Collins would be frustrated by the end of the day as the mayor was not answering texts or calls. Collins would make the plan by himself. He pulled his 9mm service pistol from its holster and snapped in a full clip. He then attached a silencer to the end of the barrel. It would make no more noise than a pellet gun now.
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Mayor Billingsworth stared out the upstairs window of the cupola of his Victorian home which overlooked a two-acre back yard that sloped gently to the Elk River. Grass cleanly cut, trees and shrubbery expertly landscaped and mulched, this was prime property on the river. He could see a beautiful huge walnut tree, a golden delicious apple tree as well as a red delicious. Things were in pretty good order.
With his elbow on the table, he nibbled on his thumbnail, deep in contemplation; he weighed his options back and forth. He watched the river flow past as it carried leaves and an occasional jumping fish downstream. He knew what he had to do and he knew it had to happen tonight. He was certain that the other players involved would be on the move sometime during the night as well and so must he. He stepped into his home office and looked at an aerial photo of Red Creek and the surrounding area. Confidence began filling him as his plan formed in his head.
He would now go gather the tools he needed for his mission and be ready.
1903
Edmond Mansfield
Edmond never worked in the dark, never on weekends, never in a crashing rainstorm, and never with anyone who wasn’t a trained stone mason, but he would do all these on this night. It was the only day of the week that the rest of his regular crew would not be there and this must be done by him and his and his new partner!
At 3:00 a.m. he chipped away at the only single slab of sandstone that would go into the whole project. This slab must be two feet tall, three feet wide and only six inches thick. The rest of the project would be limestone and much thicker--up to two feet thick! At only six inches thick, he would be able to manage the block and tackle system with only one untrained helper to set the stone in place.
Sandstone is soft and easy to form and shape. It could easily be broken apart and Edmond could easily ruin the whole stone if he miscalculated a single swing of his chipping hammer. But this section must be sandstone! That’s what the man paying him wants. And it must be finished and set in place by daybreak. His work must also be cleverly disguised and hidden from his workers coming in tomorrow morning. Edmund Mansfield continued to do his job well as the other man carried cargo and placed it inside. They would both finish up right on time after a rainy night of robbery and death in May of 1903.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The campfire popped and crackled and the firelight danced off the river as the boys set up their campsite on the riverbank just below Josh’s house. Emily Baker looked out her upstairs window and saw her son setting up the tent and rolling out sleeping bags as Josh and Eddie had done so many times before. Burl and Tiny would be along soon and one of the boys would row across the river to pick them up at the sandbar. Of course Mrs. Baker didn’t know about the extra guests in the campsite that night.
The fire was not big, just some kindling and a single log. It was not meant to burn long that evening, for they had an appointment with adventure. Adventure that could be life-changing. Their plan was to meet up at the campsite, load their tools onto the raft and pole their way quietly upriver to the south end of the island to a landing area where the church does their summer-time baptisms. Josh and Eddie were dunked there just three years ago. They knew it was shallow and firm footing and that there were trees where they could tie up the raft. They would take the information that they had and the tools that they loaded and go explore the island and, in particular, the old tavern. Everyone seemed to believe that the tavern was the obvious place to look since the document had been decoded to say In an Island Bank.
The milk jug raft sat bobbing in the water along the edge of the river and with just a little more darkness and a little less campfire light they would begin putting the tools onboard to head upstream. Fog had begun to lift its way off the river and laid a low blanket of vapor along the banks. This would work in their favor to obscure them from houses along the river that night. But it would also add to the creepy factor.
With camp set up and the last of the purples and blues disappearing below the hills, the day was fading into black and the adrenalin was starting to find its way into the veins of the explorers. They sat on five-gallon paint buckets around the fire.
“It’s a perfect night for this,” Brad commented. “We have a half moon for a little light but not too much.” He looked at the night sky with Orion’s belt becoming more visible and Venus sitting bright just above the ridgeline.
“We’re not going to be able to see Burl and Tiny for the fog,” Eddie said. “They should be along any time.”
Burl had spent part of the day at Tiny’s river house and the two men had gotten to know each other pretty well. Tiny had served up his specialty all–you--can-eat catfish dinner and hushpuppies and they had enjoyed an evening of socializing and coffee drinking on Tiny’s front porch as they spun stories and memories about the river and mountain life that they both enjoyed so much. They had also decided it would be best for the safety of the boys for them to arm themselves that evening, but they would not tell the boys about that.
Josh shielded his eyes from the fire and looked across the river. He had heard a branch crack and figured it must be the two men working their way from the railroad tracks, down the path to the sandbar. He could see nothing. About thirty seconds later he heard a Hooty-hoo, Hooty-hoo!--a comical imitation of Barney Fife’s bad impression of an owl. The two men in the darkness of the sandbar could then be heard laughing and the kids looked at each other, smiling, wondering what those two had been into that evening.
Josh returned an equally bad Hooty-hoo, which in owl-talk would mean “I’ll be right there.”
As Josh rowed the V-bottom across to the sandbar to pick up the two men, Brad and Eddie began loading the raft with their treasure-finding tools. The raft was ready by the time the three arrived back at the campsite in the boat. Josh threw Brad a line to tie off the boat and the three guys stepped ashore and looked around.
“Tidy little campsite ya got here,” Burl commented, impressed at the boys’ knack for simplicity and fire safety.
“Looking good, looking good,” Tiny said, smiling and making his way to the top of the bank.
“We got everything that we thought we would need and still save weight on the raft,” Josh said. “Basic digging tools and a sledge hammer, just in case. A compass, a flashlight, and something to write with and write on.”
“Looks good. I can’t see us needing anything more than that. Just one lantern should be good. We can dim it way down going up the river and we shouldn’t be seen.” Burl paused and looked around at the three boys and Tiny, took a deep breath and exhaled hard. “Well…everyone ready?”
They all looked at each other with the same amount of nervousness as excitement and Eddie said, “Let’s do it!”
One at a time they made their way down the riverbank and stepped onto the raft, each one positioning himself to keep the raft level and stable as the others stepped on. Josh noticed the two men both had small backpacks but didn’t ask about the contents. He figured bottled waters and maybe a sandwich. They kept the packs on their backs and didn’t lay them on the raft once onboard.
The lights went off for the night in the Baker house as Josh took point on the raft and dimmed the Coleman lantern down to a minimum for river travel. The fog had gotten thicker by the minute and visibility was down to about twenty feet. The boys could nearly navigate this trip with their eyes closed because they had been up the river to the island many times. They knew every log in the water and where all the big rocks were. They knew they just had to stay in the channel, the center of the river, and the trip should be uneventful.
/> Brad held the tiller as Tiny poled on one side and Eddie poled on the other. Burl stood at the mast to keep his nearly three hundred pounds centered on the craft and they were off! The wind was non-existent so the sail would do no good. It was removed and stored on the back of the raft. They exchanged very few words. The only sounds were the bugs and frogs on the riverbanks and the river water gurgling and sloshing between the jugs underneath them.
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Sheriff Collins banged around in his storage shed to find the things that he was looking for. From the mess he threw a few things out on the ground and then climbed his way over his big mower and gas cans to step out and load the back of his personal pickup truck with enough tools to dig a canal.
It was getting well into the night and he figured the later the better. There would be less traffic, fewer people awake along the river and fewer eyes to see what he was doing. Most folks were sound asleep as he drove north on Elk River Road, passing the wide spots that made up small dots on the maps. He arrived at the boat dock built just for the town of Red Creek where they kept the sixteen-foot aluminum flat-bottomed skiff. Equipped with a 40-horse Mercury, it would skim along plenty fast in just eighteen inches of water if needed. It was used for official business only, in the event of flash flooding rescue, but mostly for citing boats along the river that were not properly licensed. It had paid for itself quickly for the latter.
Tonight, the taxpayers’ boat would not be used for official business. He loaded his boat, started the motor and, as quietly as possible, started humming his way downriver to the island. He had a plan to first pass by the island and go check the licensing status on a certain homemade river raft and a certain V-bottom AlumaCraft. Yes, even homemade had to be licensed and if he could tag it and lock it, or impound either vessel, then the boys would be without river transportation and he would be a leg up on his competition to recover 162 pounds of gold. He had no idea that the boys and the two men had gotten a two-hour head start on him that night.
A devious smile upon his face, he passed under the bridge that crossed the river at Red Creek as a dark, shadowy figure watched from above.
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John Hopes drove a Buick Enclave SUV. In the back he and Mansfield had placed a few things for digging and searching, but much less than the competition. They knew where they wanted to go; it was right there on the document, In an Island Bank, but they weren’t sure what to expect when they got there. Where do you start? Mansfield wasn’t one hundred percent convinced it was even in the old tavern. Where could Clyde Franklin hide 162 pounds of gold in a wood structure with no one seeing him do it? They figured that this would only be the first trip to the island, to gather information and eliminate possibilities.
Hopes and Mansfield did not plan to use a boat to cross the river to get to the island tonight. In 1945 John Hopes had left the Army as an HT (Hull Tech). Those were the guys back in the day that would do all the locksmith duties aboard ship, along with many other responsibilities. Together with communication and journalistic skills, John was a pretty good lock picker.
They planned to park at the small parking lot along US Rt. 119 made just for the island, pick the padlock, and walk across the suspension bridge to the remains of the boarded-up and condemned Cross Roads Tavern.
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“Land ho,” Josh proclaimed softly as he saw the outline of the island landing starting to take shape in the fog directly in front of the raft, about one hundred feet. As they drew nearer, they saw an eerie scene. Large old oak and maple trees had stood tall since the time of the tavern’s heyday, like sentries guarding their post. The willows hung like ghosts, with the fog draping them like the cold mist of an apparition. With their branches nearly touching the water, it was as if they were warding them off.
“Man, this place is freaky at night,” Josh said. “I’ll get the rope.”
“We have to take the lantern but we have to keep the light low,” said Burl.
“Maybe even turn it off. We have a good moon,” added Tiny. “The tavern is just right there maybe fifty yards up the path. Hard to believe Washington Brooks worked at this place over a hundred years ago.”
“Hard to believe it’s still standing?” Brad said.
They poled the raft in as close as they could and Josh jumped from the front of it with the rope in his hand and landed in about six inches of water. He walked the rope up to a big willow and wrapped the line around it, tying a quick bowline knot. Josh spotted an old plank lying by the shore and laid it from the shoreline to the raft as a gangplank.
“Thank ya buddy!” Eddie said. “Don’t even have to get my feet wet.”
All but Burl walked the plank, each carrying their share of equipment. Burl knew it would not support a big man like himself. He stepped into the water as had Josh. Burl and Josh then took the rope and pulled the raft over under the low-hanging branches of the willow tree so it wouldn’t be seen in the unlikely event of a visitor.
All five of them, once ashore, paused at the beginning of the path that led up to the old tavern and looked at it. The moon stood behind it and cast a glow around the old structure that indeed was a bit intimidating. Fog was moving now; rolling as it does when it gets heavier.
Brad said, “What are we looking for when we get up there?”
“Anything, clues. I guess we will know better when we get there where we will start and what the plan is,” Tiny said. “It’s not going to be easy. That gold is not going to jump out and say “here I am!” If it’s here, it was hidden here in the early 1900s and stayed hidden all these years. This place operated as a hotel and casino long after the train robbery and no one stumbled across it in all that time.”
“Well maybe we don’t know that for sure. If someone did stumble across it, they could have secretly hauled it out of here years ago, unloaded it somewhere and that’s it!” He paused and let that sink in. “It could still be a wild goose chase. It could have been found accidentally long ago. We didn’t really think about that.” Burl paused again. “But this is what we’ve been working towards and waiting for! So let’s get on up there and see,” Burl finished.
No one spoke for a minute; they just took in everything that Burl had said. He could be right. The gold could be long gone.
Josh broke the silence, “Yeah, let’s go.”
They packed up their tools, then hiked their way up the shallow bank towards the tavern. The walk was easy because there was no thick brush to speak of and the slope was gradual. They were there in less than a minute.
What Burl had said took a little wind out of everyone because what he said was true. That pile of gold could have been discovered accidentally and it could be long gone and long spent!
“I think it’s here,” Josh said, as they neared the tavern.
Burl grinned and winked at him. “Me too, buddy!”
The three-story wooden structure still stood proud. Decade’s old white paint still clung to the exterior, lead paint no doubt, and the forest green shutters that were still around the windows hung loosely and sideways. The tavern sat on a four-foot tall sandstone foundation and each of the three levels had a porch that wrapped completely around it. It still looked pretty sturdy from the outside for having been built so many years ago, but they would need to use caution when entering.
The steps that led from the ground to the first level had been removed, part of the process of condemning the tavern. Fog continued to roll along like a ghostly smoke from the old train and visibility was still bad.
“We have to get something to prop up there to climb up to the porch,” Tiny said, looking around.
“Hey this place has a cellar in it. Maybe it has a way to the first level from the cellar,” Eddie said.
Tiny shrugge
d one shoulder. “It’s an idea. And it’s worth a look.”
They needed to walk around to the back of the structure to get to the old door that went into the cellar. It was a thick wooden door and hadn’t been opened in years. One could tell by the amount of earth that was lying along the bottom of it. It was hinged to swing outward and there must have been six inches of soil and vines and weeds growing there, preventing the door from being able to be opened.
“Not sure we can get that open,” Brad commented, holding the lantern close to the door.
“Let me get a shovel in there. Might need the axe to cut the vines away,” Burl said.
They hacked and dug out the bottom of the door and eventually got it cleared out to where, if the hinges weren’t rusted beyond movement, they should be able to open the door and enter the old cellar. There was no lock on the door and they didn’t expect to see anything in the cellar except for, hopefully, a set of stairs that led up to the first level.
Being the biggest, Burl grabbed the old steel door handle and yanked it downward. There was corrosion inside the handle but it did move and that was encouraging. He then gave the door a hard pull. It creaked loudly and moved about an inch. Burl could smell the damp staleness of an old cellar rush out the small opening.
“Wow, it’s tight,” he said, getting better footing for a second pull.
Pound for pound, Brad was maybe the strongest one there.
River Rocks: A West Virginia Adventure Novel Page 23
