A Reckoning

Chapter Three

Chapter ThreeReturning to his camp, Dan tied up his old mule and sat down amongst the rocks and scree. He didn't care about the discomfort. Years of living outdoors, in all sorts of weathers whilst he scrabbled around searching for precious metals, meant his body had grown well-conditioned to anything nature threw at him. He stretched out his legs and pulled out the papers he'd signed back at the assay office and grinned like a little boy. All the years of struggle, all the disappointments, the constant setbacks, all of it worth it, for now he was on the brink of something big. Once Melody came out, they could discuss in which direction their lives might lead. She was a good girl, but with her husband gone, she struggled, as most did, to make ends meet. Now, none of that mattered. Only good times waited for them all to enjoy.

Rousing himself, he set to making a fire. He put an old iron pot, filled with water, onions and sweet potatoes, on the flames and lay back as the stew gently bubbled. He peered up to a sky of uniform blue, not a cloud to break up the view. In a few months, the heat would rise, as it always did, and life would change. Winter proved hard, as always, but summer too held its own particular dangers. But for now, out here with no worries, he allowed himself to relax and, before long, with his eyelids growing heavy, he snuggled into his coat and dozed.

The sizzling of the pot, accompanied by an acrid smell, brought him back to full consciousness and he sat up. Stretching out his arms, he went over to the fire and stared into what was left of his stew. “Ah, damn it,” he spat. The water had all boiled away, leaving the vegetables a congealed, dark brown mass on the bottom of the pan. He doubted he could save two spoonfuls but made a brave try of it nevertheless. Scooping up the burnt remnants, he found a couple of pieces of potato and, keeping his mouth half open to allow the cool air to circulate inside, he tenderly munched them down.

It was then he heard the footfall.

He did his best not to react; instead he fanned his mouth in an exaggerated way, giving himself time to check how far away his shotgun was. Perhaps six paces it stood propped against a tree, alongside the bivouac. He might make it. Then again, he might not. So he stopped, put the pan down on the ground, and turned.

Two men stood before him, heavy set, dressed in long overcoats, black hats, faces ruddy with the cold air. Neither spoke, their dark eyes never blinking. The world waited.

Dan sucked in a breath. “Howdy,” he said and nodded to the remains of the burnt stew. “I'd offer you some, but it's … Well, let's just say it ain't all that palatable.”

A sudden gust of wind rampaged through the tiny camp, sending up a swirl of dead, fallen leaves and particles of dust. It ended almost as soon as it began, but something about it brought a stab of fear to Dan's insides and he quailed, taking a quick glance towards his shotgun. “Fellas,” he managed, voice quivering, “I'm not sure what it is you're wanting, but whatever it is, I ain't got it.”

“The deeds.”

The two words crackled, filled with threat. Of what, Dan could not say, but he could guess. He watched the way their arms hung loose at their sides, so close to the revolvers holstered there. A loud swallow before he threw out his arms, “Fellas, I ain't sure what you mean by deeds.”

“This place,” said the spokesman, casting a glance around the camp, ticking off the hammered-in stakes with a single nod of his head, “this claim. How much is it worth, do you figure?”

“Worth? Hell, I doubt if it is anything more than a couple of hundred.” Dan licked his lips, trying to buy some time. He climbed to his feet and took a small, sideways step. “Fellas, I'm not sure where you've got your information, but I swear to you, there ain't much of anything left around these parts. You must know that. What there is couldn't feed a family for a year. I promise.”

“Show us.”

Frowning, Dan chanced another glance towards his shotgun. In that single look, he knew he would never make it. His shoulders sagged. “How did you know where to find me?”

“We saw you in town. Followed you. Now, show us.”

“It ain't worth it, fellas. If I had found anything of value, I'd have—”

The single, metallic clunk of a gun hammer being c****d caused Dan to turn his gaze to the spokesman, and the gun filling his hand. The man snarled, “Now.”

Defeated, Dan sank within himself. Shaking his head, he led them along the stream, to the place where he'd dug through the surface rock. The little mound of stones stood where he'd built it, a monument to his hopes and dreams, all of them now dashed. He stifled a cry of anguish and pointed with a trembling hand towards where he'd mined. “There. It runs through the side of the hill, but I don't know how deep.”

The second man grunted and went over to investigate. He scrabbled around in the earth for a few moments before turning again to grin at his companion. “Silver.”

The other returned the grin, bobbing his head with triumph. He looked across at Dan. “You did well, old-timer. How can we ever thank you?” Then he fired the gun, the bullet taking Dan in the side of the neck, blowing him backwards into the stream, where he writhed and gargled, blood welling from the wound to mingle with the gently rolling water. Within a few seconds, he grew still, his body rolling over, taken down stream by the current, soon to disappear.