness ran down to his elbow. He didn’t know if he needed to but he whipped his belt off and cinched it above the wound. Thick dust filled his nose and mouth as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Not much to get used to, though—pitch black was pitch black. As warm as early spring was outside, it was that cold inside the damp passageway. Yancy pulled his shirt tighter around his neck, his worn hat crumpled somewhere in the rubble. Lighting a match could spark the whole shaft. Might quiet the fear that knotted his stomach, though. He slid one out of his pants pocket and with a hand in front of his face, struck it against the wall. The flare allowed for a few seconds of scanning, then blackness again. Sharp rock held his bruised legs fast. At least he might be able to push the smaller boulders away. His heart pounded from the effort and the cave-in. How much time did he have before the sooty air in the shaft ran out? Was his life measured in hours now?

This wasn’t the smartest thing he’d done today, but then not much had been right since his mother took off a long time back. How could she do that? Last year he and his pa searched this mountain, but he was the only one to make it back. Why did he always do what he was told not to? Hadn’t even let Lottie know where he was going this time, but she probably knew, anyway. He and his twin sister had some fierce arguments about this place. She’d been right—he should have left it alone, but this was his first chance to explore Victorio since winter loosened its clutches on the land. When he chanced on the Peak’s hidden entrance after all this time, the prospect of storied gold treasure within held him fast.

What caused the collapse? He hadn’t heard any cracking before the timbers gave way. In fact, there had been only eerie silence since he entered the shaft. All of a sudden, everything crashed around him. He’d been lucky to duck under this rugged beam. It was almost like someone didn’t want him here. Maybe the rumors about shadowy guardians were real.

There was nothing on the jagged rock wall behind him he could grab on to. In the flash of his match, he’d caught a glimpse of a plank from one of the shattered timbers. The farther he reached for it, the more the rock shards cut into his shins. His denim trousers were nothing but tatters.

He ran his fingers across the jumbled rocks that hemmed him in. There. A middling piece of splintered timber stuck up that he could wrap his hand around. Every yank made him wince. The wooden fragment shifted, but stayed wedged. The effort stole his breath. He strained again and the wood budged. After several more attempts, he back-and-forthed it free, his hands full of splinters. When he’d caught his breath again, he poked the boulders around him with the end of the piece until he found a small opening. He jammed the wood between the rocks and pushed.

Aaaahhh! A heavy rock edged away from his leg, and pain surged along his battered shin. Staccato breaths were all he could manage as he shifted his weight. He finally moved enough rubble to pry himself free. With the ragged timber in one hand, he arm-crawled across the top of the pile until he reached a spot on the floor clear of most of the debris.

Now what? The cave-in had trapped him on the wrong side of the blockage. He stared the other direction. A brief flare from a second match showed a shaft that angled down into gloomy nothing. The scrap of wood he held was too short for walking but might make a passable splint.

It felt like his wounded arm had stopped bleeding, but he couldn’t be sure. He released the belt and tied it around his pants leg and the piece of wood. Still couldn’t put much weight on the shin. Straining to a stand, he gashed his head on a rocky ceiling. His pained scream echoed in the black shaft.

Damn! No way he’d be able to limp for long in this crouch. With dark silence his only companion, he eased himself to the ground and arm-pulled deeper down the shaft. His mind drifted despite the effort.

He awoke shivering. He reached out and touched rough walls all around. The shaft still held him captive. How long had he been out? His canteen was destroyed in the cave-in, and his thirst raged. He had to find water—that blotted everything else out. A pull with his good arm sent fresh waves of pain shooting through his body. There had to be water at the bottom of this passage. At least the ground he crawled over wasn’t all hard rock, but his stomach couldn’t tell the difference. As he reached, he grabbed hold of something that came away loose in his hand. He traced his fingers around it. Felt like a bone. Large enough to be a wolf’s or a bear’s. Likely. He cast it behind him.

The ground leveled and slowed his progress. Shivering made it hard to control his movements. From the echoing sound of his scraping, the walls to either side of him seemed to be angling farther and farther away as he crawled. More bones. He couldn’t tell how high the ceiling was, but he had the sense it too was rising.

Willing himself to a bent stand, he reached a hand to one wall to steady himself. As he worked down the shaft, dim light showed ahead through a larger opening. Was someone else down here? Stumbling forward, he reached a rocky cavern illuminated by a single candle. The room was about the same size as his barn, with a high ceiling but no warmer than the shaft. How could there be a lit candle way down here? He put a wobbly hand to his holster. A glance around revealed no one else. He dropped to the dirt floor, his ragged shirt hanging off his chest and his body shaking violently. All he wanted was a drink of water to get the filth out of his nose and throat. His thoughts wandered again.

A painful jerk startled him awake. How long had he been out this time? Warmer but not warm, he still shook slightly. His eyes adjusted to the room’s faint light. Faded drawings adorned the cave’s walls. Hoofed animals, a warrior with a golden headdress, words in a language he didn’t understand. Religious symbols of some sort? Objects lay scattered around the cavern, which receded into darkness in the distance. The candle sat on a small table between a couple of old pieces of wood. Its soft light bathed the room.

Dust covered everything, making it hard to recognize what he looked at. He limped past more bones. And—his heart thumped—bleached human skulls. Most lay with arms behind them near spiked stakes, their bonds long gone. All arrayed in orderly lines. Where did they come from? Was this his destiny, too?

Easing onto a grimy pile, he surveyed his prison, bruised leg straight out. He brushed at the top of the caked mound. Some kind of…dull sheen. Could these be the gold bars he’d heard about since childhood? In the dim light he couldn’t be sure, but they gave off a muted glint. He tried to heft one with no success. Had to be forty, fifty pounds. Hundreds—maybe thousands—were stacked in similar piles three to four feet high and several feet across. Other objects and coins shrouded with age made separate mounds, neatly arranged. Several faded Wells Fargo wooden strongboxes lay scattered about but there was far too much gold here to have come in them.

Yancy rubbed a hand across his forehead. Legend always said a fortune lay down here, but now that he saw the treasure, he realized he hadn’t believed it.

His leg throbbed, and his arm had stiffened into a crooked bend. Water—he must have water. The room swirled but he couldn’t afford to pass out. What good was all this gold if the cave killed him? He grasped several coins from one of the stacks and jammed them in his pocket. Taking one of the heavy bars or anything else was out of the question. Just surviving would take whatever luck he had left.

If he didn’t leave now, he likely never would. He scanned his surroundings for a way out. His gaze was drawn to the candle’s glow again. What kind of wax didn’t burn down? He glanced around the room. When he looked at the candle again, the flame bent ever-so-slightly. Maybe that meant a draught of air, which might indicate another tunnel. He limped toward the far end of the cavern. A dim outline of another shaft slanted away into darkness. Resting a hand at the top of the small opening, he peered in just as a deep rumble shook the room. A look back at the candle and he hurried into the black shaft, leaving the burial ground—and its treasure—behind.

How far did this passageway go? Had to take it, but he wished he’d explored the cavern more. Would this be a way out or just lead him deeper into the bowels of an underground grave? The passage descended slightly, and a lowering ceiling forced him to the ground again. He didn’t know which hurt worse—his leg, his arm, or scraped stomach. If the shaft didn’t start upward soon, he’d never make it out. Faint light disappeared behind him as he crawled, and blackness reigned again.

He caught a breath of fresher air—cooler—and pulled harder. The rocky floor grew clammy, then damp. Water! A ribbon ran over the jumbled surface ahead. Yancy pulled himself to the edge, cupped handfuls of water over his face, then slurped mouthfuls until he couldn’t swallow more.

He rubbed a wet hand over his arm and patted it dry with his shirt. He didn’t know if it was blood or water he felt. Washing some over the cuts on his shin and stomach felt good, too. Numbing pain shot through him as the cold water hit his battered skin. He ran a hand down the bad leg but couldn’t feel a break. The water was welcome, but the chill that came with it wasn’t. Shivers wracked him. He didn’t know if the shakes returned because of the shaft’s temperature or his own. Whatever the reason, it made crawling tougher. He struggled past the light water flow, clothes soaked where he crossed. At least it gave the cuts on his stomach some cool relief.

The passage started a slight rise—the direction he needed to go. His hopes rose with the slope. Those soon faded as the increasing pitch took his measure. Each heartbeat pulsed in his leg. He laid his head on the ground to catch his breath. How much farther could he go? Lottie drifted through his thoughts. The only person who would care if he didn’t survive. He’d been stupid, but dying in the depths of this mountain would be too agonizing, now that he’d found the treasure.

Arm pulls brought him farther, but his body was giving out. His outstretched hand brushed up against a rock face dead ahead. Had he reached the end of the shaft? Not much had ever scared him, but this fix was doing a good job of it. He fished his last match out and struck it on the rocks. A brief flare lit up two dark passages, one to the left and one right. The flame dimmed, then died, leaving Yancy with a hard choice. The candle’s flicker meant one of these shafts might lead to the surface, but which?

He needed to get this right—his life depended on it.

Chapter Two

Lottie wasn’t worried. Her brother had been on overnight outings before. She finished milking the cow their father left behind. He perished last year, on a search of Victorio with Yancy. Months later, her brother said he discovered Pa’s remains among scrub near the base of Victorio Peak. Her father was a hard man, but still, she hadn’t been able to make any sense of it. The mountain, or something, had claimed his life. And she could hardly remember her mother, gone all these years.

Her midday meal would be simple today. A freshly-baked loaf of bread and homemade butter. Slices of smoked wild turkey washed down with a cup of coffee. Now, all she needed was her twin. Had he taken enough of a kit with him? He hadn’t told her where he was going, but she knew. He’d been traipsing around Victorio for years, captive to the lure of tales of hidden gold. The company he’d been keeping—Bart Richards—wasn’t the best, either. She didn’t trust the owner of the biggest ranch around Las Cruces, and that instinct had kept her out of more than one trouble in the past.

Yancy’s wagonsmithing business had never been much, anyway. She’d been the one to keep them fed with her baking and occasional quilting. The chores were always hers, too. Milking the cow, doing the wash, keeping the house clean. With both parents gone—she wasn’t ready to lose her brother, too. Her labors had come at the expense of a personal life, but that’s the hand she’d been dealt. At twenty, she figured she still had a few years left to change that. Wasn’t an old maid yet—was she? She brushed her auburn hair back.

Toward evening, Lottie eased the curtain aside and glanced out the front window. The cow was settled in the small barn, and chickens scratched the dirt yard. Their dog Rufus used to lay with his head by her feet as she cooked the evening meal. He wasn’t much to look at, with his short tan hair and floppy ears, but he barked bigger than he was and watchdogged better than that. But Rufus disappeared with her father.

Another glimpse out the window. The light brown land grew dark early this time of year. Rounded heights to the west looked like the sun had melted them over time. She shook her head and turned back to the stove. Would Yancy ever settle down? He was like a tumbleweed skipping over the land. Never lighting, always moving with the wind. There were days she’d like to be that same tumbleweed with no cares, no worries.

As she stood in the kitchen, she could almost see him. It happened sometimes, these blurry visions. She reached for two dinner plates, then stopped. No sense breaking out tableware when it was likely going to be only her. She scooped the turkey into a wooden bowl and brought it to the small table with her coffee. At least Yancy had his best horse with him. For years, those two made the local hills, gullies, and plains their own. She’d even named his stallion Bandit. She rag-washed her empty bowl and refilled her cup. By the pale light of an oil lamp, she opened the tattered Bible her mother left but kept an ear out. How many times had she done this very thing? A familiar warmth flooded her ears. Damn his restless soul.

Her heartbeat quickened as the wind picked up and whistled over the clapboard house. She was determined to read though and forced her mind from her brother’s whereabouts. As she glanced back at the pages, she realized she’d already skimmed the same verses several times. No use. She closed the book, rose, and pushed the thin cotton curtain aside. Long banks of gray, skimming clouds hid the stars. An uneasy feeling flooded her.

Yancy had never been gone this long and she couldn’t shake her worry. He’d be home soon. Probably. If he wasn’t back by morning, she’d start out. The night was too dark to go now, and besides, Yancy knew this land better than almost anyone. He’d be fine. He could take care of himself, but then she shook her head. He never had. Even as that thought raced through her mind, she knew she was going searching for him tonight.

She took a deep breath to slow her racing heart and stared out the front window again. She packed some hard biscuits. Not much left of anything around here anymore. She’d take a canteen of water. Maybe two. A heavy jacket as well. New Mexico spring nights were cold, even without the ever-present wind. Gathered gloves and her favorite red scarf. Added the thickest blanket she could find. She buckled her gun belt on.

A note would let Yancy know…what, exactly? That she was searching for him? And if he came home before she got back not to come looking for her? Would that even deter him if he read it? She put the pencil down. Any note she left would likely lead to more trouble than leaving nothing.

She grabbed the provisions and pulled the door open. A chill blast stung her as she hurried to the barn. Her horse, Cinch, was getting up in years, but steady. She’d take steady every time—especially at night. No telling how long she’d be gone. As she saddled by dim lamp light, she questioned whether she should be doing this. There were plenty of things that could go wrong on a daylight ride, much less at night.

No, she’d go.

After leading Cinch out, she swung up and gazed at a gusty night sky. Victorio would be easy to find even with this hide-and-seek moonlight. She’d badgered Yancy to take her there several times, searching for clues to their father’s death. Waves of wind grazed her face as she spurred Cinch north. Good thing his eyesight was better than hers. She held him to a measured jog—gopher holes were always a danger in the dark.

From the basin, the land rose across a jumbled landscape. Scattered low creosote bushes and prickly cactus cast faint shadows on the pebbly, arid soil. She rode along the lowest part of the valley, hollowed by an ancient dry wash. The familiar sprawling white sands spread to the east, backstopped by a black horizon. Even in the dark, there was a glow to them that she always found hypnotizing. But tonight, she’d stay this side of them. She stared in the direction of the Peak. Doubts clouded hope as she rode. What would she do if he wasn’t there? Doubtful she’d find him in this dark even if he was.

Hours later, she reached the base of the mountain. Cinch switchbacked up the south slope, skirting stubby piñon pines and junipers. Yancy usually tethered his horse just this side of the top, and her anticipation rose with the hill. Lottie scanned left and right as they climbed, on the lookout not only for her brother, but night predators, too. Bears wouldn’t bother her, but mountain lions were another matter. Hungry enough, they’d been known to ambush a lone horse and rider. She was a crack shot—but at night?

Another hour and she reached a small, granite plateau below the summit. This high, the wind fairly whistled. She dismounted and tethered Cinch. Yancy would’ve probably done the same near here.

Scurrying night sounds rose from the basin floor as she lit the oil lamp and set off. She wrapped a hand around her pistol grip. Probably rabbits or foxes. Maybe coyotes. Or—no sense thinking about what else. No sign of her brother, but she could’ve easily missed something. She played the lamp over a dozen recesses. One swallowed the light in its depth. As she stepped toward the niche, something scurried across her shoe. She didn’t want to look down—couldn’t have seen what it was, anyway. Her heart raced at a noise behind her and she turned. What was that? And where was Yancy?

Circling back to Cinch, she mounted up and picked her way over upturned rock. The click of horseshoes on granite dashed any hope she had of staying a ghost. The land lay in eerie shadows as she followed a winding path. Hard to tell if objects she passed were moving or just watching her ride by. The wind gusted, and a cold chill shivered her.

Weathered rock outcroppings gave way to hundred-foot plunges on her left. Lottie squinted in the dim distance. What she could—or couldn’t see—wasn’t encouraging. She lifted the lamp higher. There! In the distance ahead stood Yancy’s horse, Bandit. By the animal’s agitation, she could tell he’d been there awhile. She dismounted, tethered Cinch, and filled her flipped hat with water for the horses. There wasn’t any forage this high, so they would have to make do with a little grain.

Lottie swayed her lamp over the plateau as she picked her way among the rocks. A mixture of dread and relief coursed through her. No body so far, but no Yancy either. Years of searching for a hidden entryway hadn’t brought her brother any success—what made her think she could find a gateway in the dark? The next couple of hours were spent weaving back and forth over the rim. This had to be near where Yancy disappeared. Or maybe he picketed Bandit here and his search took him to another part of the Peak. She’d just about given up when she heard Bandit nicker in the distance behind her. Maybe Yancy had come back. Her heart raced and she hurried to where the two horses stood. Alone.

A thought stung her. What if Yancy was down somewhere? Maybe he’d fallen. She yelled his name into the emptiness. And again. With her lamp playing over the rocky terrain, she searched for any disturbance in the rough soil. A piece of clothing, a footprint, pieces of his kit he might have discarded or dropped. Or maybe a recently-moved rock that looked out of place; but with the jumbled landscape everything looked like that. She took a sip of water and caught her breath. After hours of scrambling over rock outcroppings again, she needed to stop. She hung her head, hands on her knees. Circling the mountain would be nearly an all-day effort in daylight, much less darkness.

Lottie screamed to the heavens, her frustration complete. Yancy was in trouble for sure, and she couldn’t help him. What was the pull of the rumored gold that he’d risk his life for it? She started back for the horses at a slow walk. Wrong turns around scrambled rock formations made the return trip longer. As she dragged back, Victorio’s mass seemed to mock her as if boasting, ‘You’ll never find him.’ Mixed emotions roiled Lottie. She should leave, but what if Yancy was hurt? Why else hadn’t he come back? Or maybe he’d finally found a way into the mountain.

When she returned to the horses this time, a rumble deep in the Peak shook the ground underneath her. She steadied herself against a rock ledge, but the tremor stopped nearly as quickly as it started. It felt near but could have come from almost anywhere inside the granite fortress. She moved toward the sound. Running a hand along a side of rock, she swung her lamp back and forth over the craggy surface. Just as she was about to give up, the ground bottomed out slightly. With the lamp held high, she tapped a foot forward in case it dropped off more steeply.

Lottie peered low into the jumbled rocks. One looked out of place. The soil underneath was still scraped where it had been moved. The chunk of granite was about three feet high and nearly as wide. Whoever moved it had to be strong—like her brother. Low shrubs formed a natural hedge in front of it. She thrust the lamp forward to reveal a small, pitch-black opening. The hidden entrance had been cut out of jagged rock that framed the cleft. Light shone off fine dust that hung in the cavity. Could it be from whatever the rumbling was? Did Yancy go in here?

Maybe she should wait until daylight gave her a better idea what she was looking at. Dawn couldn’t be more than a couple, three hours away. Lottie turned from the gap, felt around the rocks, and found a bumpy seat. No telling what dangers the entrance held.

No. Waiting wasn’t in her tonight.

She sprang up and her feet carried her toward the small opening. The low ceiling made her duck, and she crept forward with the lamp thrust well in front of her. Blackness swallowed most of the frail light as she moved deeper into the unknown. The shaft angled down, with damp rock for a floor. Outside the air had been cool, as New Mexican nights were, but inside the temperature was cold. Crouching along more of a shaft than a tunnel, she pressed a hand against moist rough walls. A voice in her head told her to turn back, but a vision of her brother said keep going. She went down to a knee and rubbed her arm, back aching from the crouch.

Yancy! Yancy! She hollered into the abyss. His name echoed dully back. Why would it do that unless… She reached the lamp straight out in front, her other hand moving over a rocky side wall. After a few minutes of bending low, the ground grew rougher. Small rocks and bigger boulders lay strewn in her path and