In late 1888, a Wells Fargo stage
Was relieved of its freight-
A strongbox, taken from its hold,
held thousands of dollars in coins of gold.

The brigands had a master plan,
To bury that box,
sit, and wait-
Then dig it up at a later date.

They found a spot on rock-hard ground-
Where it would lie, safe and sound,
So they sank it in a three foot hole-
And hid that box with coins of gold.

But what they didn’t realize,
that in the distance, sat a pair of eyes-
That had watched the whole event unfold-
and watched, as they buried that chest of gold.

Late that night, under pale, lantern, light-
a shovel's blade split those rocks-
and the hole was relieved-
of that strongbox.

William Nelson Riddle, owned that property-
And he lived with a basic philosophy-
“Since it was found, on my ground-
I guess it belongs to me.”

“Nelson” died in ’28, at age of 85-
He never said what he did
With, or where, that chest was hid-
And the legend of Riddle’s gold came alive.

TO BE CONTINUED