On a March afternoon in 1864, Andy Findstrup sat on the verandah of Mariposa's Schlageter Hotel listening to some fine yarn he was quite sure were spun for his benefit.
Well fed and fat, Andy was a drummer who dealt in dry goods and notions.  He was given to boast and bluster, and the high opinion he had of himself generally was not shared by others.  But he'd been around and he was not about to be taken in by rustics such as these. He smiled amusedly at some of the stories and snorted in derision at the one about the haunted cabin.
A stranger, Andy was told in all solemnity, had ridden into Mariposa 10 years before, exhibiting a bill of sale for Sam Penders's Agua Fria gold claim.
Now, it happened that Sam had gone to Stockton a couple of weeks before on a matter of business and there had been most foully murdered.  The slayer had vanished and the boys of Mariposa jumped to the conclusion he had brazenly come into their midst expecting to profit from his iniquitous act by means of a forged bill of sale.
It was not until lit was too late to rectify their sad mistake that they found the document was dated before the demise of Sam and had been properly and legally attested.
And ever since, Andy was assured, the ghost of the stranger hovered over the mine of which he had been deprived, and flitted mournfully about the cabin whose use inlife he had been denied.
The salesman snickered and averred he was afraid of no such phantom.  And to prove it he offered to spend the night in the shack.
This, of course, was what the tale tellers had been waiting for.  The trick long had been planned, and its joyful consummation required only a likely victim.
Ziza Horton had practiced with white sheet and flour dabbed face, the role of specter until he was letter perfect.
And so when evening came, the Mariposans escorted Andy to the cabin.  Before they left, they pressed into his hand a revolver which, they said, might in case of dire emergency come in handy.
They neglected to tell him that the lead slugs had been removed from the cartridge cases and replaced by bullets carved from a  bar of soap.
A full moon at last rose over the hills, bathing the shack in its mellow light. And when, about midnight, the door creaked open, the wraithlike figure which entered clearly was invisible to the man inside.
Andy chuckled and told his visitor to get out, for he wanted to sleep.  The apparition glided slowly forward, Andy, with an ever so slight tremor in his voice, warned  that he had a gun and knew how to use it.  THe figure advanced still farther and Andy popped off a quick shot without aiming.
It had no effect.  Forward the phantom moved. Fright overcame bravado and Andy fired once more, directly at the intruder.  Nothing at all happened.  In wild panic Andy emptied the revolver.  The distance was no more than three feet but the specter neither fell nor paused.
The drummer, in a mighty leap of terror cleared the door and run with a speed only fear can induce.
In the brush the Mariposa boys ahd been watching and slapping  their knees in glee.  Then Ziba Horton came puffing up the trail.  The boys were generous with their praise for his special accomplishment.
Ziba, obviously puzzled, stared at them.
"Whadda ya' mean?", he asked.  "I plum forgot the time and I'm just gittin' here."

This article written by Joe White- a writer known to  publish some "tales"  of the Sierra, but he insisted that there was  always a bit of truth intwined.  This article  was published in the Modesto Bee- Wednesday, Jan 15, 1964

Research might prove that a Sam Pender died in Stockton, or find reference to his claim in Mariposa.  Perhaps an old hotel register may note a fellow  named Andy Findstrup was once registerd at the Schlageter Hotel..............