With twilight's shadows lengthening and darkening, the yard light flickered on, then grew steadily stronger and brighter, casting a pool of light around the camper. Automatically Luke scanned the darkness beyond it as they neared the vehicle.

When they rounded the side of the camper, his glance swept to the door she had left hooked open. "You really should keep it locked when you're gone," he told her.

"Locking it didn't do much good the last time someone broke in," Angie reminded him, then shrugged. "Besides, it gets too stuffy inside when it's all closed up."

After opening the screened door, she climbed into the back of the camper and advanced toward the sink area and the built-in boothlike table and bench seats directly opposite it. Luke followed her, instinctively removing his hat.

"Would you like me to put on some coffee?" She reached for the glass carafe to the drip-style coffeemaker, wedged into a narrow stretch of counter next to the sink.

The camper's close confines made Luke acutely aware of everything about her. She stood only inches from him, near enough that he could separate the scents of strawberry shampoo and soap and the tantalizing fragrance of her perfume.

"You don't have to make it for me." As far as he was concerned, there was more than enough stimulation without the addition of caffeine. Turning, he tossed his hat on a bench cushion and took note of the folded map lying on the table. "This discussion about whether I'll help with your search probably won't take very long anyway."

"I wouldn't count on that so I'll just go ahead and fix some coffee anyway." She held the carafe under the faucet and turned on the tap. A pump kicked in, and water pulsed from the spigot.

There was something homey about watching Angie go through all the steps to brew a pot of coffee. Too homey. Abruptly Luke looked away and decided what he really needed was a good, strong drink. With a shock he realized it had been two days since he'd had one.

"Have a seat." She nodded toward the cushioned bench seats as she finished filling the coffeemaker with water.

"Thanks." He slid onto the bench next to his hat. Needing a distraction, he reached for the map. "What's this?"

"A topography map of this area." Turning from the sink, Angie absently brushed her hands over her jeans, wiping off the water splatters. When Luke unfolded the map, she leaned across the table, using her elbows as props. "I took it with me when Dulcie and I rode out to the canyon today. I was hoping I'd be able to identify the location of the canyon on the map, but I couldn't tell from the terrain if it was here, or here." She pointed to her two choices.

After studying the map and orienting himself to known landmarks, Luke tapped the first choice. "It's this one."

"I was hoping it would be. It lines up almost perfectly." Pushing off the table, Angie straightened and reached up to open an overhead storage area.

"Lines up with what?" Luke frowned.

"With the route I think the outlaws used." She took down a folder containing more topo maps and riffled through them until she found the one she wanted. After laying the folder aside, she opened the map and spread it before Luke. "According to the robbery reports, the train was held up approximately right here." She placed her finger on a spot, then began to trace an imaginary line. "Initially, the outlaws fled south-probably in hopes of misleading the posse into thinking that's where they were going. Then they swung back north and crossed the tracks about here."

"Are you guessing, or do you know that for a fact?" he challenged in dry skepticism.

She flashed him a quick and faintly triumphant smile. "I know it for a fact. As I mentioned before, I researched this thoroughly, read every single account I could get my hands on-reports filed by railroad officials, the Pinkerton detective on the case, and the sheriff, as well as the transcript from the trial. I have copies with me, if you'd like to read them yourself." The impish gleam in her eyes all but dared him to ask for them.

Rather than give her the satisfaction of dumping them in his lap, Luke dismissed the suggestion. "I'll take your word for it."

"Good, because it would have taken you most of the night to read through them. It's quite an impressive stack I've amassed."

"Why?" he wondered.

"Why what?"

"Why would you bother to do all that research when you claim the letter gives you directions to the gold?"

"For a variety of reasons, I suppose," Angie replied after giving his question some thought. "Partly to verify different things that had been told to me, partly to satisfy my own curiosity about the sequence of events, and partly to see what documents I could find about the entire episode. Do you know I actually have copies of the interview notes from a newspaper reporter who talked to some of the participants nearly thirty years after the robbery took place?"

"Interesting," Luke murmured, and he meant it.

"It was very interesting," she agreed. "A few were hazy about the details; a couple distorted the facts; but most told the same story from different viewpoints and managed to draw a clearer picture of not only what happened, but when and how." When she at last met his gaze, her eyes started to twinkle. "So you can see, I really am an expert on this subject."

"All right." For the time being, Luke accepted her claim. "What happened after the outlaws swung north?"

Again Angie directed his attention to the topo map. "The posse trailed them until they hit this rough country over here." She shifted to the first map, then aligned the two maps together. "Then the rain washed out their tracks. Some of the posse members wanted to give up and go home, but by then, the sheriff and one of his deputies were convinced the outlaws were heading for Hole in the Wall."

Luke nodded. "A logical assumption, especially in those days."

"Definitely. In fact, initially the train robbery was thought to be the work of Butch Cassidy and his gang. Anyway, the posse continued on, taking a route they thought the outlaws would choose, and hoping to cut their tracks."

"Instead, they ran into the outlaws."

"Right here." She pointed to the location he had identified as the canyon, then marked it with a red felt-tip pen. "So, we have the trail lost here and the outlaws caught here."

"And a lot of country in between," Luke reminded her. "For that matter, what makes you so sure they still had the gold when they entered that first patch of rough country?"

"Because the tracker with the posse commented on the deep imprints the horses left. Imprints that indicated they were carrying something heavier than single riders. And gold is very heavy. One ingot can weigh ninety pounds, and that's dead weight, the kind that can tire a horse quickly. Not only that, but the imprints in the canyon, where the outlaws were captured, weren't nearly as deep. Which means, they hid the gold somewhere between these two places."

"That brings us to the letter, right?" Luke guessed.

"Right." Abandoning the maps, Angie pulled a photocopy of the letter from her jeans pocket and passed it to him. "I'll pour some coffee while you read that. You'd like a cup, wouldn't you?"

"That's fine." He nodded absently, his attention already absorbed by the contents of the letter.

Her own was divided between sneaking peeks at Luke and retrieving ceramic mugs from the cupboard to fill them with coffee. All the while, her blood hummed with excitement, sending little tingles of anticipation dancing through her.

She placed one of the mugs on the table before him, but Luke took no notice of it or the aromatic steam that rose from the coffee's surface. A furrow of concentration creased his forehead when he read the letter through once, twice, then a third time. Angie sipped at her coffee and waited, half holding her breath.

At last he lowered it and raised the narrowed study of his gaze to her. "You say there's a coded message in this letter?"

"Yes." Eager to show him, Angie sat on the bench seat next to him, shoved her coffee aside, and leaned closer. "See this date of 12 July in the corner?"

"That's the date the letter was written, isn't it?"

"I'm sure it is. But what makes it significant is that it's underlined," she explained.

"And why is that significant?" Luke was unconvinced of its importance.

"Because it tells his wife the cipher method he used."

"Which is?"

"Every twelfth word is part of the message."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it works. And, because if he had underlined only the day of the month, it would have meant every twelfth letter made up the message. It's a very rudimentary code, really," Angie informed him. "There are many more sophisticated ones he could have used, but fortunately he didn't. To a trained cipher, this would be a kindergarten exercise."

"You researched that, too, did you?" he murmured, the first glimmer of belief visible in his side glance.

"I did," she confirmed, beaming a little at the subtle approval in his glance.

For a moment, Luke was distracted by the radiant sparkle in her eyes. He shook it off and dragged his attention back to the letter. "So, the message is every twelfth word."

"Starting with the letter itself, not the salutation," Angie clarified quickly, then rose from the seat. "Let me get you a paper and pencil. It's easier to write it down as you go."

She was back with a pen and notebook. Hurriedly she flipped the book open to a blank sheet, then handed both to him. Luke began with the opening sentence, counting the words as he went. It read: It grieves my soul to write this to you, my love. Gold (the twelfth word) is a curse. I regret that my crime cannot remain forever hidden (twelfth word) from you . . .

Luke stopped, jolted by the sight of the two words he'd written on the lined sheet: gold hidden. He felt his doubt disintegrating with a rush and struggled to hold on to some fragment of it.

In barely restrained haste, he transcribed the rest of the letter, then stared at the resulting message.

Gold hidden bell hole pillar evening shadow points canyon entrance right eagle rock bury under shelf reward for return.

"Well? What do you think?" Angie prodded when he remained silent.

It was more than sheer coincidence that every twelfth word seemed to provide directions, and Luke knew it. But he couldn't bring himself to admit it yet.

He avoided her question for now by asking one of his own. "This postscript he wrote: 'Remember. Always remember God's way is not man's way.' He underlined that as well. Is that significant?"

"In this case, I think he did it for emphasis."

"Probably," he agreed thoughtfully. "It definitely doesn't have a twelfth word in it."

Angie gave him a couple more seconds to study both the letter and its coded message, then offered her own interpretation of it. "This is the way I think the message reads," she began. "The gold is hidden, and Bell's hole-which is a western term for a mountain valley-is the starting point. Somewhere in that valley there is a pillar, probably of rock. The pillar's evening shadow will point to the entrance to a canyon that opens from the valley. After you enter the canyon, you go along the right side until you get to Eagle Rock. The gold is buried below a shelf. He wants his wife to return it and get the reward that was offered. Is that the way you read it?"

"That's the most logical." Luke switched his attention to the topo map, pulling it back in front of him. "There is no Bell's Valley in this area, but there is Buell's Basin. Several canyons empty into it."

"And," Angie inserted, stressing the word to give importance to what followed, "it lines up with the place where their tracks were lost and the place where the posse found them again."

"That's what you meant earlier," Luke said as he remembered what she had showed him on the maps.

"Exactly."

Pulling in a deep breath, Luke straightened from the table and leaned against the cushioned backrest, frowning thoughtfully. "There's one thing that bothers me in all this."

"What's that?"

"His wife. Why would Ike Wilson think she would recognize the code he used? How would she even know about it?"

"I'm sorry," Angie declared, then released a rueful laugh. "I forgot to mention that her father was a spy for the Union army during the Civil War. She grew up listening to tales of his various escapades. In fact, it was her father who showed Ike Wilson some of the simpler ciphers that he used."

"Then, why didn't his wife ever come for the gold and claim the reward?"

"According to family stories that have been handed down, there was a variety of reasons," Angie replied, then began ticking them off. "She didn't have the money to make the trip. Their son was barely two, too young for such a journey, and she would never have considered leaving him behind. But mainly, it was the shame she felt over her husband being hanged as a thief and murderer, and she knew it was a stigma their son would carry with him the rest of his life. Plus, she was a devout Christian. I suspect that, to her, finding the gold and returning it for the reward would be the same as condoning the crime he committed. And two wrongs never make a right."

"I suppose . . ." Luke frowned at the realization that Angie's explanation raised another issue. "But if she felt that strongly about it, why didn't she do the right thing and notify the authorities, explain about the letter, and tell them where the gold was hidden?"

"Caroline tortured herself over that very thing. But turning the letter over to the authorities meant branding her husband as a liar because he had sworn he didn't know where the gold was. And you have to understand that she loved him very much. She knew as well that, however misguided his attempt, his intention had been to provide his family with the financial security in death that he hadn't been able to give them in life. The more days that passed without turning over the letter, the harder it became for her to come forward." Pausing, Angie took a sip of coffee, then lifted one shoulder in a vague shrug. "At some point, she must have decided it was too late to do anything."

"I'm surprised she kept the letter at all." Luke reached for his own mug.

"So am I," Angie admitted. "I guess we'll never know why she did. Maybe it represented a last link with the man she loved. Maybe it was the temptation of the gold. Whatever the reason, it survived."

"And your grandfather was the only family member who ever came looking for the gold," Luke mused.

"Until now," she corrected softly.

He smiled crookedly, noting with a sidelong glance the determination and thrill of adventure in her eyes. "You're right. Not until now."

"So? Have I convinced you?" Angie challenged with that old confidence. "Will you take me to Buell's Basin and help me find the rock pillar and, ultimately, the gold?"

"You honestly believe it's still there?" he countered.

"How long can it possibly take to find out for sure?" she retorted lightly.

"If you'd ask Saddlebags that question, he'd tell you a lifetime."

"But he doesn't have the directions that we have." She nodded to the message Luke had written in the notebook.

"Unless Ima Jane was right, and he somehow got his hands on your grandfather's effects."

"Having the letter doesn't mean that he knows where to look. We do."

"True," Luke admitted, doubting that he would have broken the code if Angie hadn't shown him the key.

He studied the message again, the first niggling seeds of curiosity beginning to sprout. Was it a written road map to the stolen gold or not? Like Angie, he knew he had to find out.

"Two weeks," he said. "If we haven't found it within two weeks, you're on your own."

With an exultant laugh, Angie tossed a silent prayer of thanks heavenward, then sank onto the bench seat opposite Luke and clasped a hand over his. "You won't be sorry. I promise."

With the radiance of her face before him, the dark-shining glitter of her eyes locked with his, he was already sorry. No man could spend two solid weeks in this woman's company and expect to come away from the experience unscathed. He thought of days to be spent riding side by side with her, and the nights beneath the intimacy of star-dusted skies.

He felt the pressure of her hand change and soften from a friendly firmness to something else. At the same moment, a note of wonder crept into her eyes. And Luke knew she must have seen some of what he'd been imagining. With the first trace of self-consciousness he'd observed in her, she withdrew her hand, her fingertips feathering over his skin, sensitizing its tanned and work-roughened surface.

But there wasn't a hint of it in her voice when she leaned forward, resting both forearms on the tabletop, hands clasped together. "How soon can we leave?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you want to camp out, or come back here every night."

"Less time will be wasted if we camp out. That's why I brought along my sleeping bag. It's stowed right under here." She pointed to the bench she was sitting on.

Slumped on the trailer's living room couch, his long, skinny legs stretched in front of him, Tobe pointed the remote control at the television. As he surfed through the channels, Dulcie scampered across the living room on tiptoes.

"Hey? Where are you goin'?" he asked when she headed for the front door.