A Priceless Past

“We readied the horses to ride at dawn, met in Malta where K.C. and Ben boarded the train and shortly proceeded to take control. Near a small bridge at Dry Wolf Creek on the Judith River, just east of Wagner we met them with dynamite and horses.” I was clad in black trousers, my hair pined up tight under a brown bowler hiding any sign I was a female.” … In less than four minutes we walked away with over thirty thousand dollars.” …

The words seemed to jump off the page much like the words German, Native American, Irish, and French had just weeks before. I stared at my phone for what seemed like hours, there was part of me that felt betrayed, part of me that felt guilty, and the rest of me had no idea what to think. Four months earlier, I found out I was expecting my first born, and without telling anyone I had my DNA analyzed. Even as a young child there seemed to be an understanding that certain things, like that my father looked different from all of his brothers and sisters, those things were just not discussed. I took a deep breath and enjoyed a brief moment of relief that all of the doubts and all of the questions finally had a reason.

“My beloved for the answers to those questions, I must ask that you return home, and I will tell you everything.” My grandmother’s words hung in the air like clouds of wet rain. I pinned my hair up tight under an L.A. Dodgers baseball cap and I prepared for my journey to the place I had always called home. Dark blue jeans and a red sweater were the outfit of choice for day one, and I stopped at the local grocery store and loaded down my Ford Bronco with enough drinks and snacks for a family of five. It was the first thing I bought when I accepted a job offer to move to California and it made me feel like I had arrived. All of the hard work, nine years of college, a Bachelor’s degree and two Master’s, I ran one of the largest museums on the West Coast.

“During the robbery Ben broke his ankle and we were aided by a young light skinned Apache who provided us with food and shelter. The two of us became rather close and grew to love each other. I didn’t know I was with child at the time but used the event to separate from everyone. I hid out in the mountains getting by until you were born. I had befriended a young couple who had traveled West in search of gold but were now headed back East to join other family in Savannah.” Just mere months earlier she had lost a son in childbirth and agreed to keep you safe. I was in no position to care for you and thought it best to let you go. Upon seeing the unbridled joy, you brought to his bride her husband agreed to keep it a secret.”

With a full tank of gas, air set to 74, a carton of Pall Mall’s in the passenger seat, and enough coffee to drown an elephant the GPS read two thousand seven hundred and twenty-three miles to go. At least the weather was nice, a cool high of eighty and no rain in sight. I reached four hundred and sixty-two miles and decided to stop. The Red Roof Inn off of exit thirty-nine would have to do for the night. Surprisingly, for being out in the sticks as we would say back home there was a little mom and pop restaurant nearby with some darn good barbecue.

The next morning the sun beckoned at my window indicating it was past time to rise and shine. Hopefully, I could make about six hundred miles today and traffic would roll in my favor. The words of every single story seemed to echo like a freight train in my head. One of my favorites being about the tables that still sat at the edge of my family farm. Since 1929, with the beginning of the Great Depression, there was a sign that hung above them reading “take what you need, leave what you can”. My family had been fortunate enough financially to purchase several tracts of land in the Savannah, GA shortly before WW1 and most of it remained part of the family homestead.

In June the previous year my grandmother was diagnosed with Chronic Heart Failure, and her health rapidly declined. When I finally arrived, she greeted me from the bedroom with a hug and a smile. As a child, we had always been close, my brothers and sisters and I would spend many afternoons climbing trees and running through fields of cotton. My father had followed his father’s footsteps and was one of the best aviators the Air Force had ever seen. Born during the height of WW1 he had always had a passion for flying.

As we held hands, her once smooth skin was so thin you could see every vein. She pulled me close and with tears in her eyes and apologized. I had spent most of my childhood covered in peach juice from her orchards and back then she could chase me until we both fell down and rolled through the grass. Every Saturday the house would fill with the smell of fresh peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream. I would move my stool around the counters in the kitchen “helping” until I was tall enough to reach them myself.

“Aided by a young Apache” … my heart was pounding I could hardly believe what I was reading”. Who was he? Where did he come from? Why had he offered aid instead of killing them and stealing the money”. We looked through years of family photographs album after album of childhood pets, friends, and accomplishments. My father was one of five, his eyes of Ebony and wavy black hair gave off a Clark Gable style of unhealthy arrogance. He was a good man when he was around but most of my memories were of short weekends and spending ridiculous amounts of money on stuff that none of us really needed.

His parents celebrated sixty three years of wedding bliss before his father lost his battle with cancer. My Aunts and Uncles though two toe-haired blonds and two gingers had always lived nearby, and the holidays were a large production. She pulled me close and whispered they’re in a cave past the orchard. Your great great grandfather planted a solitary apple tree to mark the location and we rarely spoke of it again. The young couple the letter had referred to was none other than my great great grandparents and my great grandfather, the child they brought back with them from the West in 1904. “I procured several large trunks and sent you with enough gold for five lifetimes and a prayer that you would have a legacy better than anything I could have ever given you.”

As I pulled back the weeds surrounding the entrance, I was mesmerized that no one had known of its existence until now. I dropped to my knees and crawled into a large cavern and when I reached a split in the rock it almost appeared to be a dead end. She had given instructions to pull back a large boulder and said I should find a hand built wall. Behind which were the trunks my ancestor had procured, and I smiled when I realized that actually meant stole. Seven in total and according to legend they once held gold from one of the most famed lost mines of the Wild West.

Her letters told of a train robbery, a wild bunch of outlaws that included the likes of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and a lifetime of regret that she had not made better decisions in her life. The young Apache that provided assistance to her was the son of Jakob Waltz a German immigrant and a young Apache woman he had befriended shortly after his arrival. I recovered fourteen letters among many other relics along with a baby blanket handsewn by the “Thorny Rose” herself. Wild West Lore would have you believe that she was one of the most successful madams of her day and she ran a brothel whose clients included some of the richest men in the West. In 1904 a middle aged white man walked into her establishment flashing large amounts of golden ore he claimed to have secretly discovered. He boasted of his escapades for hours claiming he had killed three men to find it and four more to keep it a secret.

According to the Legend it had become known as the Lost Dutchman’s mine the location of which eluded treasure hunters all over the world. Little had anyone known, sewn into the lining of the blanket, stitched with muslin cloth and hemp cord was a map, the only one to ever exist and I was the first one in over hundred years to see it. I had just purchased a summer home in the mountains with views as far as the eye could see. Time had come full circle for all of us, and I returned to the place of my great great grandmother’s birth four point three miles from Wagner, Montana quite a bit richer than I had ever been before.