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O.K., I finally have a few minutes to tell this story. And, it’s about time. Huh??
I was at the little store in Briceburg when Mr. Brice introduced me to an elderly lady. I can’t for the life of me remember her name. It might have been Gloria, but don’t expect me to swear to that. (lol) In any case, for this story, I’ll make it easy on myself and call her Gloria. O.K.?? O.K.!
We were sitting out in front of the store talking when Mr. Brice had to go do something, leaving Gloria and me to fend for ourselves for awhile. I mentioned how amazing it was that the old pack-mule trail was still visible after over 100 years.
Gloria said; “Yes it is, but that old trail brings back some sad memories for me”.
“Why is that”? I asked. Then, her story unfolded.
“I was born in 1882 an spent the first 12 or 13 years of my life in a cabin, right up there”, she said, while pointing to an area on the side of the mountain, about 300 ft. above the hiway. I just nodded that I understood. “Times could be hard in those days”, she continued. “My mother passed away during labor, when I was almost 9 years old”. There was a long period of silence before she went on. “Anyway, after that, all that my father could talk about was getting enough money to return to Pennsylvania so that we could start a new life”.
Her father was working at a mine down-river from Briceburg and would use the old pack-mule trail going to and from work.
She said he would get home from work around 6 in the evening, and after they ate, he would clear the table and place several pieces of gold in quartz on it. He would then take them, one at a time, over to an old anvil that stood in the corner of the cabin. There, he would gently break them with a small hand sledge, then scoop the pieces up and put them in a pie tin, and she would sit and pick out the freed gold, then drop the gold in an old coffee mug.
When they were finished separating the gold from the quartz, he would put the gold in a pocket handkerchief and tie it closed, then place the handkerchief and gold in his pocket so that he wouldn’t forget to take it with him when he returned to work the next day.
She said that this went on for several months, until, one evening while they were separating the gold from the quartz, the front door burst in and the sheriff and a deputy rushed in, with the mine owner following closely on their heels.
Her father was arrested for grand larceny and since he would not tell them where the gold was, he ultimately received 9 years in the state penitentiary.
She was taken to town, where her Aunt and Uncle picked her up and took her to live in Merced with them.
Eventually, her father was released from prison and they were reunited. It was then that she learned that while working at the mine, he had been “high-grading” and smuggling the gold out in his clothing. Then, after separating the gold from the quartz, he would take it with him the next morning.
He had a coffee can buried along the old pack-mule trail where he would stop, dig it up and drop the new gold in it, then rebury it. He eventually filled one can and had to take another one to bury with the first. She wasn’t sure if he had filled the second can yet when he was arrested.
She said that he spent the rest of his life hiking up and down the old trail, trying to find the spot where he buried the gold, but still died a poor man.
As I’ve stated previously, it’s really amazing how much things can change in a short while. Trees die or get burned down, boulders erode and roll down the hill. Even roads are moved and/or straightened out........ And it’s a whole new ball game.
From what I understood, it was not more than a mile from Briceburg to the mine where her father worked. From what I’ve seen of the old trail, if he went off of the trail to bury the gold, he didn’t have far to go. One side of the trail goes up steeply, and the other side goes down just as steeply to the river.
Frankly, if I wanted to try and hike along the old trail, I’d probably look for a pile of rocks or boulders, or at least a wide place where he wouldn’t have had to bury the cans in the middle of the trail. Forget trees, unless they are obviously very old. I know that there have been a couple of fires through this area in the last 10 years alone. No telling how many since about 1891. (lol)
In my next visit, how about going with me to the top of Hall’s gulch and checking out the old mine Pete told me about??
Eagle
But, I've been through worse and survived. 
