Charlie stopped beside me, sucking in a sharp breath. "Oh, my God."
Doug edged around us, eyes bulging. "Jesus!"
I crouched for a better look. "Hold this." I passed Charlie the lighter. She took it and angled the flame toward the body.
The bones were stained brown with age, some still held together by dried tendons and scraps of leathery skin. Dust had settled into every crevice, coating the fabric, the boots, the hollow spaces between ribs. The skull sat at an unnatural angle, and a jagged crack split the temple from hairline to eye socket.
That was probably what had killed him.
There was no way to know how long he'd been sitting here. Years, at least. Judging by the dried flesh and the way the bones had darkened, he might have been there for decades.
Charlie squatted beside me, bringing the light closer. She studied the skeleton with an unexpected calmness, her gaze moving methodically over the remains as if she was taking inventory. If the corpse bothered her at all, she didn't show it.
"Who is he?" Doug asked, dropping into a crouch too damn close to me.
"How the hell should I know?" I snarled.
"It's your land," he said. "You keep reminding us."
"Piss off." I reached toward the corpse's front pocket.
"What are you doing?" Doug's voice went sharp.
"Checking for ID."
I shoved my fingers through the stiff fabric. Nothing in the front. Nothing in the back. I shook my head. "No wallet."
As I shifted the body, something clinked between the skeleton's legs. I tugged at the sides of his jeans, and a small velvet pouch tumbled free from where it had been tucked against his legs.
A drawstring was still wrapped around his little finger bone.
"Huh. I bet he was holding this when he died." I worked the cord loose from the knuckle. The pouch sat heavy in my palm, and when I tilted it, the contents shifted like it was a bag of marbles or coins.
"What is it?" Doug crowded closer.
"How the hell should I know?" I loosened the drawstring and tipped colorful stones and jewelry into my palm. Dozens of gems. Emeralds, rubies, sapphires. And rings, earrings, bracelets, a golden chain with a heavy shield pendant, and diamonds the size of blueberries.
The hair on my neck stand up. "What the hell..."
"Oh my God," Charlie breathed.
"Holy shit!" Doug's voice cracked. "Are those real?" His hand shot toward my palm.
I snapped my fist closed and jerked away from him. "Back off."
Doug's face twisted. "They're not yours."
My jaw tightened. I stood, clutching the pouch. "This is Branson land. Anything found here belongs to me."
Doug rose too, his movements jerky and aggressive. His expression turned feral, lips pulled back from his teeth. "Oh yeah? That man didn't die naturally." He jabbed a finger toward the crack in the skull. "Maybe you put him here."
Heat flared in my chest. "Watch your mouth."
Doug took a step back, his hand flying to the rifle strap on his shoulder. He gripped it tightly, knuckles white. "How do we know you didn't kill him, huh? Convenient, isn't it? Body shows up on your land, holding a fortune."
"I’m warning you!"
Charlie darted between us, her hands raised. "Cut it out, Doug!" Her voice cracked like a whip. She gestured at the skeleton. "Look at those bones. The discoloration, the deterioration. That body's been here at least thirty years, probably longer." Her eyes blazed. "So, unless Mitch was a child murderer, he couldn't have killed that poor man."