The Silver Madonna and Other Tales of America's Greatest Lost Treasures

by W. C. Jameson

  In the flickering light of torches carried by the Indians, the trapper looked around a low-ceilinged chamber of a cave. When his eyes adjusted, he recognized the chief of the tribe along with one of the braves. The chief pointed toward the back of the chamber. Hundreds of gold ingots were stacked against the far wall, reaching nearly to the ceiling. Several wooden chests filled with golden jewelry had been placed at the foot of the stack.

  After giving the trapper a few minutes to take it all in, the chief told him this place was called Red Bone Cave. He related a tale of the long-ago visiting Spaniards and their conflict with his tribe. The chief also told him that the gold he saw in the chamber was only part of the total amount hidden in the cave.

  The chief guided the trapper into another chamber and pointed to several skeletons propped up against a wall. He explained that they were the bones of the warriors that had died during the fight with the fleeing Spaniards. He said the bodies were placed in this cave to guard the treasure against intruders.

  The chief stepped up to the trapper, laid a hand upon his shoulder, and told him that all of the treasure in this cave would belong to him if he agreed to marry his daughter and live in the village. If he should chose not to marry the daughter, he would be allowed to leave the village unharmed, but was forbidden to share the location of the treasure cave with anyone.

  The tapper considered his options. If he married the daughter, he would be required to live in the village. Possessing the wealth of a king, however, would do him little good, for he would have no opportunity to spend it. Recalling his view of the river and the limestone bluff when the blindfold slipped earlier, the trapper was convinced that he could return to Red Bone Cave on his own and retrieve the treasure for himself.

  The trapper explained to the chief that he would like to have a few days to ponder the offer. The chief agreed. The trapper was tied up again, the blindfold reattached, and he was led from the cave and onto the trail back to the village.

  It was dark long before the three men returned to the Chickasaw village. Tired from a full day of walking, the chief decided to make camp at a location alongside the trail near a river and spend the night. Three hours before sunrise, the trapper freed himself of his bonds and the blindfold, crept up to the two sleeping Indians, and killed them. This done, he dragged the bodies to the river and threw them in. At dawn, he began the long trek that would take him to Fort Rosalie in the Natchez Territory. He reached his destination several days later.

  At the fort, the trapper ran into an old friend. He told him the story of the great treasure lying in the remote cave near the Tennessee River. The friend agreed to accompany him, and the two men spent the next few days preparing to return to Red Bone Cave. Traveling by night and hiding from Indians during the day, the men were weeks on the trail when the trapper’s friend wearied of the search and returned to Fort Rosalie.

  Now alone, and unable to relocate the cave, the trapper decided to return to the Chickasaw village. At first afraid, the trapper was surprised when he was warmly welcomed by the Indians. He later learned that no one ever knew that the chief and one of the braves had taken him from the village that night a few months earlier. The disappearance of the chief and the warrior remained a mystery to the Chickasaw.

  Using the excuse of trapping for furs, the trapper undertook his search for Red Bone Cave. He eventually married the daughter of the chief and lived in the village. Though he searched for Red Bone Cave for years, he was never able to find it.

  In 1723, the trapper’s wife died from fever. He decided to return to Fort Rosalie. On arriving, however, he found the old settlement had long been abandoned. All was in ruins. It had been attacked years earlier by the Natchez Indians, the inhabitants massacred, and all of the buildings burned to the ground.

  The trapper took up residence in the abandoned fort and lived there for the rest of his life. During the ensuing years, he made several forays into the wilderness in attempts to relocate Red Bone Cave and the treasure that lay therein, but he never succeeded.

  11

  The Silver Bullets

  Because the price of gold has risen rapidly during the past several decades, over sixteen hundred dollars per ounce at this writing, the attention of miners, prospectors, and treasure hunters has been focused on this precious metal, oftentimes at the expense of others. In recent years, however, the value of silver has increased to the point where it is now high on the list for recovery. One long-lost, and very rich, silver mine located in the Arkansas Ozarks has captured the attention of fortune hunters for over a century.

  The 1880s and 1890s witnessed significant westward migration from states such as Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, and Alabama. Many of the migrants, attracted by the availability of fertile lands on which to undertake agriculture or the possibility of mining gold, headed for the Great Plains or California. Many, however, either from running short of funds or simply wearying of the long days and weeks of travel, settled at the first acceptable place they could find. A number of settlers parked their wagons in the Ozarks of Arkansas, Missouri, and Oklahoma, and set about eking out a living on hardscrabble land that was similar to where they came from in the Appalachians.

  Tobe Inmon and his family had been residents of a narrow, poor valley in western Kentucky. They grew some corn on a rocky hillside and raised hogs and chickens in the bottoms and got by. Inmon did not get along well with his neighbors. He earned a reputation as a recluse, neither needing nor wanting the company of others.

  When Inmon was accused of stealing a neighbor’s livestock and had his life threatened, he decided to pack up the family’s meager possessions into a flimsy wagon pulled by two bony horses and head west, driving their hogs ahead of them. They had no notion of a destination, and they wandered aimlessly over poor roads through swamps and forests.

  Following a long day of travel in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas, Inmon realized he had somehow gotten off the main trail and had become lost. As he searched for a way out of the mountains, he arrived at a small valley with a stream of cool, clear water and a flat, fertile floodplain suitable for growing crops. There was plenty of timber on the hillsides for firewood and the construction of a cabin and barn, and there appeared to be adequate forage for his hogs and chickens. There were no neighbors within miles. Tobe Inmon decided he liked the place and told his family this was where they would stay.

  Living out of the wagon, Inmon set about the task of building a one-room log cabin and some pens for his hogs. When he found the time, he planted corn and other crops near the creek. Life began to look comparatively good for the Inmons.

  The closest settlement to Inmon’s valley was the town of Dover, a small settlement lying twelve miles to the north. It was an important stop along the old road to Fort Smith. From time to time, Inmon hauled chickens or a hog into Dover and traded for staples like sugar, salt, coffee, and flour. Here he learned that the location where he resided was called Moccasin Creek Valley. Inmon rarely spoke to anyone in Dover except to conduct a little business. Even then, he was surly, preferring to conclude his affairs and leave as quickly as possible.

  Inmon dressed in little more than rags and always appeared unclean and unshaven. The few times he brought his family to town, they too looked wretched and ragged. Those who chanced by Inmon’s homestead invariably remarked at the squalor, claiming the log cabin had large open chinks that let in cold air during the winter and appeared to offer little more shelter than the hog pen.

  One day in October of 1903, Inmon rode into Dover and asked for a doctor. He explained that his youngest son had come down with a fever and was unconscious. Inmon was taken to Dr. Benjamin Martin, the only physician in town. Martin agreed to follow Inmon out to Moccasin Creek Valley. Martin, an affable man in his late forties, was well liked by everyone in the community, and had delivered practically every child in Dover and the surrounding area under ten years of age. On arriving at the Inmon place, Martin was appalled at the family’s destitution, but he agreed
to remain at the youth’s bedside until the boy was out of danger.

  The following day when the fever had passed, Martin harnessed his horse and was preparing his carriage to leave on the return trip to Dover. As the doctor was hitching the animal to the traces, Inmon appeared from around the corner of the barn and asked the fee. Keenly aware of the man’s poverty, Martin told Inmon he could settle up when times got better and not to worry about until then. Inmon was insistent, however, and finally offered the doctor a small canvas sack containing about thirty bullets for a large caliber rifle. Inmon told Martin he made them himself.

  During this time bullets were scarce. Most people who had need of them were happy to obtain them when they could. Martin examined the bullets closely, found them to be well made, and as he was an enthusiastic hunter and outdoorsman, gratefully accepted them as payment.

  As the doctor packed the sack of shells away in the carriage, he asked Inmon how he came by the materials to fashion bullets. Inmon gestured with his thumb toward a nearby ridge and explained that he had made them from lead he dug out of “an old lead mine back yonder in the hills not too far from this place.” Martin thanked him again, climbed into his carriage, and returned to Dover.

  On arriving at his home, Martin placed the sack of bullets on a shelf in his study. He intended to use them on his next deer hunt. Over the next few weeks, however, the physician stayed busy treating the sick and infirm and delivering babies. As a result, his autumn deer hunt had to be cancelled.

  A full two years passed before the doctor remembered the bullets. While readying equipment for a deer hunt, he located the sack of bullets on the shelf and placed them on the desk in his study so that he would not forget to take them along the next morning. That evening while reading at his desk, Martin picked up one of the bullets and turned it over and over in his hand. He scratched at the surface of the bullet, trying to pick off some of the black residue. As a little of the coating was removed, he noted a peculiar color underneath.

  On a hunch Martin cancelled his deer hunt. Instead, he traveled to Russellville the next day, a larger settlement several miles south of Dover. There, he took the bullets to a friend knowledgeable about minerals. To his astonishment, the doctor was informed they were made of almost pure silver. Martin sold the sack of shells for seventy-two dollars.

  Returning to Dover that evening, Martin made plans to leave for the Inmon homestead at first light. His intention was to try to convince the poor farmer to show him the location of his so-called lead mine.

  Martin left at daybreak the following day. So anxious was he to reach the location of the silver mine that he flogged his poor horse the entire trip, his carriage bouncing along the rough and seldom used road until it seemed as though it would come apart.

  When Martin drove up to the Inmon cabin he found it deserted. He checked the barn and the pens and discovered that the livestock was also gone. In fact, it appeared as though no one had occupied the site for several months. Martin drove his carriage to the home of the nearest neighbor several miles away and inquired of the whereabouts of the Inmons. He was told that the family packed up everything they owned into their rickety wagon and left for Texas months earlier. They never told anyone where in Texas they were headed.

  Martin drove back to the Inmon farm. With only an hour of light left in the day, the physician climbed to the top of a low hill behind the cabin and wandered through the woods. He inspected every rock outcrop he encountered for any evidence of mining. When it became too dark to continue, the doctor made his way down the mountain and returned to Dover. Poor Tobe Inmon, he pondered; the luckless farmer and his family lived little better than the beasts of the forest, and all the while had access to what possibly could have been a significant fortune in silver and didn’t know it.

  On arriving home, Martin busied himself with preparations for a longer stay at Moccasin Creek Valley in order to properly search for the mine. As he bustled around town purchasing gear and provisions, neighbors remarked that he appeared frantic and was acting strange. Martin refused to offer an explanation for his actions and ignored requests for his medical services. He was, in fact, consumed with the notion of finding the silver mine he was convinced existed somewhere in the hills near Moccasin Creek Valley.

  For the next two years, Dr. Martin made forays into that part of the Ozark Mountains in search of what he was convinced would be his fortune. Each trip brought him greater disappointment. Back in Dover, his patients finally gave up on him and sought another doctor for treatment.

  Martin continued with his search for the silver mine and eventually ran out of money. He sold his home and practice and used the money to finance his trips to Moccasin Creek Valley. Finding the mine became an all-consuming passion for Martin, and many of his friends in Dover began to believe he had gone insane.

  Years passed, and the long and unsuccessful search for Tobe Inmon’s lost silver mine left Martin broke, broken, and disheartened. He moved in with a sister who lived in Russellville. His health began to deteriorate rapidly, and not long afterward he died of pneumonia.

  On learning the full story of Inmon’s silver bullets, a few Dover residents took up the search. During the years following Dr. Martin’s death, treasure hunters combed the hills and valleys around Moccasin Creek. On occasion, artifacts were found that were later identified as Spanish mining tools, giving rise to the belief that sometime in the distant past the Spaniards, who were known to have explored the region, may have prospected for, discovered, and mined silver here.

  Time passed, and few people arrived at Moccasin Creek Valley to search for the elusive silver. The story was forgotten. Then, several decades later, an incident occurred to rekindle the tale of the lost mine.

  In 1951, a Cherokee Indian named Lawrence Mankiller brought a large nugget into Fort Smith where it was identified as a piece of high-grade silver. Mankiller explained that he had found the nugget on the floor of an old mine shaft while hunting for deer near Moccasin Creek Valley. An unexpected rain began to fall, Mankiller explained, and he sought shelter in the convenient shaft. While seated just inside the entrance, he poked around in the rubble on the floor of the shaft and found the nugget. He said there were several more lying near the one he retrieved.

  Mankiller received an offer of several hundred dollars from a group of Fort Smith businessmen who wanted him to lead them to the old shaft. Mankiller agreed to the proposition, pocketed the money, and promised to depart for the location the next morning. That night, however, Mankiller disappeared and was never seen in the area again.

  Skeptics of the Tobe Inmon tale have suggested that it is all a fabrication, and that silver, along with other precious metals, does not exist in the Ozark Mountains. The skeptics are wrong. Records exist that show that profitable silver mines were operated in the Ozarks in the region of the Buffalo River near the tiny community of Silver Hill, and that small amounts of the ore can still be found there to this day.

  The late Piney Page, an Ozark folklorist and chronicler of events, was raised in and around Moccasin Creek Valley. He once told the story of a relative, Grover Page, who, while plowing a cornfield on the floodplain where Moccasin Creek joins Shop Creek, paused in his labors to take a drink from the cool stream. While the young Page was lying on his stomach on the bank sipping water, he spied an object on the bottom that appeared different from the usual gravel. On retrieving it, he found that it was a silver nugget the size of his toe.

  The Page family had the nugget assayed, and on the strength of the evaluation, began to explore the creek area for the source of the ore. Some distance up the narrow valley through which runs Shop Creek, a thin seam of silver mixed with lead and zinc was discovered on a west-facing outcrop. The Pages invested in some mining equipment and for several weeks blasted and drilled into the weathered rock in pursuit of the vein of ore. At first, a significant amount of silver was extracted, but as the mining operation progressed, the seam was lost.

  Members of the Page family co
ntinued to work the mine off and on for the next several years, but the return was not encouraging and they finally gave up and turned their attention back to farming.

  Now and then hikers return from Moccasin Creek Valley with samples of rock they collected along the way. Most of the specimens are unremarkable, but once in a while a piece of silver is found among the others, lending even more credence to the notion that the ore can be found in the area. Eventually some hiker or hunter making his or her way through the woods in the region may stumble upon Tobe Inmon’s old mine shaft. If one of them is able to recognize silver in its natural state, that individual may have found the lost mine that has eluded so many for so long.

  12

  The Lost Gold Mine of the Cossatot

  Southwestern Arkansas is a land of remote hollows and dark places. This region teems with tales of ghosts and spirits, of bandits and hermits, and of lost treasure. The Cossatot River flows out of the Ouachita Mountains here. In its upper reaches it is swift and violent, a challenge to kayakers and canoeists. The name comes from an Indian word that means “skull-crusher.”

  Over geologic time, the Cossatot has relentlessly carved through overlying layers of sandstone and shale that make up the greater portion of the mountains. Here and there, the underlying granite is exposed, rock formed during a bygone era when belowground volcanic activity dominated the region. In Sevier County, the Cossatot River eroded away a significant amount of overlying rock and exposed intrusive granite along with an accompanying seam of gold. This vein was apparently discovered by Spanish explorers under the command of de Soto, men who entered the area centuries ago in search of riches. They mined the gold, eventually digging a vertical shaft that extended over one hundred feet. For whatever reason, the Spaniards abandoned the area while the mine was still productive. It was later found by early settlers and then lost again.