(Kat, I used to stop at a bar called The Silver Saddle in Boulder, Montana everytime I passed through. One time there were these two cowboys in there kind of half-heartedly trying to start a fight. Like "yawn I could whip yer ass."" Yeah, well go ahead n' try." They finally actually went outside to fight, and I struck up a conversation with this little old lady of about 75 years, who insisted on buying me a beer. She had an interest in an old gold mine near there. COINCIDENCE or...SOMETHING ELSE? Anyway, an hour later when I left the cowboys were standing out in front of the bar saying "You don't think I'll cold-cock you, do you" and pulling on their beers and asking me what time it was. And now- Back to the story!

The visitors weren't the first to mention the fiddle tune, Lucy remembered with a shudder. There had been Jed Lewis, that old shepherd that her Dad told her about. He had been out looking for a lost ewe one June night, and had wandered to the mine and peered in to the gaping maw, moonlight penetrating fitfully to dully illuminate rocks and old timbers inside. As he looked, he saw a subtle movement, something white moving at the end of the passage. He took a cautious step into the shaft opening, called "Daisy", and trembled as his too-loud voice echoed in the chamber. The moving white object stopped, and it was then that Jed heard the eerie, plaintive first notes of the fiddle. It was so quiet at first, that Jed thought it was a trick of the wind, or his senses playing him a trick. Then it became clearer, and the hazy object at the end of the tunnel seemed to move closer. He stood petrified as the music swelled, and the approaching white image began to assume human shape. Suddenly the urge to run overcame him and he turned, bolted, fell sprawling over a large rock. As he rose again, he heard the crunch and rumble of other rocks behind him. Down the path he ran, glancing behind seeing something white in swift pursuit, stumbling again as it overtook him, he curled into a ball shouting "God Help Me!" Then feeling the woolly muzzle of Daisy against his cheek.

He had come to Lucy's house the very next day, saying he had set up the rest of the night, every lamp lit, with cotton stuffed into his ears to ward off any further intrusion of the ghost fiddler's tune. That had been over 60 years ago, but it still gave Lucy a chill.