Happy Camp, CA

Back in the day Happy Camp was a gold mining boomtown. Though illegal now, they used what is called “Hydraulic Mining process”. This was using water canons to wash entire hills into huge sluice boxes In order to recover gold.

 One Saturday evening the miners went into town to do rest and relaxation in the many saloons and brothels that littered the town. As the water canons operated twenty-four hours a day one man was left to tend them and point the streams of water in different directions as needed.

 But it had been a long dry spell from the Saturday before and it wasn’t long until the man tending the canons was lifting his glass with the boys in town. After all. What could happen?

 Suddenly a roar and a thunder was heard over the tinkle of player pianos and the loud laughter of the wild crowd. The ground started to shake as a wall of mud thirty feet high washed through the town, taking buildings, miners, towns people, livestock and more than one tinhorn gambler with it. It is said that except for the pieces of buildings and the bodies washing downstream in the American River, you would have never known the town had been there.

 Jump ahead a hundred and fifty years:

 The town has been rebuilt and hydraulic mining has been outlawed. There is still gold in them thar hills! I know, I’ve found some of it.

A friend whom I will call Dan is a treasure hunter. Through his research he learned that in addition to the bank vault (filled with gold, if you believe the old tales) there are also old coins and jewelry waiting to be found.

Knowing that the banks had been scoured by many others, Dan decides to use scuba and check out what lies in the swift river backwaters and eddies. The first day … nothing but fishing lures and sardine cans. But the next day he hit pay dirt. (Or is it pay water?) and came up with a fistful of silver coins. It was on toward dark, so he decided to quit for the day and hit it hard again the next morning.

 The sun was barely up when Dan entered the dark water, He took an underwater flashlight to see deep into the crevices and hollow places under rocks with. Seeing a silver dollar in the slack water in front of a large opening, he picks it up and puts it in his pouch. His mind filled with the excitement of possibly a large cache, he flicks his flippers and slides into the slack water. Turning on the flashlight he peers into the hole and found a sightless skull staring back at him. Startled he screams and the mouthpiece on the regulator flies out of his mouth. It’s time to leave. His head clears the surface and (he says) that he felt what seemed to be a hand wrap around his ankle to tug him back down. According to his father and his son who waited on the bank, Dan did justice to any ballistic missile launched from a nuclear submarine. One minute he was in the water, the next on the bank. Poor man was so shook that he had to down several inches from the bottle of Dutch Courage, his pa kept in the truck for snakebite.

Years later after he told me his tale, I asked if he ever went back to gather more old coins.

 His face got all serious and he said “No sir! I figure those riches belong to the dead folks killed in that mudslide. They can keep it and I have no interest in joining them!”


About my eighth Book

First off I’d like to thank my readers. You are helping me in my vision to keep the Native American myths alive. Thank you to all, but especially Elizabeth (my publicist) for getting my name out there.

 I ended the Ray Corngrower series with “Where the Wind Whispers My Name”. It was like a sad goodbye to old friends.

This current work is set in a different time and with different characters. A general description would be The Creek and Cherokee just before and during the Civil War, but in the telling I find it’s much ore than that.

The characters make the story.

Bustah Cee is a halfbreed bandit who lives more by his wits instead of a gun.

 Willimina is a muleskinner who disguises herself as a man, but doesn’t fool Willie (a Creek Indian) who loves her.

 Heather the Heathen is a cathouse madam and saloon owner.

 Mix these with ranchers, prostitutes, judges, the US Army, the Confederate States of America and the Native American militia. Stir well and bake in the Oklahoma sun a few days to create a motley crew full of history, laughs and drama.

I’m about a third of the way finished, but hope that my readers have as much enjoyment reading it as I have writing it.

I’ll yell when it is available.


Please read

I need help in passing along vital information to all terminally ill veterans.

I was recently sent home from the VA hospital to die with the mildest prescription pain pills there is. I felt like I was abandoned by the VA and the constant pain I was in had me considering drastic measures.

A friend told me to apply for a hospice program. I looked at the VA benefits on the net and saw that they provided both palliative care and hospice. I was NOT told about any of this when I was discharged from the VA hospital. Even the primary care VA nurse knew nothing about it.

No. This is not a “poor me” story, but I am asking … no I’m begging you to get the word of this little known secret, out. Too many vets are suffering intense pain before they die. Though I can’t verify this, I’ve been told that the reason the VA doesn’t inform us vets is because these cares are very expensive.

My thanks to you in advance and may God bless you.