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his party a few miles to the south while the muskets of the Revolution boomed far in the east. The first thought of every one of these from dawn to dusk was of water -– scanning the valleys for green brush, the desert willow, any sign where men and animals might

camp and live another day.

     “How Dorr learned of the caverns reads like a fiction writer's pipe dream. As a boy on his father's ranch in Colorado he was a friend of Indians nearby, a playmate of the Indian children.  In appreciation, TWO of the elders told Dorr the tale of a tragedy.

    “These two and a third brother had known through tribal history of a great cave in a desert. The three had climbed into it to a great depth by the light of their torches. Far down was running water and in its sands was much gold. Bags were filled and carried out, but once with their torches failing, one brother had fallen from a great cliff and perished. Reports have it that they had profited from previous operations but respecting tribal tradition, they would not return to the tomb of the lost brother. They drew maps for the boy (their Caucasian friend in Colorado) as Indians have done for ages, whether in symbols on rocks or skins. The white boy would grow up and then he might go and find the riches.

    “It sounded like a fable of legendary lore, but the boy did grow up. He kept the maps. He became an experienced mining man and eventually found himself on the scene. Right here comes a coincidence so far-fetched that it still makes me scratch my head.

Skeptics have rated the Indian story as pure romance, casting doubt on the whole Dorr episode. I have news for them.

     “On an exploration trip in another Western state, I was with a small crew of mining men led by one of our advanced scientists, scouting for a certain strategic mineral. The scientist had covered ground known to me