It had been another long, hot journey riding across the high desert beneath the Utah sun, sitting atop my trusted horse, Nickels. We had made this same trek together many times in the past and we knew the route perfectly. Most travelers opted to skirt this corner of the desert by riding along the base of the mountains to the north where shade and water were plentiful. That route was much easier on both horse and rider, but it also added an extra day to the trip. As a much younger man, I had decided to try riding through the desert itself and, completely by luck, I had discovered the ideal route. Because of this, I could cross the desert in two days whereas the average rider needed the better part of three. Through the years, people had asked me to provide them with my desert route, but I had decided to keep this information to myself. I would tell them that this route was very difficult to ride and even more difficult to explain. Until now, I had successfully guarded this secret and I was not yet motivated to share it with anyone.

My travel plan through the desert was really very simple. I would embark on my journey before four o'clock a.m., traveling for two hours in the dark and then six additional hours in the morning daylight. After sunup, the cool morning temperature would increase rapidly and by noon, the desert heat would become overwhelming, and the relentless sun unforgiving. At that point, approximately halfway to our destination, I would need to seek shelter to protect us from the elements. To this day, I am amazed at how fortunate I was to have stumbled upon the ideal place for our mid-desert interlude.

Throughout the barren landscape, among the cacti and the other desert weeds and plants, occasional rock formations including areas of standing boulders, are sporadically located. These formations are typically small, measuring a few hundred square feet or less. Some are larger, encompassing as much as half an acre. It was in one of these larger formations that I had inadvertently discovered water late in the morning of our initial crossing. In seeking shade from the sun within the confines of a rock formation, I was surprised to discover a small pool of fresh spring water standing in the rocky ground. The pool measured approximately thirty square feet in size. It appeared to be quite deep, and the water was clear. No stream flowed from the pool which indicated that the water exited the pool from somewhere underground. Due to the large sizes of the rock formations that surrounded this desert oasis, green vegetation was not visible from the outside. Also, since the small pool was fed from deep underground, the sound of the small spring was muted, and no water sounds could be heard in the area.

That first afternoon, Jericho, my horse at that time, and I had entered the rock formation and halted within the enclosed confines. After removing his saddle and placing it upon a boulder, I led him to the water pool and allowed him to drink. When he was finished, I took him into the shade. By this time, the sun had already passed overhead, and a growing shaded area was developing on the eastern side of the rocks. I checked this area closely to make sure that no snakes, scorpions or other dangerous varmints were present. There were not any. While Jericho ate a small ration of oats that I had carried with us from home, I removed my clothes, jumped into the pool and cooled off in the cold, spring-fed water. While in the water, I drank enough to quench my thirst. Later, I would refill both of my canteens. When I finished swimming, I quickly dried off in the hot sun, got dressed and retreated to the shaded area. There I relaxed with Jericho for the remainder of the afternoon, protected from the sun and the worst of the desert heat. That night, I slept on a bedroll under a blanket on the hard ground. The air had become quite cool. There was no campfire. In the morning, two hours before daylight, I ate some food that I had carried from home. Jericho ate the last of his oats. Then, after resaddling the horse and allowing him a final drink of water, we moved back onto the desert and resumed riding toward our destination. We would arrive there in about eight hours.

Within the confines of the boulder enclosed oasis, there were clear indications that it had been visited by other people in the past. I certainly had not been its discoverer on my first visit in 1878. I was certain that the American Indians had utilized it for generations. There were also remnants of old campfires and some small bits of trash that had been left behind by previous campers. It was easy to see where horses had previously been tied. It appeared that nobody had visited in a while as there were no recent tracks and no fresh debris of any type.

Over the next fifteen years, I continued to travel this desert route several times annually and I always stayed the night at my secret stopover. Sometimes, I would find indications that somebody else had been there since my previous visit, but I never encountered another person. This changed one hot, summer morning as I approached the rock formation, tired and thirsty, looking forward to a refreshing dip in the cold waters of the spring-fed pool. I was sitting atop Nickels as Jericho had long since passed. We rode to within seventy yards of the rock formation. Suddenly, I was startled by a loud voice shouting a command at me. Until then, the only sounds that I had ever heard at this location were the desert wind and water splashing as I bathed in the pool, or as my horse drank. Staring at the rock formation, my eyes located a man standing behind a large boulder with a rifle in his hands. I immediately pulled back on Nickels' reins, stopping the horse. The man had my complete attention, and I awaited his further words.

"Keep movin' and don't stop," ordered the man. "Ya ain't welcome here."

The man appeared to be an older fellow, possibly in his seventies, perhaps even older. He was hatless with thin, white hair and a scraggly beard. He was wearing an old, tan shirt and a blue bandana around his neck. The rest of him was hidden by the boulder behind which he was standing. An older Winchester rifle was in his hands.

"Pardon me, sir," I carefully responded. "My horse and I sleep here throughout the year. We've been traveling many hours and we're hot and tired. We need water. We need to rest."

"Didn't ye hear me?" hollered the man. "Ya ain't welcome here. Keep movin'. Go on, git."

"We can't keep moving," I protested. "I don't know where else to go."

The old man pointed his rifle at me, threatening to shoot. Not knowing the man, I didn't know if he would shoot or not. I was in no position to argue with him. I was in a dangerous predicament.

"Do as I say, stranger," warned the man. "I ain't tellin' ya again."

"Please, sir, I just . . . "

"Leave!" the man shouted angrily. "Now! Git."

I was facing a critical dilemma. Although I had never been more than an average poker player at best, I realized that I was going to have to call the man's bluff. I had no choice. My horse was thirsty, and I was concerned that he wouldn't last another eight hours in the hot desert before we could reach our destination. Realistically, the timeframe would be longer than eight hours, since Nickels would be traveling at a much slower pace as his thirst increased. Leaving here without water was not a viable option.

"Look, we need water," I told the man angrily. "We have no choice. If you're gonna' shoot me, then I guess you need to go ahead and do it. Without water, he and I will both die before we can get where we're goin'. If I'm gonna' die, you might as well shoot me now. If you'd spare the horse, I'd be much obliged."

As the man listened to my words, he became perplexed. He now seemed hesitant. Perhaps he was not so keen on shooting me. I decided to continue talking.

"You know, if you shoot me, you'll need to bury me in this hard, rocky ground. I hope you've got some strong shovels and a strong back. If you don't bury me right quick, the vultures will come and so will the blow flies and the flesh flies. They'll swarm on me for days and they'll be flying around inside your little fortress here, too. They'll be all over the place. You'll be swattin' them away with your hands because they'll be bitin' you as well."

The man was quiet now, contemplating his options. I sensed that he was close to making a decision. Was he going to shoot me or give me water? I realized that he would not necessarily have to bury me in this location. He could transport my dead body on a horse and dump it somewhere out in the desert. Hopefully, he was not going to do that. Nervously, I waited to learn my fate.

"Okay," the man finally agreed reluctantly. "Come get your water and relax your horse a bit. Then ya'll need to be on your way. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand," I replied in a relieved tone. "Thanks, mister. I appreciate it."

With that said, I rode Nickels the short distance to the opening in the rock formation. There I dismounted and with the reins in my right hand, we walked into the inner confines of the oasis. Once inside, the horse immediately located the pool of water and began to drink. The old man watched us carefully. He had certainly noticed by now that I was not carrying a handgun. He must have also noticed the rifle contained in a leather scabbard attached to my horse.

Standing beside the horse as he drank, I took a short look about the enclosure. I saw that the man had a horse and a mule. The horse was obviously used for riding whereas the mule was a pack animal. I also observed that he possessed mining tools. To my surprise, it appeared that he had been digging throughout the oasis, but I saw no indications that he had found anything. That's certainly weird, I thought to myself. As far as I knew, there were no known deposits of precious metals anywhere near this area. Why would he be wasting his time digging here? The work had to be difficult, and it almost certainly would be unsuccessful.

When Nickels and I finished drinking from the pool, I refilled my two canteens. Once filled, I tied them together and draped them over the back of the horse where they would be within my easy reach. Then, leading the horse to the shaded area, I provided him with a small amount of oats which he readily ate. As he was finishing eating, I saw the old man approaching. I anticipated him telling me that it was now time for us to leave. The idea of leaving this shade and continuing our journey under the hot desert sun was unappealing to me. Nevertheless, the old man had kept his part of our bargain. I felt obligated to honor mine.

"Why not sit and rest a spell," offered the old man. "As long as ya's here, ya might as well. It's hot as blazes out there."

The old man's offer surprised me, but I immediately accepted. I had no desire to go back into the desert that afternoon.

"Whenever we cross the desert, Nickels and I always sleep here," I told him. "We'd sure like to stay here till mornin'. We won't cause you any trouble. You have my promise."

The man contemplated briefly. He was a loner, but that afternoon for whatever reason, he felt open to tolerating company. "Ya, I reckon it's okay," he agreed. "Make yourself comfortable."

Smiling in relief, I thanked him graciously. I then proceeded to remove Nickels' saddle, placing it and the two canteens on a nearby boulder. When this was done, I sat in the shade on the east side of the rock formation and removed my hat. My eight-hour journey that morning had exhausted me. The old man now seemed to be a nice enough fellow. I felt safe and secure in this location. I closed my eyes and quickly fell asleep. A brief nap would reinvigorate me, no doubt.

A couple of hours later, I awoke to the smell of smoke. As I opened my eyes and sat up straight, I noticed a small campfire burning in the ground about twenty feet away. An unrecognizable desert rodent, impaled by a metal spit, was positioned horizontally just slightly above the flames. The fire made hissing sounds as droplets of moisture fell from the cooking meat onto the fire. It did not appear very appetizing. The old man noticed that I had awakened.

"Good morning," said the man facetiously. "Have a good rest? I'd say ya did."

"Yeah," I replied, "I did. I really needed that."

"I'm cookin" me some supper," he informed me, nodding at the campfire. "Ya hungry? I've got enough to share."

"Maybe I can eat a small piece," I replied. "The hot desert tends to kill my appetite. I've got some beans in my saddle bags if you'd like to have some."

The old man smiled pleasantly. "That'd be great," he said. "I'd be much obliged. Let me get my pan for cookin' 'em."

He proceeded to walk to the pack mule and obtained an old, tarnished frying pan from a leather pouch still tied to the animal's back. Once he had it in hand, he carried it back to the fire. Meanwhile, I obtained the beans from my saddle bags and gave them to the man. He proceeded to pour half of them into the frying pan. He placed a small amount of lard into the pan as well.

"Supper'll be ready in fifteen minutes or so," the old man informed me. "If ya wanna' wash up, now's a good time."

Nodding my head in agreement, I went to the pool where I washed my face and hands in the cool, spring water. The water felt wonderful, and it washed away any sleepiness that I was still feeling. I then returned to the campfire. Minutes later, the old man fixed me a serving of the rodent meat and some beans on a metal plate. He ate the remaining meat and some beans from the frying pan. To this day, I do not know what meat I was eating. I never asked. It tasted okay, although I would not be eager to eat it again.

After dinner, I asked the old man if he might like to have a taste of whiskey. He enthusiastically accepted. I retrieved a half pint of whiskey from my saddlebag. There was not enough whiskey in the bottle for us to become intoxicated. Therefore, I was not concerned about the man's ability to hold his liquor or of him becoming a mean drunk. The whiskey did relax the man considerably, causing him to become talkative. He spoke to me as though I was an old friend, feeling no inhibition at all. He informed me that his name was Amos Harting. I told him that I was George Beason.

"Bison?" he asked in a surprised tone. "What kind of name is that? Are ya part buffalo?" Amos laughed heartily at his joke. I smiled friendlily, not offended by his remark. Instead, I called him 'Pyrite'. He didn't understand my humor. He thought that I was calling him a pirate.

As we sat and conversed, mildly feeling the effect of the whiskey, Pyrite confided in me and explained why he was mining the oasis. Several weeks earlier, while napping outside the feed store in Cedar City, he had overheard two men whispering. They had assumed that he was sleeping. They apparently had been involved in a bank robbery in New Mexico a few days earlier where they had stolen over $10,000 in gold coins and hidden them in the desert. They intended to keep them hidden for a few months until the heat from the authorities and the police detectives let up. They were content to be patient as was their accomplice in New Mexico who would notify them when it was safe to retrieve their loot. Pyrite listened as they discussed the location of their hidden stash. He had lived in or near this desert for most of his adult life and based on the outlaws' description of the hiding place in their conversation, he believed that he knew exactly where it was. As soon as the men left, traveling in the direction away from the desert, he immediately got his tools, purchased two months' worth of supplies, and headed to that location. He had been there ever since, but to date had found nothing. He had been working very hard and was becoming increasingly discouraged. He was also afraid that he was quickly running out of time before the outlaws would be returning for their money.

As I looked about the oasis while the miner spoke, I could not immediately identify any places that he might have missed in his search. Most of the ground was rock solid and had obviously never been disturbed. Other places, some very imaginative, had been excavated but nothing had been found. There was one additional place that seemed obvious to me, but I suspected that Pyrite had not searched there. It was the pool of water, of course.

"Have you looked in the pool?" I asked. "Maybe the money's in there."

Pyrite looked at me as though I was crazy. He shook his head dismissively. "All ya have to do his look inta the pool," he replied. "It ain't there. That water's crystal clear. Otherwise, ya'd see the money easy."

"If they hid the money in the water, they wouldn't leave it out in the open," I explained. "It would be too easy to see, and it'd be long gone by now. There may be a crevice or a small cave somewhere in the pool. If there is, that's where they'd put it. My guess is that the loot is either somewhere in the pool or it's not here at all."

Pyrite had to agree. He was suddenly very interested in my idea, and he was eager to act on it. Unfortunately, he had never learned to swim. Upon learning that I knew how, he asked if I would be willing to go down in the water to see if I could find the money. I agreed to do so.

Wasting no time, Pyrite and I walked to the water pool and stared down into it. We estimated that it was ten to twelve feet deep. I was confident that I could reach the bottom. Despite feeling awkward, I proceeded to strip to my underwear. I was relieved as the miner paid me scant attention. His total interest was concentrated on the inner depths of the pool. As soon as I was ready, I held my breath and jumped into the water. Holding my arms perpendicular to the sky, I felt myself plunging downward until my feet touched the bottom of the pool. It was rock solid, and I could feel a strong current from the spring as water entered the pool from one side and immediately exited on the other.

Quickly, I examined the stone walls of the pool which were smooth to the touch having been exposed to the water for perhaps thousands of years. The sun provided plenty of light, enabling me to see quite easily. My main concern was air as I knew I could only hold my breath for a minute or so at a time. Fortunately, I found the money almost immediately. It had been placed in a crevice at approximately the eight-foot depth. No tool of any type would be required for me to retrieve it. Carefully, I removed a burlap bag containing coins from the crevice. I held it tightly against my chest with one arm, hoping that the burlap material had not deteriorated in the water. If the bag was to rupture during ascent and the coins were to fall to the bottom of the pool, it would be physically exhausting work trying to collect them. Using my free arm and my legs for propulsion, I ascended to the surface of the pool. When I reached the top, I exhaled forcefully and struggled momentarily to catch my breath. I then handed the bag of coins to Pyrite who accepted it happily while laughing hysterically. He could not believe his good fortune.

Pyrite carried the bag of coins a short distance to a boulder with a flat top. There he carefully emptied the bag and began to count the money. The coins were all twenty-dollar gold pieces. Since he had no formal education and had never learned the multiplication tables, counting the coins was going to be a tedious process. He had never seen this much money in his life. His plan was to organize the coins in stacks of five coins each. He would then count the number of stacks to determine the total value of the money laid out on the boulder top before him.

Meanwhile, with the miner intently counting the money, I climbed out of the pool and walked over to where Nickels was tied. There I stood beside my horse while my body and wet underwear dried in the sun and the wind. Within a few minutes, I was sufficiently dry, and I proceeded to get dressed. Once this was done, I walked over to the flat-topped boulder and watched Pyrite count his money. Although I barely knew the old man, I felt happy for him. He eventually determined that he had 170 gold pieces with a total value of $3,400. Although this was considerably less than the $10,000. he had been expecting, he was ecstatic to have found so much money. He was quite satisfied.

Later that evening as we finished the remaining whiskey, Pyrite and I discussed the money. We decided that he would keep $3,000 for himself and I would take $400 as my fee for retrieving the money out of the well for him. I accepted this agreement for two basic reasons. First, the miner had been working hard digging for this money for several weeks in the hot, desert weather. I had spent only a few minutes looking for it in the cold waters of the spring-fed pool. My only real physical work was carrying the bag of coins to the surface of the water. Second, I really did not know the man very well. Would he consider shooting me tonight as I slept to steal my half of the loot? I did not want to take that chance. The $400 for my services had been his idea. I doubted that he would kill me for the $400, since he was so elated with his $3,000.

We also discussed how having this money was going to impact his life. I warned him to be inconspicuous with the money. Many people would readily take it from him if they realized he had it. Some would be willing to kill him for it. He needed to be smart and careful. Also, I suggested that he not go back to Cedar City. The locals there would figure out quickly that this old miner suddenly had money to spend that he had never had before. Where did he get it? If the outlaws who robbed the bank learned of this, they would track him down to recover their money. Whether they got their money back or not, they would probably kill him. He needed to be aware of this danger and to live accordingly. Pyrite appeared to understand my message.

"Yeah, I know yer right," he said. "I've always been wantin' to see Montana. They say there's gold there." The miner laughed at his joke and patted his bag of coins. "I reckon' that's what I'm gonna do."

"That sounds like a good plan," I said. "If I was you, I head there right from here. It'll be a long trip, but now you've got money and plenty of time. You need to get away from here. Go up there and start enjoying your life some. Life is short."

Pyrite nodded his head in agreement. "That's what I'm gonna' do," he said. "In fact, I think I'll pack-up tonight and head out before sunup. I like to travel before noon, same as ya. Afternoons in the desert heat are too much."

I nodded my head in agreement. "Nickels and I will probably wait here until after sunrise. Then we'll be on our way, too."

Pyrite and I conversed for a few more minutes before he got busy packing up his things. In about an hour, his task was complete, and he decided to lie down and try to get some sleep. A few hours earlier, he'd had no plans to be traveling tomorrow. Now, between his excitement of finding the money and his anticipation of departing on his morning journey, he was full of adrenalin and expecting a restless night. Once he finally lay down, I spread my bedroll on the ground and lay upon it, trying to relax but unable. I slept restlessly, wary that the miner could turn on me during the night, although I doubted that this would happen. Finally, at about three a.m., Pyrite got up and prepared to leave. He lit a small campfire and made some coffee. We shared some left-over beans from the previous evening. He made certain that his canteen was full. Then, anxious to get started, he began leading his horse and his mule toward the exit of the oasis. For the first time, I saw him wearing a hat. I walked beside him until they were outside of the enclosure.

"Goodbye, Pyrite," I told him as he climbed onto his horse. "Be careful, my friend. Travel safely. Try to cover your tracks as best you can. When the outlaws return and find their money gone, they'll probably try tracking us."

"I will," he replied. "Ya be careful, too. Thanks for all yer help. I'm much obliged."

"It was my pleasure," I said. "I'm glad we found your treasure. Enjoy Montana."

"I will," he agreed with a big smile. "I sure will."

Pyrite and I shook hands, and then I watched as he rode away on his horse with the pack mule following behind. He would be traveling slowly. He planned to take a northeasterly route to bypass Cedar City. He was headed toward Colorado and Wyoming through which he would pass enroute to Montana. His exact destination in Montana had not yet been chosen, and he would make this determination as he drew closer to that territory. I continued watching as the silhouettes of the horse, rider and pack mule shrank in size before disappearing into the desert darkness.

Once Pyrite was gone, I obtained some water from the pool and extinguished the campfire. I doubted if anyone was anywhere in the general vicinity of my location, but I did not want to risk having the glow of the fire attract anyone's attention. Although it was unlikely to happen, I was suddenly feeling paranoid that the outlaws might show up to obtain their money while I was still there. That would be a dangerous situation, for sure.

As daylight approached, I fed Nickels the last of his oats and lead him to the water where he drank. We were ready to leave except for my blanket and bedroll that were still on the ground. I checked and made certain that my rifle was loaded. As daylight broke and the sun began to rise in the eastern sky, the sunlight slowly brightened the oasis. By about seven a.m., the sun was high enough to provide me with the adequate amount of light that I needed. At this point, I approached the spring-fed pool and proceeded to strip off my clothes. Naked, I jumped into the pool and descended to the depth of eight feet where the crevice in the stone wall was located. Carefully, I removed another burlap bag of coins, held it against my chest with one arm, and then propelled back to the surface. Once there, I placed the bag on the outside rim of the pool. After resting for a couple of minutes and catching my breath, I descended again into the pool and removed the last bag of coins from the crevice before ascending again to the surface. I placed this bag on the rim of the pool beside the other. I then climbed out of the water.

While my body dried in the cool morning air, I carried the coins to my bedroll. There were a lot of coins, but I had enough room in the bedroll and my saddlebags to pack them all securely. Once they were packaged to my satisfaction, I saddled the horse, folded the bedroll, positioned it behind my saddle next to the scabbard and secured it. I then retrieved my clothes and while standing beside the pool, I got dressed. Then, wasting no further time, I grabbed Nickels' reins and led him to the exit of the rock formation and onto the desert. I climbed into the saddle, and we immediately began riding away. We had an eight-hour ride ahead of us. Since we were leaving more than three hours later than usual, it would be mid-afternoon before reached our destination. We were in for a long, hot ride and I was anxious to get home.

The outlaws would be livid with anger when they discovered that the loot from their bank robbery had been stolen from them. They would certainly try very hard to learn the identity of the thieves. On the way home, I decided to take a circuitous route to confuse any riders who might attempt to follow Nickels' tracks. These tracks would diminish over time and become increasingly difficult to find. Wherever possible, I used more traveled trails and roads where his tracks would be mixed with the tracks of other horses. By the time we reached our destination, I was confident that it would be an impossible task for anyone to successfully track us to my house. I hoped that Pyrite was being equally careful.

Two months later, I learned from a local sheriff's deputy that the bodies of two unidentified men had recently been found in the desert about eight hours to the west. These men appeared to be gunslingers based on their dark clothes and the well-oiled holsters that were attached to their belts. Both of their guns were on the ground nearby, but neither gun had fired a bullet. The deputy surmised that the guns had been drawn, but both men had taken a bullet to the chest before the triggers could be pulled. The killer was unidentified and at large. With no known witnesses to the shooting, it was doubtful if the murders would ever be solved. Based on the location and the timing of the shooting, I surmised that the two dead men might well be the two Utah members of the outlaw gang that had robbed the bank in New Mexico. Their New Mexican colleague had possibly discovered that the loot stashed in the desert pool was missing and had assumed that he was being swindled. He probably had killed his partners believing that they had double crossed him.

With the two Utah outlaws dead and their accomplice unable to locate the money, I was confident that I would never be implicated in the theft of their loot. I would have no problem in keeping that secret to myself, just as I had stubbornly kept my secret route across the desert confidential. Unless Pyrite would someday reveal this information to somebody, I anticipated no future repercussions resulting from our actions. Meanwhile, in counting the coins contained in the second and third burlap bags, I found that both bags contained the exact, same amount of money as the initial bag. Every bag contained 170 twenty-dollar gold pieces. Therefore, the total value of the money in each bag was $3,400 dollars. The grand total of the outlaws' heist was $10,200. Pyrite took $3,000 of this money whereas I kept the remaining $7,200 for myself. Although I felt slightly guilty in cheating the miner out of some of this money, I did not worry too much about it. He was now a wealthy man by his standards. I was a younger man, and my money would have to last me much longer than his would need to last him.

Following the murder of the outlaws, I never heard anything more about the incident. As far as I knew, their killer was never identified. I stashed my share of the stolen money in my house. In the subsequent months and years, I deposited this money in the local bank, a little at a time, to avoid suspicion and to not draw attention to myself in the community. After several years, the bulk of this money was in the bank, and I was in the process of locating a small ranch to purchase. I had quietly become one of the wealthier men in my community. I was courting a good woman who would soon become my wife. We both looked forward to living together on the ranch and starting a family. I never heard of Pyrite again and I hoped that he was alive and well, enjoying his life in Montana. Without a doubt, meeting Pyrite was a golden event in my life. The few hours that we spent together in the Utah desert changed my life forever, more so than he could have ever realized. I think about him often and will fondly remember him always.

Author's note: Pyrite, a mineral known as iron disulfide (FeS2), is also known as Fool's Gold.