Coin Machine Review (& Pacific ...)

71,e /.tJt PtLf/l'e /Jtihe
A Nigger Jim story based on actual experiences of the author
with one of the strangest characters ever encountered. A real
person who figured very prominently in the history of Arizona.
by
This story had its beginnin g on th e set of
one of the Hollywood studios. It drifted
down on the wasteland that is Terminal
Island for confirmation and had its culmin-
ation on a mountain peak of the Winchester
Range in Arizon a one moonlit night. You
may think it poppy-cock ; the wild fi gment
of a hopheaded scenario writer. I wouldn't
give a " Tinker's Damn"; I know it to be
tru e and I KNOW WHERE THE LOST
PADRE IS and some day I'm going th ere.
But to get on with th e story which I was
fo olish enough to tell P aul Blackford one
day and which he got me to promise to
write. Here it is.
Several years ago I was doin g some
special work for a movin g picture company ;
work involvin g the techni cal details of a
story about whi ch th e studio kn ew less than
nothing and was willing to pay plenty to
see that it appeared accura tely on th e
screen. I got the job because I'm one of those
fool s who visit out of the way places and
see thin gs others read about. Because I
co uld, a nd would, (for a consideration)
show their hammy actors how to wear a
gun and walk throu gh a scene wi thout
offendin g the hones t-to-God people who
made the Southwest wh at it is today-th ey
never would have if they had known what
it turn ed out to be--but th at's anoth er story.
I'd had my fill of the "hero" who was
Parker Dunn
afraid of a horse and did not know whi ch
side to use in climbing aboa rd ; who was
emulatin g one of the real men of th e old
days and was himself a fairy of the first
water.
I was slumped down in my Assistant
Directo r's chair waiting for the union to get
a seventeenth assistant electrician to move
a few li ghts ; the cameraman to make a
new set-up and , oh, a dozen other jobs. In
a chair next to me dropped a Page From
th e Past. Grizzled and dirty he was; but
real. I knew by the way he pulled the
makin's from his pocket and proceeded to
roll a Bull Durham, he was no phony.
Pere Westmore could never build a make-
u p such as he had natu rally. He fini shed
rolling th e cig, lit it and dragged the smoke
clea r down to his heels, sighed, th en, some-
what doubtfully, passed th e sack and papers
over to me. Without so much as a word I
took th em and rolled one, sin gle handed,
gave him back the makin's as I sna pped a
li ght with my thumbn ail.
He nodded his big head slowly. Massive
as it was and wi th leonine gray hair and a
broad brow undern eath which clear eyes
looked out unafraid at a world that had
passed him by.
"I knowed it, Pardner. The minute I
walked on the set I knowed you belon ged.
Where you hail from ?"
It was wh ile hunting in Arizona I ran info N igger J im
who told me again of the Lost Padre mine . Th ese pictures
were snapped on the route to t he mine . I didn 't go
close but som e day I'm going back and go in . Who
kno ws what might happen.
"Out yonder," I waved vaguely in the
general direction of Mexico. "What brings
you here? You'r e no acto r."
"Hell, no! But don't tell them guys. They
think I am and I've got to get some dough
together to find a lost min e an old In.jun
squaw told me about. The pay's good and
th e work's easy."
I nodded. Th e old codger had a story and
I wanted it.
" How much you need, Pardner ?"
"Coupla hundred. I got a Greaser th at'll
take me th ere if I can show him some
color."
" You've got it, if your story rings true.
Spin it."
"You mean it ?"
H e turn ed and looked me through and
through and I'd hate to have lied to that
old hoy. I nodded, stuck out my hand and
we shook.
"Ever hear of th e Lost Padre Min e?" he
began. " NO! Well most folks ain' t but you
kin find out some about it in the books
down at the library. Here's the set-up.
COIN
" Long afore the whi te man came in and
MACHINE
spoiled th e country the Mex had a min e
REVIEW
back near what's now the California•
Arizona line, and it was ri'ch. Ri chest mine
ever known. Gold leaf hangs from the walls ,
of the shaft. All the gold vessels of the
Mission Churches an' the gold the priests
had on thei r robes come from
the Lost P adre.
~
"Story goes an old priest
worked it with Indian labor.
Wh en the whites started pourin'
into the country he decided
th ey must not find it so he
called all th e Indi ans in for a
sorta pow-wow. Go t 'em in the
min e and kill ed 'em all an'
sealed up th e shaft. First,
though, he took all gold ves-
sels from the Missions an'
stored
em there for safe
keepin'."
13
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