Mary Greenwater swore to Carson that the hiding place of the Spanish treasure would never be known except to one other member of her tribe, and then not until after her death. She told him there were valuable papers which she knew none of her people could ever use, and which she later gave to Carson.
The documents were discolored and the ink faded and this much Carson was able to decipher: “Jean Maldonado visited a far distant country north of Santa Fe––a wide valley through which flowed a stream, along the banks were bushes that bore fruit like unto those of Spain––in the valley were herds of oxen of the bigness and color of our bulls––their horns are not so great––they have a great bunch upon their fore shoulders and more hair on the forepart than on the hindpart; they have a horse’s mane upon their backbone and much hair and very long from the knees downward––they have great tufts of hair hanging from their foreheads and it seemeth they have beards––they push with their horns––they overtake and kill a horse––finally it is a fierce beast of countenance and form of body––we feared these beasts and stayed near the mountains named the Sangre de Christo.... Climbed the mountain to a great flat rock that stood on end like a platter.... Jean Maldonado, commander of an expedition reached this 181 place 1750.... The mine yielded much gold in a rock like white china––Babtiste beat it out with––Mattheo returned from Santa Fe with more donkeys––loaded donkeys with much unbeaten rock––returned to Santa Fe”––
Here the ink was so faded that nothing more could be made of the manuscript. The accompanying map was more perfect. The tracings showed the mountain ranges. It had been drawn almost with the precision of an engineer. The route from Santa Fe through the mountain passes was clearly shown; there were marks of each day’s stops. Where the map showed the end of the journey there was the rude drawing of a cliff set on edge and below it was marked “Gold.”
Carson pondered over the quaint document for many days. The Indian marriage with Mary Greenwater had become a matter of regret. While the woman loved him, yet her love was like a new bowie knife, to be handled with care. He decided to leave the Grand River country 182 and bide his time until Mary Greenwater should make one of her long visits to the hills. One night he mounted the best horse on the ranch and driving thirty others ahead of him, set out for Colorado. On the way he sold most of the horses to ranchmen and cattlemen and netted a neat sum.
When Mary Greenwater returned and found her spouse had vanished, her fury knew no bounds. Ordinarily the Indian squaw might be deserted by her lord and she would stoically accept her fate. Mary might have done so had she not been spoiled by being educated at Carlisle. Her savage blood grew hot for revenge. She made another trip to the Grand river hills, presumably for a larger amount of money, placed her affairs in the hands of her Indian-Negro servants, and started on the trail of Carson, believing she would have no trouble in overtaking a man driving that many head of horses. Meanwhile the fall rains set in and the shallow rivers of the plains became raging torrents. But to 183 a woman of Mary Greenwater’s determined character, these things were obstacles only for the time being. Her heart was bad and her love of revenge strong.