"Jerry Oltion & Kent Patterson - Dutchmans Gold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Oltion Jerry)

their gold. They note another landmark, a big one, usually a mountain with twin
peaks. Sometimes they make a crude map, but that's optional. No sooner do they
get away from the mine, there's an Indian attack. They fight like hell, but the
Indians kill all but one of them, and knock the survivor unconscious. Dazed, he
picks up the gold and wanders around, half out of his head, for a long time.
Finally, someone finds him, completely delirious, rambling on about the fabulous
gold strike.

"Now comes the fun part. The Dutchman recovers, hires people to go back with him
to find the lost mine. They do find some of the landmarks, but not the mine.
That poor Dutchman is doomed, cursed to wander the rest of his life, trying to
find his lost gold. He goes mad, and finally disappears into the hills forever."

"Wow," said Sarah. "So you're looking for the Breyfogle mine?"

Jan shook his head. "No. Hundreds of people have tried to find it. By now every
inch of this desert must have been searched a dozen times. If there were really
any gold, they would have found it."

All was silent except the hissing of the stove. Then smart ass Peter had to
spoil it.

"My impression of a Dutch miner," he said. He turned his head, speaking with a
Dutch accent bad enough to get him hanged in Amsterdam. "Ach, Hans! Come und
look at all dee nize golt. Yoost what we bin looking for." Now he turned back.
"Hefans. Vo ist dee nize golt mine? It vas here yoost a second ago."

Sarah giggled. Jan was about to say something when a bucket of water hit him in
the face.

Or at least that's what it felt like. Driven by a screaming wind, rain hit so
hard it went right through his nylon windbreaker and blue jeans. The camp stove
sputtered out. The wind picked up the end of the sleeping bag and tried to roll
Jan and Frieda up like hot dogs in a bun.

"I told you and told you . . ." Frieda screamed, the wind whipping the words
from her mouth.

"Hush! What's that noise?" A low rumbling rolled down the canyon.

Lightning flashed. In the sudden light, Jan saw a brown moving mass at the head
of the ravine. "Flash flood! Run for your lives."

A long tongue of water rolled through the camp. In seconds, it had grown big
enough to carry off the sleeping bags. With Frieda a step in front of him, Jan
scrambled up the side of the slope. His shoes kept slipping in the mud, and he
felt like a cockroach climbing a wet glass window.

Lightning. In its glare, Jan saw that the water running through the camp had
become a frothing river, tipping over the camp stove and surging on down the