This Fearless Girl (St. Clary's University #2) - E. M. Moore Page 0,48

U-turn before coming back over the next line, overlapping the swing of the metal detector slightly to make sure every square inch is covered. “Got it,” I assure him. I reach for the detector, butterflies bumping up against one another in my stomach.

I affix the device to my arm and start swinging it like he showed me. The sucker is heavy after you’ve hiked for miles with the sun beating on you, but the excitement makes up for it. It’s as if every step I take could reveal something important.

“I’m going to look over here while you do that,” Stone says. “I’ll hear it beeping if you find anything and then I can show you what to do next.”

The whole next hour, we comb the square, and the detector doesn’t go off once. People think treasure hunting is exciting, but most of the time, it isn’t. There’s a lot of hours spent researching and preparing. Then, there’s the hike into the mountains—the anticipation like a kid on Christmas day. But days can go by with results just like this. Zilch.

In our case, we’re looking for something specific. On my ancestor’s map, a crude drawing of a mining lamp marks a trail. It could be nothing, but it could be a means to find everything.

At one point, my father and I believed we’d find the lamp sketch painted on the rock walls. We’ve scoured every rock face in this area, searching, but that turned out to be a dead end.

Stone, though, has a different suggestion. What if it’s not an illustration we’re supposed to be looking for? What if it’s an actual mining light? Something that was left as a trail marker for all miners, and a point of reference my ancestor used to find his mine along with the hidden treasure?

On the map, three letters are scrawled below the depiction and, if Stone’s theory is correct, those letters could be scored onto the lamp itself. It’s a genius idea. Those three letters would be proof that we’d found the exact lamp drawn on the map.

I’m so deep in thought that I almost jump out of my boots when the detector goes off. I pass over the spot again, beaming when the lights flash and the warning beeps fill the air.

Stone runs toward me, his feet kicking up dust in his wake. “Got something?”

“Something,” I tell him. When he gets closer, I run the metal detector over the spot again so he can read what the metal detector says.

“It’s made of iron.” He’s almost giddy, pointing at the spot on the screen that denotes the type of metal we’ve detected. “It’s six inches down.”

It’s stupid to get my hopes up. I’ve always been that way—thrilled over every little thing because everything we find brings us that much closer to the treasure.

Stone retrieves the shovel from where he left it lying in the dirt and starts digging exactly where the detector went off. His muscles work, his forearms bulging under the sleeve of his shirt. With his fourth shovelful, the unmistakable clink of metal on metal sounds.

I smile at him, and he meets it. “First find.”

“First find,” I echo.

He lets the shovel fall before tugging on my hand, pulling me close to him. “Dakota Wilder, I think we make a good team.”

I bite my lip as his blue-gray eyes dance. Then, I push him off. There’s no sexy going on when we’re searching for treasure. Especially not when we have a metal detector hit.

I crouch and start working my fingers through the rust-colored dirt until I brush against something firm. Before I pull it out, I briefly close my eyes, my heart squeezing like a vise as I swallow the lump that’s building in my throat.

I wish my dad were here to see this.

17

The earth gives way until the object is finally free. I dust the remaining dirt off, but I already know it isn’t what we were hoping to find; the circular shape is all wrong.

Stone and I kneel before it, shoulders brushing. I look past all the rusted and chipped pieces and smile. “Do you know what this is?”

He takes it from my fingers, turning it this way and that. “No.”

“My dad and I found a few. They’re called carbide lamps. Actually, this is only the lamp part, it’s missing the rest.” I find myself repeating what my father told me, the decaying contraption coming to life until I can picture what it looked like when it was new. “This