The man set at the end of the bar. He still had trail dust on him, but he looked like no ordinary cowpoke or trail driver. Despite his swarthy appearance, he did not look like a vaquero. The failing was his hat, or in this case, lack of one. He wore an oversized kerchief wrapped around a small, snugly fitting cap. The kerchief was long enough it hung down the sides of his head and was wrapped under his chin.
"Do you have wine?" he asked Jack Baker, owner of the Desert Shade saloon. Jack nodded.
"I've got some of the stuff the priests bring in. You got a lady friend joining you?"
The man shook his head.
"Wine is a rarity back home. The Muslims frown on it."
"Who are the Muslims, friend?" That was Joe Pickens, lead hand on the Bar Eight to the south of town. "Are they Indians down in Mexico."
"I believe you call them Mohammedan and they are not-"
"Joe, Roy, you need to come down to the livery stable. It's the damnest thing. Someone packed in supplies on camels." The newcomer was Fred Pickens, Joe's younger brother.
"Why in the hell would someone do such a fool thing?" asked Roy Barnes, another Bar Eight hand.
"Because when I head out each one will carry more supplies and require less water than a mule," said the man. Jack had hunted up a highball glass and poured some of the liberated communion wine into it. The men picked it up and sipped.
At this, all three of the Bar Eight hands looked at him.
"You thinking of taking up some mining, mister? Hadn't been many miners in these parts. They all gave up between them finding nothing and Apache finding them," said Joe.
"Maybe he thinks camels will also frighten Apache," said Roy in between laughing.
"Is that what you think, mister, that camels will frighten Apache?" Fred's excitement at the camels hadn't dissipated and, unlike Roy, he asked in earnest.
The man sat and continued to sip his wine during the questioning. When the glass was half empty he sat it on the bar.
"I have not given it much thought, although when we drove them with the Army before the War the Apache did not give us no trouble. Might have been the cavalry with us, but who knows? It might have been the camels."
All three men laughed at the joke and the man smiled.
"I am George," he said offering his hand to the men, "George Tedora."
The men introduced themselves.
"So, George, jokes about the Apache besides, what makes you think you'll find gold in these parts after most prospectors have given up."
"I have a map to a find made by a man I knew from the calvary. When he left for the war he left the map in my keeping, saying afterwords we could split it when the war ended. He never returned and now, having driven enough caravans to afford the supplies, I have come to make a claim."
Jack, at the far end of the bar wiping dust off glasses that never seemed to stay dust-free, smiled at the story.
"Lots of finds with maps to them and almost all were garbage. Are you sure your friend had even been here?? He have a name?"
"His name was Thomas Wool, Lieutenant Thomas Wool."
The room, up to that point full of the laughter and smiles of the five men became stone quiet. George looked at each man for a sign. The three hands from the Bar Eight finished their drinks and headed outside.
"I believe I have said something in error, my apologies."
"Don't worry about it too much son. You couldn't know, but I'd keep the part about knowing Tom Wool quiet. More than a few people were more than a little pleased when he didn't come back from the war. A couple of them might think they're entitled to whatever you find at the end of that map."
George nodded, finished his wine, and stood.
"Thank you, Mr. Baker. I'll take note of that. I hope haven't said too much already.
George Tedora walked out of the Desert Shade and headed back to the stage station, where he'd left his camels with the livery. He wanted to check them on last time before heading to the hotel for a meal and one last soft bed before heading into the hills with his three camels and prospecting gear.
The camels had quite the crowd assembled, at least a dozen people stood watching them. He walked past the group towards his three beasts. He had staked them out in the open by the stage station, but towards the back where the scrub grew at the edge of town. They were happily eating the mesquite near them. The oldest, a dromedary named Althawr Al'ahmar, the red bull, lifted his head and brayed at George.
"Yes, yes, you old man. I see you need water, but you always claim that. Is that how you take care of the two cows, by complaining at me all the time that you are suffering."
One at a time, George led each of the three camels to the water trough and let them drink.
"Hey mister, I thought camels didn't need no water," said a boy of about ten as George led the second of the cows back to the other two.
"Did you, now? Well, the camels need less water than a horse which needs water every day, but they can't go forever. I have them drink whenever they can for just that reason."
"Wow. What are you doing with camels anyway?"
"I used to drive them across the desert carrying things for people." George re-tied the cow and began to untie Red Bull. "Now I am going to look for gold."
The boy started to reach for the lead attached to the camel.
"Here mister, let me --." He cut short as the camel's head came down enveloping the boy's hand with his mouth. George pulled hard on the lead and pulled the camel's head away just as his jaws clamped shut. The boy grabbed at his hand and cried. At the boy's cry, a woman came running from the small crowd that had been watching and gathered him up.
"Why did you let your beast bite my boy," she yelled looking at the boy's hand. It was wet with saliva from the camel's mouth but undamaged. The crowd, which had been hushed, now let out a breath. A few of the men chuckled amid comments about the boy having gotten lucky given how stupid the move had been.
"Camels are mean and will even bite their handlers. I am sorry at the scare." George shifted his gaze from the woman to the boy. "You should not reach for reins of animals you do not know."
The woman sat the boy, whose interest in the camels seemed to have evaporated with the haste of sloshed water in the dry dirt, on his feet and they walked away. George staked the cow next to her sister and took the lead of the big red bull.
"That boy is lucky it was one of the cows and not you he startled. I doubt I could pull away your snout so fast as to avoid a nasty bite, if not a crushed finger or two." As he spoke, George flexed his free hand several times. The memories of every bite he'd suffered at the teeth of the temperamental beasts ran through his fingers.
The old man took his time drinking. By the time George had him staked next to his cows so he could return to browsing on the mesquite bushes, the sun was low on the horizon. George washed up by the water pump, at least enough to get the sweat and grim off his hands. He took off his drover's coat and stowed it among the packs he'd left inside the baggage room at the livery.
Picking up his small carpet bag, he headed towards the local hotel.
The hotel was called the Gold Seam. He walked through the double doors, with real glass windows unlike any other he'd seen in San Botolph, into the lobby. The room was large and the back half doubled as the restaurant. A pair of long couches served to separate the two areas, with a small table between them and at each end. Four chairs faced the couches. To his left, a staircase went upwards to the second floor which held the room.
"Good afternoon, can I help you," said a young man to his right, behind the counter.
"Yes, I'd like a room for the night."
"Certainly, that will be ten bits.”
George drew a sold gold five-dollar coin and placed it on the counter. The clerk drew it up and opened a lock box below the counter. He handed George the change and a room key.
"That'll be room 23, go all the way down the hall and take the corner. It'll be on your left."
He had packed in two full camels of goods for Alvy Deits, owner of the general store in San Botolph. While he'd take most of his fee for the transport in credit at the store, he'd take two dollars in cash for a good last evening in civilization.
Of course, every time he thought of any place he had seen in the past twenty years in America as civilization he laughed. He knew he had not seen the great cities of the United States such as Washington and Philadelphia. Still, he found the idea that any of these cities, barely old enough to have weened from their mother England, were truly civilized to be a source of great mirth.
It was also why he loved America and stayed after the army was done with it. There was an energy here. A man could make his own way without worrying about the good and the bad done by his family over the past thousand years. At home, under the Caliph, families fought over feuds so old only the feud was remembered, not the cause.
George opened the door to the small room and stepped in. There was a small bed with a table side it and not much else.
"It doesn't look like much, but by next week I'll remember it fondly."
Unpacking a clean shirt, undershirt, and vest, George swapped out the clothes he had driven into town wearing for his Sunday best.
The young lady who served as the hostess for the hotel's dining room widened her eyes a tiny bit as George stepped in.
"Good evening, Sir. I didn't realize we had such fine guests today."
George smiled at the young lady. She was pretty in the way many American girls were. He still found their looks a tad unusual, but he'd grown to like seeing ones with blond hair.
"I'm not a fine guest, just another hopeful miner."
She girl smiled and let a small laugh escape.
"I've not seen a miner dress for dinner like he was going to church. I rarely see them dress that way when they go to church."
It was George's turn to laugh and as he did warmth spread through him.
"It is my last night in town before I head out to the claim a friend told me to look for. I figured having a fine meal cooked for me and then sleeping in a soft bed on my last night was an extravagance I could afford."
As he finished the young lady gestured to a table and George took his seat.
"Well, if you can afford an extravagance you must already have a rich claim. Perhaps such a fine gentleman would prefer the rack of lamb?"
"I believe I will, thank you."
George watched as the hostess walked to the back by the kitchen and give the cook his order. The room was empty excepting George. He reached into his pocket and drew out a battered copy of The A B C of Mining. He had studied it every evening for months while he raised the cash to get himself equipped. It seemed hard for him to believe how many miners there were given the list of equipment, and its cost, for just the basics. How did so many men pay for it?
George was absorbed enough in yet another reading of how to test tailings looking for gold that he didn't notice the three men who came to stand around his table.
"I've never seen a claim jumper be so bold as to eat dinner in his finest in the same town as the men he's stealing from."
George heard the words but did not realize they were directed at him until he looked up. He found his gaze landing on face so sun-worn it could have been a mask made of well-tanned and worked leather as easily a man's own skin. The eyes in it were blue-black like the slate he'd carted for a rancher with enough money to indulge his young wife's desire for more than a wooden roof the prior summer. The man's jaw was set so tight George was amazed he could open his mouth enough to talk.
George held the man's eyes.
"I don't know you, Sir, so I give you the benefit of the doubt you have mistaken me for another man. I am stealing no man's claim. I am merely following a lead given to me by a now departed friend."
Behind the man, who stood across the table from him, George saw the young hostess bearing the plate with his dinner. She had stopped in her tracks carrying George's dinner when she saw the confrontation. George beckoned her forward.
"Now, if you gentleman would be so kind as to let me enjoy my last meal not cooked over a campfire for a while in peace, I'd much appreciate it."
The young lady sat the plate down and retreated with quick steps short and close to the ground. George lifted a napkin and began to unfold it. The man standing to the right grabbed his it from hand.
"I don't think you was listenin' to Russ close enough. You're not eatin' dinner. You're gettin' your thieving Mexican hide out of town if you want to keep it."
George, with great care and without a word reached for his fork and took the first bite of the rack of lamb. Without looking he reached over and slipped the napkin out of the hand of the second speaker. He wiped the corners of his mouth with it, before setting it across one leg.
"I heard both of you well enough. Gentlemen, if you have an issue with me, I'll happily address it after my dinner. For now, I will eat in peace."
George resumed eating without bothering to look at either man again. He looked straight through them to the young lady and held up his cup for coffee.
"Look here you thievin' --," said the man called Russ said.
"You got a problem, Russell?" The new voice was clear and came from the door.
"John, this man is about to jump Pa's claim. It ain't right for a man to kill another man and jump his claim."
At the word kill, George tensed and stood up.
"I have never killed a man in my life, sir."
Russ turned back to George.
"No, but your friend Tom Wool did. Jumped the claim of our pa."
"I see. And you have proof of this?"
"We don't need no proof. Pa was out mining and was killed. Not a month later Tom Wool staked a claim where Pa was killed."
"Again, that is not proof, but if you want, as I said, we can settle this outside after I have my diner."
"That won't be necessary, mister," said John as he walked up to the table. "Russ, this man doesn't know a thing about Tom Wool. Come on, leave him alone."
George looked at John. It was pretty obvious he was the older brother and was trying to keep his younger brother out of trouble.
Russ shook John's arm off his shoulder, but turned and walked to the doors with his brother. His two friends from the Desert Shade followed him. He stopped just before he headed out.
"This ain't over, mister. You work that claim it's just like you killed my pa."
George watched the young men leave. His dinner, some he'd looked forward to eating for a week, has lost its taste.
"Blood feuds were something I'd prefer to have left in the Old World."
It had been four days since George Tedora left San Botolph following the map Tom Wool had given him. As expected he'd found the site at the end of the first day. There was a bit of a dry cut. Tom had marked a spring and some rock tanks on the map, but neither provided enough to pan out gold. George would have to dry sift.
One thing had been clear on arrival, no one had worked the site in years. It had probably not been worked since Tom Wool left. That had put worries about claim jumping out of his mind. If Russ had a legit claim, he'd been working it over the last seven years.
George spent his second and third day out of San Botolph setting up his camp. As soon as he got any gold he'd hire help. He still didn't understand how single miners worked a claim. It had taken him all of the second day to finish unloading and setting the equipment up even after working the prior afternoon after he set up a basic camp. It was only on the fourth day out he got down to the serious work of mining.
He was down working in the trench he'd found. Despite his initial fears that it had been filled in, he found the dirt accumulated over time was not too bad. The local area was more packed earth than loose sand so dunes didn't form and low parts didn't fill in quickly. He was down to stone earth by noon.
Working down in the trench he didn't see the men come over the hill. The first indication he had visitors was the deep-throated sound Althawr Al'ahmar made. The calvary men had called it braying, but George thought it sounded nothing like a donkey. He just didn't know a better English word.
If something is upsetting Red Bull, I best go check on it. Could be nothing, but better that than find a desert snake has taken to my tent this evening.
He walked up out of the trench towards the tent and where he had the bull and one cow staked out. He had the other cow near the pit and had been filling his talus into sacks on her. Three horsemen were riding towards his camp at a decent clip. As he stood, waiting to greet them he saw all three raise their right arms.
They were getting ready to shoot at him.
George ran back towards the pit. His rifle was on a holster attached to the pack bag sling on the cow in the trench.
He dove into the trench just as a shot whizzed by. Two more struck the ground at the edge.
"I told you we wasn't done you thievin' Mexican. You ain't stealing Pa's claim."
George drew the rifle from its holster was walked up the sloped end of the trench, crouching to avoid exposing his head.
"If it's your Pa's claim, why hasn't it been working for years? Best I can tell, I'm the first one to work it since Tom Wool headed to Texas for the war."
"When your claim jumping friend killed Pa he stole all his money. Me and John, we gotta poke cows to get by. We're saving up all we can to afford the equipment we need. Then again, you'll be leaving all yours behind as the fine for claim jumping, so I guess we're in business."
George sat in the dirt at the bottom of the trench.
I guess Jack was right. I shouldn't have let it get around at all how I knew about this claim. He sat and thought for a moment. No, that's not true. Joe would have found out where I was working and headed out to get back what he thinks is his. At least this way I had an inkling that trouble was coming.
A random shot hit the dirt over the head of the cow he had in the trench with him.
"Damnit, you'd think I could hit a camel," came a voice he recognized but couldn't place, followed by the laughter of the other two. George reach out to the led on the animal and got it to lie down in the trench, although not without protest. They sat in the quiet. George listened to the three men above, for signs of what they were doing. There was no noise beyond the shuffling of feet.
"Roy, you might not have hit the camel, but you might have hit that claim-jumping Mexican," came a third voice, this one he did not recognize. Now he could place the other, though. It was Roy Barnes, the other Bar 8 hand he'd met at the Desert Shade. Thinking back to the same evening at the hotel, he'd been with Joe Pickens. The third man that night he hadn't recognized was probably the one talking to Roy.
"Hell, I hope not. I got into this to help Joe secure his pa's gold, not kill anyone."
"What did you think we were going to do," said the third voice, "Ask him nicely to leave. We did that the other night. Might have succeeded too if Joe hadn't turn’d yella when John showed up."
"I didn't turn yeller, Moses. We'd warned the man. We're warning him again. Assuming Roy didn't kill him by accident."
Should I let Roy know he didn't kill me? Sounds like he's already unhappy with how far this has gone.
"Roy, go check. See if you've become a man by accident," said the voice belonging to this man Moses. George heard a sigh then the shuffling of feed. George rose back into a crouch. He wished he'd worn his gun belt. The rifle was fine for firing out of the trench or at a man at a distance. If he needed to pick off a gunman leaning over the edge a pistol would be a lot more handy.
As it was, he sat down the rifle just as he saw Roy lean over directly above where George crouched. Roy was as surprised as George to be staring into his eyes as soon as looked down. George got over it quicker and rose to his full height as the reached upwards. He caught Roy by the shoulders and pulled him down. Thoroughly off balance, Roy tumbled down into the pit with a shout. As Roy fell, George heard the other men swear and a bullet passed through where he'd been as soon as Roy had cleared it.
George didn't have time to deal with the two men outside the trench this second. Instead, he had to make sure he was safe from the man he'd pulled into the only safety he had right now. He turned towards Roy and slugged him.
"I don't want to hurt you, but you need to stay down. Do not make me regret not killing you or I will if it is the last thing I do." With that, George picked his rifle up and stood next to the wall of the cut.
"Russ, did you get him, Russ," came Joe's voice. When Russ didn't answer, George looked over his shoulder at the man. His mind processed Russ was still a boy in a lot of ways.
"Answer him," George said in a short shout. It came out harsher than he intended.
"No, I didn't get him."
As soon as Russ finished, George added, "But all he's got is a sore jaw. Unlike you, I am not aiming to do any killing. Does not mean I will not kill all three of you if you leave me no choice."
"Hell with this," said Joe. "I only wanted to scare him off the claim and get him to leave the equipment behind so John and I could work it. Mister, just let Russ go and we'll ride out. This never happened."
"What the hell are you talking about Joe? We shot at him. He could have us all arrested. I ain't hanging for no greasy Mexican." George heard walking. He heard a boot kicking something.
"What are you doing Moses? Quit messing with the fire."
"We'll burn him out. Burn his tent and his supplies then drive off the stupid camels. We'll ride out and let him die of starvation out here."
"What about Russ? We can't leave him."
"The hell with Russ too. He done gone and got himself captured and now won't fight to save his own skin."
"I can't let you do that Moses." There was the sound of running then a scuffle. There was a loud thump as though someone hit the ground.
"The hell with you too, Joe Pickens. Never took you for yella before last night, but there you go."
George stood to his full height and looked over the edge of the trench. This was going to be his best shot, with Joe down and Russ behind him on the ground there was only one man to deal with.
He saw the older man named Moses walking towards the camels. Moses had reached the camels where they were grazing. Red Bull looked up as Moses untied him from the ground. He waved a stick at the two animals. George raised his rifle to fire on the man. He was lining up the shot when he was tackled from behind.
"Sorry mister, but I'm not being abandoned here to die." Russ pulled George's rifle down but didn't get the man off his feet. "Moses, he's about to shoot you, " Russ shouted as ran the rest of the way up the slope toward his horse.
George heard Moses scream as he was standing back up. The man was hitting the big bull camel with the small stick, but in exchange, the beast had Moses's wrist firm in his jaw. Moses dropped the stick and drew his pistol.
George raised his rifle. Behind him he heard a horse galloping off. The instant Moses cleared leather George squeezed his trigger.
The shoot caught Moses in the center of his back. He slumped down immediately, but the camel kept a firm hold on his wrist as it pulled back from the shot. The jerk was powerful enough to pull his body to its full length on the ground.
George walked out of the trench end. Watching his bull camel in case it ran off he walked to Joe. He saw the young man's chest rise and fall and knew he was alive. Propping his gun against his tent he walked towards the two camels.
He picked up both leads and tugged.
"Come here, both of you. Let go of his hand you cursed animal."
At the jerk of the led, the bull let go of Moses. The man fell the rest of the way to the ground. His right hand was a bloody smear beyond recognition.
As soon as he had the camels settled, George walked over to Joe. The young man was still breathing. George removed his gun and threw it into the mining trench. He followed the pistol's path, although he walked around to the sloped edge and walked down. He took the lead on the cow he'd left in the trench and lead her out to his tailings pile. He dumped the bags and walked her to the other two camels. After she was staked he attached Moses's body to a line on the camel.
Leading the camel he headed past the end of the trench. As he walked by he noticed Joe had not woken. He walked into the trench to retrieve a pick and a shovel. Returning to the camel, he took the lead and headed over the ridge behind his camp.
When George led the camel back over the ridge Joe was sitting up. Both men remained silent until George reached the campsite.
"Where's Moses? Where's Russ?"
"Your friends both abandoned you. As soon as he got the chance, Russ took off on his horse. I figure he's halfway back to town by now. Moses? Well, Moses was drawing. Not sure if he meant to shoot me or," George nodded at the biggest camel, "Red Bull there. He'd been hitting Red with a stick so Red decided to bite his hand. It wasn't pretty."
"So, are you going to kill me next?" Joe stood and faced George. "I ain't got no gun."
"Boy, if I had wanted you dead I would not have left you alone and breathing. I would have been a damn fool to do that." George walked right by the young man. He tied up the cow and untied her sister. He hadn't bothered to remove the sacks he used to carry tailings so he led her straight down to the trench.
"So what are you doing?"
"I'm working this land. When I find gold I'll stake a claim down at the land office."
"So, still working a stolen claim?" Joe stared at George. George stopped on the ramp into the trench with his body exposed from the waist up.
"The only claim thief I see around here is you. I was here working this trench, which it was clear hadn't been worked in years when I got here three days ago. You and your friends came shooting at me. Where I come from, the man working is not the thief. It is the man who rides up doing the shooting."
Joe stood there for a few minutes. George continued to watch him.
"What am I going to do?"
George thought for a second.
"Well, you could head into town and back to work at the ranch."
"Until you come into town and turn me in." Joe tried to maintain the swagger he'd had in calling George a thief, but he was starting to slide back to being a boy instead of a man.
George heard the fear in the young man's voice. It reminded him of so many young men back in Syria. It reminded him of who he'd left home to not be. George shook his head.
"I heard you talking to Moses. You wanted to run me off and steal my equipment. I know that is true. But I also know you stood up to him when he wanted to just kill me or leave me for dead. I am still breathing and still have my gear. I figure you have evened the scales. Go back to town."
Joe nodded and walked over to his horse. He mounted up and walked his horse to Moses's mount. He took up the lead to bring the horse back with him. As he began to ride towards town, George called out.
"Tom Wool said there was plenty of gold sign all around the mesa that overlooked his trench. Told me to work all the way around it if needed. It is a pretty big mesa, though. I suspect a couple of brothers who had saved the money for mining gear would be more company than they would be rivals."
Joe nodded. As he turned his face toward town he even had a little smile.
"He wore an oversized kerchief wrapped around a small, snugly fitting cap. The kerchief was long enough it hung down the sides of his head and was wrapped under his chin." I liked this description. I'm so-so on westerns, so it gave me an idea this would be a little different. Made me think of the pictures of Ishvalans in FMA.
You do a good job of building the stranger as a man who is very dangerous, that the locals don't really understand. George's voice is a little uneven - ranging between local ungrammatical, cultured, and clunky, but I get it. He's a foreigner, and his voice is meant to be educated but not native.
Nice tension between what he looks like, a Mexican, and what he is, a desert Arab. And you start out describing him specifically as what he looks like, a vaquero, but isn't, with the description of his headgear.
Again, you do fighting very well for someone like me. I am able to follow it, and it makes sense. Not just booms and bangs.
I liked the way you used the camels. I see camels coming up in western stories / movies sometimes, but they usually seem to be a case of someone who doesn't really know how to use them. You build you character as obviously knowing what he's dealing with. It's interesting that George has to learn about mining from books, but clearly knows camels and war from long experience.
The ending surprised me, and is one of the most hopeful things I've read in a while. I wasn't surprised that George was able to defeat the locals who attacked him at the claim, but I was worried that he'd be stopped or run off somehow. That he actually had an olive branch to offer, and in such a way that maybe the locals could accept it... That brought tears to my eyes. Not expecting that.