The old prospector burst through the doors of the saloon, a wild look in his eye.
“What’s the matter, old man?” we asked, “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Does this look like it came from a ghost?” he asked, while hefting a large, heavy sack and dropping it with a thud onto the counter. The string came loose, and shiny gold nuggets spilled out.
“Where did you get all that?” we asked, genuinely surprised.
“Listen close, and I’ll tell you,” he said, “An if you git me a little sumthin’ fer these parched lips, I’ll tell you even more.”
A few stiff drinks later, and the Prospector seemed to relax a bit. We leaned in close as he began to speak, his voice barely audible.
“My time here grows short,” he said, “An I won’t be gittin’ back to where this all come from. So I’ll tell you, if yer interested, an if yer up to the challenge.”
We assured him we were. He gave us a sidelong glance, as if looking at a rattlesnake in a scrub bush, but at last he seemed satisfied with our sincerity.
“This here treasure come from the Lost Cacheman mine,” he said. We gasped. We’d heard of the legendary mine, who hasn’t, but didn’t think it was real. “I kin see yer skeptical,” he said, “and yer should be. The mine lies hidden in the Elings Mountains, and the Chumash say its cursed. Many who have sought the mine never return, and the few bodies that have been recovered have suffered horrible deaths. Are you still interested?”
Oh, yes we said, more eager than ever to learn where we might find this mine and set about recovering its vast riches.
“Well, then, you may just be crazy enough to find it. You’ll need this map,” he said, handing us a rolled up buffalo parchment, “and the coordinates, which I’ve written in this notebook.”
“We don’t see any coordinates, just the names of some landmarks,” we started to protest, but got no further. The Prospector had grown silent, a smile on his lips, and a shot glass in his hand.
The Prospector's Map
The Old Notebook
