Mango Digger

by Bill H Myers

  Daniel reached out to shake my hand again and said, “I really appreciate you bringing my little sister home safely. If there is anything I can do for you while you're in town, just let me know.”

  He turned to Abby and said pretty much the same thing to her. He then asked, “You drove all the way from Florida to come here to dig crystals?”

  Abby shook her head and told him about Kat, that she was missing, and we had come to look for her. As the conversation continued, I turned my attention to the three Jeeps with the “For Sale” signs on them. They were older, probably 1999 or 2000 models, and looked to be the kind used by the US Forest Service.

  Painted light green from bumper to bumper, and ordered from the factory without any luxury features, Forest Service Jeeps usually had cloth bench seats, a manual transmission, a six-cylinder motor and the all-important four-wheel drive. In the south, they might even have air conditioning, but not always.

  Hearing Abby and Grace still talking behind me, I walked over to get a better look at the Jeeps. From thirty feet away, the baby Wagoneers looked pretty good. But as I got closer, I could see they showed signs of age—faded paint, cracked window glass, small dents, and sagging shocks.

  Just as I was about to peek inside one, a voice behind me said, “I can make you a good deal on one of those if you're interested.”

  I turned to see that Daniel, Grace's brother, had walked over to join me. He looked to be about my age, thirty-five, and had the bearing of someone who, like me, had served in the military.

  I pointed at the Jeeps. “Forest Service?”

  He nodded. “Yep. Found them on an online government auction. Thought I was bidding on just one, but turns out I was bidding on a lot of three. When the transport showed up with three jeeps on it, I figured two were going to someone else, but they unloaded all three, gave me the titles and said they were mine.”

  I nodded. “They run?”

  “Yeah, they do. One needs a clutch, but the other two are in pretty good shape. I’ve been going through the one closest to you. Replaced the belts and fluids, put in a new battery, did the brakes and shocks, and have a set of off-road tires I'm putting on this afternoon.

  “If you're interested in it, I can make you a good deal.”

  I didn't need the Jeep because I had one back in Florida. A CJ that I could tow behind the motorhome. But still, the little green Cherokee was calling to me. It'd be fun to have one.

  Before I could ask Dan how much he'd sell it for, Abby came over and said, “Hate to interrupt, but we need to get to the crystal mine and check in. We've got a lot of things we need to do before the day is over.”

  She was right. We needed to go to the mine and see if we could find Kat.

  I told Dan I might call him later about the Jeep and he repeated his offer to give me a good deal. It'd be interesting to hear what he considered to be a good price. I knew what the Cherokee would be worth in Florida but didn't have a clue what it'd go for in Arkansas.

  As we were walking back to the motorhome, Grace came up and handed me a map. “This shows the best places to dig crystals around here. Most are on logging roads near Jessieville. If your friend hooked up with a local, she might be digging at one of these spots.

  “If she is, she might have hit a pocket and ended with a bad case of crystal fever. That’s when you get to a spot where you're finding really nice crystals and you just can't quit digging. I've seen it happen. Even to me.

  “You get so caught up pulling crystals out of a pocket, you totally lose track of time. You don't dare leave cause you're afraid someone will come in and get all the crystals you missed. So you end up staying. Sleeping in your car or whatever you've got.

  “Since most of these places are way off grid, there's no cell service. No way to call and let people know where you are.

  “If your friend has crystal fever, she's probably up in the hills, digging.”

  Grace pointed to a puddle at the far edge of the parking lot. “Could be she got stuck in the mud on one of those back roads. We get a lot of rain this time of year, and the roads turn to muck. Easy to get stuck when you get the fever and ignore the weather.”

  I knew about crystal fever. I'd experienced something like it when I was searching for gold coins on Florida's treasure coast. After my first big find, I didn't want to stop. Even with a major hurricane bearing down on me, I didn't want to quit digging. It almost cost me my life.

  I also knew about getting stuck in the mud on dirt roads. When your tires sink down to the axle, you aren't going anywhere. At least not until someone comes along with a winch or a big four-wheel drive to pull you out.

  If Kat were up in the mountains digging crystals, without cell service and stuck in the mud, it could take days to find her; assuming we had a four wheel drive vehicle and knew where to look. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

  Grace stayed beside me as I walked back to the motorhome. When I reached the door, she said, “There's a Walmart up ahead. You'll want to stop there and stock up. Get rubber boots and digging tools before you go to the mine. Get food if you don't already have some, cause they don't have any at the mine.”

  She leaned in and gave me a hug. “Thanks again for giving me a ride. You probably saved my life.”

  Then she whispered, “My phone number is on the back of the map. Call me before you leave.”

  Chapter Twenty

  We left Grace and Daniel at their shop and headed north towards Jessieville and the crystal mine campground. It was still early afternoon and we had plenty of daylight left.

  A few minutes after leaving, Abby said, “I saw you looking at the Jeeps. You want one, don't you?”

  I shrugged. “I've got a Jeep back home. Don't really need another.”

  She laughed. “You didn't answer my question. You want one of those Jeeps, don't you?”

  I did. But it didn't make sense to buy one and tow it a thousand miles back home. Still, I wanted one, so I said, “Yeah, I'd like to get one. They're like baby Wagoneers, little Jeep station wagons that can go almost anywhere.”

  She nodded. “They're four-wheel drive, right?”

  “Yeah, four-wheel drive with a five-speed transmission and a six cylinder motor. The best combination.”

  She surprised me with what she said next. “You should buy one. We could use it while we're here and then you could sell it to me when we get back to Florida.”

  I looked over at her. “Sell it to you? Why would I do that? If I go to the trouble of hauling one back to Florida, I'm keeping it. Why would you want one anyway? They're almost twenty years old and have more than two hundred thousand miles on them. What would you do with one?”

  She reached over and patted me on my knee. “Don't get snippy. If you don't want to sell me your Jeep, that's okay. I can get one on my own. As to why I'd want one, I live in the Keys. A little Jeep wagon would come in real handy down there. I could haul stuff in it, sleep in the back if needed, and the four-wheel drive would keep me out of trouble.”

  Her answer made sense, at least to someone looking for a reason to buy a Jeep Cherokee.

  “I guess having a Jeep in the keys would be fun. Maybe after we get to the campground and check on Kat, we'll call Daniel and see what he wants for one.”

  Up ahead, I saw the sign for Walmart, and when we got close, I pulled in and parked near the gas pumps. After killing the motor, I turned to Abby and asked, “Did you hear what Grace said about getting rubber boots?”

  She shook her head. “No, I didn't hear anything about rubber boots. I was too busy watching how she acted around you. How she tossed her hair and looked into your eyes. How she leaned in and got so close that I thought she was going to kiss you. So what'd she say that was so important?”

  I ignored her jealous tone and said, “She said we should stop at Walmart and get rubber boots for the mine and we should get food cause they don't have any at the mine.”

  Abby crossed her arms. “Boots and food. You sure that's all she said?
”

  I nodded. “Yeah, boots and food at Walmart, that's all she said. She was just trying to be helpful.”

  Abby nodded. “I guess you're right. We probably do need to stock up on food, in case we have to stay longer than planned.”

  She stood, stepped over to the door and waited like she expected me to ask a question. She crossed her arms and looked at me. I was still sitting in the driver's seat, smiling like I had no clue. Finally I asked, “You want me to go into Walmart with you?”

  She smiled. “Of course I do. You're supposed to be my husband on this trip. And that's what husbands do—go food shopping with their wife. So yeah, you're coming in there with me. But, because I'm nice, I'll let you push the cart.

  “Now get up out of your seat, grab your wallet and let's go.”

  I smiled, got out of my seat, but instead of going to the door, I went to the back to check on Bob. I figured it wouldn't hurt Abby to have to wait a minute or two before I came back up front.

  He was sleeping in his usual spot; the middle of my bed. I left him alone, washed my hands and headed back up front. Abby was waiting at the door and said, “I think you care more about that cat than you do me. I may have to see about changing that.”

  She winked and went out the door. I went out after her, locked up the motorhome, and we headed across the parking lot. Just your typical husband and wife going shopping at Walmart.

  Thirty minutes later, with a shopping cart overflowing with food, supplies and a few non-essentials that Abby thought would make the RV feel more like home, we were back in the parking lot, heading for the motorhome.

  It was mid-afternoon in November, and the fall weather in Arkansas was a welcome relief from the heat and humidity we'd left behind in Florida. The temperature was at least twenty degrees cooler than it had been when we left.

  When we reached the motorhome, Abby went in and closed the bedroom door to keep Bob from escaping. Then she stood by the open side door while I handed her bags from the shopping cart.

  I gave her the food first, which she put away while I unloaded the rest of the cart. Then, like a good shopper, I pushed the empty cart back to the nearest cart corral, safely out of the way of people coming in and out of the lot.

  After putting everything away, Abby went back and let Bob out. He was waiting for me on the couch when I came in. He meowed once and ran back to the bedroom. He somehow knew we were getting ready to hit the road again.

  According to our GPS, the Ron Coleman Crystal Mine was six miles north of where we were parked. I pulled out of Walmart and let the GPS guide me to the mine. Ten minutes later, we turned left onto Little Blakely road and followed it till the road ended at the mine entrance.

  There was no doubt we were at the right place. Huge quartz crystal boulders lined the edge of the road leading to the mine office and store. Some of the crystals were the size of VW Beetles.

  Outside the store, display tables were covered with crystals of all shapes and sizes, most with price tags attached. Visitors who didn't want to go into the mine and work up a sweat, could buy nice crystals at the store without getting their hands dirty.

  Abby and I stepped inside the store and stopped at the cash register. The middle-aged woman behind it, having seen us arrive in a motorhome, asked, “You checking in?”

  I answered. “Yes ma'am, we are.”

  When she asked our names, I hesitated, not knowing which ones to use, the real or the fake ones Abby had come up with. Seeing my hesitation, she said, “We're the Mendozas, Tony and Paige. We're the ones looking for our friend, Kat. You may have spoken with her father.”

  The woman nodded. “Ah yes, Kat's father. He's called several times wanting to know about his daughter. He said you two were coming to look for her, and he reserved you a site for a full week. He gave us his card and said to cover whatever expenses you had. Said whatever you needed, he'd pay for it.

  “When he first called, he wanted you to have the site next to his daughter's, but it was already occupied. We had guests who had reserved it, and they didn't want to move. But for reason, they changed their plans; they pulled out this morning and the site is now yours.

  She pointed out the window. “The campground is down there on the left. Pull in; drive around the first loop until you come to Kat's motorhome. The site next to hers is yours.

  “It's a back-in site with full hookups. We don't have cable TV here, but you can usually pick up local stations with your antenna. The bathhouse is open 24 hours a day, no code required.

  “Any questions?”

  Neither Abby nor I had any.

  The woman nodded and said, “If you need any help finding your friend, let me know. If you have a picture of her, I can post it in here. Maybe someone who knows where she is will see it.”

  I nodded. “Good idea. If we don't find her right away, we'll do that.”

  The lady smiled. “I'm sure she's okay. I wouldn't worry too much because we don't have much crime in these parts. Mostly pot smoking and drinking, nothing too serious.

  “Your friend probably just met someone and is late getting back. I'm sure you'll find her. But just in case, check the hospitals around Hot Springs. If she got hurt, she might be in one of them.”

  Back outside, Abby pulled out her phone and started making calls. There were three local hospitals, and she called them all. None had a record of Kat being admitted.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We left the crystal mine store and headed to the campground. It was easy to find because the building at the main entrance was painted bright yellow and had the words, “Crystal Ridge RV Park” in tall, easy-to-read letters.

  Rates were printed below the name. A full hookup site was twelve dollars a night. If you wanted to stay for a month, it was three hundred dollars. Either way, it was a bargain. Most campgrounds charge three times that.

  To us, it didn't really matter what it cost since Kat's father was paying. Still, it was good to know the owners of the mine offered bargain rates to those who wanted to camp nearby. Owners of other parks weren't nearly so generous.

  I pulled into the campground and took the first loop to the right. We stayed on it until we saw Kat's motorhome.

  Parked next to it was an old Scotty travel trailer. Two-tone white with baby-blue accents. It looked to be a fourteen-footer. Small and compact.

  Two rusted lawn chairs and a matching barbeque grill out front suggested more than one person stayed in the trailer. Toys scattered underneath along with a tricycle near the front door probably meant they had children. A collection of coffee can size crystals lined the ground between their trailer and Kat's, creating a border marking off their yard.

  From the looks of it, the little blue Scotty hadn’t moved in a long time. The tires were flat and several inches of pine needles covered the roof. An older gray Nissan Pathfinder was parked to the side, rusted fender wells all around and a good-sized dent in the left rear quarter panel. The right rear passenger window was covered with plastic and duct tape. A faded sticker with the words “Git-R-Done” hung from the rear bumper.

  Judging from the chairs and toys and flat tires, it looked like the people staying in the trailer were full time residents of the campground, not day trippers or tourists. If that were the case; if they were there full time, they may have seen Kat, or even talked to her.

  We'd have to check with them later. Maybe they knew something that would help us find her.

  Kat's motorhome was in the next site over and just beyond it, the vacant one that had been reserved for us. Like the other sites we'd seen in the campground, ours had a level blacktop parking pad with a utility pedestal near the right rear corner. Tall oak trees on the back and sides provided a modicum of privacy, and could also make backing into the site a challenge.

  I'd gotten a lot of practice backing into campsites since buying the motorhome and felt pretty confident I could get it in without any help. The backup monitor on the dash gave me a live video feed from the rear bumper, and let
me see what was behind me.

  Still, the campground loop road was narrow and there was no shoulder. If I misjudged my turn while backing in and dropped a tire off the edge, it might take a tow truck to get us back on solid ground.

  Abby could tell I was a little concerned about getting into the site. She could see how narrow the road was and probably figured I might need help. She reached for the door and said, “Don't start moving until you see me in your mirror.”

  Being a man, I didn't need her help. I could have done it on my own. But not wanting to hurt her feelings and knowing it would be a lot easier backing in with her guiding me, I didn't stop her.

  She got in position and using hand signals, got me into the site in one try. After she gave me a thumbs up followed by a “kill” signal, I turned off the motor and went out to join her.

  She was standing at the back corner of the site admiring her work. When I walked up, she said, “So what do you think? Good enough?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, good enough.”

  It didn't take an expert to see it was more than good enough. It was a text book parking job. Close enough to the power pedestal so hooking up was easy, but far enough from the trees for the slide room to go out without hitting them.

  I pointed to the power pedestal. “I'll get us hooked up. You want to see how I do it?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. I'll be inside waiting for you.”

  She didn't seem upset or anything, just not interested in seeing me pull out the power cord and connect it to the pole.

  I guess if you've seen it once, there's no reason to stand around and watch someone do it again.

  It took me less than five minutes to get us hooked up and when I went back inside, Abby was on the couch and Bob was up on the kitchen counter, looking out the window.

  He knew he wasn't allowed on the counter, but sometimes he forgot. When that happened, I'd remind him it was off limits by pulling out the spray bottle I kept under the sink, and giving it a good shake. Usually, that's all it took.

  He'd hear the water in the bottle and know that if he didn't get down, he'd get sprayed. So he'd jump down, and walk away in a huff. But sometimes, it'd take more than just shaking the bottle. Sometimes I'd have to actually spray him. And he never liked that.