Ghost Town (5 page)

“He went on another bender after it burnt, happy
as a man could be, especially because no one bothered him. There wasn't any place left to lock him up in.”

Andy frowned. Something didn't add up. “But that was a long time ago, and—”

Jep interrupted. “Far as dangers go, we've still got them, but they're dangers of the wild kind. There's always rattlesnakes, and at night bobcats come down out of the mountains, along with coyotes and badgers. Badgers can be mean if they think they're cornered. Best thing to do at night is stay inside.”

“We can sleep in the bed of the truck,” Dub said.

“You'd be out in the open,” Jep said. “And nights get cold. You'll be better off sleeping on the floor by the fire in the main room of my cabin. It's nothing fancy, and dinner's only venison stew, but I'm glad to share it with you.”

The sun had dropped behind the western peaks, and purple shadows were rapidly creeping over the town. Andy felt nervous. Rattlesnakes? Bobcats? “Thanks for your hospitality,” he said quickly.

The oil lamps and the roaring fire in the stone fireplace filled Jep's cabin with a golden warmth. Andy stopped thinking about the scary stuff outside
in the night and eagerly polished off the bowl of stew Jep set before him.

When Dub and Andy had finished eating, Jep put the dirty bowls on a sideboard. He quickly explained to them how to reach the paved highway that traveled to Giltedge and then on to Lewistown. “You can bed down early tonight and get a good start soon as it's morning light,” he said.

Andy wasn't ready to go to bed. Dates were swimming around in his mind, and he couldn't put them together. “You told us you made coffins… caskets … whatever you called them,” he said to Jep. “Couldn't people get them from a funeral director?”

“Funeral director?” Jep asked. He looked puzzled. “We had a minister who took care of praying over the dead when they were laid to rest in the cemetery. I guess you could call him a funeral director.”

“But when—” Andy began.

There was a sudden loud pounding at the door. Startled, Andy jumped out of his chair.

Eyes wide, Dub was on his feet too, but Jep seemed unconcerned. He strolled to the door, opened it, and a large man in overalls charged inside. The man's hair, face, and clothes were smudged with black dust. He planted his feet wide apart, balancing like a
fighter, and pointed at Andy. “Where is it?” he demanded.

“Wh-Where's what?” Andy replied.

“The lost mine. You may have found it, but you can't keep it. It belongs to me.”

Andy backed up a step. “W-We weren't looking for any lost mine,” he stammered.

“Calm down, Jim. These boys don't know about the mine,” Jep told him. He motioned Jim to a chair, and when Jim had grumblingly settled into it, Jep explained, “They're on their way to Lewistown.”

Jim continued to glare at Andy and Dub as though he didn't believe Jep. “It won't do you any good to find the mine,” he said, “even though it's got the richest vein of ore in Montana. First man to come across it was Skookum Joe. He went down to Billings to file a claim, but he got to braggin' about the mine in a bar, and next day—afore he could tell anyone where the mine was—he was found dead.”

“We're not looking for a mine, man,” Dub said, but Jim's eyes narrowed, and he went on as if he hadn't heard.

“Soon after Joe died
I
found it.” He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a handful of good-sized nuggets. He tossed one to Andy.

“You and your friend take a look at that,” he said
proudly. “Pure gold ore. I carried chunks of gold the size of my fists out of that mine. Richest ore anybody ever seen. I showed them off at a saloon, and there was a rush of prospectors out to the hills like you never would have believed.”

Andy examined the ore. It glowed in the light of the oil lamps, and it felt warm in his fingers. “Then the mine's not lost. You already found it,” he said.

“I found the mine, but then I lost it again,” Jim whimpered. His voice dropped almost to a whisper as he added, “Lots of men would leave home and families for ore like that. Take it from me, the hunt for the perfect ore gets in your blood. It possesses you. It makes you crazy. If the hunt for gold don't get you, the lost mine will.”

With tears rolling paths through the black dust on his cheeks, Jim turned to Jep. In a pitiful voice he said, “Ain't that right, Jep? After I went crazy, everybody knew that the mine was likely to be stumbled upon again, but the finder was doomed to go insane—like me—or die, like Skookum Joe.”

“Don't fret yourself, Jim,” Jep said soothingly. “The boys aren't after your mine. As I said, they're on their way to Lewistown.”

“The lost mine's cursed,” Jim mumbled. “The gold… the mine… doomed…”

The door flew open with such a bang that Andy let out a yelp. “What are those boys doing here?” came a low wail. “They don't belong here. They're disturbing our peace!”

What was left of a man, dressed in miner's clothing, staggered into the room. With the one eye left in his head, he stared at Andy. Then he raised a miner's pick with his only remaining hand. “Get them out of here!”

While Andy and Dub gasped in shock, Jep stepped between them and the miner. In a quiet voice he said, “They're only boys, Zack. They left home, like we did once. Come morning, they'll be on their way.”

Andy clung to the back of his chair. His knees felt so wobbly he was afraid he'd fall to the floor and never get up. “J-Jep?” he tried to say.

Jep didn't seem to hear him. He patted Zack's shoulder. “Sit down, Zack,” he said. “Don't get so excited. It's not good for you.”

Zack gave a long, hollow sigh. “Sorry, Jep. Ever since that mine accident killed me, I get upset easy.” His one eye rolled toward Andy, and he scowled. “Some of the others hereabouts know you got company. Skookum Joe, Big Bessie, Press Lewis—and they don't like havin' strangers in this place that
belongs to us.” He sighed again. “I guess I should have waited and come with them.”

There were more to come? Now Andy understood why the times Jep talked about didn't make sense. Jep wasn't alive now. He must have lived in Maiden well over a hundred years ago.

Andy cleared his throat and tried to speak more loudly. “Jep!” he said in a voice raspy with fear. “Your friends are all ghosts! And you—you're a ghost, too!”

Stunned as the room suddenly became dark, Andy slowly caught his breath and tried to stop shaking, “Dub?” he called frantically. “Where are you?”

“I'm here,” Dub answered. Andy could just barely see Dub getting to his feet. “What happened?”

“You saw them?” asked Andy. “The ghosts?”

“You bet I saw them. Where did they go?”

Andy glanced around the room. The ghosts had left. Even the cabin was gone. Remnants of a cold stone fireplace and chimney were all they could see.

Overhead the sky was an overturned black bowl. Only a smattering of stars and a thin crescent moon gave light. A chill wind, swooping through the valley, made Andy shiver. At the close cry of a bobcat, he jumped to his feet.

“Dub, we've got to get out of here!” he shouted.“Come on!”

Stumbling over rocks and holes in the road, Andy and Dub raced down the street. When they finally reached the pickup truck, climbed inside, and locked the doors, Andy was still trembling.

Dub turned on the ignition and the headlights at the same time. “Look!” he said.

The buildings they had seen were gone. Only tag ends of stonework, weathered boards, and a few walls and porches remained.

Andy clung to the door handle. “Don't look,” he said. “Don't even think. Just drive. Do you remember how Jep told us to reach the paved road to Lewistown?”

Dub nodded and lowered his foot on the gas pedal. “Straight ahead, turn left and then right.”

A coyote's howl drifted down from the hills. Andy didn't talk. He scarcely dared to breathe until the truck bounced from the dirt road onto pavement.

As they picked up speed, he weakly leaned back against the seat. “When we get to Lewistown, let's not go to Chicago,” he said to Dub. “Let's take the highway back home.”

“Fine with me,” Dub answered. “We can go to Chicago any old time.”

“Yeah. Any old time,” Andy said.

“What about your bossy sisters?” Dub asked. “What are you gonna do about them?”

“I'll think of something. I'll tell them everything that happened, and who knows? Maybe, for once, I'll be able to impress them.”

“Haw,” Dub scoffed. “You think your sisters are going to believe you? I hardly believe it myself, and I was with you!”

Andy unclenched his left fist and looked at the shining gold nugget he still held in his hand. He smiled. “Sure they will,” he said. “I've got the proof.”

In 1952, while doing geologic mapping in the Judith Mountains, my husband stumbled upon the ghost town of Maiden, Montana. A few days later he brought me with him to meet ninety-year-old George Wieglanda, who lived alone in the town.

“This has long been my home,” Mr. Wieglanda told me. “I had an assay office and mining interests in Maiden, and I like it here. When the others moved away, I didn't want to leave, so I stayed.”

He told us some of the stories about life in Maiden, including the story about the building—and the destruction—of the jail. He took us on a tour of what was left of the town, describing everything so vividly I could easily picture how Maiden must once
have been. Later I found photographs taken of Maiden in 1885 in the Culver Photography Studio in Lewistown.

Two of the mines in Maiden, the Spotted Horse mine, named after a friendly Indian chief, and the Maginnis mine, named after nearby Fort Maginnis, were heavy producers. Together they accounted for close to $10 million worth of gold.

In the late 1880s, the population of Maiden was nearly twelve hundred, and the town was prosperous. The first school was opened, as well as a Sunday school. Although there were a number of saloons in Maiden, it was fairly peaceful for a mining town and even had elements of culture: Maiden boasted the first cornet band in central Montana.

In the 1890s, however, the big veins were “pinching out,” and rising costs cut into profits. Finally the mines were closed, and the peak population of twelve hundred people, which had been reached in 1888, began to dwindle until the town was completely empty—except for George Wieglanda.

Now the town is private property, most of it owned by the Wieglanda family, and visitors must get permission to visit.

To reach Maiden
, take Highway 191 north from Lewistown, Montana, for fifteen miles. At a marked intersection, take the road east for ten miles.

To learn more about Maiden
, contact the Montana Ghost Town Preservation Society, P.O. Box 1861, Bozeman, MT 59771.

Web sites:

The Montana Ghost Town Preservation Society:
www.montana.com/ghosttown

Maiden—Montana Ghost Town:
www.ghosttowns.com/states/mo/maiden.html

Publications:

Montana Pay Dirt: A Guide to the Mining Camps of the Treasure State
, by Muriel Sibell Wolle, Ohio University Press, Athens, 1991.

Ghost Towns of the West
, by Lambert Florin, Promontory Press, New York, 1992, pages 426–428.

A
lan Welty raised his chin and sucked in a deep breath of the cool Mt. Davidson air. The sky was so clear he could gaze across the valley below to the blue and purple mountains in the Stillwater Range. For the first time on his school's eighth-grade overnight field trip to Virginia City, Nevada, he began to relax.

Two tiny chipmunks scrambled out of the underbrush and rose on their hind legs to beg.

Alan pulled what was left of a bag of potato chips out of his pocket and scattered the crumbs on the ground. “Here you are,” he said.

The chipmunks eagerly snatched at the chips, devouring them.

Almost hidden by the shadow of an old building, a small dog with mottled black-and-gray hair watched intently.

“Hey, boy, are you hungry?” Alan asked.

The dog remained still, and his gaze didn't waver.

Alan hadn't wanted to come on this weekend field trip. He'd pleaded a sore throat, but his mother hadn't bought it. He'd limped a little—even groaned— before his class boarded the bus, but Mr. Sands, his teacher, had just smiled encouragingly. “There's no need for you to miss the trip. Resting your foot on the bus ride should give it a chance to heal,” he'd said.