The night was filled with the sound of beating drums.

Mica Hawke’s heartbeat accelerated. Behind his closed eyelids, his eyes darted back and forth. The drumbeats quickened as if in anticipation of an arrival or occurrence, but he couldn’t see anything except thick white fog. Oh, but he could feel them. Although he had never seen them in life, they dominated the landscape of his dreams. The Superstition Mountains.

“Hawke,” an imperious voice called.

Even in his sleep, he squirmed. The fog in his dream began to dissipate, revealing the figure of an old woman. Her gray hair fell in two braids over her shoulders, and the feathers on her headband shimmied and twisted as if blown by an unfelt wind. Her doeskin dress was a rainbow of color, and her features were as delicate as a hummingbird’s. Finally, the fog dissipated until only the tattered remnants of it swirled around her old, worn moccasins.

“Nana.” Hawke bowed his head. Although he stood over a foot taller than his grandmother, her presence demanded respect.

“Come. Walk with me while I show you the way.”

“Nana,” Hawke said. “In my dreams, I have walked the path you taught me many times. I have not forgotten the way.”

“You are a good boy, Hawke,” the woman said. “I need to show you a different path.”

Instead of leading him toward the mountains, she gestured for him to enter the small adobe house built in 1901 by Hawke’s great grandfather. He followed the ghost of his grandmother over the threshold and into the past.

Hawke stood watching their exchange, somehow realizing that, although he could see them, they didn’t seem aware of him. With a start, he recognized his much younger grandfather, Walter. Then he looked at Nana. Although her dress was the same, her hair was pitch black, and her black eyes snapped with temper. “Why?” she asked the man sitting hunched over at the table.

“Memories fade; maps never do,” Walter replied. “I’m sorry. If I could undo this, I would. I can hardly believe my own brother did this. It isn’t as if I told him about the map. He…” Walter’s voice trailed off and looked around in bewilderment.

Hawke’s gaze followed Walter’s as it traveled around the room. Books were thrown on the 
floor where they spilled pages torn from their bindings. The couch and chair cushions were ripped apart. Even the ceremonial drums hanging on the wall were slashed open.

“My own brother ransacked my home and stole from us.” Walter’s voice was strained. “He took our money and your heritage.”

“Maps can be stolen; memories can’t.” Nana put her hand on Walter’s arm. “I was entrusted by my father, and he by his father, to keep the treasure hidden. This is a result of my doing, for I broke that trust by showing you the way. You were right to write it down. I will die before I am able to show the way to our son.”

She laid her hand on her belly, and Walter looked up at her, his face shining with joy. “A baby? You’re having a baby?”

“Yes.” Nana smiled sadly.

Walter didn’t seem to notice her distraught expression. But Hawke did. He felt his eyes fill with tears, for her prediction had come true. In giving life to her son, Hawke’s father, she lost her own. He swallowed hard, hoping to stop the tears that sprang to his eyes. Poor Nana. As a small child, he’d only known her through pictures and the stories told by his grandfather. As he aged, she’d begun coming to him in dreams…no, rather visions similar to this one. Except in those dreams, it had only been Nana and him. This was the first time he’d seen his grandfather in a dream. Perhaps it meant since Walter’s death two years ago, he’d finally been reunited with the woman he loved. Hawke hoped so anyway.

The beating of the drums surged, and Hawke’s heart leaped in his chest.

“So, you forgive me for drawing the map to the treasure?” While still sitting, Walter put his arms around Nana and drew her close to his side.

“I do.” Nana pressed a kiss to his temple. “We must hope the map disappeared with your brother, Sinclair.”

The beat of the drums slowed to an almost funeral pace.

Hawke knew this scene had to have taken place almost fifty years ago but, to his knowledge, the Apache treasure had not been found. So it must still be hidden deep in the mountains. Over one hundred years of rumors about the Lost Dutchman Mine and the Peralta family gold brought hoards of treasure seekers to the Superstition Mountains. He thought the whispers he’d overheard about the map had been just part of the tale. Now he knew there really was a map.

The sound of the drums intensified until Hawke was tempted to put his hands over his ears. Then, in an instant, there was silence. Hawke gasped. Just before he awoke, he caught sight of Nana, her face simultaneously old and young, and heard her commanding voice ring out.

“Hawke, you must protect the treasure of the Superstitions!”