Superstition

SUPERSTITION

The Search for the Lost Dutchman

By Billy Thomas

Nick Waltz stood from behind the rock and wiped the sweat from his eyes. In the distance, he could see several figures standing in a clump, but couldn’t get a bead on what they were. It didn’t help that there was a heat refraction in front of these objects, blurring his vision. Adjusting his binoculars, one more time, he determined that the mysterious beings were merely wild cattle, staring curiously back at him. Hardy beings, Nick thought to himself, to be out here in the vast, unforgiving landscape

On a quest to locate the Lost Dutchman Mine, he had spent the better part of four years poring over his great-grandfather, Jacob’s handwritten maps and notes to decipher its location. Jacob had created these documents on his deathbed, too weak to ever return to the mine. He felt it was his destiny to find it.

Nick’s father, Joseph, often spoke of the mystery surrounding the mine’s whereabouts, and even had many documents containing Jacob’s handwritten notes, that allegedly would lead one to the treasure. Joseph was no treasure hunter, however, nor was he an adventurer of any kind. An accountant by trade, he preferred to spend his days off lazing about the house watching television.

Joseph divorced his wife when Nick was 12 and disappeared from the radar. As a result, Nick’s mom, Carolyn, essentially left the moment the door closed behind her husband. She immersed herself in alcohol, leaving her only child to fend for himself.

The polar opposite of his father, Nick had an independent streak that resonated throughout his entire being, making him restless, always on the hunt for the next venture. At 16, he filed for and attained status as an emancipated adult landed a sweet job on a cattle ranch in Arizona. This offered him endless opportunity on his time off to explore the vast terrain on horseback. It also allowed him the freedom to research to his heart’s content.

His new boss had agreed to front him a used saddle and other gear, in exchange for extra work and reduction in his monthly wages. The other ranch hands snickered when he moved into the bunkhouse with only a single suitcase and a large tote of Jacob’s documents. None of them believed he would last a week working hard, long hours on the range. This was not a job for wusses, and kids Nick’s age by and large had no concept of responsibility or work ethic.

Surprising his new workmates and foreman, Nick excelled at being a cowpoke in training. He was a natural horseman and hard worker, and thoroughly enjoyed his new station in life. Most of all, however, he gained something he hadn’t had, but secretly craved for years, a family.

Each night, though sore and exhausted, Nick drug out his totes, determined to discover the Lost Dutchman. Most of the symbols on the hand drawn maps were self-explanatory, but there were pairs of numbers penciled into the margins. They seemed important, or why would Jacob have included them? What did they represent? Jacob had noted that there was a river that had to be crossed, a particular group of boulders that were relative, but a map of modern day Superstition Mountain showed no rivers that matched his description, and there were boulders seemingly everywhere. Despite his best efforts, Nick had to finally admit he was stumped. Eventually, he decided to “take a break” from his quest. This break would last far more than he ever intended.

Over the next few years, Nick had little opportunity to explore. The ranch for which he was working expanded, purchasing more cattle, requiring more care, more moving around to different grazing grounds, and more effort in general. There were also horses to break, and Nick, being one of the best riders on the property, found himself on the dangerous end of many an angry and resistant colt. By the end of his workday, it was all he could do to drag himself to the dinner table for a bite before hitting the bunk for a few hours of sleep.

Six years after he last pushed his beloved tote under his bunk, Nick was riding his horse on the flat land a few miles from the ranch. He was looking for a cabin that had once been temporary digs for cowboys riding the fence line to do repairs. Having no luck, he withdrew a map from his saddlebag and began scanning the grids for any sign of the question mark shaped creek that was supposed to be near the cabin. Suddenly, an idea came to him. The numbers on the grid. Was that what Jacob was referring to in his map?

As soon as he returned to the ranch, foregoing his evening meal, Nick eagerly pulled the map out of the tote. He placed it side-by-side with the modern map he had of the Superstition area. Looking at the numbers as if they were numbers from a grid, he found that the certainly could reasonably line up with natural features of the landscape. But the river Jacob had referred to still made no sense.

The following day, Nick asked for and was granted two weeks off. It was the first time he had ever taken a vacation. He loaded up his horse and gear into a borrowed horse trailer, as well as a pack mule donated to the cause by the ranch’s owner. He bought supplies in Bisbee and headed for the Superstitions.

And now, he was riding around the northeast side of the mountain, feeling more alive than he had in his entire lifetime.

He occasionally saw more of the cattle, including a big brown and white bull that stood out from the herd. He seemed to be always following Nick with his eyes, as though the man might suddenly decide to sweep down and throw a rope over one of his cows. Nick marveled at the size of the bull’s horns, and the way he pushed his chest out with pride, daring him to make his move.

Following the map, he ran across several sets of carreta tracks in the stony ground, so he knew he had to be in the right area. These were carts that were used to transport gold from the mines.

He rode around the area on the map that showed a good size stream, yet no water was to be found, only a long dry riverbed that stretched for miles. This should be the spot, he thought to himself. He decided to camp here, for a few days, to better explore the area.

Four days later, he had found nothing. He had run out of supplies and ideas, as well as the will to hunt further.

He was about to give up and ride back to civilization in disappointment with head hung low in defeat when he saw the wild bull. He was lying on his side near a large boulder in acute distress, and appeared near death. As Nick approached, the old bull weakly snorted through his nostrils, but was too weak to do much more.

Nick spoke softly to the beast, trying to calm him. He had apparently been here awhile, his foot caught in a deep and narrow hole next to the boulder. And now, he was dehydrated to the point where death would be imminent.

Nick retrieved the canteen from his saddle, then returned to the animal and crouched beside him, again speaking in low tones. The bull made no movement, and lay on the dirt with defeat in his eyes. Quickly Nick opened the canteen and began pouring water gently over his mouth, causing the bull’s eyes to suddenly open widely. He turned his mouth upward to get more water in him, drinking greedily.

Nick didn’t like the idea of standing behind the bull, on the ground or not, but he knew the old man would die for sure without his help. He knelt on his haunches at and assessed the foot in the hole. He discovered that it was more the angle the hoof was trapped, rather than anything else. If he could convince the bull to stand from the right angle, or make the hole bigger, the foot should come out fairly easily.

Taking his rope and shovel off the saddle, he returned to the bull. He wrapped the looped end of the rope around the animal’s horns, and tied off the other end to the saddle horn. He then moved the horse into a position to keep the rope taut and keep the bull somewhat limited in movement. He went to work with the shovel, all the while talking to the bull and occasionally touching his flank. The creature seemed to know he was being helped and remained still, but tense.

Surprisingly, the soil around the rock was somewhat easy to displace, and he was able to move enough material to get the hole widened sufficiently to do the job. He mounted his horse and squeezed his boots around his belly, making a clicking noise at the same time to signal him to move forward. The bull rolled to his stomach and began kicking wildly with his submerged hoof. As Nick suspected, the hoof came out of the ground, amidst a cloud of dirt.

The back foot was raised, likely due to pain and loss of circulation from the position in which he laid. He looked unsure of what to do next. Nick took advantage of the situation to slacken the rope and maneuver it off the bull’s horns. The creature suddenly came to life and bolted, nearly falling in the process, then limping for a few dozen feet before sprinting off toward the his herd, waiting a hundred yards to the east.

Nick sighed in relief and said to the horse, “Well Hell, Buck, that wasn’t scary at all!” The horse raised his head and nickered to him, as if in sarcastic agreement.

Looking at the hole, Nick noticed it was even more enlarged as when he had dug it. He got down on his knees, peering into the darkness with his flashlight. Though he couldn’t see anything, he could hear what sounded like rushing water. “What the Hell?” he thought. He took the shovel and dug down some more. The sound of water became much louder, and when he put his hand in the hole, his hand became wet. What he had assumed was a long dry riverbed was actually flowing swiftly well below the ground he was standing on.

He then realized the series of boulders around him greatly resembled those that were depicted on Jacob’s map. Could it be?

To his left were large clumps of white ratany that generally corelated with the circled X on the map. He searched around and behind these clumps for over half hour before discovering a well-hidden opening in the mountain side, that widened into a cave of sorts. He noticed something scratched into the rock wall to his right. Wiping off the dust with his sleeve, he saw it was a circle within a larger circle. The treasure symbol indicating a gold mine was near. Brimming with adrenaline, Nick switched his headlamp on and crawled through the opening.

As soon as he was inside, everything opened up enough where he could stand easily. He noticed crude tool marks on the walls. What was more interesting, about a hundred yards in, was the zig zagging vein of gold that ran horizontally into the darkness further back into the cave. A thousand or so feet later, he found what he was looking for. Chunks of gold lay on the floor of the cave, and a nearby carreta overflowed with even more gold.

Nick took a single chunk of gold, then made his way out. On exiting the cave, he covered the entrance with brush he cut with his machete, hiding it from any who would seek it. He never looked at the map, again.