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(The opening) The Sleeping Wolves SUMMER OF 1849. A cloak of impenetrable darkness enveloped the hills of the Sierra Nevada. The month of July had crept in with an air that was balmy and thick, and the night was moonless and tranquil. Only the song of a lonely katydid calling out to its mate reverberated through the wooded slopes. It sounded like a tiny maraca shaken, then fading into a whirring trill. It was around midnight when the serenity of the forest was abruptly broken. The katydid's droning instantly ceased, disrupted by a noise that shattered the stillness of the woods. A man's lungs fought for air as he scrambled down a steep California slope. Gulps of deep, uneven aspiration could be heard as he gasped for breath, trying to evade a pursuer. The heaving sounds burst through the thick dark atmosphere and the darkness of the trees as he scrambled down the untraversed pathway. Suddenly his feet slid to a stop scattering leaves and dirt beneath his boots. The man's face contorted in pain as he tried to repress the sound from his mouth, and he leaned back against a tree. His violent breathing slowed down to rhythmic pant. Every muscle in his body ached with exhaustion. Sweat dripped down his face in streams, and his cotton shirt stuck to his wet skin, appearing translucent in places. Cautiously, he pulled off his spectacles and wiped them on his shirt, then placed them back on his face with shaky hands. THE DISCOVERY One Of The Wolves Awakens What happened before the chase... In December 1847, something transpired that changed the course for the sleepy towns of the Sierra Nevada and, in fact, for the world. It was an extraordinary discovery on an otherwise ordinary day, and it swept the region. It was the unearthing of an unusual find that led to this man desperately running to preserve his life in the dark woods that night. At first, nothing was distinctive about that crisp winter day when it all happened. A sawmill operator named Charley Brewer was inspecting the trail race making sure it had flushed clean of silt and debris, when he peered into the murky flow and noticed several flakes of metal in the water. He grew curious as to what it might be. He scooped up the dirt with both hands and viewed the shiny object that had escaped filtering in great detail. On close examination, his eyes grew wide and he excitedly called out to the handful of workers at the mill, "Looky here!" he said, grabbing the golden specks with the tips of his rough fingers. The men scrambled over to him, "Whatya got, Charley?" they asked. Brewer inspected the tiny brown rocks, holding them close to his eyes and rubbing them between his wet fingers releasing the flecks of metal. Suddenly a thought dawned on him and he froze. His vision veered from the stones to the ground as he thought. Then he snuck a cagey look from under his bushy eyebrows at the men still waiting for an answer. "Uh, nuthin," he mumbled, and he flicked the wet dirt from his hands back at the water with force, "I ain't got nuthin," he muttered softly. Brewer quickly turned his back to the group barring further conversation. NEWS SPREADS QUICKER THAN WILDFIRE Some time later friends meet again... Chance viewed the hills again, feeling a little warmer from the rekindled friendship and the booze. "Ok, I decided I'll tell you about it," he said. I was just thinking about this odd old man I saw today…" he paused a moment and turned to look at Dylan, "Here's a question I've been turning around in my mind. What do you think being rich does to a man?" he asked. Dylan's eyes narrowed as he thought. He picked up a small stone near him and tossed it into the water and watched it sink into the darkness. "I reckon it makes people happy," he said and lifted his brows casually. They say it brings families together…and you can make a name for yourself! He added dull-wittedly, then pausing for a moment he asked, "why are you wonderin' bout this?" "It's the old man," said Chance. "What about him? He rich or sumthin?" That question brought up a visual of the elderly man, and it made him smirk, "Not exactly." Dylan laughed, "Well, then? Tell me, what exactly is it you are talkin' bout?" "Well, where should I start?" "At the beginning of the tale," laughed Dylan. "Oh, it's no tale." Chance stopped to assess if Dylan was sober enough to hear about it, and he determined he was, so he continued, "This old guy, he was an oddball. In fact, two other guys in the bar thought him deranged or drunk, but…" he paused. "But what?" Dylan became moderately interested. "Well, there was just something about the way he would talk. Maybe the way he looked at me, I don't know. I can't put my finger on it. Anyway, he said there was gold to be found right there…" Chance pointed toward the hillside, "right there in those hills..." he said. WHERE REAL TREASURE IS FOUND The sun had climbed high into the sky, and the temperature was hitting 100 degrees. As he loaded up his horse, Jack ignored the sweat around his lips and forehead trickling down his face. His mind was on replay, and his emotions heightened when he recalled how it felt when they first headed out to find the gold. The excitement, dreams, and thrill of the venture. It was as if they could almost taste that golden metal of their prospective wealth in their mouths, and it felt like the adventure of a lifetime. He remembered talking about doing a little panning in the river, but Chance hadn't been very keen on doing so. Chance referred to it as something they could do just to pass the time. But the real gold was yet to be found through other means, under the cloak of darkness. Now Jack realized why everything had to be so hidden. There were so many blood-thirsty people out to get the same thing, and the emphasis was on blood-thirsty. Since jack was a peaceable man, he never dreamt of the greed that could develop or the pain he'd have to live through in the quest for the gold. 
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