** Lost Gold At The Dead Man's Mine ** A Miners Journal **

[dig4gold]

I find it hard to believe that Jacob made it to 85 with all his heavy drinking & smoking.

D4G

[GhostMiner]

13 minutes ago, dig4gold said:

I find it hard to believe that Jacob made it to 85 with all his heavy drinking & smoking.

D4G

I addressed that before. He did more drinking in his younger days but not that much as he got older. I never saw him drunk. He would have a little whisky now & then. Same with smoking. He rolled his own but didn't smoke much at all. He was in very good shape for his age and tough as nails.

[GhostMiner]

The report from the 1937 shootout at the mine.

   Sheriff’s Dept Incident Report July 7, 1937 

   Acting Sheriff Dan Caldwell

   Concerning shooting at Stevens Brothers Gold Mine

 

   INCIDENT : Sometime in the early morning hours of July 4, 1937 a gunfight broke out at the Stevens Brothers Mine. A small mining crew was attacked by a group of heavily armed and unknown gunmen. A gun battle ensued whereas the mining crew attempted to defend themselves. Six of the attackers were killed in the incident as well as three of the mining crew. The identity of the six deceased attackers is not known at this time. The identity of the three deceased miners is as follows : John Denham, Will Roberts, and Hudson Kane. The fourth man of the crew is identified as Jacob Stevens who remains missing.

  INCIDENT DETAIL : At approximately 4:00 AM I was contacted in town by a prospector named Ken Stallings. He was camped on his mining claim approximately one half mile north of the mining crews camp and was awoken by gunfire around 2:00 AM on July 4. Upon his investigation into the cause of the gunfire he witnessed what he claimed to be about thirty to forty armed men shooting into the mining crew’s camp. He stated the miners were returning fire. At that time he headed into town where he informed me of the situation. Being the fourth of July and having no staff at the present time as well as being unable to bring in neighboring departments that night I deemed it unsafe to drive out there alone to be of any assistance although I did travel out to the camp later that morning. When I arrived at 11:00 AM there was no gunfire or armed men. There were a large amount of spent rounds piled in the camp as well as at a watchpost on the mountain. I have secured the neighboring Sheriff’s Department and Federal Agencies to assist in a formal investigation into this incident. At the time of this report there are no leads.

 

   Filing Officer : Dan Caldwell  Acting Sheriff

                                  July 7, 1937

                                  Case No. 747

   Status : OPEN 

[Mike Furness]

Not surprised that sheriff Dan did not immediately go to the aid of the mining crew. In fact after the neighboring miner got to town and reported the gun fight it was probably all over and nothing to be done until daylight. Sorry to hear 3 of the the remaining crew were gunned down but the organized '40' gunmen were way to much for the crew. Actually surprised Jacob was somehow spared being shot. It was a good crew but out gunned in the end. I would be interested to see any follow up reports on the investigation. With that many men involved someone is bound to brag. The crew certainly had enough enemies and other men just plain jealous of their success. 

[GhostMiner]

    I think the crew had made a huge gold discovery. They were probably being watched. Then they were murdered for their gold. The pack of thieves most likely came back to the area weeks later after things had cooled down with the law and mined out the new found rich gold deposit. Just my theory as well as Jacob's. We never found it when Jacob tried to locate it again after all those years. That was most likely because it had already been mined by the new group. As Jacob often said, the law in that area was worthless. As far as we can tell there were never any arrests made.

   Here are the last two entries in the journal Jacob was writing in in 1937.

   July 3   1937

   There was nothing moving on the mountain last night except for a bear and some mule deer. At breakfast we had a brief meeting and were concerned that whoever had taken those buckets out of the mine while we were in Nevada most likely knew we were on rich ground. We would need to keep a close watch on the mine.

   Will and I got an early start as the sun was coming up behind the trees. The intense heat was back once again. We worked at a good pace and cut a trench trying to find the depth of country rock. We hit it at twelve feet. I took a sample pan over to the tub with Will and we couldn’t believe the result. The pan was full of small nuggets and pickers as well as coarse gold. We had never seen a pan like this. It was even richer than last year's kettle dig. We still didn’t know how far back into the hill the kettle went. The deposit had the potential to be massive. 

   I kept a thermometer in the shade and it was already reading 98 degrees. It had to be 110 or more in the sun. I sent Will back down to the creek with a lode of buckets filled to the brim with rich gravels for John to wash. I told him to bring up more water and some cool Lucky’s we kept in the creek. When he got back up to the site we found a shady spot and drank a few of them. I have to say that I have never had beer that tasted better on a sweltering hot day.

   We got back to work and didn’t stop until dusk. We had removed a total of 170 buckets of super rich pay. The weigh tomorrow was going to be a good one as most of the material we took down to John was from deep in the kettle.

 

   July 4   1937

 

   I am hurriedly writing this with the aid of a three quarter moon while trapped at the watchpost. It is 3:00 AM and today was to be a gold weigh and celebration of our country's independence. Instead, we are fighting for our lives. I took the second watch last night and all was quiet until an hour ago when we were suddenly attacked by what seems like a small army of well armed men. There has been heavy gunfire until the last ten minutes. I hear no more return fire from camp and I am nearly out of ammo up here on the mountain. I am taking occasional rifle fire and volleys of rounds from at least ten positions which have me surrounded. I am unable to move from cover. I can only think of the Shaman who warned me of our demise. I fear this may be the end. I am seeing my brother Jed and Whisky Jack coming down the mountain towards me with their arms stretched out to greet me. 

[GhostMiner]

   This entry shows just one example of the fights they had back in 1937. It seems the crew had beaten up the brother of these two guys in the infamous town tavern the previous year and they had come looking for trouble. This mining crew was as tight as tight gets & if you mess with any of them you are in for a fight. Kind of like jumping into a pit of rattlesnakes.

   April 8   1937

 

   Last night we were awoken to the hellish sounds of the bobcats once again. I had forgotten how loud they could be with their screeching. It was around 3:00 in the morning and the stars were all shining and it was cold. I couldn’t go back to sleep so I sat up and got the campfire going again. I could see the silhouette of Sarge over at his post with his trusty BAR. Ben was down near the road with the Thompson. I poured a small whiskey and thought about Jed. I was sure he was watching me from somewhere. 

   Just before daybreak I heard Ben holler from down below and there was a burst from the Thompson. Sarge hollered out to wake the crew if they weren’t already up. They all came out of their tents with weapons in hand. Ben hollered up that a couple of guys had gotten past him. Then I heard Sarge holler out halt and he fired the BAR. I saw two guys standing near camp to the south. Ben had come up behind them and Sarge had them at gunpoint. They were both drunk. They were cursing at us and said they wanted the dirty cowards that had beaten up their brother at the tavern last year. It seemed that the town folk already knew we were here. John walked over to confront them. Will and I walked over and so did Sarge.

   John got within a few steps of them and told them their brother was a thief and got what he deserved. I told them we were here to work and wanted to be left alone. I said that if they wanted a fight then now was the time. They just stood there cursing and calling us all kinds of names. John walked up to them and cracked the closest one on the jaw with his fist. Sarge rammed the other one in the side with the butt end of the BAR. They both went down hard. One of them had a pistol and Sarge relieved him of it. The first one got up and John cracked him again. The other one didn’t want anymore. We dragged them down to the creek and threw them in the icy water. They came crawling out cursing and hollering and staggered down the mountain to where their car was parked. I told them not to ever come back and tell the same to all the rif raf in town.

   After all that we had a good breakfast while we talked over the situation. John didn’t think they’d be back. I wasn’t so sure. Then we got to work setting pumps and running water line. Tomorrow we will take the tom up to the dig site and start washing gravels. I am hoping for a quiet night.

 

 

[GhostMiner]

   Here is the entry where Jacob finds his brother's killer.

   April 11   1937   Part One

 

   Last night we were visited once again. Sarge brought a guy into camp that said he wanted to talk with me. He told me he hangs out in the tavern in town. He claimed to overhear a couple of guys talking about us. One of them was talking about a large amount of gold he had gotten and laughing about someone working hard to mine it and he took it without having to do any work and now he was wealthy. The guy was getting drunk with another hooligan and he was there now.

   I thanked him and asked if he'd go there with me to identify the men. He said he would. He told me they were bad news and carried guns and knives. One of them was called Slugger and the other Jim. Slugger was the bigger of the two and he was the one doing most of the talking. I took John and Sarge as well as the informer into town and we parked the truck in front of the tavern. When we walked in, the informer pointed out the two guys. I thanked him again and told him he’d better clear out for his own safety as this might get real ugly. 

   April 11   1937   Part Two

 

   I told Sarge to go outside and keep the informer at our truck. We might want him later. I told him John and I would go back outside as well and wait for the two hooligans to exit the tavern. I didn’t want anyone seeing us in contact with them because if they were the ones responsible for my brother’s murder I would kill them both. John wanted them as bad as I did. We all had weapons in case of a shoot out but killing them that way was far too easy for them. I also wanted to get back Jed’s gold. Sarge moved the truck away from the tavern parking lot and kept the informer inside the cab with him. John and I waited in a secluded area across the street from the tavern. It was getting late and I hoped it wouldn’t be too long before the suspects came out. Around midnight we saw them going out the door and starting to walk down the street. The big one was laughing and joking about how easy it was to steal gold and rob people. The other one was laughing as well. My fists were clenched in rage and I told John “Let’s get them.” I was going to make them talk. 

 

   April 11   Part Three

 

   We walked up behind them and they were drunk and didn’t even notice us. John carried a weighted billy club and pulled it out and I had brass knuckles on. We also had sidearms. John eased up behind the one they called Slugger and pretended to know him. He said he had a bottle of good whiskey over at the truck and pointed over there. Slugger acted like he recognized him or knew him and said let’s go drink it. His buddy Jim went along easy until we got near the truck and spotted me wearing brass knuckles. Before he could say anything I let him have a right hand square in the face and took out his front teeth. John clocked Slugger in the knee with the billy and he went down and started hollering and cursing. John cracked him across the face with his fist twice and we threw them in the back of the truck and jumped back there with them. I told Sarge to get the hell out of here before someone sees us and he drove back toward the mine. The two thugs were moaning and cursing and we let them have more of the same and told them to shut their mouths if they wanted to live. We pulled off the main road and drove up to our camp. Ben,Will, and Hudson were waiting for us. We threw the two goons off the truck and onto the ground and the entire crew and security team was staring down at them.

 

[GhostMiner]

   Here is one example of why you wouldn't want to mess with John.

   April 15   1937

 

   Last night we had a visit by four hooligans. It seems they had liquored themselves up with false courage at the tavern and came out to the mine for a visit just before dark. Sarge and Ben had stopped them before they made it all the way into camp and the crew went down to see what was going on. They were running their mouths and talking about how they were ruff and ready guys and thought they would be a good fit as a part of our crew. They said they could handle themselves in a fight and were hard workers to boot. John was getting a laugh out of all this and asked them who the toughest one in the bunch was. They immediately pointed to the biggest one who was probably in his late twenties. He said he would take on any one of us in a brawl and prove he could handle himself. John surprised me and took him up on it. I knew that John didn’t mind a good fight if he had the reason to do so so maybe he just felt like he had been challenged.

   John asked the hooligan if he was up for a game. He said they would stand toe to toe. They would flip a coin. The winner would get the first punch and then the other man would return it. This would continue until someone gave up or was knocked out. The hooligan was all for it. I flipped the coin and the hooligan won the toss. The entire crew and the other three hooligans formed a circle around the combatants. They squared up and I saw John brace himself. The hooligan delivered the best punch he could throw from the close quarters. It caught John square on the jaw and his head snapped to the side. He looked at the guy and smiled. Now it was his turn. John is about as ruff and tuff as they come and he let his right fist sail into the hooligan's jaw. The guy’s knees started to buckle but to his credit he stayed on his feet. He was a little unsteady as he threw another haymaker that found its mark. John just shook it off again with the same smile. Now John let his hip turn as he threw a cross from his shoulder. I saw the hooligan's lip split open and he spit out a tooth. He was still on his feet but more shaky now. He let a good right hand fly once again and John’s head snapped back and he started spitting blood. He was still smiling. John kind of gave a grunt as he let his right hand fly once more. It was a crushing blow to the nose of the hooligan. There was blood everywhere and the guy sank down on one knee. He got up and gathered himself. John braced himself for the next punch which connected but it was a weaker punch and only grazed John's face. John asked him if he wanted to quit. The guy shook his head no. John let one fly and there was a sickening crunch and more teeth were spit out but the guy stayed on his feet. He was tough. He let John have another punch but this one was weaker still. John delivered his next punch into the gut and the guy doubled over and went down on his face. All the fight was gone out of him now. 

   His friends picked him up and they left camp telling John they couldn’t believe what he had done to their friend. They said he’d never been beaten in a fight. They said they were going to tell everyone in town that the rumors about us were true, that we were not to be messed with.  

   The next day we worked the kettle. John’s face was badly bruised and he couldn’t eat solid food because his teeth were sore and one was loose. We did a good day’s work and ended up with one ounce of gold. John was eating oatmeal for supper.

 

[GhostMiner]

   The night the crew met Slim Saunders.

   April 18   1937   Part One

 

   We are continuing to get wild hooligans from town who want to come out here to the mine and either meet us or work with us. Last night I heard Ben and Sarge holler out at someone who was trudging up the side of the creek toward our camp. The crew came over and had a look at what the hollering was about. I nearly laughed but held it back. Sarge was not so kind and began to laugh and hoot. There in front of us stood an old guy dressed like a cowboy from back in the 1800’s. He wore a large cowboy hat that nearly covered his face and also some old jeans and fur leggings. He had on boots with spurs as well as two six shooters in holsters. He was smoking a home rolled cigarette and gave us all an evil stare.

   I walked over to him and asked what he was up to. He said his name was Slim Saunders and he was from a ranch just outside of town. I reckoned him to be about 60 in years or maybe a bit more. He told us he had done everything from ranching to mining to logging and even bounty hunting in his day. I started to like him. John asked him what we could do for him. He said he had heard quite a bit about us in town. Some of the groups that hung around in the tavern said we were the mining crew from hell and we took names and kicked ass. He said he was looking for work and wanted to join up with us.

   I asked him what kind of job he was looking for. He said he was a scratch shot with his 45’s and could work as security. He said he could also handle a rifle with the best of them. Before I could say anything he pointed to a limb on a pine tree about 100 feet away. He said to look toward the end of the limb and there was a small branch starting off to the right with a pine cone hanging on. I said that I saw it. He slapped leather with both hands and quick drew his Colts and fired off a round from each gun. The pine cone flew off the limb. Then he twirled the pistols and put them back in their holsters as slick as grease.

   Then he told Will to set out two empty tin cans about 100 feet away. Will set them up on a rock and came back over. Slim said to watch and he pulled his right hand quickly and shot as the gun cleared leather. One of the cans flew off the rock. Before the sound of the shot died he pulled his left hand with the Colt and did the same thing. The can flew off the rock just like the first one. He twirled them back into the holster as slick as could be. I asked him what kind of pay he wanted. He said just his grub and whiskey, a dollar, and a little taste of gold from time to time. I told him to hold on while I talked with my crew.

   Everyone liked Slim. We decided to give him a go. I went over and asked him when he wanted to start. He just looked at me and said “Well, I’m here aint I ?” and that was that. Then he asked if we had any whiskey. I handed him a new bottle and we all sat around the fire as darkness fell. Slim took a couple of pulls from the bottle and began to tell us his story.

 

   April 18   1937   Part Two

  

   Slim told us his father had worked in a wild west show back in the day. He did all kinds of tricks with guns and ropes. His father had begun teaching him these skills from even before he could remember. His father traveled all the time and when Slim was sixteen he and his mother and sister never saw him again. He just left on a show tour one day and never came home. He had no idea what happened to him. 

   Slim kept practicing his father’s trade until he figured he was better than him or anyone else around. However, by this time the wild west shows were all dried up like the dust in the western wind. There was no market for his trade. Slim developed a real bad attitude and began to pull strong arm robberies when he was still a kid. He used his gun skills to intimidate people all the time. Not surprising, the law eventually caught up with him when he was nineteen years old and he spent two years in the Wyoming state prison.

   When he got out his mother and sister had moved on and abandoned him. He never saw either of them again. Prison hadn’t helped his attitude but it hardened him as a man. He had been in many fistfights and brawls while in lockup and had developed some good hand to hand fighting skills to go along with his gunplay. He was a truly dangerous individual and didn’t think twice about using his guns or fists at the drop of a hat. By now Slim had downed a third of his bottle. Then he told us a wild story. We all leaned in to listen closely.

 

   April 18   1937   Part Three

   Slim said that back when he was just out of prison he got a job working on a ranch. He didn’t have a whole lot of cowboy skills when they hired him but learned real fast and was soon one of the best cowboys on the ranch. He was in a poker game one night. It took place in the main bunkhouse and Slim was losing real bad. The cowboy who had all the money was the best bronc buster on the ranch. Or so he thought. Slim challenged him to a bronc busting contest. Slim put up one of his Colts against the money in the purse. The other cowboys got the meanest horse out of the barn. They called him Freight Train. He was bad to the bone. The first cowboy took a turn on him and got thrown after just a few seconds. Slim got on and rode out the horse and broke him. The cowboy who lost refused to give up the purse. One of the other guys was holding Slims Colt & gave it back to him. The losing cowboy challenged Slim to a duel. Slim said this guy thought he was pretty quick on the draw. They walked out fifty paces and stood looking at each other. Slim told him to make his move when he was ready. After a wait of about thirty seconds the cowboy slapped leather. Slim came up with both guns firing just as they cleared their holsters and the slower guy went down on his knees firing off a round into the dirt. Then he slowly rolled over on his side. He was dead. Both of Slims shots had pierced the chest in the area of the heart. Slim calmly walked over and took the money out of the cowboy’s vest pocket. It was covered in blood.

   The ranch owner had heard the ruckus and came out of his house with his rifle. It was way past midnight. When he saw one of his top hands laying dead on the ground he wasn’t happy. He pointed the rifle at Slim and told him he was going to shoot him dead.

 

   April 18   1937   Part Four

 

   Slim said when a man told him he was going to kill him he took him at his word. So he raised his right hand as if to give up but as he did so snapped the six shooter out of its holster with his left hand and fired three times. The rancher dropped to the ground lifeless. Just that quick he had taken two lives but felt he had no choice. The cowboys were real upset now because their boss and one of their friends were eating dirt. Slim said there were five of them left and some had sidearms. He told them not to make any moves and walked backwards towards the barn. He saddled a horse and rode off into the night leaving what few belongings he had. However, he did have a full poke now. Within the space of a few minutes he had become an outlaw. Then he told us the rest of the story.

 

   April 18   1937   Part Five

 

   Slim said he lasted until the law dogs caught up with him in Cody, Wyoming. He said there were two of them and he could have easily gunned them down but didn’t want to kill any more men. He got thirty years and got out when he was 51 years old. More than half his life had now been spent in prison and he had no one to call a friend. He was on his own in a strange world. 

   He was forbidden to own or carry a gun and had no training except in gun play and cow punching and bronc busting. He thought about the rodeo circuit but everyone told him he was too old. He decided to give it a try anyway.

   He got on with the Cowboy Contest circuit in Cheyenne and found out he could still hold his own in the bronc riding division. He made himself a living for nearly ten years and was the oldest cowboy to qualify for a trophy and prize money. Then he eventually hooked up with a ranch in the area and now he was sitting at our campfire drinking whisky with us. We all pulled out some cups as he talked about his life and drank whiskey with him deep into the night. Around two in the morning we all turned in. When we got up none of us were feeling too good and took the day off nursing bad hangovers. There was no gold made that day.

 

[GhostMiner]

Kind of nice to reflect back to what got us here.