Greed: A Tale from the Weird West

Greed: A Tale from the Weird West

By

Derek Thornton

     Onwards he came, and greed was in his heart. He was the latest in a long line of seekers and he would not be the last. Over the years I had seen them come and go. Some had stumbled on the truth, but most had merely given up and returned home. Their greed wasn't strong enough you see.

     I watched him as he travelled up the canyon. A mule loaded with equipment, one hand gripping the reins and in the other a map. It was always either a map or journal. Could be to the Lost Dutchman's mine or the soldiers lost gold vein. Most never even got this far. The maps and journals are made up out of whole cloth, fabrications you see. The map or journal was always sold to them by some unscrupulous character who plays on their hopes and dreams. Or, if you are in the know like me, greed is played on by greed.

     Anyways, he was headed up the canyon. Pots and pans banging, heedless of the noise they made. They always thought that they were coming upon something abandoned and just there for the taking. If they only knew, I am sure they would be quieter. Of course, that would not help them either. I have ways of knowing they are coming, especially the ones that get closest. I dream of them you see. From the spark in their minds that fires the tinders of their avarice to the completion of their journey to failure, I dream it all. In the shadows of my consciousness, I see their every move. Those who get close to me, I focus on.
     Right now, my dream eyes see him pause. He is at the critical junction. This path could lead to his own salvation or it could lead to his doom. To his right, a small trail leads off upwards of the canyon. This way leads to me. It isn't on his map because his map is fake. I can imagine his confusion. I see him peer at his map harder and look up the small trail.

     Is it worth his time to investigate?

     Is it a waste of his time and should he push on?

     I can imagine these thoughts going through his head. The decision he makes is crucial.

     He makes the wrong decision.

     Turning, he leads the mule up the side trail. With every step he seals his fate. Farther he travels upwards. His mule is getting a bit skittish and it is becoming a task to have it come along. Then he turns the corner, as they all do. There is still a chance they can turn back you see. It happened once. Some fellow, I forget his name, actually heeded the sense of his pack animal and turned around. Most aren't as smart as their animals. The mule sensed the evil that hung here like a pall.

     His eyes were on the cave entrance. Big and round as saucers they were and a slight smile crept onto his lips. Visions of gold flowed through his imagination.

     His mule was dancing from foot to foot as it tried to communicate it's need to leave this place. He merely dragged it to an outcrop of rock and tied it up. His fate was set.

     I could tell he didn't tie the mule well enough, so luckily it would escape.

     He searched through the gear loaded on the mule and got out an oil lantern. Lighting his lantern, he proceeded through the entrance of the cave. Moving slowly and looking about the walls for those veins of gold that he would not find, because this cave was not a source of gold. I pitied him.

Farther in he came till the light from the entrance faded and all that was left was the steady glow from the wick of his oil lantern. It was then that I awoke.

     I looked with my conscious eyes and saw faintly the glow from his lantern in the distance. Closer he came until I saw he reached a certain spot and I spoke.

     “Stop!”

     He jumped back. He had to swith the lantern from his dominant hand to reach the pistol hanging from the belt at his side. He pulled it out and aimed it blindly into the darkness. One word was not enough to let him know even my general direction.

     “Who's there?” he demanded.

     “The one who lives here. And who are you?” I asked.

     His gun centered in my general direction as the more I spoke the surer he got an idea of where I was. It didn't matter, his gun would be of no aid to him.

     “Look, I don't like not seeing you. You need to come on out. How are you living here with no light anyways? That isn't natural.”

     “Oh come now,” I chuckled, “My home and you have the temerity to demand of me? Now as I asked before, who are you?” I dream of them, but I can't read their thoughts or know all about them. I only become more conscious of them as they grow closer.

     A puzzled look passed his face as he decided whether he should answer or not.

     “Thomas Brighton,” he stated, “of Sacramento.”

     “Well now, Thomas Brighton of Sacramento, you must have come on a thieve's errand seeing as how you persist in pointing a gun at me in my place of residence.”

     Embarrassment came over him as he realized that he had been seen all along. They were always like that. Here they are in a big pool of their own light and yet it takes a while for it to dawn on them that I had the advantage of that. He slowly replaced his pistol back, but I saw that he did not rebutton the flap so that he could access it easier. He also placed the lantern on the ground.

     “There mister, is that better?” he asked.

     “Much.” I said. “Now tell me about this thieve's errand you are on?”

     “What makes you think I'm a thief? The gun is just for self defense. Who would have thought anyone would be living here way out in the middle of nowhere.”

     “Oh please,” I begged, “spare me the tired old tale. I know you came in search of gold. That is all anyone ever comes this far into the wilderness in search of. So tell me, which is it you are looking for Dutchman's Gulch? The pure vein of gold that U.S. Army soldiers found and lost?”

     “Look now mister, I'm no thief. You ought to know that all those tales involve a lost abandoned mine. It can only be stealing if you believe someone is in possession of it. Now, I will admit I am searching for the Lost Dutchman Mine. I saw an article in the Sacramento Daily Record-Union that sparked my interest last year. I have spent a goodly amount of money to equip myself for this and I am rightly sorry if I have disturbed you.”

     At this point you may be wondering, couldn't he still leave now?

     The answer is no.

     I can't afford him coming back with friends. So, it is time to set the hook now.

     “Ah, but I am here and I am in possession of gold. So that makes you a budding thief in my estimation.”

     His eyes narrowed as he thought about if what I said were true.

     “Pick up that lantern and come a bit closer,” I beckoned.

     He thought some more. In the end he bent to grab the lantern and came closer.

     It wasn't long before the sparkles caught his eye.

     You see, I said there were no veins of gold, but that was a bit of a deception on my part. True, this cave has no source of gold. As far as I know, there is no significant source of gold in the whole of the Superstition Mountains.

     But, the source of this gold was not here.

     You see long ago and far away there was a ruler of the Aztecs named Montezuma. Then came the Spaniards, led by Cortés, with more of that greed I was talking about earlier. They wanted the gold and treasure that Montezuma was in possession of. Cortés did not get it. It has been told that the priests, to keep the treasure out of Cortés hands took it north and hid it. This is partly true. I drove the priests on their trek north to keep the treasure from Cortés greedy little fingers. We arrived and I had the priests put the trove in this very cave. Then I killed them all.

     All those fantastic stories of a lost gold mine were never true at all. Instead the secret was much deeper.

     I blame the natives. I am sure that some we passed on the way to hide the gold told their tales which morphed over the centuries into the disparate stories that are passed around today.

     But, I digress. Heaps of gold were mounded up. So high that he could only see a fraction of it. Hardy and delicate vessels made with cunning skill, coins of gold and silver and expensive jewelry. Treasure from every reach of the globe. Chinese jade, celtic brooches, Roman coins and Mayan gold drinking vessels.

     I saw the look in Thomas' eyes that I have seen so many times before, dull greed that sucked him onwards.

     He fell to his knees and set aside the lamp and let his hands fondle the expensive baubles.

     It was at this point that I cleared my throat. Thomas looked up and I spoke again.

     “You see, this is all mine. You came to make it yours, but it has been mine for a long time and will remain so.”

     I then lit the fires in the cavern so that he could look on me as I was. Then, I let the fires devour him.

     As the fire died down, I coiled my serpentine body and let the coolness of my hoard be felt against my scales. The Aztecs knew me as Quetzalcoatl, the winged serpent. Europeans know me as a dragon.
     I am, of course, one of those ancient breed of serpents that you here about from time to time in various cultures. The Aztecs were worshipping me as a god when I decided they were no longer the safe spot for my treasure. I have travelled far and wide all to keep my hoard mine. You see at the beginning of my tale I talked about how their greed isn't enough. Well, I have a spirit of greed within me and I can assure you it is enough for me. I rested my head on a large pile of coins, minted sometime in antiquity, and let myself drift off back to sleep and my mind wandered in to dreams of who would search me out next.