Goldsmith, caught up in the chaos of the moment, did not know what to do. It all seemed so surreal. Not wanting to cause a stir, he picked up his belongings and findings and followed the crowd back to the village.
It was a quiet evening, the streets were bare and not many went for pie and coffee at Mammy’s. Goldsmith made himself a fire in his small but now, beloved cabin, and sat at his table to pour himself a glass of wine and break open the day’s bakery bread. He took his handy knife and cut off a chunk of cheese sitting there in his ice box. He started in on his meal, but something didn’t seem to fit. He had gone over those maps for the mine for many years. As legend told it, the only owners were local people, and all but dead now. Something gave him an uneasy feeling. He thought to himself, “it’s time I looked a little deeper, I’ll go see Mayor Bob tomorrow.”
Sitting in front of the wood stove he remembered his Grandfather’s words, ” when you’re looking for treasures, remember, anything can turn up”. The evening now settling in and the dinner consumed, Goldsmith’s eyelids were feeling the heaviness of the day. A night owl was heard cooing into the breeze, and now very tired, he got up from the warmth of his chair to find the comfort of his single bed.