“You are afraid of ghosts?” asked Lieutenant Columbus. Columbus lit a Cuban cigar as he gazed speculatively at a distant campfire. “Marauding bandits is more likely.”
“No one has ever found gold in these parts. What makes you think you can?” “Old Bob found gold.” “Bob was drunk, and his brain addled by the sun.” “I will split the gold with you.” “What do you know? Nothing, that’s what.” “I have a nose for discovering gold,” bragged Lieutenant Columbus. “You would be surprised. I have always proven my skeptics wrong.”
“If we are to be partners, you will share more than a phony tale about following your snout to Bob’s gold. Come clean, human pestilence. Or has the sun addled your brain too?”
“Will you guide me through the hills?” “What’s with the sword?” asked Shaky Jake, still sizing up the odd human pestilence officer. “I always carry my sword. It is a part of me.” “Sergeant Green always carries a scythe. He hears voices too. Do you?” “I am not guided by voices, only God.” “You both are crazy human pestilence, crazy like a fox. Quit stalling. Tell me what you know of gold, and Old Bob’s mine.” Lieutenant Columbus handed Shaky Jake his GPS, displaying a map to the Lost Woodard Mine and an accompanying archive of its discovery in the future.
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