CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The clap of thunder reverberated off the towering walls of the canyon. Flynn, who had been inspecting a fake mineshaft on the south mesa, turned away in disgust. His clothes were soaked by the sheets of cold rain, and water ran like a small river from the brim of his Stetson.
He took a few steps, then slipped in the high grass and fell into a small arroyo. Cursing, he started to rise and then realized that something felt different under his hands. Pushing away the wet grass, he squinted through the curtain of rain to see an ancient crude stone, cut in the form of a step. Behind this stone, he saw another step that lead down, then another and another.
Pulling the machete from his belt, he hacked away at the wet clinging grass and moved down six more identical steps. Ev
