Free Slave Graves (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 1) by Thomas Hollyday Page B

artifact. The Pastor reached for the strap on the other side and brought it up to the top. Then Frank slipped one end of the strap through a loop in the other end and snugged it up into the air. The Pastor had loosened the hoist chain and pulled it toward the loop that Frank held. Frank hooked the loop and they were ready to hoist.
    “How much do you think we can lift with that hoist?”
    “The winch on this truck was designed to lift heavy bombs for aircraft. It should have the power we need to get the conglomerate out.” Frank went back to the cab of the truck and climbed in. He increased the speed of the old Dodge engine.
    “Ready,” he yelled, over the unmuffled engine noise.
    “Pull away,” called Maggie.
    He eased in the winch and the cable tightened. When the cable was fully taut, Frank locked the winch and climbed out to look at the job. “Looks all right,” he said. “You folks stand to the side in case the strap lets go You’ll get hurt if it breaks and whips at you.” He started the winch again and the truck pulled down on its rear axle. The engine strained. The front end of the heavy truck began to lift upward, its big wheels rising inch by inch into the air.
    Suddenly, the conglomerate let go with a ripping noise, dirt and brown water flying into the air. The front of the truck crashed back on its axle. Frank eased the engine and the crane lifted the object effortlessly, higher into the sunlight.
    “Good enough,” said the Pastor, signaling Frank to start slowing the gears.
    “Wait. Stop the winch,” yelled Maggie, stepping towards the object.
    “What is it, Maggie?” hollered Frank as he immediately halted the winch.
    Maggie squatted down and looked up at the underside of the object as it hung about four feet off the ground. “There’s something dropping out of it.”
    “What?”
    Maggie tried to get her cupped hands under the object to catch a small stream of soil that was falling.
    “It’s coming out of a small fissure in the conglomerate.”
    They crowded around her as she held her hands out. The soil caught in her hands and glinted yellow in the sunlight.
    “It looks like gold dust.”
    Frank bent close. “It is gold,” said Frank, in a restrained technical manner, as he tried to get a better look.
    “Gold dust,” said the Pastor, excited. Maggie moved her hands cupping the gold back and forth in celebration. A piece of black material broke free from the artifact and fell into the bottom of the pit. The Pastor reached down and picked it up.
    “It looks like the remains of a pouch, probably someone’s moneybag,” said Maggie, calming down.
    “Hardened leather, petrified almost,” said Frank. “There’s some of the dust still caught in the mouth of the pouch.”
    “Maybe there’s more gold inside the pouch,” said the Pastor.
    “If there is, it is not much.” Frank felt the pouch. “Not enough weight for there to be much. What do you think, Maggie?”
    “You’re right. There’s not much gold.” They both knew that the real importance of this pouch was in helping date the wreck. If the use of this were as someone’s money pouch, that would date the ship at an earlier century. There was a time when people did not have currency and they used gold dust to buy things. The trick would be to tell how this pouch was used.
    “Gold or not, let’s get this conglomerate off the hoist before something breaks.” Frank climbed back into the truck. He shifted the transmission and eased out the clutch. The truck crawled forward in low range, the object swinging slightly in the air. The Pastor walked on one side of the artifact and Maggie walked on the other, both of them with their hands on the large cluster. They tried to keep it from moving too much and straining or breaking the strap. They walked along in the tracks of the truck wheels as the old military vehicle ground towards the boxwood and high grass at the edge of the site.
    Frank finally stopped the truck. “We need