by Dane McCaslin


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There are a lot of legends about the Arizona desert.One which has kept people flocking there for a century is the tale of the ‘Lost Dutchman’ and his goldmine…but nothing has ever been found of Jacob Walz and his mysterious treasure. Until now…

A student from Phoenix comes across a cache of gold coins and an old journal in the desert–but is it the Dutchman’s gold, or something a lot more sinister? Soon the young man finds that he’s stumbled across more than he can handle–a conspiracy spanning decades and continents…

Louis Greywolf Bahe, a member of the Navajo nation, works for the state mining inspector and has therefore heard his share of myths involving the Lost Dutchman. Bahe investigates when the cache of gold is found. Together with Will Delgado, his biker gang associate, Bahe tries to track down the gold–and the perpetrators of some pretty nasty crimes–as he realizes that another ‘Dutchman’ entirely is wreaking havoc in Arizona…

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781786150868
Publisher: Accent Press Ltd
Publication date: 08/27/2015
Pages: 162
Product dimensions: 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.44(d)

About the Author

Dane McCaslin, an American author, resides in the state of Arizona. She has been writing all of her life: poetry, short stories, journals, letters (yes, those old-fashioned epistles that require pen and paper), and now she brings her talents to the mystery genre.

In addition to being an author, Dane McCaslin is an educator. She currently teaches language arts classes for grades 9, 10, and 11 in the public school sector; additionally, she teaches beginning writing classes at the local university. Being an educator is an important part of her life, and sharing her passion for reading and writing is one of her great joys.

Read an Excerpt

Monday, May 18 – Now you’ve done it, boy.

Somehow, Gran’s voice is the one I hear the most, usually scolding for some unnamed sin I’ve committed. I have to say that she’s right this time: I really have done it! I’m almost afraid to write it down for fear it won’t be true the next time I head out for the site. I’ve grown up listening to tales about the Lost Dutchman and his mythical mine. It’s bread and butter in my house, this story of a gold cache so large it’d keep our entire family out of the poor house. Or at least out of the latest mobile home park we call home and into a fancier zip code. And, Lord knows, I want out. I’m tired of the smirks I see when I have to give my address. It’s like I’ve got a neon sign hanging over my head that’s flashing ‘trailer trash’ in bold red letters. I’m not, you know. Not trash, not scum, not any of those things that I can see in the eyes of those I interact with. They have no idea what my life is like. I’m pretty sure that none of them have a family like mine, an existence that is, on the surface, undesirable. If they could only see past the persona I’ve created for myself. The kicker is, at least in my mind, is that I’m the last person they’ll suspect. I’m surprised my self-proclaimed neon sign hasn’t changed to ‘Slickest Dude in the West’. Cuz that’s exactly how I feel. As slick as the aloe vera gel Mom kept to doctor up our sunburns. And it was so easy. Too easy, really. They’re all going to be sorry when they find out what I’ve discovered. And what I know. I’ve found the real Dutchman. Or at least what he left behind.

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