Ghost Gold

The year was 1842. Indians still controlled much of the lands in California which was still eight years from becoming a state. Both Mexican and United States troops patrolled the mountains and countryside, except for one section of the territory. That was the area that was known as Valle De La Muerte or Death Valley.

Valle De La Muerte lived up to its name. Hundreds of settlers, both Mexican and American lost their animals, their food, their hopes and finally their lives. The floor of Valle De La Muerte was covered with the bodies of those who did not know where the sparse water holes were located.

One group of American soldiers was ordered to patrol the edge of the desert but while on their patrol they noticed and young Indian boy running into the valley. The boy was dressed as most Indians they had seen in the mountains but there was one thing different…the bracelets the boy was wearing shined brighter than even the stars in the night skies.

The officer in change, Captain Fredrick Sir George, ordered his troops to follow the young boy while making sure that they kept enough distance as not to be seen or heard. They followed him for about an hour as he took pathways that no white man knew about but too the soldiers it seemed like they had travelled an entire day.

Their horses were exhausted and almost dead from not having any water since they left their camp and the men were almost as bad. It was as if they had become the walking dead in the 130 degree heat of the valley.

Finally the boy walked into a small community of Indians. Sir George looked at them from a ledge above the camp. They seemed friendly so Sir George and his men….all three of them…walked down and, once the Indians saw them, they were invited to share a meal, a drink and a chance to rest in the shade,

An Indian woman was cooking dinner in a big, roughly made metal pot. They were not sure what she was cooking…it didn’t matter they were hungry and would have eaten their horses if they weren’t government property. It ended up being a sort of rattlesnake stew but they didn’t care…food was food and that was that.

While they were eating Sir George noticed that all of the members of the tribe had gold. It was not just a little either. They had more jewelry than he had ever seen…bracelets, necklaces, rings and headpieces all made of the precious metal.

After dinner, out of gratitude, Sir George helped a young woman wash the dishes. As they cleaned he was washing a grease covered cooking pot. “What in the hell,” he said. Looking he saw that the pot he was cleaning was made of a shiny metal. Looking closer he saw that even the pots and plates were made of the same gold as was the jewelry. Then he looked at the rocks surrounding the camp….it was all rose quartz which was well known to be the rocks prospector looked for because it was the rocks that contained gold…a lot of it.

Silently, he called his men together and showed them the pot as well as the rocks he had found. They whispered between themselves while the Indians went on with their lives down below. Not one of Sir George’s men said anything as they stared down at the people below “Father forgive us for what we have done and what we are about to do,” he said as he raised his eyes to face Heaven. Sir George flicked his finger and the soldiers leveled their rifles and, within seconds, there was not a man, woman or child left alive.

Sir George ordered one of his men to get their horses but it wasn’t before the soldier came back and reported that all of the horses were gone. “That’s impossible,” Sir George said but the soldier confirmed that indeed all of their horses were gone. “Did anyone leave the camp while we were eating,” he asked. Another of the soldiers answered quickly saying that no one, Indian or soldier left the camp while they were there. “What in the hell…,” he yelled.

They climbed down off of the rocks. The soldiers took every piece of gold from every body and stuffed it in their pockets while Sir George went right over to that pot. He picked it and didn’t bother putting it in his pack. He carried it with him with the handle hung of the handle of his sword…like trophy he had just won.

They knew that they could not go back to the fort. There would be too many questions that neither Sir George nor his men wanted to answer. The nearest town was over 30 miles away. Not too far except they would have to cross the desert during the hottest part of the day but there was nothing else they could do so they started out heading south.

They started out with a limited supply of water and overloaded packs so the going was slow. It was less than a half of a mile away when the first soldier dropped. They all ran back and saw a bullet hole in the back of the man’s head. Not one of them heard a gunshot nor did they see anyone when they looked around. The man was shot but there was no way for the man to be shot. It was just impossible.

They continued walking after the remaining soldiers split the gold the dead man was carrying. Yes, it increased the weight each man was carrying but gold is gold and nothing was going to be left behind.

“Come on,” Sir George ordered. The men left the bodies to the vultures that made sure that all that would be left behind would be bleached bones.

A mile and then another passed by. The men were hungry, thirsty and tired but they knew that they had to make it to the town before they could rest because, for miles around there was nothing except flat ground and heat. There was no chance for shade or water so there was no reason to stop.

Another half mile or so and another soldier dropped. Again there was no sound and no one around to fire a gun but this time the men saw what happened. The private’s chest exploded right in front of them. They had seen this kind of would before and, when they turned the body over it confirmed what they thought. The young man was shot in the back by what looked like a bullet from a military rifle. They checked and they had their weapons including the one they took from the first dead man.

“Captain, what’s going on,” asked the last member of the patrol except for Sir George.

“I don’t know,” Sir George said. He was not just nervous…he was scared…more scared than any man should ever be but he could not show it. He was an officer and he had to show confidence to the man he had left. “Leave his gold. We have to keep going,” he said as he starting walking again, closely followed by that last man.

It took seven hours for them to cover the next five miles. By now, if they looked around they could see mountains in the distance but they knew that they were miles and miles away so they just kept walking.

The strange thing was, Sir George finally thought, there was not a noise when those men were killed. Not a gunshot, not the sound of a bullet and the men…they did not scream. The thoughts shook him but he just kept walking.

An hour later Sir George looked back and saw that he was alone. He didn’t see what happened or when that last soldier dropped but he could assume and that was probably going to be the right answer.

There are no records written that explained the incident but a few years later the body of Captain Sir George was found about 15 miles away from that small town. His body was merely bones but it was easy to see he had been shot in the back. They looked at the body and noticed one thing…his hand was still tightly gripping that golden pot and because of that the legend was born about the Ghost Gold of Death Valley.

Since that time in 1842 the legend has grown and dozens of people have searched for the campsite. Some came back and expressed frustration while other must have found the hold because they simply never returned. Yet people still come to town and still search for the gold and somehow they always will.