A tale of promises, danger

Abigail’s Promise Mine near Wickenburg, Arizona

September 1878

 

  The late summer monsoon’s wind had risen, its whistle threading through the cave, but Thomas Henry Lowell barely noticed. He couldn’t take his eyes off the newest scar made by his pick. So beautiful. The gold shimmered in the lamplight.

 

  Thomas blinked hard, trying to clear the dust and sweat from his eyes, then let out a long, slow breath. Not a dream, the rich vein was still there. The gravel of the cave floor crunched under his boots when he shifted closer. His trembling fingers caressed the gold that marbled through the white quartz rock. He could hardly believe it was real. For years, he’d prayed, hoped, and dreamed. He was no great miner or even a good one, but he knew enough to know this was the find of a lifetime… ten lifetimes by the look of it. He’d found a few flakes in the mine, even panned a few nuggets out of the creek, enough that he’d been able to purchase the land. This? This was the find you only hear tales of.

 

  After his beloved Clara passed, her parents, who had never approved of his dreamer ways, took their daughter from him. They just took her, and there was nothing he could do about it. You needed money to fight money, and that was something he’d never had. Oh, he’d tried, how he’d tried. The Meriwethers were not only wealthy but well-connected in Washington, DC. He was certain he’d glimpsed the judge who ruled against him at one of their famous dinner parties. He could never prove it, and surely even if he could, there wasn’t anyone who would listen. No, there was only one way to free his Abigail; he needed money, and a lot of it. Even then, he wasn’t sure it would work, but he had to try; he had to do something, anything. Thomas heard the stories of Henry Wickenburg and others striking it rich. Having nothing left to lose, he’d staked a load claim when the 1872 Mining Act passed into law.

 

  So here he was, in this beautiful hell on earth called Arizona, trying to make a deal with the devil, but the devil’s charms had worn thin years ago. Thomas had come to this place to fight for his daughter and ended up having to fight twice as hard just to keep the mine he’d named for her. Claim jumpers were always a problem, but it was the ranchers who nearly had him returning east, defeated. Who would have thought a tiny spring hidden in the rocks near the mine’s entrance would be so valuable? Maybe it was the city boy in him, but he’d not been prepared for the fight of his life to be over a trickle of water. Between the claim jumpers and the ranchers, he’d finally had enough and taken what little gold the mine had produced and used it to patent the claim. The land was truly his now, and he needed to make something of it for Abigail’s sake.

 

  A shadow darkened the cave’s entrance, yanking Thomas from his dreams of reclaiming his daughter. His heart raced, paranoia gripping him. He clenched the pickaxe still in his hand so tight it cracked one of his blisters open. Thomas had never been a violent man; as a writer, he was more comfortable using the words he knew so well. Those had been his weapon of choice. Many court hearings later, he still preferred them, but this was his daughter’s only hope. He would kill to protect it and her. Grabbing a handful of dirt from the cave floor, Thomas quickly smudged it across his discovery. Pick in hand, he rose to deal with whoever dared to trespass on his land.

 

  Two hulking men filled the entrance, blocking the light, but he needed none to know who had come calling. “Tell your boss I’m not interested.” Thomas’s voice trembled slightly, but he squared his shoulders.

 

  “You can tell him yourself.” The larger of the men growled as he grabbed Thomas by his shirtsleeve. The stories of gold fever he had heard nagged at his rational side even while he saw himself pull back to strike the larger man with the pick.

 

  The light inside the cave was poor, but he might as well have been under full sun for all the good it did him. He was never much of a fighter. The smaller of the men grabbed the pick before it could find its mark, while the larger man swung out with a calloused fist. They grappled in the small space, grunting, each shoving the other. Thomas felt the gun slung low on the larger man’s hips and reached for it. They fought over the gun as Thomas was slammed against the load-bearing beam. The splintering wood cracked just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small cave. The cave answered back with a roar felt bone deep.

 

  Panic sent the two men fleeing, the rush of air pushing at their backs as they tried to stay ahead of the choking cloud of dust. They didn’t stop until they were well downhill of Abigail’s Promise. Wide-eyed, they looked at each other, covered in dust, then back up to the mine’s entrance. They’d both tried their luck at mining before giving up and becoming ranch hands; they knew all too well the sight, sound, and even the smell of a cave-in. Just as much as they knew, their boss’s problem might have just solved itself.

​