PSR Camp

The Truth Behind the Robinson Chest

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I did not then, and I do not now believe in the paranormal but even so I decide to follow my vision. Up the steep cliff I clambered and soon found a route to the west that safely took me around the dry falls.

When I reached the canyon bottom I estimated I had only an hour of daylight left so I doubled my pace and just before darkness prevailed, I came in sight of the Towne Pass highway. My luck continued because parked there at the 4000-foot elevation sign along the road was Smokey smoking his pipe.

I don’t know who was the happier. After I gulped down copious amounts of water, he wanted to know all the details of the trip, which I knew I could not relate. To do so would brand me as a quack and a thief. I gave him a step by step summary of the route but I did not tell him why my boot was oddly patched together nor did I tell him about the knife, ox shoe and chest.

 
ONE LIE LEADS TO ANOTHER

I knew I could not continue my trek north through California without a new pair of boots. My luck continued when one of Smokey’s friends offered to take me to Las Vegas, an offer I jumped at. We would spend two night in this sinful city before returning to Death Valley. While there I found a sturdy pair of boots and the cobbler who was willing to take two of the gold coins in exchange for the boots.

That night I realized what I had done. I had compromised one of the most important stories in the annals of Death Valley lore. I had very limited money of my own, certainly not enough to buy the pair of boots I had exchanged the gold coins for. I would have to somehow get the money to buy the boots and buy back the gold coins from the cobbler. My luck the past week and a half had been extremely favorable so I decided to try my hand at the "one armed bandits."  I took all the money I had and went to the first teller and exchanged the 4 American dollars for quarters. I had never gambled so I walked the floor of the casino carefully observing the proper techniques to use.

I soon concluded to be an avid gambler you had to smoke and be grossly overweight— neither of these attributes fit me. Before long I saw a machine that had a strange glow or aura. I went to the machine and nervously placed one quarter in the receptacle and gingerly pulled the handle. A loud bell began to ring and the light on top of the machine began to blink. My first impulse was to run because I was certain I had broken it. Immediately quarters began belching from the machine’s bowls and kept flowing until they spilled on the floor. Within moments a crowd gathered around me and wanted to rub my hand in a foolish attempt to garner some luck.

An employee of the casino soon arrived and told me to clear the machine. I gawked at him and told him I didn’t know what he meant. He smiled, took one of my quarters, put it back in the machine and told me to pull the handle, which I did. The same thing happened again, and again people began rubbing my hands. Another employee arrived, opened the machine, and pulled a couple wires. By now I seemed to be ankle deep in quarters, which pleased me.

Despite encouragement to continue gambling from those surrounding me, I gathered together several hundred dollars of quarters and went to the cobbler hoping to buy back the gold coins but the store was closed. I had exchanged a shinny one-dollar coin, dated 1849 and a five-dollar coin dated 1834 for the boots. I was in a quandary and felt my luck had run out.

Across the street was a pawnshop and I suspected the proprietor might have gold coins. He did. However, the only dollar coin he had was soldered into a necklace and the five-dollar coin he had matched the year of the coin I traded for the boots. After I paid quite a stack of quarters for the two coins, I asked the pawnbroker if he had a torch. He did and he would unsolder the coin from its mounting but first I had to shell our another pile of quarters. After he cooled the coin, I tried to sell him the mounting. He said he didn’t want it and would throw it away for me. I met my ride and we return to Death Valley.

The dollar coin was a poor substitute for the shinny new coin I had traded for the boots. The five-dollar coin was a close match and the date was the same.

About sundown, I was again with Smokey and I told him of my extraordinary experience in gambling. I also told him a lie when I said the mass of quarters that engulfed my feet had allowed me to buy a new pair of boots. I told Smokey I very much wanted to hike another canyon off Pinto Peak so he agreed to drive me to the summit the next morning. We both figured I could make the trip in one day if we got an early start.

We were on the road by 4:00 a.m. and reached the summit by dawn. This time I did not top off my fluid level. I arrived at the cave without incident and opened the chest and began to replace the gold coins. Just at the last moment, I checked the date on the dollar coin and was chagrinned to see "1853" glaring at me.

This would not do so I took my knife and carefully obliterated the "5" and part of the "3" hoping the next lucky person would deduce the coin was struck in 1843.