Free The Treasure Hunt by Rebecca Martin Page B

threshing,” he exclaimed.
    Father touched his bandaged hand. “I was. Then this happened.”
    â€œAch, too bad. Arm broken?”
    â€œNo. I cut my hand. Needed stitches.”
    â€œI see. Well, I’m glad you’re home, and you will be too when you hear my news. There’s to be church at our placetomorrow. Preacher Aaron Mast arrived from Pennsylvania on the train this morning.”
    Father’s face lit up. “That is good news indeed. Jake could hitch up the team to bring us to church. Thanks for letting us know.”
    â€œSee you then.” John wheeled his horse around smartly and was off to let the next family know.
    To think that I would have missed hearing a visiting minister if the accident hadn’t happened, Father thought as he marveled at how this all had happened.

    On Sunday morning Aaron Mast stood at a spot in the Miller house where he could look out the window at Pikes Peak glistening blue and white on the horizon. “I am sure you must often think of the words in Psalm 121 as you look at the peak. ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the L ORD , which made heaven and earth.’
    â€œOn our way here on the train, I spoke with a man who said that this mountain seemed like a magnet during the days of the gold rush. From far across the prairies, the gold seekers used the peak to guide them to their destination.”
    Aaron’s gaze left the window and traveled over the congregation. “Dear brothers and sisters, we must not let our hearts be drawn by a lust for earthly treasure. What anempty, hollow thing that is! There is something far better that should draw us like a magnet. In John 12:32 we read these words of Jesus: ‘And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.’ Yes, Christ was lifted up from the earth on the cross, and we must look to Him for our help. Yes, our very life!”

14
    Sick Man
    O n Monday morning Joe’s shotgun hung once more in the tree while he knelt at the water’s edge with his pan. Joe panned—unsuccessfully, as usual—until the sun had crept up toward the top of the sky. Then he grabbed the shotgun and set off upstream. Today he was lucky. He shot a partridge and a squirrel in less than half an hour.
    Slinging the game over his shoulder, he headed downstream again until he caught sight of the door of the prospector’s den. Why not pop in and see if he’s at home? Joe thought, realizing he hadn’t seen the old man for a while.
    Knock, knock . Joe waited. No sound from within. He knocked again. He was just about to turn away when he heard a weak voice say, “Come in.”
    Joe frowned. Is that Willie’s voice? In a way it sounds like him, and yet it doesn’t.
    He pulled open the door and allowed the sunlight to spill into the shadowy little room.
    The old man lay on the bed, a blanket drawn up partly over his face. Even from the doorway, Joe could see that Willie was shivering. “Is something wrong?” Joe asked, going over to the bed.
    Willie’s teeth chattered so badly that he could barely speak. “G-guess I h-have a c-cold or something. A b-bit f-feverish.”
    Alarm shot through Joe. How thin Willie’s face was! The skin was stretched like white paper over the cheekbones. “Have you been sick for a while already?”
    â€œI d-don’t know,” admitted Willie. “M-maybe a f-few days.”
    Joe offered quickly, “Shall I go for help?”
    Such a strange look came into Willie’s faded eyes! It reminded Joe of the look he sometimes saw in a wild animal’s eyes when it was cornered and couldn’t escape.
    â€œOh, well, I d-don’t know,” he stammered.
    Joe made up his mind. “I’ll go get Father, but before I go, shall I put this other blanket on you?”
    Willie actually managed a smile of gratitude as Joe spread the green woolen