Gold Dust and Gunpowder: The Story of the Mayflower Mine

Frying Pan Fortune

The fire crackled softly in the October dusk as four settlers from West Branch near Mitchell gathered around their camp on the banks of upper Ochoco Creek. They were hauling wagons of grain to the Warm Springs Indian Reservation to have it ground into flour—a long, routine journey through rugged terrain. Among them was James Howard, a man who had once panned gold in the creeks of California.

As he gazed across the narrow gulch and the stony hills rising beyond it, something familiar stirred in him. After supper, Howard picked up an empty frying pan, walked down to the water, and began to swirl gravel and black sand. Within minutes, a glint appeared—a telltale shimmer that caught the firelight and held it. Gold. Excited but level-headed, the men agreed to finish their errand and return to the site later. That moment in the fall of 1871 would quietly set off Central Oregon’s first real gold rush.

Scissorsville Rises

In January 1872, the men returned. They built a rough cabin where Ochoco Creek met Scissors Creek, and began prospecting in earnest. More gold turned up. Word spread. By spring, other miners arrived—some seasoned, some hopeful. They formed what became known as the Howard Mining District and dug ditches to channel water for placer mining. A small settlement, first called Scissorsville, took shape among the trees. Within months it had cabins, claims, and a sense of promise.

Like many early mining efforts, they began with pans and sluices in the creekbed. But as surface gold dwindled, some miners turned to hard rock mining, following veins underground. Among these operations was a modest but persistent venture: the Mayflower Mine.

The Mine Beneath the Mountain

Also known as the Ochoco Mine, the Mayflower was located just northeast of the present-day Ochoco Ranger Station. Unlike the flash-in-the-pan camps elsewhere, this one dug deep—nearly 1,500 feet into the earth. The mine’s ore body was lens-shaped, its exact size uncertain, and tucked into ancient andesite rock formed during the Oligocene epoch, some 30 million years ago.

The miners weren’t chasing nuggets, but ore—rock laced with gold, galena, sphalerite, and chalcopyrite. The yield wasn’t spectacular, about $100 worth of gold per ton of rock, but it was enough to keep the work going. Ownership of the mine passed through many hands. For a time, it was operated by Lewis McAllister, a determined miner who poured years of effort into the claim. But in 1911, McAllister’s story—and the mine’s—took a violent turn.

A Shot in the Gulch

That spring, a group of placer miners from Idaho arrived and jumped McAllister’s claim. Disputes over territory were common in the mining world, but this one escalated quickly. On May 28, 1911, McAllister was clearing a ditch on his property when he was shot and killed by one of the rival miners, Ernest Robinson. Robinson claimed self-defense and was later acquitted—but McAllister’s death cast a long shadow over the site.

Mining continued in fits and starts after that, but the heart had gone out of the operation. The veins thinned, the men moved on, and the town that had once buzzed with ambition slowly faded back into forest.

What Remains

Today, the Mayflower Mine sits quietly in the Ochoco National Forest, its shaft sealed, its equipment long gone. Of the more than 1,000 mines that once dotted the Ochoco Mountains—seeking cinnabar, thundereggs, and gold—fewer than 50 are still accessible. The Mayflower is not among them. But its story endures. A frying pan in a creek. A settlement raised on hope. A feud that ended in gunfire. And a mine that, while never making anyone rich, helped shape the character of Central Oregon’s frontier. The gold is long gone, but the land remembers.