EPILOGUE
The sun was a great ball of fire, sinking in the west. In this lonely place, where only the dead kept watch, the soft breeze played through the mesquite and chaparral.
For a brief moment, the sun sparkled on something. There, in the dust of the desert, awaiting discovery, as it had waited through eons of time, was the Medallion.
From far, far away, thin and eerie, could be heard the faint echo of mission bells and the ghostly wind whispered softly, as it had for centuries.
"Come ... come to La Dura."
