Mr. Work's mill was patronized for miles and miles around, some coming from so great a distance as to require three and four days to make the round trip.  The Indians, who used to camp in the vicinity for weeks at a time, bought flour of him, often giving silver ore in exchange, which naturally aroused the miller's curiosity as to where they procured the ore.  The Indians always claimed to him that they had a secret silver mine in the vicinity, where they could get silver in unlimited quantities, even for the purpose of molding into bullets, but that the place would never be revealed to the white man.  Among the last Indians who visited him, long after the body of the tribe had left this country, was an old chief, whom he had long known, and who had always professed great friendship for him.  This chief, years before, called the braves in grand council in the miller's dooryard, there smoked the pipe of peace, and vowed eternal friendship to himself and his family.  Mr. Work, whom one of the tribe had attempted to murder with a tomahawk at one time, thought the Indians treacherous but, nevertheless, believed their story of the secret mine.  The old chief during the last visit, said to the miller that they had visited their mine for the last time, and had taken out what silver they could carry away and had sealed it up, and it would never again be opened unless the Indians reoccupied that country.  He said that if the miller could find it, the white people would have all they could use, and have plenty to shoe their horses.

John Work, who had searched for silver from the first trading with the Indians at an early day, continued the search with renewed vigor after each succeeding visit of the Indians.  He never did anything by halves, and attempted to make the search thorough.  He explored Fourteen Mile Creek from mouth to headwater - excavated rock whenever he thought they might have been placed artificially; explored caves, prospected along Silver Creek, <and> tested the sulfur balls found in the bed of that stream...

After Tippecanoe the Indians left the country, but on going they promised Work that they would come back and repay him for all the kindness he had shown them.  Whether he gave the matter any thought or not is not known, but one day, at nightfall, he and his family were surprised to see a number of Indians, led by the old, well-known chief, file up to the house.  They shook hands, grunted their "How", and set themselves down by the fireside and spoke no more until after supper. 

It was a wild stormy night, but in spite of that the chief, after eating, proposed that the miller accompany him.  Work assented, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his wife, and the Indians hoodwinked him before they started.  They led him for a long distance through the valley and finally entered what he felt was a cave.  There they removed the hoodwink and he found himself in a large subterranean chamber, lit by the Indian's torches.

His guides went to work and began to smelt in a rude stone furnace what appeared to be silver.  Piles of lumps of this lay around the cave, which appeared to be the storehouse of a hidden mine.  The smelted metal was run into bullet molds, and every one present filled his pouch with the balls.  One pouchful was given to Work.  This ceremony finished, the white man was again hoodwinked and led back to his home.  The Indians remained until morning and then departed and have not been seen since.

In the spring of 1811, while engaged in dealing with a company of Indians in his mill, a renegade who belonged to the same crowd stole a piece of flax linen which was drying on the outside.  Mrs. Work soon discovered her loss after their departure and informed her husband.  He immediately mounted a horse and started in pursuit.  After a short ride, Mr. Work overtook the band, and informing them of his loss, demanded the property.

A short parlay ensued, upon which the thief refused to turn over the goods.  Mr. Work dismounted for the purpose of using force, but was prevented by a stroke on the head near the ear by a tomahawk.  His scalp was peeled off in a frightful manner, and his life was saved only by the appearance of white friends who followed well knowing the intrepidity of the famous miller.

The red men treated him fairly, as he treated them, and even at the time of the Pigeon Roost Massacre, when everybody else sought refuge in the blockhouses and forts, he and his remained quietly at the mill and tended to business and were not molested.  Once, however, he had trouble with red-skinned customers, but it was brought about by someone else supplying a brave with liquor and the fellow thereupon stole some of Mrs. Work's linen.

The miller went to the Indian camp and prompt restitution was compelled by the chief, but the thief, still full of whiskey, became enraged and struck Work with a tomahawk, nearly killing him.  He was taken to his home, and after weary months finally recovered, but refused to allow the offending Indian to come near the store or mill after that, although the man begged hard for this privilege.  At length the Indian offered a horse load of peltry as salve for the miller's injury, and that was accepted.