"If we could only have got to Denver, we'd have been all right," continued Reynolds. "I've got over $60,000 buried not fifty miles from there in the mountains, and I could go right to the spot where Jim and me buried it in 1864. But there's no use in me wastin' breath, for I'm to the end of my rope now, an' I'll tell you just where it is, so that you can go an' get it after you've planted me deep enough so the coyotes won't dig me up an' gnaw my bones."
The dying man was sinking rapidly, but he went on: "Jim an' me buried it the morning before the fight at the grove on Geneva gulch. You go up above there a little ways and find where one of our horses mired down in a swamp. On up at the head of the gulch we turned to the right and followed the mountain around a little farther, an' just above the head of Deer creek we found an old prospect hole at about timber line. There was $40,000 in greenbacks, wrapped in silk oil cloth, an' three cans of gold dust. We filled the mouth of the hole up with stones, an' ten steps below there stuck a butcher knife into a tree about four feet from the ground an' broke the handle off, an' left it pointing to the mouth of the hole."
Reynolds fell back exhausted, and asked Brown for a pencil, so that he could draw him a map. Brown had no pencil, but breaking open a cartridge he mixed the powder with some water, and as soon as Reynolds had revived a little he drew a rude map of the locality on the back of an old letter. Cautioning Brown to remember his directions, he fell back upon his rude couch, and in a few minutes was dead.
Brown set to work to digging a grave in the dirt floor of the dugout, and having no tools but a sharp stick, spent two days at the work. He placed Reynolds' body in the shallow grave, covering it up carefully, then carried stones and put over it in accordance with his agreement. As soon as Brown completed his task, he secured his horses and started for Denver. While he is on his way thither, we will improve the opportunity to relate the history of the boldest band of robbers, and indeed, the only party of rebel guerrillas that ever invaded Colorado, of which John Reynolds, whose death we have just chronicled, was the last surviving member. Before beginning the recital of our story proper, it might be well to give a hasty sketch of the conditions prevailing in Colorado at the time our story opens.