Wherever men talk of the Bowie Mine, of the Rock Pens, of lost mines of
the West, they tell of the Nigger Gold Mine. The site of Reagan Canyon
varies from south of Dryden in Terrell County to a hundred and
seventy-five miles west in Brewster County, in some accounts being
identified with Maravillas Canyon. Likewise, the gold lead shifts from
one side of the Rio Grande to the other. Mr. Carl Raht has put into
print an account of the Nigger Gold Mine [66] but he has not stressed
the legendary features. For material I am indebted to R. R.
(“Railroad”) Smith of Jourdanton, who got his information from Tex
O’Reilly and others who know Campbell, the railroad conductor; also to
Edgar Kincaid of Sabinal and West Burton of Austin. I tell the legend
as it is told, not as history would sift it.
The Reagan brothers were camped down close to the Rio Grande in the Big
Bend country on a canyon that now bears their name. Reagan Canyon opens
into the Rio Grande, affording an excellent passage for stock, and the
Reagans used it to smuggle stolen cattle and horses back and forth
between Mexico and the United States. Some say that they were in
partnership with a gang of horse thieves that operated “a chain” all
the way to the Arbuckle Mountains in Oklahoma.
One time when one of the Reagan boys was in Valentine he came across a
negro tramp. He picked him up in his spring wagon and brought him back
to camp and put him to work. Not long afterwards a horse got loose with
a saddle on—some say with merely a drag-rope—and the men in camp
scattered out to find him. When night came and the men returned, nobody
had found the horse, but the negro rode in with a morral full of
something heavy, and calling off one of the Reagan men, he said, “Mr.
Reagan, jes’ looky here; I’se found a brass mine.”
“Damn your brass mine,” said Reagan as he scattered the contents of the
morral with a kick. “I’m not feeding you to hunt brass mines. Why in
the hell didn’t you find that horse? He’s got a new saddle on him worth
three brass mines.”
With that the negro kept still, and next morning early all hands turned
out again to hunt the lost horse. About six or seven miles out from
camp the same Reagan brother who had kicked the morral met the negro
circling towards him. They exchanged observations; neither had found
any sign of the horse. “But, Mr. Ben,” went on the negro, “we’se right
over here now clost to that brass mine. Lemme show you.”
It was along late in the afternoon and Reagan was fretted and hungry.
“I told you once,” he blurted out, “that I didn’t care anything about
your mine. What I want is that horse, and I’m a damn sight hungrier for
some frijoles than I am for brass anyhow.”
The two horse hunters parted, and when the negro got into camp that
night the cook called him off and told him that “Mr. Ben” was “on the
warpath.” And here the story prongs. According to one version, the
Reagans saw that they had antagonized the negro and that he was going
to leave. Their pasture was full of stolen stock at the time and they
did not want the negro to talk; so they forthwith shot him and pitched
him into the Rio Grande. Mr. J. M. Kincaid of San Antonio, who years
ago ranched in the Big Bend, says that this is a confusion of stories,
that a negro was pitched into the Rio Grande all right, but that some
train robbers drowned him because he would not go in with them as he
had promised to do.
According to the more prevalent version, the negro culled a stray horse
from the Reagan remuda—some say a fine Reagan stallion—and made back
east or else into Mexico. After he was gone and the Reagans had cooled
down, they began to think about the “brass” and picked up some of the
ore that had spilled out of the morral. They saw that it was rich in
gold. Then they tried to get the negro back, spending and offering
large sums in the attempt. The negro heard of the efforts and hid out
the farther. He thought that the white men were after him for taking
the horse. The Reagan boys searched in every direction for the gold
deposit, meantime continuing their stealing and smuggling. Later the
Rangers came down into the Big Bend and broke up the gang. They killed
one of the boys, one died, one went to Mexico, where he now lives with
the Yaqui Indians.
But when he left, the negro had held on to his samples of ore. He knew
that he had something valuable. He sent specimens to be assayed at El
Paso and Denver. The analysis showed either ninety-two per cent gold or
else $92,000 gold to the ton, the figures vary. No matter how rich the
ore, however, he was afraid to go back into the Big Bend. He
disappeared. Other people than the Reagans had heard of the negro and
his “mine” and they set to searching for both. It is estimated by some
men that fully $20,000 have been spent in trying to find the negro.
Some say that he died in Louisiana; some, that he is still in Mexico. I
know one man who claims to have known him in Monterrey a good many
years ago. There the negro went by the name of Pablo, had a peculiar
scar on his face, was a noted drinker and gambler, rode a fine horse
often at full speed down the street, whooping and shooting. He always
had plenty of money, and it was claimed that he loaded two pack horses
every three months with ore from his secret mine.
But the real story of the Nigger Mine is forever linked with the name
of Campbell. Campbell was a conductor on the Southern Pacific Railroad.
He is yet living in San Antonio and may enjoy in life the legendary
fame that only a few men attain to in death. Before the negro left
Texas, he gave Campbell some of his ore. Campbell had it assayed, with
the same rich results that the negro’s assays had shown. He quit work
to go out and see the mine. Then he discovered that the negro had
stolen a horse and run away. He tried to find the mine himself and
failed. All that he knew was that it was within seven or eight miles of
the old Reagan camp. He spread abroad offers of a high reward for
information that would lead him to the negro. Thus the whole country
came to know about the mine and to search for it.
Then the excitement gradually died down and people had begun to talk
about ordinary subjects when a miner by the name of Fink who had taken
up the search found, or claimed to have found, the mine. He confided
his success to some friends, who decided to take the mine for
themselves. Under the guise of friendship they went with him to El Paso
to help him file his mineral claim. As yet he had told no one of the
exact location of the deposit, and their plan was to get him drunk
enough to talk and then to double-cross him. They gave him all the
whiskey that he could drink and he had “a high old time.” He drank too
much whiskey to talk at all. In fact, he drank so much whiskey that it
killed him, and with him died his secret.
But Campbell had not given up. He alone of all the searchers has been
consistent and persistent. Others have searched far and near, now on
one side of the Rio Grande and now on the other. He has kept to his
eight mile radius. He grub-staked an old Dutch prospector to search,
giving him a pair of burros and telling him that he might go away from
camp as far as a burro might take him out and back in a day. Solitary,
often not seeing a human being for months, the old Dutchman examined
ledge after ledge, rock after rock. He was looking for a kind of blue
rock. Then one day he found it! He put some of the ore on his pack
burro, loaded on his bed and a little “grub,” and started for
Valentine. On the road he got sick. He was feeble anyhow. When he
reached Valentine he was too sick to talk. Only the ore in his pack
told his tale. He died before he could give directions to his find.
Campbell has had other men searching since. All he knows to tell them
is that they may search as far as a burro will walk out and back in a
day. But who knows that the old Dutchman did not tire of his tether and
wander out in the mountains, camping where night overtook him, and that
he did not make his discovery far out?
Some say that there never has been a mine, that the negro merely
stumbled on some ore that a certain old California prospector with a
sense of humor had “salted out.” Some say that the negro found a lead
under a cliff that later caved down and covered it up. Who knows? What
does it all mean? Romance.