BILL McHANEY AND THE MOUNTAIN |
It was January in the desert and it was cold. It had snowed two days back and now the north winds were blowing in at a pretty good clip with a lot of cloud cover. Bill McHaney sat at the bar in the Oasis sipping a warm cup of coffee and cussing the wind. He didn't mind the snow. He knew it would melt in a day or two. But the wind -- well it just drives a man crazy. The bar was empty except for Bill and Charlie, the owner. Charlie also hated the wind. The bare board sides of the Oasis were far from wind proof and Charlie goes through a lot of wood just to keep the chill off the customers. The door opens momentarily and floorboards creak as Charles Wilson (aka Johnny "Quartz" Wilson, aka "Chuckwalla" Wilson), accompanied by a howl of wind, comes in stamping his feet. Then the door slams shut and a brief quiet descends. Wilson begins to peel off layers of clothes and gets close to the pot bellied stove. Charlie wordlessly gets him a cup of coffee with a whiskey shooter. Chuckwalla's eyes narrow on Bill over the rim of his steaming coffee cup and he says, "Bill, you look like hell. When was the last time you slept?" "Chuck, it's not that I'm not sleeping. It's this damn wind. Makes me nervous. Ties me up in knots. Can't stand being cooped up while it's stormin'. I've got to get back out to my cabin on the mountain." * * * It was a long time ago since Bill had gotten bit by the nugget bug, although it seemed to him only just like yesterday when his pulse first raced at the listening of the tale. A fabulously rich vein of gold found and then lost again! Bill McHaney, in the process, made his home near the southeast end of Gold Park. For years he searched relentlessly far afield and dedicated himself (some say he obsessed himself) to the search. "Some day," he thought, "some day I'm going to find that lode!" * * * "Yup Bill, your right about this wind and cold weather. It drives me crazy too. Speaking of that mountain, c'mon over here closer to the stove. Let's talk about it and see if we can warm up some." Bill and Chuckwalla hunch over, squeezing at the remaining warmth of their coffee mugs. They settle in for a while, heads bent together, trying to concentrate on talk of Bill's plans. But outside the weather just gets worse. Then it starts snowing again. Possibly the wind died down just a little. But, at that point, there was no consoling Bill. He is antsy and getting surly because more snow means more delay. He can virtually feel the gold mocking him -- just beyond his reach. Chuckwalla has had enough. He orders Bill a stiff shot and another cup of coffee. He tells him either take his medicine and calm down or get ready for a hog tying. Bill's throat hisses from the gulp of liquid fire. "Damn snow! Damn this new snow!" Chuckwalla goes over to the bar and talks to Charlie. Does he have any food to eat? Charlie says that he has a pot of beans in the back with some hardtack. Chuckwalla orders two big bowls of beans and hardtack for Bill and himself. Wilson goes back to the table and tells Bill that their dinner is on its way. Just as time seems about to freeze completely over, Charlie brings steaming beans to the table and plunks the hot bowls down with two cups of fresh coffee. The aroma of the beans suddenly seems to transform Bill. He wields an oversized spoon and attacks the bowl. This prompts Chuckwalla to ask Bill when he ate last. Bill catches his breath and exhales his answer, "Three or four days ago. I can't remember for sure." Chuckwalla orders two more bowls of beans for Bill and tells Charlie he will cover the tab. This time Bill slows down enough to break up the hardtack and crumble it into the beans to soak soft before devouring it all. The snow eventually stopped that night. Bill and Chuckwalla left the Oasis and headed outside to bed down in their own tents. It took over two days for the snow to melt into the desert varnish and another three days for the wind to die down. There were still patches of ice in the shadowed zones. Bill had his gear ready to go and when the wind finally gentled he loaded his two mules and headed the many miles out to his cabin in the southeast end of the Gold Park District. When Bill got to his tiny cabin, which was hidden back up in a draw, the pack rats had taken over. It took Bill half a day to get things cleaned up and livable inside. Bill didn't mind the little critters except that they would steal anything that was not nailed down and usually left a piece of cactus in place of what they took. On the way up to the cabin Bill shot two cottontail rabbits so he cleaned them and fried them up with a potato and onion. He figured that it was cold enough that he could finish the rest of it off for breakfast. Bill was glad that he built his cabin back up in this draw. It was out of sight and out of the wind. Originally, he had spent about a week digging out the bank for the cabin and the corral for the animals. As he was getting ready for bed he put some hardtack out for the pack rats in hopes that they would leave his dry goods alone. As sleep fell upon Bill he dreamed, as he always did, about finding nuggets on the side of a mountain up in a hidden wash. * * * The story of how Bill located his cabin goes back in time. Bill did not have much experience with Indians except the few that hung out way back at the Oasis. He didn't know if he could trust him, but Bill got to talking to an old Indian one night whose tongue was loosened by much fire water. The old man seemed to have honest eyes and rambled out a story in dizzying jerks and pieces about places in the desert where gold was hidden. Bill got excited because some aspects of the old man's story seemed so believable. According to the Indian's slurry account, one of the places was on sacred ground and Bill should stay away from it. As he said this he drew the edge of his hand across his throat. But there was another place he had seen once. It was quite remote and the Indian no longer could exactly recall how to get to it. But if Bill could stumble upon it, there would be gold nuggets lying around a sharp bend all over one side of a hidden wash coming down a distant mountain. The old Indian insisted on more to drink and in return, before passing out, agreed to show Bill at least the general area where the secret wash could be found. Next day the old Indian's demeanor had changed. He was sullen and sick and barely could get up from his bed roll. Bill made him some coffee and fed him some bread. Gradually the old Indian regained some strength and seemed to respond to Bill's kindness. It turned out to be the last time Bill ever saw him. But before the Indian slowly turned off the trail and headed toward Music Valley, he pointed out a distant mountain chain and grunted in a way and with a gesture that Bill understood. Bill made a dry camp that night and the next day located a place to build his little cabin and stable. That was many years ago. * * * Bill arose with the sun and went outside to retrieve his leftovers for breakfast. As he brought them back in he noticed that all of the hardtack was gone and the small table was covered with bits of cactus and a few small, shiny stones. "Very curious," he thought to himself. "Naw, that can't be." Then he literally dropped the skillet down on the stove, swept away the cactus bits and grabbed some of the stones. To his amazement the stones were laced throughout with gold! His blood started pumping faster. Could it be right in his own back yard? Had he fallen upon the right spot all along? "Okay, calm down. Catch your breath," he muttered. Then Bill put on a pot of coffee and re-cooked the rabbit from the night before. After swallowing the last of his breakfast Bill was still trying to digest the implications of his discovery. He cut some winter grass to feed the animals. That being done he picked up his rake, a pick, and a bag. Then he headed out behind his own cabin and, for the first time, climbed way on up that wash. For the next 25 years Bill raked the sides of his secret golden garden, hand picking the nuggets he saw. Every once in a while Chuckwalla would come out and visit with him. Bill seemed so much calmer now. At the Oasis it was Bill who treated Chuckwalla to a drink and a meal. And from that day on he always paid his accounts in gold specie whenever he came to town for goods and a visit. * * *
Today you can barely see the rake marks on the mountain and his cabin is pretty much gone.
My father related the original version of this story to me many years ago, yet I've never
gone looking for any of the gold. Now with the advent of good metal detectors I may just
be paying a visit to that mountain in a year or so. And I think I'll be taking a rake with
me. |