But what was of more importance to Pete LaRue was that the Aztecs gathered up all the gold and other precious metals and jewels they could and took them to the north to be hidden against any more invasions by the fair-skinned people that came from the sea.
Pete LaRue searched for years for any documents that might give a clue as to where the Aztec gold was hidden. When he was done with schooling and returned to New York, he knew as much as any man alive about the Aztec civilization. And LaRue had a pretty good idea where such a people might look to hide their riches.
Many men went down into Mexico in search of the Aztec wealth, only to find nothing. LaRue was sure the gold and silver were not in Mexico any longer. It was his educated guess that fearing more attacks from the conquistadors, the Aztecs took as much of their wealth as a thousand men could carry and crossed into the Colorado Territory somewhere west of the Continental Divide, and not too far, maybe twenty-five miles or so from the town of Durango or maybe even a little south into New Mexico. But LaRue was sure it was somewhere in the general location of Durango.
To further strengthen his theory were the legends told by the Indians of the Southwest, about many men in strange dress carrying baskets full of gold into the mountains of Colorado. It was there that these strange people moved into dwellings upon the cliffs that were built years before their arrival by an ancient race of grain growers. Here the Aztecs lived for many years until they all disappeared one night, taking all evidence of their visit with them, just like the old ones before them, never to be seen again.
The Indians of this area would not go near the cliff dwellings for fear of the evil spirits they believed to be there, nor would they show any white men the way.
It was in this area that LaRue concentrated his search for the hidden treasure. He knew that if he could find the mysterious dwellings of the ancient people, the gold should be close by.
Another problem to deal with was that this land was the home of the Ute, Navajo, and roaming bands of Apaches. Any man caught out in the open was sure to be tortured to death.
LaRue spent many years searching for these mysterious houses built on the side of the cliffs, hiding by day and searching by the light of the moon when the Indians were in their camps, but to no avail.
Then one night as he was returning to camp, he came across a prospector with an arrow in him. Dying, the man told of finding the abode of the long lost people. He was able to tell LaRue of its general whereabouts, but with a warning, “Do not go searching for it alone!”
Before the old man died, he held out his hand and to LaRue’s amazement, in it was a little gold figurine. One other thing got LaRue’s attention. The arrow that killed the old prospector had a point made out of gold hardened with silver.
Now the gold fever caught hold of Pete LaRue like the lure a beautiful woman holds some men against their will. For hours he would sit and look at the small figurine, almost willing it to give up its secrets. He soon grew slim from not taking the time to eat. At the end of a month he looked haggard and unkempt; his mind drifted and he could not remember from one day to the next.
Finally out of his mind with fever, he wandered from his hiding place out into the desert to die, the figurine clutched in his hand. The Utes found him there lying in the sand, clothes torn from his body. They found him there talking to himself, yet they let him live.
With some Indians there is a belief that the spirit of the one you kill becomes part of your own. It makes you stronger, so they believe. To kill one that is out-of-his-head crazy is to make your own spirit weak, but to help that person is big medicine.
So they took Pete LaRue to a cabin built in the rocks with only one way in. It went unseen except by a very few for many years. LaRue had once passed only yards from its entrance on one of his searches and hadn’t seen it. The Utes took him there but would go no closer than fifty feet from the cabin. Then they left leaving Pete to go the rest of the way on his own.
Even in the most shattered of minds, there is an instinct for survival, and Pete LaRue found his way into the cabin. There he found tins of food to eat and a small spring in back of the cabin that gave up clear, sparkling water. Under the cot he found clothes. It was obviously the cabin of the old prospector.
In a few days his mind again grew calm. Having found himself at death’s door and surviving, Pete LaRue again became the thinker he once was. And for the next few weeks while he got his strength back, he planned on how to find the treasure he was looking for.
The first thing he realized was that it would take help in getting the gold, and that meant he would have to be able to make a payroll. Since he was penniless, that left only one avenue open to him: he would have to give up a share of whatever he found. LaRue also knew he would only get two kinds of men for a proposition like that: prospectors, who usually liked to work alone and would, if given the chance, strike out by themselves; the second choice was to hire a gang of drifters and outcasts.
The sound of a coffee pot being dropped snapped LaRue back to the present.
The men were starting to move about, getting restless at having to wait, and anxious to be on their way again.
The sun was setting in the west, yet there was still enough light to see by. From where Pete sat he could see the men were saddled and ready to move.
His eyes jumped from one man to the next, analyzing, then dismissing each man in turn. Now that Manning was gone, he would have little trouble with the men.
Someone had saddled LaRue’s horse for him, so all that was needed was to mount up and be on the way. Pete pulled himself erect and walked stiffly to his horse. The men waited for him before riding off toward the distance unknown.
“What do you want us to do, Pete?” Shorty asked as LaRue rode past.
LaRue thought for a moment. “Just fan out. Everyone pick his own trail. It will be harder to see us if we’re all spread out than if we’re in one big bunch. A couple of you men find the bodies and bury them!” It felt good to be giving orders again without any questions from the likes of Manning.
In silence, the men formed a long skirmish line in the dark. LaRue rode several yards in front with his friend Shorty beside him.
Shorty was the only man other than LaRue that was not an out-and-out cutthroat. He’d been a teacher in a boys’ school back East. He was of mild yet firm manners, and came West to get a little excitement, he said.
One would think Shorty would be timid at the sight of a gun, since he had never fired one before coming out West. Nothing could be further from the truth, for Shorty took to firearms like a duck takes to water. And he was more than just a good shot. His speed and shooting was held in awe even by the most accomplished gunslinger. Even the late Marty Manning was afraid to upset him.
Marty once told LaRue of having seen a top gunslinger tease Shorty until all the men in the bar were in hysterics. Then after Shorty called him a bastard, which he probably was, the gunslinger told him to draw, at the same time going for his own gun. Shorty drew and fired twice before the man cleared leather. Each shot hit true, and the man slumped to the floor dead before he knew what hit him.
When asked how he became so proficient with a gun, Shorty would answer, “As near as I can figure, it was a quirk of nature, as I never practiced even once.” LaRue was glad this little, mild-mannered schoolteacher was indeed his friend.
Ahead lay the dark outline of the Rockies with Poncha Pass somewhere to the south. LaRue was familiar with the area and figured that the stranger ahead would undoubtedly head for the Poncha.
It was from the head of the trail leading to the pass that LaRue would send two of his men with extra horses to run the stranger down. Already the stranger had cost LaRue and his bunch dearly, both in time and men. But LaRue still hoped he would get away.