We hike back to the Summit Trailhead and head Northwest towards the Summit Trail. We see very few people on the trail and no one who looks like they are Agents of DUCK. It may still be early for hikers.
“Dad, what kind of treasure do you think will be in the crypt?”
“I would think if it is Black Bart’s treasure, it would be gold and silver from the Wells Fargo Stagecoaches he robbed back in the 1800s.”
“So would it belong to Wells Fargo?”
“Actually, I think being that Mount Diablo State Park is Public Property and there may be no way to determine the actual origin of the treasure would therefore fall under the law of Finders Keepers.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, being that we found it and unless it is stored in boxes or bags labeled with Wells Fargo on them, there is no realistic way to determine the origin of the loot. I believe here in California that we would need to turn it over to the police and they would hold it for 90 days allowing people to attempt to establish ownership. If no proof is brought to bear on ownership, then it would be returned to us.”
“Wow, and if it was established to be Wells Fargo, then what.”
“Well, in that case it would be returned to Wells Fargo with an expectation of around a 25% finders fee as reward for returning the money as obviously we were not the thieves who stole it.”
“Personally, I think much of it should go to a museum if it has historic significance.”
“That comes into play as well, so who knows, we may end up getting something or just an adventure out this.”
“I can live with that.”
So after another 45 minutes we are within sight of the aerial navigation tower and the dedication plaque. I can understand why ships could see the light for 100 miles at sea. We are already at the highest altitude for at least tens of miles around and on top of that the tower is at least 100 feet high.
“Dad, look at the tower, isn’t it majestic.”
“Most definitely. Do you see anyone suspiciously hanging around looking like an Agent of DUCK?”
“Looks all clear to me, so how are we going to do this? Do we just walk up to the plaque and look for a keyhole and open it up? Then what do we do?”
“Good point, I will create a diversion to attract everyone’s attention while you check out the plaque, if you can find it, get it open and verify the treasure, I think we need to bring a couple ranger’s up here to verify the find.”
“Dad, great idea, what are you going to do to distract them?”
“You’ll see, wait until everyone is around me on the other side of the tower and then go for it.”
I watch Nancy slip away to near the plaque and I find a park bench on the other side of the tower. I climb up on the bench and using my unnaturally load voice address the twenty or so people that are near the tower.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please let me distract you for a few minutes as I give you the true story of Black Bart the notorious stagecoach robber who lived and worked in these very hills. Black Bart was born Charles Earl Bowles born in 1829 in Norfolk England. Charles moved to the US with his brother and in the 1850s came to California for the Gold Rush. After a rather unsuccessful career as a prospector and unable to keep a job, he adopted the name Black Bart and robbed at least 28 Wells Fargo stagecoaches in the 1870s. What made Black Bart stand out from other stagecoach robbers of the age was he left poems at at least two of his robberies. His most famous reads as follows:
Here I lay me down to sleep
To wait the coming morrow,
Perhaps success, perhaps defeat,
And everlasting sorrow.
Let come what will, I’ll try it on,
My condition can’t be worse;
And if there’s money in that box
‘Tis munny in my purse.
— Black Bart
Bart was caught in the end, but the gold and silver he liberated from the stagecoaches was never recovered. While some of it was used up in supporting Bart, the mystery still remains as to where the rest of his treasure is buried. It is know that he hid out in the hills of Mount Diablo and legend has it he was thrown out of the Carriage Lounge and Bar in 1882.”
In response a man wearing a Ranger hat and what looks like an official uniform responds, “uhm, sir, I’m pretty sure Black Bart was in Jail at San Quentin from 1880 to 1884, so he could not have gotten into a fight at the Carriage Lounge and Bar which is now part of the Mount Diablo Golf Club.”
Producing the History of Mount Diablo Golf Club book, “I am sure you are mistaken, I have the official history of the Mount Diablo Golf Club and in the chapter concerning Black Bart it indicates he was incarcerated at San Quentin from 1884 until he got out for good behavior in 1888.”
“Oh, well, I stand corrected, who are you that is so wise in the ways of Black Bart?”
“I am but a simple elevator psychiatrist specializing in elevators that are afraid of heights and those obsessed with popular musical theater.”
“What?”
“Just kidding, I fix computers, but am an amatuer historian with a special interest in the California Gold rush here in the San Francisco Bay area.”
“That makes much more sense.”
I see Nancy come around the edge of the tower and so make my farewell to the small crowd.
“Thank for listening to me this fine day, for more information about Black Bart and other tales of the Gold Rush in the area, please visit your local library.”
After a small round of applause, Nancy grabs my hand and pulls me toward the trail that heads back from the summit. Once out of earshot of other people Nancy says,
“Dad, i found the keyhole, it was covered over with dirt and rust, but I was able to fit the key in and it fit. I turned the key and the whole plaque was hinged. I took a quick peek and behind it was a space 3 foot by 3 foot and what I estimate to be be 8 foot deep.”
“Sweet, what was within?”
“I’m getting to it. There was a leather bound journal, which I grabbed and what looked like a couple of boxes 2 foot by 2 foot by 3 foot. I tried to slide one just to see how much it weighed and I couldn’t budge it. I think it is locked, but I wasn’t able to reach the lock unless it was pulled out. So I closed the plaque and locked it again“
‘Amazing, I think we grab that park ranger and have him witness us pulling it out. If we get it open and there is treasure in side, he can radio down to get transport and the police to take possession.”
“Great idea, where did he go off to, I last saw him when I was up on the bench telling the story of Black Bart.”
“I see him over by the Map display talking to, oh no, it is the man and woman from last night and at the BART station.”
“Quick, into the shrubbery, let’s figure out what we should do.”