I am better known as
Captain Jack Carter, of Virginia . . . 
at the close of the civil war 
I found myself . . . 
masterless . . .  penniless

I spent nearly a year prospecting in company
with another Confederate officer, 
Capt. James Powell, of Richmond . . . 
in Arizona . . . 
We located the most remarkable 
gold-bearing quartz vein 
that our wildest dreams had ever pictured.

Powell would make the journey . . . 
and bidding me good-bye he mounted his horse, 
and started down the mountainside. 
I watched them cross the valley until . . .

. . . by nine the moonlight made it easy
to follow the tracks. 
I was positive now 
that the trailers were Apaches . . .

I reached the waterhole where Powell
had expected to camp 
. . . the faint report of two shots far ahead of me.
 
 
 
 

I urged my horse onward at a most dangerous pace.

. . . shooting and whooping . . .

I made a dash for the opening to the pass . . .
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I heard the yells of the 
pursuing savages suddenly grow 
fainter and fainter off to my left . . . 
and saw the party disappearing around 
the point of a neighboring peak.

I was on the wrong trail . . . 
in about a hundred yards the trail ended . . . 
I found a cave . . .
I crept in to reconnoitre . . . 
it was now morning.
 
 
 
 
 
 

I soon became so drowsy . . .