I found myself traversing the crown of a ridge along an unmarked path better suited for mountain goats. If I fell, I would deposit a fresh wash of crimson upon the rocks that had tumbled a hundred feet into the canyon below. Twice I entertained the idea of calling it all off. Simple logic insisted that there could not be caves here. After all, caverns were not a natural occurrence in the hills of East Texas. But from what my friend had described, this cave wasn’t typical in any meaning of the word. It was going to be difficult to find, even though I knew approximately where to look. But I had to go on. Old Tillman’s mystery had to be put to rest.

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