The Lost Treasure March Post

  Here we go again Mason had thought. He had done this before, three times to be exact. All alone in the middle of the desert somewhere in New Mexico. He had been searching for it for almost five years with absolutely nothing to show for it. He had dreamed of finding it since he was just a young boy. He remembered the stories that my father had told him about it. The Lost Dutchman Mine. He thought he had been close before but it was nothing compared to where he was now.

He had been riding along a couple of days ago when he had had the impression that he should head eastward. So he had started that way. He had been traversing foothills and sandstone ridges for the past three days. He had always loved nature and couldn't believe the beauty that surrounded him now. Red ridges the color of scarlet with a mix of pink and white, sand dunes with the occasional tumbleweed rolling by, and the occasional ticking and rattling of a rattle snake, but he couldn't stop moving now.

He was deep in Indian territory. Not two weeks ago he had heard that three white men had been scalped and killed not 20 miles from where he was now. He had seen the signs all around me. An occasional fire pit or a horses footprint. Just the day before he had found a fresh fire pit with the embers still smoking. He had spurred Dusty into an all out gallop for half an hour before he slowed him to a trot. my father had told him the stories of how the Indians lived. He even told him my own personal story. My father had been 10 years old at the time when in the evening of an uneventful day they had showed up, the Indians. His town had been lucky to be left alone until then. The newspapers had all been talking about how the Apaches had escaped from each reservation camp they had been put on. And how Geronimo and my band of Apache warriors had been raiding each town in their pursuit away from the U.S army. Now they were finally here. My father dad and the other men had been preparing for time and now their plan was put into action. Some of the men gathered up sent all of the women and children into the barn where they would be safe. While the other men stationed themselves around the town. When the Indians finally attacked they were shot down in a flurry of thundering gunshots. The Indians had retreated and everyone had thought that the Indians had left for sure. Later that night all the men had gone to the tavern and had gotten drunk in their merry. But then the Indians returned. Their horses and gunshots filled the town as the men tried to stop them. My grandfather had not gotten drunk and was defending my mother and my father when an arrow suddenly spurted from my chest. He let out an exasperated umf. as he fell to the ground. My father had run to his side and sobbed by him. As my grandfather slowly died he gave my father a parchment with instructions and a map. With his final breath he said the words,”The Dutchman Mine.” Then my grandfather had died. From that minute on my father had hated  Indians with a burning passion. Months later he remembered the parchment that my grandfather had given him before he died. He had then made it my life's goal to find the mine. He had searched for over twenty years with not any success. But inevitably he had died just like my father. On a road on my way home one day, he was ambushed and shot in the stomach by a group of Indians. He had not gone down though. He had kept firing until he was out of ammo. By that time he had killed all 23 Indians. He had been shot in many more places when a traveler found him hanging on to life the next day on the side of the road. He had him taken to a doctor but he died the next day. Before he died however he had married a couple years before and they had given birth to a son, me. My father used to tell me stories of all of his adventures. He also told me that if he didn't find it, he was going to pass on my life’s work to me. So when I got news that he had died I knew right away what he must do, find the treasure. So because of my fathers stories, and because I had grown up hating Indians. I was also very wary of them to. So when we slowed down and it started sprinkling he was very excited that he couldn't be followed.

When it had started raining harder he had urged Dusty into an old sandstone cave to get out of the rain. he had made a fire and was all settled down when he decided to stop and admire my surroundings. The pitter-patter of the rain hitting the rock, the thundering boom of thunder as lightning flashed all around me. he closed my eyes and just listened to his when he heard a strange echoing on the wind. he listed some more and he heard it again. It was coming from inside the cave. Excitedly he turned around and looked for the opening where the sound was coming from. On first glance he saw nothing but as he looked closer he saw a small opening in the back of the cave that looked as if someone had tried to seal up with rocks.

    he crawled to the back and saw a rusty old sign on the ground next to it that said "BEWARE DO NOT ENTER THE DUTCHMAN MINE."

    It was old and he could barely read what it said but a second glance confirmed it. he didn't believe what he had found. he read it three more times to be sure. Yes he finally thought, he found it. Then the thought popped into my head, could this really be it. Five long years of searching and he had finally found it. He started pulling away the stones when he realized that the air was dry and musty, another good sign, he thought. He kept pulling away the stones when on the inside of the rock wall something caught my eye. It looked like an old piece of leather, then he realized what it was. It was an old horse saddlebag, and it was filled with gold....

TO BE CONTINUED....