Captain Sean Mulkerin comes home from the sea to find his family home in jeopardy. After the death of his father, Sean’s determined mother, Eileen, took it upon herself to run the sprawling Rancho Malibu—until a fire destroyed her hard-earned profits. Now, on the edge of financial ruin, Eileen hopes Sean can help them find a way out. The rumor is that her late husband found gold in the wild and haunted California hills, but the only clue to its whereabouts lies with an ancient, enigmatic Indian. When Sean and Eileen set forth to retrace his father’s footsteps, they know they are in search of a questionable treasure—with creditors, greedy neighbors, and ruthless gunmen watching every move they make. Before they reach their destination, mother and son will test both the limits of their faith and the laws of nature as they seek salvation in a landscape where reality can blur like sand and sky in a desert mirage. In 1844 nobody believed there was gold in California. Nobody, that is, except the Mulkerina and an old Indian with mystical powers. The Mulkerins needed a treasure to settle the debt on their Malibu ranch. The Indian was willing to lead them to one. But riding hard on their trail was the greediest band of cutthroats north of the Baja. Killing was their business. Doing it for gold would only make it sweeter. dy believed there was gold in California. Nobody, that is, except the Mulkerina and an old Indian with mystical powers. The Mulkerins needed a treasure to settle the debt on their Malibu ranch. The Indian was willing to lead them to one. But riding hard on their trail was the greediest band of cutthroats north of the Baja. Killing was their business. Doing it for gold would only make it sweeter. In 1844 nobody believed there was gold in California. Nobody, that is, except the Mulkerina and an old Indian with mystical powers. The Mulkerins needed a treasure to settle the debt on their Malibu ranch. The Indian was willing to lead them to one. But riding hard on their trail was the greediest band of cutthroats north of the Baja. Killing was their business. Doing it for gold would only make it sweeter. Our foremost storyteller of the American West, Louis L’Amour has thrilled a nation by chronicling the adventures of the brave men and woman who settled the frontier. There are more than three hundred million copies of his books in print around the world. Chapter One The ranch house on Malibu was a low-roofed adobe with a porch across the front from corner to corner. A door and two windows opened on the porch, both windows showing evidence of being enlarged at some time in the past. The two large ollas that hung from the porch beams contained water kept cool by wind and shade. A gourd dipper was next to them. To the left of the house, about a hundred and fifty feet away, was a pole corral. Near the corral there was a long watering trough made of rough planks and a lean-to stable. Shading part of the dooryard was a valley syca-more, a huge old tree with mottled bark, and nearby stood several cottonwoods and another sycamore. Behind the house were several pin oaks. Cottonwoods grew near the door. The hills around were brush-covered and scattered with huge boulders or sandstone outcroppings. From the porch there was a good view down the winding trail and a glimpse of the blue sea beyond. Eileen Mulkerin came to the door. The mother of two grown sons, she looked young enough to be their sister, a strikingly beautiful woman, as Irish as her name. "Are they coming, Michael?" "Not yet." "They'll not be long, you can be sure of that. It's the day Zeke Wooston has been waiting for ever since your father gave him that whipping for beating his horse." "He's shrewd . . . and dangerous." "He is that. It was the Valdez note that surprised me. When he bought it I knew we were in trouble," she said. "You must not blame Valdez. He did not know Wooston as we know him, and times are hard. He needed the money." "I do not blame him. He is a good man who thinks ill of no one. He is too sure of the goodness of the world." They stood together in the late morning sun, looking down the trail. Eileen Mulkerin and her son in his brown monk's robe. "I wish Sean was here," she said. "Me, too." "He is much like his father," she said, "and so are you. But there are things he can do that would not be fitting for a man of the church." He shook his head. "Now, Senora. You are not thinking of violence? It would do no good, and besides, there is the law." "Sean would think of something." "What is there to think? Win Standish and I have both thought, but unless you have some money—" "I have none." "Then they will take the place, and we had better think of what we can do, of where you can go." "This is my place. It was given to your father by the presidente for your father's service in the Army of Mexico. I shall not see it taken from us." "Senora, that president is dead. I do not know if the president we have now k