Lust for Gold

You are looking at Superstition Mountain.

A barbaric pile of rock, 40 miles long by 20 wide.

The man is Floyd Buckley.

He's going into this 800 square miles of sudden and violent death...

because he thinks it's just another mountain...

and because he's greedy for its treasure.

Yeah, I said treasure. Gold.

$20 million worth of precious yellow metal...

waiting to be found in America's most elusive mine...

appropriately named "The Lost Dutchman".

It's simple to get to. The mountain, I mean.

Just drive 36 miles due east from Phoenix, Arizona, and there she is.

She looks easy from the outside.

Inside, it's like Satan's private art gallery.

Sculptured pagan granites, unmellowed by time...

hidden in terrifying canyons and gorges.

But if you'd like to pick up $20 million...

and figure, like Buckley there, that a mountain's just a mountain...

I'll show you where to look.

But before you leave for Arizona...

you ought to know that 21 men have been murdered grabbing for that dough...

and hundreds more have died in other ways.

You see, this is the true story of Superstition Mountain.

The biography of a death trap.

My name's Barry Storm.

I was hurled into this story when I heard that shot.

Up till then, I was just an ordinary guy with a reasonable curiosity...

about the Lost Dutchman Mine.

A curiosity I wish I'd never been born with.

I hurried towards the sound of the report...

and hoped I'd find a hunter who'd maybe bagged a deer.

I found Floyd Buckley, sprawled and dead.

His blood, life, and dreams spilling out on the unfriendly ground.

When you find a dead man, you're supposed to call the police.

I'm a good citizen. I set out to do what you're supposed to do.

Fear and panic gave me a boost up over that ledge...

and I began to run, not walk, to the nearest exit.

Speed no longer meant anything to Buckley, but it did to me.

I didn't want to be framed in the crosshairs of a telescopic sight...

on a high-powered rifle.

I'd just gone in to look for gold.

I didn't want to find lead from the business end of a killer's gun.

It took me three days and 36 miles of tough hiking...

to put the sheriff from Florence, Arizona into action.

Identification bracelet.

Wallet.

Telegram.

"Lecturing in Los Angeles, September 30th."

They're going to have to get a new speaker.

That's all the personal effects.

Let's go.

Sit down, son.

You say your name's Barry Storm.

You're from Colorado and you've been here only 10 days.

You're no prospector, but you were up there when Buckley got shot.

What were you doing in the mountain?

I know it sounds kind of bad, but I was following Buckley.

You were what?

Now, wait a minute. I didn't shoot him.

I had a good reason to be up there. My grandfather was Jacob Walz.

- Who? - Jacob Walz.

The man who owned the Lost Dutchman Gold Mine.

The Dutchman, huh?

That goes back to about 1880.

He's supposed to have killed quite a few men in his time.

That doesn't have anything to do with me.

All I know is, when I was a kid...

my mum heard about this mine her father was supposed to have found.

I always figured someday I'd come down here.

So you came down here. Go on.

I thought there might still be a buck laying around that had my name on it.

The first place I went to was the Claims Office in Phoenix.

- How do you spell that again? - Walz. W-A-L-Z. Jacob Walz.

Nope. Nobody by that name ever registered a claim here.

This record goes clear back to 1870.

But there must have been.

The Lost Dutchman was supposed to be worth a fortune.

He wouldn't leave the money laying around.

Maybe he never found a mine.

Some people don't believe there ever was a Lost Dutchman.

Well, then again, some do.

The news had a story on it just this morning.

There.

This newspaper item was my first lead.

I wanted to meet this guy who said he was going to find my grandfather's mine.

Mr. Buckley, ask you a couple of questions about this newspaper story.

- Certainly. I'm always glad to see the press. - I'm not a reporter.

I'm just interested in you being so sure about locating that Lost Dutchman.

If you read my books, you'd know I wouldn't go on a wild-goose chase.

- You've got a map? - Naturally I have a map.

- One of the original Peraltas, in fact. - Peralta?

The Peralta mine I'm seeking and the Lost Dutchman are one and the same.

Then it looks like you and I have got something in common.

- Yes? - I happen to be Jacob Walz's grandson.

Really? You mean the man who allegedly owned it?

That's very interesting, I'm sure.

- I never knew he left a family. - I can prove it if I have to.

That's why it might be good business to let me come along with you.

If you know how to use this map...

I not only know how to use it, but I know where the marker is.

And I know how to use that, too.

But for your information, young man, I never go partners.

Excuse me.

He really brushed me off. I decided right then to follow him.

When his car dropped him off at Apache Junction, I was waiting.

I started tailing him then. But Buckley was too sharp.

He lost me on the third day. I never caught up with him again.

- Not till after I heard the shots. - 30-30. Entered downward, from behind.

This must be the map he was talking about. It was in his wallet.

- Something's been torn off the top of it. - Maybe that's the way he got it.

Maybe it had directions on it and he tore it off himself.

Some fellows memorize directions so that nobody else can use their maps.

Why, half the state has got indigestion from eating old maps.

You been staying in Phoenix?

- Your things there? - Well, some of them.

Most everything I own is right on me.

I put my bag in the bus depot after I checked out of the hotel.

You haven't got a job.

You say you're the Dutchman's grandson.

You tail a guy you thought was holding out on you. He gets knocked off.

Ray, you'd better take him out to the mountain tomorrow.

Let him show you just how he spent those three days.

Walter, you'd better go along with them.

How long after the shot before you found him?

Ten to fifteen minutes. Maybe longer. He was still warm.

- You didn't see anybody else? - No.

What were your plans if Buckley had found the mine?

Well, I don't know exactly. But I wouldn't have shot him.

Well, I guess I didn't have any plans.

That is, beyond hoping there might be a mine I might have some legal rights to.

Come on, Walter.

Let's have a look at the other side of the canyon.

What are you looking for now?

Buckley was hit from behind.

The killer was somewhere up there by that cliff.

You were up over there.

Does that take me off the hook?

Maybe. Unless Buckley spun around before he fell.

You see, three other guys have been knocked off in this same area...

ahead of Buckley, before you even got here.

That's a break in your favour.

Buckley was the fourth?

The fourth in the last two years.

All right around here and all by a 30-30.

And if you look in the record book...

you'll find out 20 men have died in this mountain since 1880.

Well, I'm through. Let's get back to Apache Junction and some cold beer.

I was just thinking, this all adds up to something.

- Like what? - Four guys murdered, all in the same area...

all by a 30-30, all in the shadow of Weaver's Needle.

So?

The killer thinks he knows where the gold is.

When it looked like the others might find it before he did...

when they got too close, he knocked them off.

So the jackpot must be somewhere close.

Near that peak.

Buckley, I bet he found it.

- Found what? The mine? - No, the marker.

He said he knew where the marker was and how to use it.

Come on. I'll show you something.

There's your marker.

- This is what Buckley meant? - It's the only marker in this mountain.

The rocks hammered in that old saguaro cactus indicate three directions...

but only the one pointing north leads anywhere, though...

to some signs carved in those rocks up there.

It's quite a climb. Come on.

There they are.

What do they mean?

Oro is the word for gold. The sunburst means the mine is near.

Now, this means 50 yards away in the direction the snake is pointing.

Now, the only trouble is, nobody has ever been able to find anything...

by following those signs.

- Aren't they the real thing? - Who knows?

Who put them there? You suppose my grandfather?

No, they're Spanish signs. Supposed to have been cut by the Peraltas.

Peraltas. Buckley had a Peralta map.

- Had the name "Manuel" on it. - There were three of them.

Brothers. Manuel, Pedro, and Ramon.

They were the first to find gold in here 100 years ago.

There's an old Indian legend about them and this mountain, eh, Walter?

They opened up several of the mines and then left.

And then Pedro, the oldest brother, came back with a big expedition.

Walter, here, who's an Apache himself, has heard from his own people...

the story of what happened.

After many nuisance raids by the Indians...

Pedro Peralta decided to hide his gold.

He selected the richest and most inaccessible mine of all...

as his storage place.

It was reached through a narrow, twisted, and almost hidden canyon...

that finally opened onto a torturous runway.

This runway was the only entrance to and the only exit from...

the fabulous mine, located on the thin precipitous ledge below.

While armed men stood guard...

Pedro's miners led their animals to the dangerous ledge...

where the rough ore was separated from that which had been crushed...

and the pure gold nuggets were hurriedly poured into sacks...

for storage in the hidden mine.

Pedro sat just inside his mine...

and noted that he possessed some $20 million worth of gold.

But fate had decreed a different kind of fortune for him.