Besides the gold that nature still hides in Montana, there are numerous buried treasure tales. Chief legend connected with these is that of hte buried gold of the Plummer gang. Occasionally, history bears out to some extent the wild tales of golden caches, with facts that link with what might otherwise be fights of imagination. Such is the case in the story of the road agent gold on Gravelly range in Madison county-gold that is literally blood stained, and guarded by the bones of one of the men who stole it. The story long ago became legend; in fact perhaps the old-timers themselves have largely forgotten it. But there was a time when it seemed thrillingly real and plausible and promising to those ho heard it. An Indian in whose arms the last of three desperadoes died, gasping the story of the buried treasure with his dying breath, was the only direct source of the information considering the hidden cache, but his tale was substantiated by facts. A stage coach was robbed at a designated time, three members of Plummers gang actually did disappear shortly afterward, land marks near Romey lake were as described-these were the facts. The remainder of the story which follows must necessarily be consigned to a believe it or not category. During the hectic weeks when the Vigilantes were bringing the Plummer reign of terror to a grim close, three men, believed to be members of the gang, held up a stage coach not so far from Virginia City and confiscated a quantity of gold. Its value has not been recorded by history, but it grew to $30,00 several years later when the treasure hunt was on. Maybe it was fear of Vigilante vengeance that prevented the trio from bringing the gold to Virginia City. More likely they deliberately decided not to split the spoils with the rest of their greedy crew. They went out through the canyons of the upper Ruby and camped in the vicinity of what was later called Romey lake. Fearful of pursuit, they buried the gold in the center of a huge tract of sagebrush, after placing it in tin cans. They covered it with several feet of gravel and cleared away four small patches of the shrubbery, each equidistant from the cache, which thus became the center of a square. This accomplished, they parted, each going in a separate direction. One went to Summit, one to Virginia City and a third crossed the range and came down into the valley presumably where Dillon now stands, proceeding to Bannack. But thieves in those days trusted each other to about the same extent they do now. The minds of the three road agents held but one single thought-there was gong to be double-crossing. Each of them decided at just about the same time that if he was going to get anything out of the stage coach deal he had t hurry. Thus it was that two of them ran into each other a couple of days later in too close proximity to the cache to leave any doubt as to respective intentions. They apparently laid their cards on the table, however, and joined forces. That night they camped near the lake. The Bannack man, with a longer distance to ride, arrived on the site during the early morning. All his fears seemed confirmed as he saw from a distance the two horses of his erstwhile comrades in crime. Apprehension that he was to lose his share of the spoils must have made him a little careless, for he promptly fell to digging up the gold in spite of the fact that he was in full view of the other agents. They awoke, and the sight that met their eyes left them, according to their desperate code of ethics, only one course to take. Both fired at once. The Bannack man had just uncovered the gold. Across it his dead body fell, and the story runs that it was never moved. the killers filled in the hole, making it serve the double purpose of a grave and treasure cache. During the process, it is entirely probable hat they manufactured numerous crude jokes about the guard they were leaving behind to protect their gold. They were still fearful about departing from the country with the loot and cautiously decided to leave it in the hiding place until conditions seemed more propitious for its removal. They were apparently the best of friends again. The short-lived. Camping that night on the upper Ruby they quarreled, and the following morning one of them shot the other and killed him. Greed now got the better of caution. The gold belonged to the survivor for the digging, and no time was lost as the remaining road agent hurried back to the cache, trailing the two horses of his dead companions. When he arrived on the scene,however, he was startled and dismayed to find that a band of Bannack Indians had established camp on the shores of the lake. Moreover, they were apparently there to stay for some time. None too friendly toward white men, the Bannacks eyed him with suspicion and left him to himself for hardly an instant. Grimly determined to out-stay them, the white man defied their antagonism. Evidently they decided to tolerate him, for within a short time he was engaged in a game of chance of some kind. The Indian was lucky and the desperado lost all three of his horses. The record is a little hazy concerning what happened next, or as to the cause of it, rather. But whatever the motive might have been, the fact remains, the road agent was shot by one of the Bannacks and mortally wounded. Among the Indians was an old man known to white men as Madison John, who spoke some English. When it was ascertained that the desperado was dying, John was sent for, and into his startled old ears was poured the tale of robbery and bloodshed which has just been related. Realizing that he was gone, the road agent told everything, even to the location of the cache-evidently in a frenzied effort to rid himself of his sins before he died. Life ebbed away shortly after his tale was spun. Several years later we find Madison John again back in the Ruby, making his home with an old friend, English George Thorpe. The secret of the cache had remained locked in his breast but his trust in Thorpe led him to finally reveal the story.A treasure hunt was soon underway, with Madison John expressing confidence that the could lead the men to the cache. But when they arrived in the vicinity of Romey Lake, something admission John was forced to the confession that his memory had failed him. They searched hard, covering a wide territory, but nothing could be found resembling the site of the cache. Sagebrush patches there were in plenty, but none that contained traces of four clearings, equidistant from each other. After days of fruitless exploration, they returned to the Ruby and told the story to others. The tale did not bring on a concerted gold rush,but for many years not a prospector or range rider visited Gravelly range without conducting a search of his own for four cleared patches, equidistant from each other. The tale soon passed into legend and the blood stained gold of Romey Lake is now forgotten.
Posted on: Fri, 19 Sep 2014 21:15:50 +0000
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