Treasure City Stone

Treasure City Stone

On a frozen mountainside

in eighteen sixty-eight,

Men burrowed into caves

In a mighty sorry state,

They hunkered down and waited

For the spring to come around,

When they could dig the silver

From that high Nevada ground.

When the mail stage arrived

Two messengers would ride,

A daily postal race

Up the three-mile mountainside.

The Treasure City gamblers

Gathered as the race began,

To bet their chunks of silver

On their favorite mailman.

Yes, they called it Treasure City,

And it wasn't very pretty,

But six thousand people

Called it home,

With no water to be found

They just poured the whiskey down,

And kept choppin' and a hackin'

At that Treasure City stone.

The silver ore was mighty pure

And no one could deny,

They'd gone to silver heaven

In this city in the sky,

Then came the word that shook them

To the bottom their souls,

There wasn't any silver

Left inside the barren holes.

They once called it Treasure City,

And though it wasn't pretty,

Some six thousand folks

Had call it home

Now there's little to be found

But a distant ghostly sound,

Like the choppin' and a hackin'

Of that Treasure City stone.

p.s. In case you are a member of a Bluegrass, Folk, or Western group (or know someone who is) and might be interested in co-writing, please let me know - dennisgoodwin1947@gmail.com