Adams Dig­gings Found!

Catron Courier - - Opinions & Editorial - By Sam “Sweet Wa­ter” Sav­age

Ever since the a man named Adams stum­bled into a fort the 1860’s with his amaz­ing story of a val­ley filled with gold, thou­sands of peo­ple have searched in vain for the amaz­ing lost treasure.

On his way from New York to Tuc­son, Adams sur­vived hav­ing his wagon be­ing set ablaze by Apache In­di­ans, and then joined up with a group of min­ers in what’s now known as Ca­tron County, search­ing for gold. Their Pima-Mex­i­can guide promised to lead them to a val­ley “whose walls cried tears of gold larger than coins.” The guide kept his word and Adams and the other min­ers found them­selves in a re­mote val­ley with huge gold nuggets. Adams and the other min­ers har­vested and hid the gold in corn-grind­ing basins left by an­cient In­di­ans. Need­ing sup­plies, the group sent sev­eral men to a fort near cur­rent day Grants. When they did not re­turn in nine days, Adams went to in­ves­ti­gate and found all of the sup­ply party dead. Rush­ing back to the gold, he dis­cov­ered that Apaches had found the camp, killed every­one, and burned it. Only Adams sur­vived.

Adams moved to Cal­i­for­nia and re­peat­edly re­turned in hopes of find­ing his treasure again. But he never found the way back. Since that time thou­sands have searched Datil, Zuni, and Grants. Many have fo­cused their searches on Re­serve be­cause that was the area Adams him­self re­vis­ited. Yet no one has ever found the treasure—un­til now.

On Tues­day, April 1 I was dis­tribut­ing copies of the Car­ton Courier at a lo­cal busi­ness when I no­ticed some­one I hadn’t met be­fore took a pa­per then left to sus­pi­ciously wait out­side. When I fin­ished my con­ver­sa­tion with the pro­pri­etor and stepped out, he ap­proached me. He made me swear not to de­scribe him phys­i­cally, not to men­tion his age, and not to men­tion where I met him. I swore an oath to honor his re­quest.

The man told me that he, by him­self, had fi­nally found the famed Adams Dig­gings. I al­ways try to be open minded, but I fig­ured the guy was a liar. He sensed my doubt and handed me a leather pouch about the size of my fist. It was very heavy, as if filled with lead fish­ing weights. “Look in­side!” he said. The pouch was filled with shin­ing gold nuggets that var­ied from the size of a grape to the size of a wal­nut.

He took back the pouch and tied it to his belt next to sev­eral other pouches.

“How did you find it?!” I asked.

“All I did was I put my­self in the shoes of the min­ers in the leg­end,” the man said. “There were over twenty min­ers pluck­ing gold nuggets off the val­ley walls for near two weeks and putting ‘em into a corn-grind­ing basins. That means that the val­ley walls prob­a­bly had no more vis­i­ble gold! And I bet they didn’t leave that gold in the basins vis­i­ble, so they must of cov­ered ‘em up with dirt and rocks. So I searched for cov­ered corn-grind­ing basins! Sure enough, I found ‘em!”

I asked him why he was telling me all this. “You see, I re­gret I never did get per­mis­sion from the land owner to take this gold. Tech­ni­cally, it be­longs to them, so I might be con­sid­ered a thief. I need to be sure no one can ever track me down, oth­er­wise they might take my gold or ar­rest me! I con­cocted a plan. To cover my tracks, I’ve salted ev­ery re­mote val­ley from Re­serve to Grants, from Datil to Red Hill with dozens o nuggets. I’ve got so many it makes no dif­fer­ence to me. Once you print this story, hun­dreds of folks will go out hunt­ing, leav­ing dozens of trails. No one will be able to fol­low my trail or fig­ure out where I found the treasure. That way I can spend my for­tune in peace, far away from here.”

I could un­der­stand why he wanted to stay anony­mous. He must have had eight-mil­lion dol­lars worth of gold on his belt alone. Who knows how much more he had stashed away.

“It’s time for me to dis­ap­pear,” he said. “I do love this lit­tle news­pa­per of yours. I’ll miss it.” He pressed some­thing into my palm. “This is for your trou­ble. Don’t for­get your prom­ise!” He walked away.

I opened my fist and saw he’d handed me a gold nugget. I tucked it into my pocket, but Adams’ gold has a way of dis­ap­pear­ing. When I got home, I found I had a hole in my pocket. My lit­tle piece of his­tory had fallen out some­where and was now wait­ing to be found again.

It turns out it took one prac­ti­cal think­ing man to fi­nally find the gold. I wish him a happy life, and I hope he can hang onto his gold and make the world a bet­ter place. But I sure would like my nugget back

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