The Secret of the Stones A Sean Wyatt Adventure Ernest Dempsey Enclave Publishing Contents Get two introductory action-packed novellas, Dedication Untitled Prologue 1. Atlanta 2. Atlanta 3. Midtown Atlanta 4. Nevada 5. Atlanta 6. Atlanta 7. Atlanta 8. Nevada 9. Atlanta 10. Atlanta 11. Blue Ridge Mountains 12. Atlanta 13. Atlanta 14. Blue Ridge Mountains 15. Atlanta 16. Blue Ridge Mountains 17. Atlanta 18. Cartersville, Georgia 19. Blue Ridge Mountains 20. Atlanta 21. Cartersville 22. Blue Ridge Mountains 23. Cartersville 24. Blue Ridge Mountains 25. Cartersville 26. Atlanta 27. Cartersville 28. Nevada 29. Cartersville 30. Cartersville 31. Atlanta 32. Blue Ridge Mountains 33. Blue Ridge Mountains 34. Blue Ridge Mountains 35. Cartersville 36. Blue Ridge Mountains 37. Cartersville 38. Blue Ridge Mountains 39. Blue Ridge Mountains 40. Blue Ridge Mountains 41. Blue Ridge Mountains 42. Southeastern Tennessee 43. Blue Ridge Mountains 44. Blue Ridge Mountains 45. Blue Ridge Mountains 46. Southeastern Tennessee 47. Southeastern Tennessee 48. Southeastern Tennessee 49. Nevada 50. Southeastern Tennessee 51. Southeastern Tennessee 52. Southeastern Tennessee 53. Eastern Georgia 54. Eastern Georgia 55. Eastern Georgia 56. Eastern Georgia 57. Eastern Georgia 58. Eastern Georgia 59. Nevada Get Free Books Author’s Notes Other Books by Ernest Dempsey Copyright Disclaimer Acknowledgments Get two introductory action-packed novellas, Plus… Exclusive VIP deals on new releases You’ll also get exclusive content—all for FREE Get all the great stuff here by clicking this link: ernestdempsey.net or Check out more details at the end of the book. Dedication FOR MY FRIEND ZENA GIBSON. Untitled “The greatest zeal of man is not for love or money, but for immortality” -Anonymous Prologue Northwest Georgia, 1838 A young native appeared from a patch of early morning fog, sprinting through the undergrowth of the forest. He recklessly ducked and weaved his way through the trees and brush. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched under his moccasins with every quick step. He was glad that he’d kept some of his old traditional clothing around. The soft breeches and cream-colored tunic were light and made movement considerably easier. Despite his excellent conditioning, John Burse was out of breath and stopped to risk a moment of rest against a tall poplar. He squinted his deep-brown eyes as he searched the surroundings for a route that might help him escape. He sucked in the cool spring air in huge gasps; the scent of dry leaves and pine needles filled his nostrils. Then, his fears were realized as he heard the sounds of the dogs drawing closer and voices mingling with the howls of the animals. Two hundred feet behind him, a group of a dozen or so men with three hunting dogs came into view through the hazy mist. John had known the dangers of what he’d been asked to do during the secret meeting the night before. The tribal council had trusted him with a mission of utmost importance. Being caught not only meant certain death, but could also, ultimately, lead to the downfall of his Cherokee people. With a new resolve, he tightened his tan leather satchel and took off again, glancing back occasionally as he made his way through the maze of tree trunks. The group was still far behind him but well within shooting distance. Just as that thought occurred, he heard a familiar popping sound followed by a musket ball smashing into a nearby tree; the shot narrowly missed him by a few feet. The close call made his pace quicken. His slender legs burned from the exertion, and his lungs continued to gasp for more and more air. Hunting had kept him in good shape. Often, he and his father would chase down deer for miles after shooting them. Deer could manage to live a long time even with a critical wound from a gun or bow. But today he was the hunted, and the burden John carried made his journey that much more difficult. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll as he crested a small ridge; suddenly, he tumbled over the top and down into a small gulley, where he rolled to a stop at the edge of a large creek. He’d been here many times. The expanse was about forty feet across and at the deepest point appeared to be only about six feet deep. He could see the soldiers and their dogs in the distance closing on him fast. The little river foamed and churned as it flowed around a small bend just downstream. The young Indian knew the area well, probably better than even the most seasoned of soldiers. With little hesitation, he decided what he had to do and jumped into the icy, rushing waters. The hunting party stopped at the same spot where their quarry had entered the river. A tracker busily inspected the ground near the edge. Footprints stopped there with no sign of them leading anywhere else. The dogs were restless, confused as to what happened to the trail they had been following. To the animal mind, it was as if the Indian had simply disappeared. “Clever feller,” a leather-skinned officer muttered before spitting out a slug of tobacco juice. He had a few marks of rank on his dark-blue United States Army uniform and was obviously the man in charge. His matching cavalry hat had a few dirt streaks on it, but the distinct golden tassel still stood out proudly. The week-old stubble on his face was a patchwork of gray and light brown. He scratched his neck while considering the next move. “He’s gone into the water, boys,” he said to his men in a matter of fact manner. “Thompson, take three others and the dogs, and cross the creek. Check back two hundred feet upstream along the edge to see if there is any sign he came out. I’ll take the rest of the men downstream. If he’s in the water, he’s movin’ slow.” Ten minutes later, the main group from the hunting party came to a waterfall. It was a seventy-foot drop to the bottom, where a shallow-looking pool churned with the falling liquid. A small hill on the left dropped sharply over the edge. There was no way the Indian went that direction. The sheer cliffs meant he had to go to the right. That way led down to the bottom gradually by means of a faint path. A cold spray shot up both sides of the falls all the way up to where the men were standing. “Sir, if he went over, I doubt he survived,” a young soldier
