So, This middle aged man named
Tate, worked as hard as everyone else,
making R/R ties, logging, running saws
in the mill etc. He managed to save, and
get him self and his family, a nice old place,
about half a day's ride from town. He was
planning to work it, and Uncle said, he was
a good and happy, hard working man, well
respected and liked in his community, and
worked hard in those days, to provide well
for his family. I think he was a GOD fearin'
man too, and refrained from swearin' too
much, and not at all, around the
respected women folks.
He also, refrained from drinking too much, and only
smoked his pipe on the porch, or in the barn. So, he
was a pretty good guy, for the country times, and all.
Well, he plowed and planted, and did pretty good, for
the rich, but rocky soil. One day, he was plowing a new
area he had cleared, and out of the woods, up rode three
rough looking men. They were polite, but seemed to be
uneasy, and asked about the previous owner of the place.
Tate told them that he heard he had died, and his brother
had sold the old place to him, and took off for Texas. The
men acted even more restless and uneasy, but then asked
where the old timer had been buried, and after Tate told
them, in the local cemetery nearby, they said obliged,
then politely thanked him, and rode off, without any
sort of incident.
Tate thought that was kinda' odd, but was relieved
that they rode on, and went on back to work, plowing
even deeper than before, and making long, straight rows,
in the rich dark soil, that had layed fallow for as long as the
mountains had been wearing down through the centuries.
All of a sudden, his plow just came to a halt, with a crack and snap,
as his yoke just broke, and his mules were jerked to their knees, stumbling,
and struggling to get back up, braying and complaining sorely. He wasn't
happy about that at all, and griped about the jolt, catching himself from
falling also. Now I've hit a big rock, and will have to fix my darn broken
plow, he fretted out loud, with an aggravated tone. He worked to get
the plow unhung, and pushed at the fresh broken dirt. At first, he
thought it was a dark black rock, but soon began wondering, as
he got the broken clods of dirt, dug out from around the bent
plow shears, he spotted something shiney. Picking it out of
the dirt, he realized it was an old Double Eagle,
a $20 gold coin, dated from the 1800's.
He quickly dug around, pushing and pulling some more,
and found there was lots of them, shiney coins of all sizes,
spilling out all around the old cast iron crock, now broken,
full of various coins, both of gold, and silver...
Well, he got my Great Grandpa, a blacksmith, to straighten
and repair his damaged plow, paid by silver coin, and kept
on working his farm. Uncle said he always had plenty of
money, and still had money when he died an old man.
No one ever knew, how much 'ol Tate picked up out
of the dirt that day. And other than a little dressing
up, to make it a bit more interesting Treasure Tale,
that is the true, rest of one family treasure story...
... 
