Legacy

Howdy partner, my name is Karl Swenson.  My friends call me Klondike, because I’ve been an amateur at panning for gold for so long I’m almost professional.  I’m a traveling salesman by profession, so I cover a lot of ground.

Every time I get near a mountain stream I’m awed by its beauty, and drawn to its banks to swish my pan in it wash off some gravel and hope to get lucky.  It’s a compulsion; I just have to do it. Have I ever got lucky?  Why yes I have. In only twenty years and a total panning time of only four hundred or so hours, I’ve amassed at least a third of an ounce. I can’t hardly wait for a good hit that might bring me to a whole ounce.   It’s a fun thing accompanied by unrealistic hope. That’s human also, and I’m no exception.

Now that I’ve given you some background I’ll get to the meat of this tale.  I was driving west just out of Denver.  As I went along the road came fairly close to one of those babbling mountain brooks.  It was only about fifteen feet lower than the roadbed and not to steep to climb down.  I thought I’d sure like to check it out.  Wasn’t sure time would permit.  I checked my schedule and found I was about three hours ahead of things so I had some time to spare.  That made me happy.

I parked over to the side of the road out of the way of traffic, grabbed my pan out of the trunk and scrambled down the bank with great anticipation. About that time I heard a train whistle and I looked up.  I hadn’t noticed before, but I’d been driving along side of the railroad tracks on the other side of the stream, they were only slightly more elevated than the road.

I also noticed that I was looking at the famous Twin tunnels.  As tourist lore goes, back in the late 1800’s when the rails were laid the side of the mountain where the tracks were being laid had a large cleft with equally large prominences on each side of it.  Those had to be blasted out for tunnels to have a place to lay tracks.  Thus there was a tunnel about two hundred feet long, then an open space about one hundred feet long, and finally an other tunnel about two hundred feet long.  That was all on a bit of a curve.  It was an awesome sight in its own right.

Now back to the train whistle that got my attention in the first place.  It came from the Super Chief, the flagship of the Sante Fe  Railroad Company.  Designed in the 1950’s and still running today.  It was a long, long train, big, silver and sleek.

I watched as it entered the first tunnel and again as it came out of the second tunnel.  It stuck out of both ends of the two tunnel system.  That’s a long train for sure.  And then I did a double take and blinked my eyes, blinked them twice in fact.  The scene didn’t change.  The railroad cars passing between the two tunnels were old fashioned painted red with black roofs like from the 1880’s.  At first I though, must be a promotional gimmick.  They probably spliced some replica train cars of the oldies in the string for delivery to a movie set or something like that.

Problem was that as the train continued out of the second tunnel it was all Super Chief; no red train cars with black roofs.

Very, very peculiar and mysterious.  Being a curious soul I knew I’d have to investigate things.  I thought I’d walk through those tunnels and see what I could see.

But first I would need a light source, as it s dark in those tunnels.  So I went back to my car and got a Coleman Camping Lantern that I had for when I’d be to far from a town and it was late so, I’d camp out just off a road for the night.  Anyway, I took the lantern and strapped on my Smith and Wesson revolver. In case of snakes the crawly kind.  Otherwise it was for protection while camping out. In case of bears and the alike.

I scrambled back down the bank and waded across the shallow stream and scrambled up the bank on the other side right at the tunnel entry point the Super Chief went in.  I lit my modern Coleman Lantern and went though the first tunnel.  On the way through I looked around real good, didn’t see anything strange.

As I came out to the open space on the way to tunnel number two, I was puzzled and as a knee jerk reaction reached up to scratch my chin like a person doe’s sometimes while they are thinking hmmm! about something.

Whoa! Where did the beard come from? I don’t wear a beard, I’m clean shaved.  Then I looked at my lantern, whoa! Again, it was now an old kerosene lantern.  One thing after another, my hiking boots was now cowboy boots, my gun and holster different.  It was still a Smith and Wesson, but an antique one, a Scoffield model circa 1880’s.  As an antique worth a small fortune.  The coins in my pocket had changed to coins of the period.  My baseball cap was now a floppy miner’s hat of sorts.

Stunned to pieces I sat right down to think things through.  I looked over to where my car was, was is right. It was gone along with the road.  I said to myself that I’d noticed many a time when I was driving that I was suddenly at my destination or close to it and couldn’t remember getting there.  Most would say, my mind was elsewhere and that was just robotic driving. That always spooked me out.

Now I’ve always been open minded and I know there’s things in this world we can’t explain.  Like I’d wondered if my sudden arrival at places without remembering the trip was a mind trick or maybe a space time continuum at random at work, instant transport from point A to B so to speak, but not always, just at random.

So taking off from that idea, I thought I may have encountered a hole in the fabric of time that opens a closes in this limited space.  Wherein, everything passing through is modified to the period. Spooky, couldn’t think of a better explanation.

I’m not sure what possessed my to do it, but I took off the gun and holster, placed the coins in the bottom of the holster to secure them, and let them slide down the bank to near the waters edge.  Then I went through the second tunnel.  Coming out I examined myself, my clothing and my lantern.  I and my stuff was all back to normal.  I looked back towards where my car had been and it and the road was back also.  That was very comforting to me.

I scrambled back down the bank and walked near the waters edge to where I’d let my now antique gun slide down.  It was there and still antique.  Apparently because it hadn’t passed back through the second tunnel.  I picked it up and waded back across the stream up the bank; got in my car and turned it around to head back to Denver.

On my way back to Denver I wondered why this hadn’t been noticed before, especially by people riding the Super Chief.  I concluded that it was probably because any given train car would bridge that gap in four or five seconds, meaning if anyone noticed anything they would blink and the it would be back to normal for them and they think just a trick of light. But now I knew better.

I got back to Denver and went to a coin shop and got a pretty penny for those now old coins.  Then I went to a Gun Shop and got several thousand dollars for the now antiques gun and holster that was in like new condition.

Of course, I’m no longer a traveling salesman, I’m a traveling miner, or so I call myself. Yes I have a gold mine of sorts.

I buy several cheap new modern guns, and get a sack full of dimes and pennies and nickels, and other new coins from the bank.  Then I go through tunnel number one, let the booty slide down the bank, go through tunnel number two and retrieve my booty.

I’m now quite wealthy now you know.  In a way I’m still a salesman, I sell antique guns and coins. And since I don’t  take even  an occasional nip you know this tale is the absolute truth.