by Amy Cross
“Dear Lord,” he whispered, “I beg you, make sure that somebody else takes up my load once I am done. Have him be stronger than me, and more able. Better. I have failed you, and my only excuse is that I am an old man and I am tired. Still, that is not good enough. I should have done more. Amen.”
And then, as he was about to close his eyes and accept death, he saw a flickering light.
He squinted slightly, convinced that he was mistaken, but instead he realized that there was a light out there in the distance. Not even that far, either. He took a step forward and watched as the light of a fire continued to burn somewhere off in the snow, and then he realized he could see a faint dark smudge near the trees. At first he didn't dare to believe that he could be so fortunate, but as he tilted his head he was able to make out the shape of the smudge and he realized that perhaps another miracle had come to save him. There was a cabin at the bottom of the valley, with a fire burning inside, and it was no more than half a mile away.
Getting to his feet and grabbing the chain, filled with a sudden renewed burst of strength, Garrett set off again, pulling the cart through the snow and praying that the damaged support would last until he reached the cabin. All thought of surrender and defeat was wiped in an instant from his mind. Now he knew that he simply had to drag the cart to the cabin, and that there he would be able to get help.
Two
Stuart Munver opened his eyes as soon as he heard the sound of a cart approaching.
He'd spent the past couple of hours playing with his lady-box, squatting next to the fire that burned in the hearth. This was his usual entertainment in the evenings after a hard day's work, but now his enjoyment was interrupted as he remained perfectly still and listened to the sound that was slowly getting louder. He told himself that he was wrong, that there was nobody else for miles and miles around, that there wasn't even a marked trail in the area. Finally, however, he set the lady-box aside and got to his feet, and as soon as he looked out the window he saw a dark shape no more than twenty or thirty feet away, dragging some kind of cart through the snow, coming closer and closer.
“What the...”
For a moment, Munver could only stare in wild-eyed astonishment, but then he burst into action. He pulled his pants up and secured the belt at his waist, and then he kicked the lady-box under a chair and grabbed his rifle. He checked that the weapon was loaded, and then he hurried back to the window and crouched down, so as to get a better look at the new arrival while hopefully not being seen himself. He knew all too well that thieves and bandits operated in the area.
He saw a man, bent double and pulling a heavy loud, struggling desperately through the bad weather. There was just the one man, of that he was sure, and his gaze quickly settled onto the cart. There clearly wasn't much cargo under the blankets and sheets. Whatever was under there, however, was obviously worth money if a man was willing to risk his life by dragging it through the wilderness. Munver actually licked his lips with a sense of anticipation as he tried to imagine what could possibly be so important and valuable. Gold would be too heavy, and no-one in their right mind would be dragging antiques out this way. Munver, never a particularly smart or imaginative man at the best of times, couldn't imagine what could possibly be on that cart. All he knew was that he wanted it.
But now the visitor was getting much closer, and Munver realized that he had to decide what to do next. He could go out there and shoot the man, of course, but then he wouldn't be able to learn anything from him. He could talk to him for a while and then shoot him later, when necessary. That seemed like as good an idea as any, although he then realized that he should perhaps be wary of this new arrival's intentions. What if he was, indeed, a robber? Living out here all alone in the cabin, Munver hadn't met another person in months now, and he was naturally a little wary. He quickly decided, then, to be cautious but friendly, and to be ready to shoot the bastard at any moment.
Getting back up, he stayed as much out of sight as possible as he watched the man coming closer. And then, finally, the man dropped a heavy chain and stepped away from his cart. For a moment, the man bent over as if he might be about to collapse, but then he straightened himself. He was a big, broad-shouldered man, the very opposite of Munver's rat-like appearance, and Munver immediately felt a little inadequate. Big, broad-shouldered men had a tendency to bully Munver and to treat him like an idiot, and he didn't much like that. He'd headed out to the wilderness to get away from people like that. His face twisted into the beginning of a sneer, and he tightened his grip on the rifle.
Well, this time he was in control. This time he wasn't going to take any shit.
Figuring that it'd be as well to take charge of the situation, Munver made his way to the cabin's front door. As he reached out for the knob, he realized that his hands were trembling, so he hesitated for a moment and told himself that he couldn't afford to show fear. This took a little longer than he'd anticipated, and he waited a good couple of minutes as he tried desperately to calm his racing thoughts. Then he grabbed the knob with all the forcefulness he could muster and he made sure to turn it firmly, the way a strong man might, and then he pulled the door open. Trying his best to look tall and menacing, he stepped out into the snow.
Immediately he gasped and stepped back, and then he looked down and saw that he'd forgotten to put his boots on. He'd stepped out barefoot into the snow, so he turned and took a moment to slide his feet into his boots, and then he stepped back out and raised the rifle, only to see that the stranger was standing just a few feet away, silhouetted against the snow and the darkening sky. Watching him.
“Hey there,” Munver said, not quite daring to aim the rifle directly at the new arrival. “Don't often see another person out here. What's your business?”
He waited, watching the man's arms in case there was any sign of a weapon. After a moment he glanced around, watching the tree-line in case the man perhaps hadn't come alone. Was there a whole gang of raiders watching from the shadows. For a moment, Munver imagined himself trying to win a shoot-out, but then he decided to look back over at the man.
“What are you doing here?” Munver called out. “I'm armed!”
The stranger stared for a moment longer, before starting to trudge forward through the snow.
“Greetings, friend,” the man said, extending a hand toward him. “The name's Richard Garrett. I'm sorry to intrude, but I'm in something of a bind and I was hoping you could see your way to helping out a fellow in need.”
Munver's face twitched slightly.
“I left Lordstown a couple of days ago,” Garrett explained, “and I'm afraid I didn't anticipate just how bad this weather was gonna get. Whoo-oop, there's a lot of snowstorms round these parts of late.”
Munver hesitated, before reaching out and shaking the man's hand. As soon as he did so, however, he worried that it had been a mistake, since the man's hand was almost twice as large as Munver's.
“Nice night,” Garrett continued, shaking his hand firmly. “I honestly didn't know that anyone was living all the way out here. I thought this was way too far off the beaten path. I'm sure glad to have run into you, though. I'd gladly trade you some whiskey, in exchange for letting me warm myself by your fire for a few hours. I also need to repair my cart, and I'm hoping we can come to some sort of arrangement so that I can borrow some nails and maybe some wood.”
“Wood?” Munver said, not really understanding what the man wanted.
“Yeah.” Garrett paused, and then he allowed himself a faint smile. “You know, the stuff you get from trees.”
“I know what wood is,” Munver said defensively. “What do you want it for?”
“It's a long story,” Garrett replied. “I hope you don't think I'm being forward, but I sure would rather tell it inside by the fire than out here in the cold. That's if you don't mind helping out a fellow who's in need.”
Three
“Nice little place you've got here,” Garrett said as he stepped into the cabin,
although he was immediately struck by an unusual, fusty smell that motivated his next question. “You live here alone?”
“No,” Munver replied, before realizing that the lie was foolish. “I mean, yes. I mean, only because I want to. I came out here to...”
His voice trailed off.
“To strike it rich?” Garrett said, turning to him as the fire continued to burn in the hearth. “You have my respect, Sir. You're obviously enduring a very harsh winter. I hope you find gold soon, or whatever it is that you're after. Although I have to say, my understanding is that you're a long way from where the other folks go. From what I heard, there's no gold around here.”
“Oh, there's plenty here, alright,” Munver replied, still holding his rifle. He couldn't resist the urge to brag a little. “I met a man a while back, he swore he knew where I could find the last unmolested source of gold for a hundred miles. There's no point going where everyone else goes, that's what he said. There's no point being part of the crowd. He'd only tell me where to go if I gave him some money, so I gave him everything I had and in return he drew me a map.”
“You find anything yet?”
“Well, not quite,” Munver said, trying to smile but not really managing. “I've only been here a few years, though. It takes time to get these things worked out.”
“I'm sure it does,” Garrett replied with a nod. “I'm sure it does.”
As he said those words, he glanced down and saw some empty metal pans on the floor. He'd been to prospector cabins before – successful prospector cabins – and he recognized the signs of failure when he saw them. His initial impression of Munver was that the man wouldn't be able to find gold even if he was whacked round the head with a solid bar.
“It's out there, alright,” Munver continued after a moment. “I know that. The man told me.”
“I don't doubt you.”
“He sold me the knowledge.”
“And who exactly was this man?”
“A prospector.”
“Why didn't he want to come out here and get the gold himself?”
“He said he already had too much.”
“And you met this fellow in a bar?”
“He needed money for a drink.”
“I see.”
“He was telling the truth, though,” Munver continued. “I ask him that straight out. I asked if he was telling me the truth, and he swore he was. He said there's lots of -”
Stopping suddenly, Munver realized that perhaps it wouldn't be wise to brag too much. After all, the old man in the saloon had told him – and only him – where to find this secret source of gold. He was now the only person who knew the information, he'd been promised exclusivity on the knowledge, and he didn't want to share it with any strangers.
“I don't know,” he murmured, affecting an air of indifference. “It's vague. There's probably no gold.”
“I hope there is,” Garrett replied, “and a lot of it, too. Who knows? Maybe this time in a year, you'll be the richest man in the world.”
“Oh yes,” Munver said, and he began to giggle at the thought of such an idea. “I'd sure like that. I'd like it a lot. I mean, it's bound to happen. I've just gotta keep looking. I was lucky, I found this cabin when I came out this way. I don't know who built it, but they're obviously long gone. I'm sure glad of it in this weather.”
Garrett was still looking around, still trying to make sense of the place, to work out who and what he'd run into.
“Have you worked out yet how you'd spent your money?” he asked, to take up a little more time.
“Oh yes,” Munver continued excitedly, lowering the rifle and stepping forward. “First thing I'd buy is a really big house, and then I'd get myself a wife, and she'd be young. Then I'd buy the finest clothes in the world, and I'd wear them every day. And a big pocket watch. And then I'd ruin Walter Graft and take his wife away from him.”
“So you'd have two wives?” Garrett asked. “A new young one, and this Graft woman?”
“No, just one,” Munver stammered. “Just her. You don't understand.”
“And who exactly is Walter Graft? Or do I not want to know the answer to that question?”
“You probably don't know him,” Munver said, “but he's a nasty man. He runs a lot of businesses back where I come from, and most people are too busy licking his boots to see that he's all wretched and mean. He trots around like he's the finest man in the world, and he always used to make fun of me, but I'm going to show him that he was wrong. I'm going to show everyone.”
“I'm sure you are,” Garrett said calmly.
“I'm going to get the prettiest wife you ever saw,” Munver continued, warming to his theme now. “She's going to be an orphan, so I don't have to look after her family too, and I'm going to have lots of sons and raise them up so they're just like me and they're going to be stronger and smarter than Walter Graft's sons. And my wife'll be prettier than Walter Graft's wife. Her name's Angelica Graft and people say she's pretty, but I'm going to get a wife who's ten times as pretty. That's even though Angelica Graft's the prettiest woman ever and -”
“Would you mind shutting the door?”
“What?”
“To keep the heat in. From the fire.”
“Oh.” Munver paused, before realizing that the man had a point. He turned and shut the door, and then he looked back and saw that Garrett was warming his hands by the fire.
“You were saying?” Garrett muttered.
“I... I don't remember.”
“About some woman. A pretty lady named Angelica -”
“Angelica Graft, yes,” Munver stammered. “She's so fine. Sophisticated, even. One time, in the street, she looked at me and smiled.”
“Is that so?”
“I swear! I wouldn't make it up, not something that important.”
A little breathless now, Munver thought back for a moment to the day Angelica Graft had spared him a smile. That had been the happiest day of his life, but he knew there'd be happier days to come. Just as soon as he could get home with all his riches and steal Angelica away from her wretched husband. In fact, Munver figured that maybe he wouldn't need a young orphan wife at all, because maybe he could marry Angelica. That thought made him drool a little, and a sliver of glistening saliva dribbled from the left corner of his mouth.
“I don't mind admitting,” Garrett said, as the flames cast a dancing glow on one side of his face, “that I'd gotten myself into a bad situation out there. I made a few errors of judgment, you might say, and I ended up wondering whether I was going to be able to get home at all. I'm not there yet, of course, but I'm sure glad to have stumbled into you. I think you might have saved my life tonight, Mr. Munvey.”
“Munver,” Munver replied. “It's Munver, not Munvey. Munver, rhymes with...”
His voice trailed off.
“Uh, I don't know what it rhymes with,” he added finally, “but it's definitely Munver. Definitely not Munvey.”
“Of course, I'm sorry. My mistake.”
Garrett crouched down and reached his hands a little closer to the flames. He took a moment; not because he wasn't sure what to say next, but because he wanted to affect an air of authority, of calm. He figured that would play well with a man like Stuart Munver. He'd felt bad, intentionally getting the man's surname wrong, but it had been necessary. Dominance was now firmly established.
“I have always had the greatest of respect for men who set out to make their fortunes,” he continued finally. “Too many men prefer a nice safe desk job, with a nice safe salary, but this country will be fine so long as there are always men who are willing to go out in search of something bigger. And, I suppose, so long as there are always new frontiers to explore. I shudder to imagine how things would go if all the world were known. If there were no longer some place a man could take off to, if he grew sick of civilization.”
“It's a tough life prospecting out here,” Munver said, straightening his back in an effort to seem a little taller, “bu
t someone's got to do it. I'm no coward.”
“You certainly are not.”
Munver grinned at the compliment, but then his gaze fell upon the window and he saw the cart waiting outside in the snow. His grin remained in place, but he was once more wondering what could be under the sheets and canvasses that covered the cart's rear, and he could no longer keep his curiosity in check. Whatever was in that cart, he reasoned, might well be enough to make him rich. His heart was pounding.
“Looks like you've got a heavy load out there, Mr. Garrett,” he said finally, still looking at the cart. He licked some of the saliva from the corner of his mouth. “Might I ask what you're transporting?”
“Oh, it's nothing,” Garrett replied. “Just a purchase I made a few days ago in Lordstown.”
“Lordstown?”
“It's a small religious community about seventy miles from here.”
“You went there?”
“To make a purchase, yes.”
“A purchase, huh?” Munver said. He couldn't take his eyes off the cart, and after a moment he licked his lips again. More drool was getting ready to run. “Must be something pretty important, to make you carry it all the way out here like this in such bad weather.”
“I had a horse, but it died,” Garrett explained. “It just dropped dead a little way outside Lordstown. I decided I could drag everything the rest of the way, or at least to the next town. That seemed better than turning back to Lordstown. I'd have been fine with my plan, too, if the weather hadn't taken a turn for the worse, and if I'd stayed on the proper trail. I tried to take a short-cut, and that was a mistake. Almost a fatal one.”
