by: Susan Porter

The two men dived deeper, their searchlights making
wide sweeps over the bottom of the large pond. The
chest, if the major’s journal had been correct, had to
be nearby.

The man in the lead squinted into the beam, seeking odd
shapes in the shadows of the water. There was a small
possibility that the chest had survived on the surface
but most likely it would be at least partially buried
beneath the sand and soot that had flowed into Hazzard
Pond in the hundred odd years since the Civil War.
They just needed to know what to look for.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find the
other man waving excitedly to his left. The chest,
what was exposed of it, lay gleaming in the ray of
light.

Together they worked frantically to clear an area
around the chest and lifted the heavy object, carrying
it between them to the surface. Taking deep, harsh
breaths the two men lifted the chest into their
airboat and climbed aboard. Taking off their masks
and shrugging off oxygen tanks, the men smiled over
thier find. This was going to make them, and the tiny
town of Hazzard, famous.