Damien swallowed hard. The dog looked like a St. Bernard, only pure black. The word Newfoundland entered Damien’s mind. The dog skidded to a halt about eight feet away. The giant canine sniffed at the destroyed canvas and then looked up at Damien and barked several times.

Damien calmly pulled out his Taurus side arm from his windbreaker. He pulled the slide back. The black beast bared its fangs and growled. The ominous rumble made the hair on Damien’s neck stand up. And then the dog took two rapid steps and sprang into the air, lunging for him.

Damien leveled the Taurus and pulled the trigger. And the dog yelped in pain.

Chapter 15

Prostrate in the moist dirt, and covered with mud and cobwebs, Arcadias wriggled forward another six inches. He operated in the crawlspace under the house, searching the ground with his handheld scanners. It was painstaking work, but a necessary chore. Finding history often requires patience, as well as a willingness to get dirty.

Arcadias knew the treasure could very well be hiding in the ground under the plantation house. Rutherford Whitcomb likely built the house not knowing Lafitte’s treasure cache hid somewhere on the grounds.

Although this is what Arcadias hoped for, a nagging thought tormented him. What if Rutherford accidently discovered the treasure and then spent it all? Arcadias banished the thought. It’s here. I can feel it, he told himself.

Arcadias heard a rustling sound and froze. He determined which direction the sound came from and turned his head. He flinched when his headlamp cast 344 lumens onto an opossum, and not just one opossum, but several—an opossum family.

Arcadias shuddered at the sight of their glowing eyes, the sounds of their scaly tails sliding across the mud a few feet away. Hideous creatures, he thought. Arcadias picked up a mud clod and flung it toward the opossums. “Get! Get away! Shoo!”

The parent opossum reared up on its hind legs and hissed at him, but then turned and skittered off toward the other end of the crawlspace, babies in tow.

Relieved, Arcadias continued to scan the earth. And as he scanned, he mulled over his escape plan.

He still had roughly ten-thousand in cash left over from the gold he’d liquidated from the iron chest he’d found on Grand Isle beach. Once he discovered the big stash, he would divvy it up with his brother and their girlfriends. He would then quickly alter his appearance by shaving his head. And then he would work his way alone down to Mexico using his cash and a false identity he’d cobbled together over the past three days. He had in mind Costa Rica as his final destination.

The scanner in his right hand detected something and started beeping. Arcadias hurriedly pulled his pinpointer out from a pocket on his cargo jeans. He waved the pinpointer over the area until he found the exact place where the metal object lay. And then he started to dig.

After burrowing down about six inches he found a long, skinny cylinder. He brushed off the dirt and examined it closely. It looked like a ramrod from a flintlock rifle. Since the house was built before the Civil War, Arcadias speculated the ramrod might very well have come from a British or American soldier fighting during the War of 1812. He further surmised that the soldier died while reloading his weapon. Why else would he leave behind such a valuable object?

Arcadias imagined what it must have been like on that day; men and boys fighting for their lives, muskets and cannons firing. The bloody carnage would’ve been horrific.

The ramrod was an interesting discovery he would normally find thrilling. But a ramrod wasn’t a chest full of gold. So he tossed the ramrod aside and moved on.

He’d barely covered another foot of ground when his two-way radio squawked. He heard Damien’s voice pierce the static. And his brother sounded fearful. Arcadias pulled out his radio.

“Arcadias, can you hear me. We have a problem, copy?”

Arcadias pressed the talk button. “I hear you, Damien. What is happening? What is the problem?”

“I searched the carriage house and was attacked by a dog. The dog was huge. I had to shoot it.”

“Did you kill it?”

“No, I only wounded it. It ran off.”

“You have to find the dog and finish it off. We can’t allow it to run to a neighbor’s house. Have Colette help you? Do you copy, Damien?”

“I copy. We’ll find the dog. You find the treasure.”

Chapter 16

“I think I removed enough bricks. We should both be able to get through the hole,” Rafter said, eyeing his work.

“I’ll take your word for it, Jon. I’ve never climbed up a chimney before.”

Rafter turned and faced his wife. “You wait here. I’ll go first and see if I can get the grate off.”

No way! Bobby asked Rose to wait for him. And evidently Bobby never came back, because Rose never got married.”

Rafter grinned. “I’m not going off to war, Annie. I will come back for you. I promise.”

“If you don’t come back in fifteen minutes I’m coming up there.”

“Okay, fair enough. While I’m gone can you look around for some rope?”

“What do you need the rope for?”

“I’m going to tie one end around a railing of the widow’s walk. We’ll rappel down to the ground,” Rafter explained.

“Do you think the widow’s walk will hold our weight?”

Rafter nodded. “I rebuilt it. Don’t you remember? There’s all new wood in it. It took me forever. I about roasted to death refurbishing it.”

Annie shook her head. “We’ve rebuilt or replaced almost everything on this house. I can’t remember everything.”

Rafter kissed her. “Wish me luck. Here I go,” he said. He put the small flashlight between his teeth and scooted through the hole on his belly. Once his shoulders and chest cleared the hole he grabbed the closest rung. A thin layer of creosote buildup made the rung a little slippery, but the rung seemed sturdy enough to hold his weight. Rafter gripped the rung and hauled his legs through the hole.

Once inside the chimney, he was surprised by how much room he had to operate. The chimney didn’t narrow once it left the hearth; it remained wide and spacious all the way up.

Rafter shimmied his way up towards the top, hoping and praying he could pop the grate off. The grate stood in the way of their freedom. He had to overcome it. Their lives might depend upon it.

Near the top he could smell fresh air. Aromatic scents from Annie’s flower beds rode the breeze. Without much effort he could imagine the early evening air, cool and clean and refreshing from the day’s heat. The day had been mostly clear. Stars would be twinkling and lighting up the heavens.

Rafter moved as quickly as he could while still maintaining silence. He didn’t know if the sound of his movements would carry down to the hearth or not. If the Charbonneaus were in the parlor next to the fireplace they could possibly hear him.

Reaching the chimney top, Rafter pulled his screwdriver from a back pocket. He located the bolts affixing the grate to the bricks. He appraised his chances at overcoming the rusted bolts. 60/40, he thought.

Rafter inserted the screwdriver blade into the grate near a bolt and pried upward with as much strength as he could generate with only one hand. The grate moved a quarter inch, but the antique bolt held. Well, maybe this endeavor is a 50/50 proposition.

He moved to a different corner and a different bolt. He moved his head so the flashlight in his mouth would spotlight the bolt, and tried again. Sweat dripped off his nose. Rafter prayed for divine intervention, for supernatural strength. He pried from every angle and direction, but the bolt stubbornly held fast. The stars above his head taunted him. The leaves from nearby magnolia trees rattled in the wind and laughed at his puny effort. I can’t do this in my strength, Lord. I’ll be here all day if you don’t help out.