myth.”
“He don't believe that anymore. He thinks it's real.”
“You're kidding.”
“You know Damon.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she muttered.
“He'll get over it,” said Marty.
“You haven't known him long enough.”
“Maybe you're right,” agreed Marty, grinning.
Suddenly a loud cursing rattled out from beneath Stan's sluice. Micky and Marty rushed over and leaned under the support braces to give Stan a hand. He'd slipped on the loose gravel and slid down the slope and managed to snap the shovel handle at the same time. Marty shook his head as Stan dusted himself off.
“Damn shovels are made in Taiwan,” muttered Stan.
“I never seen anyone break more tools than you,” said Marty, spitting.
“I think I got another one in my shed,” said Stan.
“Like hell you do. You're just going to go sit on your ass.”
“You got no call to talk to me like that.”
“Stan, you're the laziest bastard I know,” said Marty, winking at Micky, who had begun to get a little nervous. “You stay here and try to make yourself useful if that's possible. I have another shovel in the cache down by the Fork.”
Marty hiked off downtrail and Stan made a ceremony of filling his pipe. When he finally got it lit great puffs of smoke billowed around him.
“You like it here?” asked Stan.
“Yes,” said Micky.
Stan chewed the pipe and nodded knowingly. “Nice place to ruminate.”
“Ruminate?”
“That means to cogitate. Or muse.”
“I knew that,” said Micky.
“Nice place to do it.”
“I suppose it is.” Unlike Marty, who was a what you see is what you get type, Stan bewildered her. Was he trying to impress her with his vocabulary? Or was he serious?
“Sometimes I can stand for hours and stare at the mountains,” he said.
“They're pretty.”
“Drives Marty crazy.”
“I guess it would.”
“That's part of the beauty,” said Stan.
Damon had laid the hose parts down between his thighs and was staring up into the mountains himself. He had his hands on his hips. Silhouetted by the sun, he looked like a bronze statue.
“Damon told me that hard-rock mining wasn't worth a person's time,” she said.
Stan picked up Marty's shovel and tossed a half spadeful of gravel into the sluice. “It ain't, mostly. Not unless you're a big company. Takes a lot of heavy equipment.”
“Then why waste your time looking for a gold mine?”
“Well, if you find the mother lode, it's worth a fortune. I've seen a slice of gold as thick as your little finger wedged between two pieces of quartz. A man finds a vein like that, the equipment cost don't really matter. But it isn't the gold.”
“What do you mean?”
“People like Damon. And Aaron. When they get it into their head to find that vein, it isn't the money. It's the
finding.
”
Micky stared at Damon's back, his body set against the mountains, every bit as unyielding. And she knew exactly what Stan meant.
“Jesus,” she muttered again.
She smiled, remembering Stan's pleasure when he'd pulled a dime-sized nugget out of Marty's sluice. He wouldn't admit it.
But it was the finding with him and Marty too.
She hiked on. Away from the sound of the gun.
12:15
C OME ON, DAWN, SAID EL .
He was standing on Terry's clean laundry. Blood splotched his shirt and his pants and there was enough on his boots that he left partial red footprints on the damp sheets.
“You can't run through the bushes. There's nowhere to go.”
He strode across the laundry, kicking it away as a towel stuck to his foot. He stood in the center of the path, staring down into the alders on both sides of the stream. There was just enough of an opening in the trees there to allow Terry and Dawn to gather water.
Dawn had raced straightaway from the cabin door and instinctively dived into the thick foliage. Now she peeked out at El, not daring to move or breathe. Her thoughts raced. The rough gravel bit into her knees and elbows.
“There's nowhere for you to go!” he repeated,
“He don't believe that anymore. He thinks it's real.”
“You're kidding.”
“You know Damon.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she muttered.
“He'll get over it,” said Marty.
“You haven't known him long enough.”
“Maybe you're right,” agreed Marty, grinning.
Suddenly a loud cursing rattled out from beneath Stan's sluice. Micky and Marty rushed over and leaned under the support braces to give Stan a hand. He'd slipped on the loose gravel and slid down the slope and managed to snap the shovel handle at the same time. Marty shook his head as Stan dusted himself off.
“Damn shovels are made in Taiwan,” muttered Stan.
“I never seen anyone break more tools than you,” said Marty, spitting.
“I think I got another one in my shed,” said Stan.
“Like hell you do. You're just going to go sit on your ass.”
“You got no call to talk to me like that.”
“Stan, you're the laziest bastard I know,” said Marty, winking at Micky, who had begun to get a little nervous. “You stay here and try to make yourself useful if that's possible. I have another shovel in the cache down by the Fork.”
Marty hiked off downtrail and Stan made a ceremony of filling his pipe. When he finally got it lit great puffs of smoke billowed around him.
“You like it here?” asked Stan.
“Yes,” said Micky.
Stan chewed the pipe and nodded knowingly. “Nice place to ruminate.”
“Ruminate?”
“That means to cogitate. Or muse.”
“I knew that,” said Micky.
“Nice place to do it.”
“I suppose it is.” Unlike Marty, who was a what you see is what you get type, Stan bewildered her. Was he trying to impress her with his vocabulary? Or was he serious?
“Sometimes I can stand for hours and stare at the mountains,” he said.
“They're pretty.”
“Drives Marty crazy.”
“I guess it would.”
“That's part of the beauty,” said Stan.
Damon had laid the hose parts down between his thighs and was staring up into the mountains himself. He had his hands on his hips. Silhouetted by the sun, he looked like a bronze statue.
“Damon told me that hard-rock mining wasn't worth a person's time,” she said.
Stan picked up Marty's shovel and tossed a half spadeful of gravel into the sluice. “It ain't, mostly. Not unless you're a big company. Takes a lot of heavy equipment.”
“Then why waste your time looking for a gold mine?”
“Well, if you find the mother lode, it's worth a fortune. I've seen a slice of gold as thick as your little finger wedged between two pieces of quartz. A man finds a vein like that, the equipment cost don't really matter. But it isn't the gold.”
“What do you mean?”
“People like Damon. And Aaron. When they get it into their head to find that vein, it isn't the money. It's the
finding.
”
Micky stared at Damon's back, his body set against the mountains, every bit as unyielding. And she knew exactly what Stan meant.
“Jesus,” she muttered again.
She smiled, remembering Stan's pleasure when he'd pulled a dime-sized nugget out of Marty's sluice. He wouldn't admit it.
But it was the finding with him and Marty too.
She hiked on. Away from the sound of the gun.
12:15
C OME ON, DAWN, SAID EL .
He was standing on Terry's clean laundry. Blood splotched his shirt and his pants and there was enough on his boots that he left partial red footprints on the damp sheets.
“You can't run through the bushes. There's nowhere to go.”
He strode across the laundry, kicking it away as a towel stuck to his foot. He stood in the center of the path, staring down into the alders on both sides of the stream. There was just enough of an opening in the trees there to allow Terry and Dawn to gather water.
Dawn had raced straightaway from the cabin door and instinctively dived into the thick foliage. Now she peeked out at El, not daring to move or breathe. Her thoughts raced. The rough gravel bit into her knees and elbows.
“There's nowhere for you to go!” he repeated,
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