Pete was a prospector, a very good one. Good in the sense that he didn’t get lost traipsing around the mountains searching for gold. He never found much but he never got lost either. He knew everything there was to know about these mountains. That’s why he was so surprised when he stumbled onto the Apache.

The Apache was sitting on a rock with his hands folded as if in a trance. He was humming some sort of chant that sounded vaguely familiar, sort of religious. Pete, who was a Christian of sorts, hadn’t been to church in years. He shouted a greeting.

The Apache looked over at Pete and told him, “ I saw you coming a mile back. You’re typical of the white man. Noisy and obvious. That’s why you were never any good fighting my people.”

“Huh?”, Pete asked. “ I never fought you’re people. Never wanted too. That was a hundred years ago. For that matter, you Indians lost!”

“Indian? Do you see a red tattoo on my forehead? Huh? That was that dumb Columbus. If that fool had landed in my people’s lands we’d have killed him and spared a lot of grief. Of course, it would have been a good trick, too, being as how we're in the mountains.”

“I take it you’re an Apache?”.

“We prefer to call ourselves ‘the people’. The rest of you are ‘the others’”.

“I see you were in some sort of trance. Seeking wisdom from the Great Spirit?”

“Nah, I’m a Catholic monk. I don’t go for that Great Spirit stuff.”

“Catholic monk? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not? We used to raid deep into Mexico, if you know your history. Ever see a Mexican Protestant? No. One of my ancestors brought a black robe back to torture. The guy ended up conning the whole tribe into converting to Catholicism. We became peaceful Apaches. Then most of us got wiped out.”

“I see. The cavalry caught up to you?”

“No, Geronimo did. He called us traitors to our traditions. He was really pissed at us. You never wanted to get Geronimo pissed at you but we managed.”

“So you somehow ended up a monk. Where’s your monastery? I never saw one up here and I’ve been up here for many moons.”

“Many moons? You goofy? I’m a monk. I live alone, communing with God. I watched you for years. Panning every stream, looking in every cave for gold. Not very good at it, I must say.”

“Yea, well. So, you don’t believe in the old Indian spirits and stuff, huh?”

“No, not in the daytime. At night, I admit I get the heebie-geebies.”

“How do you survive? Eat snakes and things like that?”

“You nuts? I eat regular food like everyone else.”

“Oh. Get a few donations from time to time, eh?”

“Nope. I take a few gold nuggets in from time to time. I know where the gold is.”