On summer nights near Yucca, you'll hear creaking wagon wheels—
Horses clanging madly, amid screams and lonesome squeals.
It thunders, pounds, then vanishes to thin air some folks say,
Still searching for that lost gold that lies untouched to this day.
The stage to Needles was hauling two-hundred thousand gold,
Come west from Beale Springs, Arizona, in those days of old.
Eighteen eighty was the year of that last and fateful ride,
When Joe Desredo robbed the stage and took the gold to hide.
It was in the month of June, Joe and others did the deed—
Holding up John Upshaw and passengers like raccoons treed.
But the gold was too heavy, so they hid it in the ground,
Before the posse rode after them and they were soon found.
They left the sheriff no choice but to shoot them man by,
Till only Joe with dying breath told how it all began.
He said the gold was buried but he did not say just where
And he whispered how that phantom stage vanished in thin air.
True, the gold and stagecoach were missing – neither could be found,
They searched for years and years it seemed, but neither was around.
But then an old recluse, while out on a hunting sortie,
Found the stage and skeletons – the year was nineteen forty!
To this time they haven't found those shining ingots of gold,
Though at last the stage was found and the story is now told—
But that stagecoach and Upshaw's ghost still ride the Needles line
And bring the West alive again with things a man can't define.
On summer nights near Yucca, you'll hear creaking wagon wheels—
Horses clanging madly, amid screams and lonesome squeals.
It thunders, pounds, then vanishes to thin air some folks say,
Still searching for that lost gold that lies untouched to this day.
Originally Posted On Site: 2009-10-27 15:25:46
Last Login: 03.02.10
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