My family comes from the Northern New Mexico, Southern Colorado area, particularly near the Rio Grande.  There are many tales of buried or found Spanish gold there, and this story indirectly relates to that.  My uncle had a cattle ranch (he has since passed on, although my aunt and cousins still live there) in the San Luis Valley, and if you faced east from his front porch, you could see across his land and the land of some of my other relatives.  The land is usually green with wild grasses although the terrain is high desert plain.  The ranchers have a system of canals with which they irrigate their lands, making them lush with grasses.  If you face slightly southeast from my uncle's porch, there is a barren, small hill that rises out of the green fields.  I would spend some summers in this part of Colorado and I would visit my uncle's ranch.  While I was there, we would look to the southeast and see floating lights around the area of the barren hill.  The family story is that this hill is where there is buried Spanish gold that is protected by spirits, and that the lights are those spirits.  One day, my cousin and I decided we would go gold hunting and we walked out to the small hill and began poking around.  We found there was a cellar type of structure in the hill, with a wooden door, probably a potato cellar, we thought at the time.  Anyway, we explored the cellar and didn't find much but dust.  We climbed to the top of the hill and were drawn to a medium sized lava boulder which we strained to overturn, successfully.  On the bottom of the boulder was carved a small cross.  We thought this was unusual, but soon dismissed it.  That night, we were with our other cousins in a small trailer we were using as our bedroom, excitedly telling everyone about our treasure hunting experience that day.  Suddenly, the kerosene lamp we were using for light flickered as though someone were trying to blow it out, then it actually went out.  It was pitch dark in the trailer, and everyone went for the door.  I was at the back of the trailer laying on the bed away from the door, and was the last one to make it to the door.  I stepped out and turned 180 degrees to run to the house about 50 feet away from the trailer.  It was a pitch black night, moonless, but I still could make out the silhouettes of my cousins making it to the porch 50 feet or so away. When I was about to break into a run, something grabbed the collar of my jacket, stopping me from moving. Terrified, I turned to see who was holding me, but all I saw was darkness....whatever had my jacket let go at that time, and I broke into a sprint for the house.  I did not sleep that night, and when I got up in the morning, I told my aunt what had happened and she told me, essentially, "one should not disturb the spirits.."