Malachi Holcomb had seen better times before. He knew it, but he also knew he would see better times again. Eighteen Fifty One hadn't been a good year for him yet. He continued to scratch at the side of the mountain he had claimed for gold excavation.

He had come west, leaving his wife Faith and their three children on a productive farm he had driven into bankruptcy in Missouri, a year after the gold strike at Sutter's Mill. It had been hard, crossing the plains. What money he had taken from the house was spent gearing up for the trip, not that he had any place to spend it. He just knew that gold was lying all over the ground, easy pickings.

Malachi had always learned things the hard way. After having his rig stolen in Colorado, he wandered aimlessly, almost starving to death, until he was picked up by a wagon train. Even with the gratitude he felt at having been rescued and restored to health, he was incensed at having to work for his meals.

Upon arriving on the west coast, he managed to find a grubstake in the pockets of an old miner that had collapsed under the weight of too much gold and strong liquor. The meager pickings afforded Malachi the stake he needed to purchase some rudimentary tools and set out to find his claim.

Not having much of an education, Malachi didn't know what to look for in searching for a gold strike. He still figured that it was just laying around. In fact, that was how he came to stake the claim he did. Stopping for a drink from a stream, his eye was captured by the glitter of an unholy yellow. A fleck of gold had caught the sun just right and drew his eye like a moth to flame.

Like a man possessed, which he was, Malachi tore the stream bed to pieces. The single fleck was the only piece of gold he found that day. Later, after resting, and food, his thoughts came a little more clearly. It must have washed downstream. He followed the stream further toward its source. Shortly he came to an outcropping of crystal rock he assumed to be granite. He had heard that granite sometimes contained gold, so here he was.

He set up a base camp and spent a couple of days exploring the immediate area. He decided that the outcropping was his best bet. Checking his food supplies he decided that he could last a couple of weeks before having to resupply. By then, surely he would have found enough gold to not only buy the food he needed, but send money east, to Faith, to fetch them to his gold mine.

Those two weeks came and went, and although he had made a sizable dent in the outcropping, he found only another fleck of gold. Hoping it would convince the assayer, he went back into town. Apparently the two flecks of gold were enough that the assayer to float a loan to the hard luck miner, based upon the claim the man staked. Malachi took his money, bought his supplies, and wandered into the saloon to wet his whistle before heading back up the mountain.

As whiskey can do, it did to Malachi. He found his way into a poker game and lost the remainder of his loan. Dejected he made his way back up the valley. With a certain loss of vigor, he reattacked the outcropping. As time went by, he would find a little gold. Eventually, running out of beans and hardtack, he took the gold into town and repaid his loan. There was enough left over to buy supplies and little else. Before he headed out of town, he took the remaining dollar and bought some more whiskey.

This cycle prevailed for the next two years, the rest of Malachi Holcomb's life. He died attacking a granite outcropping that had shrunk to less than half its original size. During the rainy periods, Malachi would curse the blue mud that surrounded his camp. His claim, originally intended to be the outcropping, due to his ineptitude at description of the area turned out to be the entire valley, consisting of over fifteen hundred acres.

The summer Malachi died, another prospector made an interesting find in Malachi's valley. Everywhere he looked, the valley was rich with silver ore. Not knowing that Malachi had staked a previous claim, he tried to claim the valley. The assayer, a kind man at heart, discovered the overlap of claims sent a rider up to Malachi's camp. Two days later the rider returned, telling of finding the remains and burying them. The rider also brought Malachi's personal effects.

The assayer knew that Malachi had family back east, and in a tattered pouch, the he found the information he sought. With the proceeds of the silver being taken from Malachi's valley, Faith bought back the farm she and her children had been evicted from. She could afford to hire good help and soon the farm was again productive. With the income from the silver mine, they would never again want for anything. Malachi had finally provided for his family.

It took years, but eventually Faith forgave Malachi for leaving them. With some of the money he had inadvertently left them, she directed a monument be erected in his memory. She consulted her partner, the assayer that had protected her unknown wealth. He assured her that he had a perfect place for such a monument.

The assayer directed the stone cutter to the outcropping that had absorbed Malachi's life. He was to carve a monument from the granite. The third strike of the mallet to chisel found a fault in the rock and it split. When the dust settled the stone cutter was amazed to find what would turn out to be Malachi's monument. It was a gold nugget that had to measure over four feet in length, at least three in width and another couple in height. It rested under the surface of granite that Malachi had been attacking. He had been within three inches of discovering the nugget himself.

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