“As I understand it,” Gage said, “the gold was carried back and forth between the mine and Mexico for the next hundred years.”
Isaac nodded. “The Apaches were their greatest threat. From the start, the tribe wanted them gone. They believed the mountains belonged to them, and anyone who trespassed was fair game. A lot of Mexicans died defending the mine. Or at least that’s what people believe.”
“What about the massacre?” Gage asked. “That’s supposed to have been the demise of the family and the last anyone heard of the Peralta mine.”
“In 1848 or thereabouts, a large party of family members was taking a load of gold back to Mexico, which they did a number of times each year. One of them was leading a pack string loaded with gold bars when the Apaches attacked. All of the Peraltas were killed. The Apaches buried the bodies and hid the gold. A few years later, soldiers found the remains. Newspapers of the time reported finding the bones of the mules with saddlebags full of gold.”
“What about the soldier, William Edwards?” Abby asked.
Isaac looked at her with a hint of respect. “Not many know that part of the story. A cavalry trooper named William Edwards claimed he was present when the bodies were found. Claimed he found a gold tooth in one of the skulls, the mark of the Spanish aristocracy in those days, which the wealthy Peralta family would have been part of. He may have even found some of the gold. He and his son searched for years but never found the mine. At least that’s the story.”
Isaac led them over to a wall filled with framed maps. “These mark the trails of some of the expeditions that went in search of the gold.”
Abby instantly recognized one of the maps as similar to the old rawhide drawing in the bag currently locked in the Explorer, the safest place to store it while they were away from the ranch.
Of course, King’s markings were not on the map hanging on the wall.
“Lots of people have looked for the Peralta mine,” Isaac said. “But it was Jacob Waltz and his partner, Jacob Weiner, who claimed to have found it. Brought out sixty thousand in gold ore before he died. Be worth a million now.”
“What happened to Weiner?” Gage asked.
“Killed by Apaches. Waltz blamed himself for leaving his friend alone while he went to Phoenix for supplies. He stayed in a bordello with his girlfriend, lingered longer than he should have, came back, and found his partner tortured and mutilated. Never was the same after that.”
“I read that on his deathbed he gave clues to the location of the mine,” Abby said.
Isaac nodded. “Unfortunately, he was delirious. No one could make enough sense of what he said to actually find the mine.”
“The Lost Dutchman,” Gage said.
“He was German.Deutsch. So that’s what people called it. No way to know if it was the Peralta mine, though there was a rumor not all the family had died in the massacre and Waltz had crossed paths with one of the descendants. Supposedly, he had done the man a favor and been given the location of the mine, or a cache of gold from the mine as a reward, something like that.”
Whatever it was, Abby thought, it was somehow connected to the Devil’s Gold.
“I caution you,” Isaac said. “There are a dozen different versions of the story. Just depends on who’s telling the tale.”
Gage smiled and stuck out his hand. “You’ve been a big help, Isaac. Thanks for your time.”
“My pleasure.”
“Thanks so much,” Abby added.
They left the museum and headed back toward the ranch. Gage made a stop at a small wood-frame house on a dried-out acre of land where they talked to an old prospector named Dobbie Gill. He’d been a guide in his younger days, had spent thirty-five years as a “Dutch hunter.”
Dobbie scratched the sparse patch of gray hair on his head. “Wasted half my life looking for that damned mine. Went in on my days off. Had a friend went along with me. Finally, just got too danged old.”
“So you never found anything?” Abby asked.
“Found lots of different stuff. Old abandoned cabins. Some Apache ruins. Couple of unmarked graves. Closest we ever come to finding what might have been the mine was up on Bluff Spring Mountain.”
Abby’s senses went on alert. She glanced at Gage, saw he had also homed in on the location that matched a spot on King’s map.
“Bluff Spring Mountain,” Gage repeated, hoping to get Dobbie talking again.
“Story was the Mexicans kept horses and mules somewhere up there. Used ’em to transport the gold back to Mexico, but the animals had to be guarded day and night to keep the Apaches from stealing them. We found a flat spot up near the saddle that showed signs of long years’ use as a camp. Would have been a good spot to defend, and there’s some year-round water holes up there. Whenever we got a chance, we’d go back and dig, see what we could find.”
He grinned, showing a missing bottom tooth. “Never found the mine, but we had some mighty fine adventures.”
Abby laughed. “That’s what it’s really about, isn’t it? Learning things and seeing what’s out there?”
