Hidden Gold: Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills by Ken Ohm and Don Pady

Hidden Gold – Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills

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Hidden Gold – Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills

HIDDEN GOLD Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills Copyright © 2011 Ken Ohm and Don Pady This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events described here are imaginary or used fictitiously. Other than existing landmarks or historical persons, any resemblance to actual events, locations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, magnetic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise – without the prior written permission of the publisher and the copyright owners of this book. However, small portions may be cited in book reviews without such consent.

Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and authors assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages from the use of the information contained herein.

Cover Photograph by Brenda Culbertson—stargazr@holtonks.net Library of Congress Control Number: 2011929000 ISBN: 978-0-615-48107-4 Printed by Mennonite Press, Inc., Newton, KS First Edition

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Hidden Gold – Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills

W

hen William Allen White edited The Emporia Gazette, an unsigned article—presumably written by White in 1905—appeared “above the fold” in his well-respected, daily newspaper.

He wrote of two Emporia youths who supposedly discovered the location of a vast treasure worth thousands of dollars. The boys were quoted to have known that three prospectors, crossing the Kansas Territory in 1848, buried their gold bullion and diamonds on a large hill before an imminent attack by an Indian party.

According to maps the boys acquired from a local descendant of one of the prospectors, the location of the treasure was on a hill several miles southwest of Emporia.

White described these boys as “living quiet uneventful lives in Emporia up to the present time, and so far as is known there is nothing in the past to cause hallucinations. Besides that, the story they tell is so convincing and complete to one who is not particularly anxious to dig beneath the surface, that it will be a serious breach of etiquette if you intimate that it is untrue.

“This is an old story, and is repeated as often as several others of like nature concerning other treasure spots in Lyon County.”

The article’s headline screamed, “FOUND HIDDEN GOLD?” in large-sized type. The sub-head read boldly that iii

Hidden Gold – Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills

these boys claimed to have dug samples from where the treasure is buried.

Did White write the article with tongue in check? Had he tried to lower the readers’ estimation or importance of the boys’ unproved claim? Did the questionable veracity of this tale rival the wildest dreams of treasure seekers in Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island? Did maps and charts really exist to show where the gold, silver and diamonds were buried?

Had the landmarks changed since the maps were made? And was the buried treasure really found by these young men, as they so ardently affirmed?

In subsequent years, many gold-seekers tried to find this treasure; but no report of actual discovery has surfaced. Presentday landowners in the region are wary of strangers who venture onto their private property to search for the hidden cache.

But by logical reasoning, vast research, and plenty of good luck, the joint authors of this book confidently intend to assemble many facts which feasibly provide a novel solution to this mystery. When we first formed the ideas for this book, our friends had two basic kinds of comments. Some asked questions about the basis of truth to the story. Others challenged us to write a non-fiction novel to prove the historical evidence.

Old-timers like us love to stretch the line between fact and fiction. Some of the following tale is true – or at least is based upon truth. Other parts of the story are pure fiction. We sensed that most readers prefer a dose of fiction, but laced with accepted facts. This book contains both.

Ken Ohm—Ken.ohm@hotmail.com Don Pady—Dspady1@aol.com www.flinthillsstories.com iv

Hidden Gold – Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills

“Upon the subject of education, not presuming to dictate any plan or system respecting it, I can only say that I view it as the most important subject which we as a people can be engaged in.”

—Abraham Lincoln Source: March 9, 1832 First Political Announcement

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Hidden Gold – Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills

B

eth Pierce caught her second wind as her long legs churned over the back roads of Emporia on this midMay morning. She had left her apartment at sunrise, hoping to complete a thirty-mile training run by mid-afternoon. This was more than the marathon’s required length of 26.2 miles, but at this stage of her conditioning, Beth knew that she must over-train to build her endurance for an upcoming competition.

Pushing herself through a drizzly rain, her thoughts still pulled her back to past events. Somehow she could not reconcile the final solution of the Fagans Mound mystery and all that had happened to her and the other student players in this most fascinating tale. She thought of it as a dramatic play performed by some of the best actors in the world, all graduate students at Emporia State University, where their quest for knowledge eclipsed everything else in their lives. It was over now; it was water under the bridge. Yet, somehow, she expected the water to flow backwards so she could again see whether this course of history had run in a way she could fully understand.

She could not, it seemed, willfully suspend her disbelief of a story so bizarre … so improbable … and so incalculable 1

Hidden Gold – Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills

that she, of all people, had taken part in it. Only those directly involved in this experimental graduate course at ESU could even begin to comprehend what had happened during this past spring semester. Beth was one of those students, and recollections of her performance in that unique study flooded her memory.

Beth’s undergraduate degree represented a double major in Music and English, specializing in the etymology of language.

In her graduate program, she majored in music education.

Sometimes her attention to detail made it appear as if a frown were frozen on her mouth. The strict regimen of student life transformed her into an ascetic who fastidiously devoted all her time and energy to gain graduate-level perfection on the piano. She superbly graced the music of Bach, Beethoven and Brahms, but quietly hoped to earn a doctorate in music education so she could teach on a university level.

Like many native Emporians, she descended from sturdy Welsh stock. A great grandfather had emigrated from Pontypool in southeastern Wales during the early 1840s.

Every year, on St. David’s Day, March 1, Beth wears a red and green badge which shows a red dragon and the words, “I’m proud to be Welsh.”

Maybe at this time, one day before graduation, she could clear her mind of all the conflicting elements of the Fagans Mound affair. She had begun to regard herself as a special person with an amazing story to tell. As she ran steadily along dirt and gravel roads toward the area southwest of Emporia, she imagined that she passed a number of horsedrawn wagons. Perhaps she might wave to them, or call out to the women who drove the wagon loads of supplies, or run up to the men who rode shotgun on their horses to the front and rear of the wagons.

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Hidden Gold – Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills

Beth doubted whether these pioneer people could see her, but in her mind’s eye she saw them working, heard them talking and doing ordinary things just like people today. She mused hopefully of the regional history books and academic papers that would someday recount all of their stories.

Wouldn’t it be grand, she thought, if I could somehow show all those courageous, hard-working pioneers that what they accomplished in the 1850s could be recognized and appreciated by those of us in the 21st century? I have been given great insight into what happened at Fagans Mound, she thought. I attended all of the class meetings and I have been to the mound. Who else could relate for posterity this unbelievable tale?!

“I will be the story teller,” Beth spoke aloud. She said this as if she promised the rain drops that she would narrate the tale no matter what the difficulty. If Beth had any hesitation about committing herself to this task, she was now sure that the rain had anointed her to tell her professors and others exactly what had happened during the past semester.

Beth felt as if she were running on air. She hardly noticed a stiff wind blowing from the southwest. Nor had she any reason to wonder why a Gaelic song strummed through her mind.

She scarcely saw the present-day tractors and farm implements in the nearby fields. She looked, instead, upon women in gingham dresses, horses pulling covered wagons of various sizes and types, drovers on horseback driving cattle along a trail, men carrying rifles and wearing sidearms, and children playing and singing tunes in their sod houses along the way.

Some years ago, Beth had realized that someone, somewhere, had given her psychic powers. She recalled the early years of her life when she struggled with this gift. She had feared that people would think she was crazy if she 3

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shared these experiences. But, in a high school physics class, the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle was discussed, stating that an observer cannot enter into an experiment without changing its outcome. In her own mind, then, she labeled this as the “observer effect” and it gave her a scientific reason for not sharing her powers with others. She had vowed to keep this a secret, perhaps for a lifetime.

On previous encounters into the past, she found that she was able to read people’s minds as well as translate the language of that time into present day meaning and usage.

She was now seeing, hearing, feeling and smelling a moment in time some 150 years ago. Beth felt as if her entire being was cast into that earlier time and place. As she jogged past an especially low-riding covered wagon, she recognized a young man with a familiar face.

“Are you Jacob Fagans?” inquired Beth, as she slowed and walked close to the wagon. The young man talked with a pretty young woman who sat on the buckboard and handled the reins with gloved hands.

“Good day to you, Beth,” he replied with a broad grin.

“Elvira and I were expecting you to come along this way. Tell me, why do you wear white shoes on a rainy day like this?”

“Hello to you and Elvira,” answered Beth. “I was certain that I recognized you from a reconstruction of facial features that Charley and Joanne made several weeks ago.” Jacob looked puzzled, as if he did not understand what Beth had meant by the word ‘reconstruction,’ and who are Charley and Joanne?

“Oh! My shoes? They’re called Nikes or ‘running shoes.’ I run for exercise. I keep in good condition by running long distances and hope to participate in Grandma’s Marathon in Duluth, Minnesota, coming up in July.”

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As Beth spoke to them about her appreciation of the rigors of pioneer life around Emporia, she sensed that both Jacob and Elvira knew precisely who she was and what they expected her to do.

“May I tell your story, and what happened at Fagans Mound?” Beth continued. “The tale should start in the middle of things, as Aristotle once said.”

“Of course, you may,” answered Elvira. “We already know that you will narrate our story in the best possible manner.

All through the intervening years, between our deaths until today, we have planned for you to write the story. Jacob and I have guided you. It may surprise you that we were always with you and your professors and fellow students. We directed many clues to you along the way.”

“By the way, Beth,” added Jacob, “we know your grandfather quite well. Elvira and I also lived in Pontypool, and we often compare notes on the similarities and differences between southeastern Wales and the Kansas Territory. He sends his love and best wishes to you as you tell this tale.”

As soon as Jacob said this, Beth’s vision of this couple quickly faded and was replaced by the sight of modern-day farms and people who dressed in jeans, T-shirts and hoodies.

Beth resumed running, with a normal “runners high,” but her mind seemed to tell her that she had indeed stopped to talk, once again, with real people of an earlier age.

Now, though, she found her mind directed, in great detail, to those days immediately preceding the discovery of some artifacts that changed her life as well as the lives of many current and future ESU students and faculty.

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To read more from “Hidden Gold: Lost Treasure in the Flint Hills” order from:

Ken Ohm 3006 S. W. Staffordshire Rd. Topeka, KS 66614 785.478.0222 ken.ohm@hotmail.com

Books are $16.95 (tax included), plus $3.00 (for shipping and handling)

http://www.FlintHillsStories.com