So folks, I gotta tell you about this crazy quest I went on last week. Heard whispers about an old mining horse named Ruby who supposedly knew where the real good stuff was buried. Figured it might be a load of hogwash, but hey – nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
Getting My Ducks in a Row
First thing I did was hit up the local historical society. Dug through dusty boxes of old miner diaries till my sneezed ten times in a row. Found this one journal from 1938 where a guy kept mentioning Ruby finding a “sparkly gulch”. Didn’t say where exactly, but he drew this wonky map that looked like a child’s doodle of mountains. Took a pic with my phone – almost dropped it when an actual dust bunny jumped outta the box!
Tracking Down Ruby’s Hangout
Drove out near Silverton with that terrible map glued to my dashboard. Spent hours wandering around with my metal detector beeping like crazy at every darn soda can. Was about to call it quits when I spotted horses near an abandoned shed. Walked real slow, holding out sugar cubes like an idiot. Three horses bolted, but this old mare with a white diamond on her forehead just stared me down. Felt like she was sizing me up, honest to goodness.
The Breakthrough Moment
Next morning, I came back with apples instead. Ruby nibbled one right from my palm! Started following her as she ambled toward a creek. Watched her paw at this particular patch of dirt over and over, like she was scratching lottery tickets. Got my shovel, dug about knee-deep… and CLANG! Hit something solid. Nearly yanked my shoulder out whipping out a rusted lockbox. Heart was banging like a drum solo!
What Was Inside?
Had to pry that sucker open with a crowbar. Found:
- Two eagle gold coins from 1899 (bent but shiny!)
- A nugget big as my thumb knuckle
- Weird little porcelain doll head (creepy but probably antique)
Also found three letters wrapped in oilskin – turned out to be some miner’s love notes to his wife. Sweetest darn thing I’ve read in years.
Why This Means Anything At All
Turns out Ruby belonged to that letter-writer’s grandson back in the 60s. He’d buried his grandpa’s stuff near her favorite grazing spot after the mine closed. That horse remembered the spot for thirty dang years! Makes you think how animals clock things we never notice.
Sold the coins to a collector for enough to fix my pickup’s transmission. Kept the nugget on my windowsill to catch the morning light. And that doll head? My cat bats it around the kitchen floor. Guess treasure ain’t always about cash – sometimes it’s the wild goose chase itself that pays off.
