THE PROSPECTOR’S FATE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIV, Issue VI, 9 February 1895, Page 135

THE PROSPECTOR’S FATE.

A MYSTERY OF THE DESERT.

Colonel Whitehead is a story teller from way back and has a reputation as a raconteur that spreads over a dozen Western States and territories, and from the waters of the Atlantic to those of the Pacific. He has had innumerable thrilling adventures, both in war and in peace, and when in the proper humonr he will spin yarns of the most absorbing interest by the hour. One story that he related as we were jogging along behind the mules on a recent trip to the undoubted gateway of Sheol (» e., the sulphur banks of Kern County) is so uncanny and strange that I will venture to repeat it. Some three years ago, said the colonel, I was engaged in making a survey from Rogers, on the Mojave Desert, to Antioch. We had made rapid progress toward Fort Tejon Pass, and it became necessary to check up the line, measuring distances from Government corners, tbat the road might be accurately located upon the filling map. This work was assigned to an odd genius whom I will call * Buck,’ a man past 65, tough as a knot and as wicked as a pirate. Frequently he would set his ricketty old transit with the lens wrong end to, and after trying to locate the flag for fifteen or twenty minutes he would discover his error and then such swearing as he indnlged in is rarely heard outside the forecastle of a man-of-war. I sometimes think the strange manifestations which I am abont to relate to you might have been due to Buck’s profanity. Certainly, if man can have power to summon spirits, evil or good, from the nether world. Buck ought to have had tbat power in no small measure. 1 began the inspection of the survey preparatory to the right-of-way work. Starting at Rogers, a desolate station on the A. and P. road, on the borders of an immense dry lake, we made onr first camp some fifteen miles west or that point. The regular survey camp was at this time near Gorman’s station, under the shadows of Mount Frazier. Our camp was a rude settler’s cabin, and near it was a shack barn with a little hay stored in it. A well of fairly good water close by made a comfortable camp a possibility. It was late in October, and the water had risen near the

surface in the bed of the dry lake. We had eaten our supper the first night out, and were having a quiet smoke, looking out over the desolate expanse of desert toward Lancaster, a station on the Southern Pacific road some twentyfive or thirty miles to the southwest. Buck had been entertaining us with yarns about ghosts that he insisted haunted an old mining camp near Owens Lake, and was inclined to feel hurt because I laughed at his tales. When darkness came on and only the outlines of the gaunt mountains across the desert were discernible in the starlight, Buck of a sudden said, * Colonel, I never thought an engine headlight could be seen so plainly at Lancaster.’ • Nor did I,’ was my reply, as I saw close to the ground at a distance difficult to estimate a round, strange-coloured light or ball of fire, very like a locomotive headlight. A moment’s watching, however, soon convinced me that the light was erratic in its movements and was nothing more or less than a grand display of the • ignis fatuus ’ or will o’ the wisp, something I bad seen many times at the ends of the spars or mastheads of a ship at sea, but never on land or in such magnitude. I said to Buck : * It’s no headlight. It’s one of your ghosts come to convince me of the truth of your stories.’ He turned white as a sheet and grasped me by the arm, saying, * It’s coming dead for us, sure as we live.’ And so it was ; dancing up and down it came nearer and nearer. I must confess it made even me a trifle nervous, while as for Buck he evidently took my joke about the ghosts in dead earnest and was completely panic-stricken. * For God’s sake 1’ he cried, * Let us get out of this,’and was on the point of jumping up and running off into the desert, when all of a sudden the light disappeared and was seen no more that night. Bock finally quieted down, though I could see by his nervousness and frequent quick glances in the direction in which the light had appeared that he was still in dread of its reappearance.

I discussed the matter with him for hours, trying to explain the real nature of the phenomenon and that no possible harm conld come of it. But he would not have it that way, and all tbat I conld say did not influence his superstitious dread of the strange appearance. ‘Colonel,’ be said, * it’s a hoodoo. This railroad scheme and its promoters will die suddenly. Sure I’ I laughed at his fears and we laid down to rather a restless night. The work in this section was not completed

next day in time to return to the main camp, and half a dozen times in the course of the work Buck spoke about the ‘ ghost,’ as he persisted in calling the phenomenon, and he was even more muddled than usual in bis manipulation of the transit. Finally, his slowness caused night to come on before our task was completed, and we therefore returned at dusk to the same camping place as the night before. After we had eaten supper Buck said, • Colonel, I never want to see that infernal light again. Ghosts or no ghosts, it’s no good and no luck will come of it.’ The words were scarcely out of his mouth when, apparently not more than a hundred yards away, the huge ball

of fire appeared like a flash, dancing up and down and seemingly coming toward us. Now Buck became almost beside himself with terror. * Let's go, and the quicker the better,' shouted my now thoroughly alarmed companion ; but suddenly, as on the previous night, the light vanished. Buck then recovered some portion of his equanimity, and though he was still anxious to return to camp I finally persuaded him tbat there was danger that we would lose our way if we ventured out on the desert after dark, while

if we remained there was nothing to be afraid of. Neither of ns slept much, however, for I must confess that I had a sort of * creepy' sensation myself, and we were np early next morning, completed our work and got an early start back to camp. While we were on the road Buck said, * Colonel, 1 don’t want to discourage you, but the people who are at the head of this scheme to build a competing railroad will die suddenly and this work will stop. In fact, I wouldn’t wonder if you and I both went over the range with them to keep them company. But they are going, sure !’ * How little you know,’ I replied, and I could say no more, as my backers were then unknown.

Now let me tell you the strange sequel. The very same week that Buck made his prediction the Barings failed. Early in November Henry I>. Minot, the leading spirit and financial head of the enterprise, was killed in a railroad »c--cident while returning from Washington, D.C., where he had concluded the purchase of General Beale’s ranches in every detail, save the passing of the papers and paying the money, the intention having been io subdivide that immense estate of 264,000 acres. On Thanksgiving day of the same mouth came orders to close the work, discharge everybody, and break camp. The following year Allan Manvel, president of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe road, died after a brief illness, he having been the second backer of this great enterprise, and soon followed the death of Mr Magoun of the great banking house of Baring, Magoun and Co , the third and last of the promoters of a rival railroad to the Southern Pacific system.’ ‘What became of Buck’’ I asked as the colonel paused. ‘Buck! Just read that clipping,’ and the colonel took from

his pocket-book a worn bit of newspaper and handed it to me. It read as follows :— • Bagdad, Colorado Desert, January Isth, 1889.—An old prospector and surveyor known as ‘ Buck ’ Pomeroy disappeared mysteriously from his camp at this place three days ago, and no trace of him has been found. He was in company with two friends, and was apparently in good health and spirits. They all retired as customary early in the evening, but in the morning Buck was missing, and diligent search has failed to find him.’ I folded up the clipping and returned it to the colonel. He put it back in his pocket-book without a word.—G. E. W