Here Be Dragons

Jackson reeled, stars dancing his vision despite the daylight as the bandit hit him in the face again. It had been the third time since leaving the farm – three times more than necessary, he was cooperating, unwilling, but he was doing as they wanted. It was the only way he was going to live, even if he lost everything else, even if it was too late to save Charles.

The gun was shoved in his face again, ratcheting up his fear to levels he hadn’t felt since childhood, since nightmares could leave him shivering under the covers, since trees had been the proxies of demons, making shadowy figures against his windows.

The bandit – whose name he wasn’t privy to – tugged on the ropes binding his hands, pulling the rough cord over his already-bleeding wrists. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, ‘where we go next.’

‘I don’ t know,’ he whispered.

This answer, obviously not the one that was wanted, or expected, earned him another strike across the face.

‘Where?!’

He swallowed, feeling the dryness of his throat. ‘In. We go in. That’s all I know.’

‘Map don’t say in.’

‘The big X is the entrance. “Despair to all who enter,” is what it says on the back of the map.’ He spat blood, and didn’t bother to recite what else was written there – people like them didn’t care about the cost of lives. Especially his.

The cave in front of him was innocuous, just like any other hole in the earth. Most people in town were able to ignore the local legend – by staying very, very far away. It wasn’t what the cave looked like, it was what it felt like – it was the sensation of someone dancing on your future grave, though a hundred times worse.

He lifted them to wipe his brow, and the sweat trickled down into the cuts – he winced, but took a step forward. If the local legend held true, there was a great chance that the pain would be all over soon. He’d be joining his grandfather, and possibly his brother, and be just another body swallowed by the hole in the earth that he’d been warned to stay away from. He didn’t have any delusions – he knew his chances of walking out of the cavern alive were slimmer than a drought-addled tumbleweed. The bandit pushed him forward, and he cursed his brother.

‘Here be dragons,’ he whispered as he stepped over the threshold and into the cave.

*****

Fifteen Years Ago

‘Here be dragons,’ Grandpa said as he lit his pipe.

Jackson tugged on his grandfather’s shirt. ‘Shouldn’t we…?’

Grandpa shook his head as he watched the twister on the horizon. ‘She’s not coming this way, storm’s almost over.’ It was a brilliant, beautiful, terrifying sight, the tornado was almost silhouetted by the light of the setting sun – it danced and twirled, tearing up the ground beneath it. Debris, dust and dirt spun away from it, covering what was left of crop fields.

‘Why do you always say that?’ he asked, mesmerised by the twister. He almost felt like it could see him – that it was staring back at him across the miles. A monster made of wind and dust. A monster that could lift him up and take him away from his family like a demon in the night.

‘Here be dragons – it’s the part of the map to stay away from.’

*****

The bandit had two dumb-as-a-rock associates, whose position he assumed was to look scary and shoot what they were told to shoot, intimidate who they were told to intimidate and shove whoever they were told to shove. It seemed to be an arrangement that worked for everyone – the bruises on his back were proof of that. They may have been dumb, but they knew fear. One whimpered for his long-dead mother and the other kissed a cross caked in dirt and sweat.

The bandit gripped his gun until his knuckles turned white – this was his only consideration to the situation. ‘No.’ he said. ‘Some other way.’

The bandit’s associates gratefully retreated from the cave. The bandit pushed Jackson toward his associates and went over to the horses. The bandit retrieved a long rope and tied it to the ropes binding him.‘You go in and get the treasure, and bring it out.’

He considered the man’s words carefully. ‘And if doesn’t work?’

‘I got two more chances before I gotta risk my ass,’ the bandit said – and dumb as they were, it visibly bothered his companions.

*****

His welcome back to town was drawn out – first there was stepping in manure as soon as he exited the stage, then the dog that belonged to the hotel ripped a hole in his luggage, and lastly it began to rain.

His brother never arrived to pick him up – and there was no way he could walk the five miles, not in his city boots in any case. The city boots were a bad habit he’d gotten into while studying – and one he knew he was going to catch hell for when his brother saw him.

He left his luggage on the porch and retreated into the hotel – at least it was warm in there, and some alcohol would further drive the chill from his bones. He pushed open the swinging doors, no one noticed the intrusion, and he headed over to the bar.

A loud drunk was playing the piano, and rather badly. He began to sing – even though it was blatantly obvious he had no idea of the lyrics, and what he improvised was worse than the screeching of cats.

Jackson looked more closely at the man – if it had been Charles, it wouldn't have surprised him. He shook his head – no, it wasn’t his brother.

He tapped a coin on the bar – another bad habit. The clothes, though cheap in the city, identified him a moneyed individual here. He began to wonder if he’d ever adjust to life back here on the farm – or if he would have to leave in shame.

‘What can I get for you?’ the bartender asked.

‘Something to warm me,’ Jackson replied.

The bartender placed a glass in front of him, and he drank it gratefully. He became aware that he was being studied.

‘Welcome back, Jackson,’ the bartender said.

‘Surprised you remember me.’

The bartender shrugged. ‘You and yer brother were always alike – least in looks. Finish yer schoolin'?’

‘Mostly.’ He stared at the glass. ‘When was the last time you saw my brother?’

‘You mean that ain't him?’ he gestured across the hotel floor. A poker game was going on. He’d ignored it, for him, going to school was the biggest gamble ever. He didn’t like to chance his money – another “flaw” on his part and one that, on occasion, had made his youth difficult.

At the round table sat some sun-burnt farmers, playing with their hard-earned money, a few out-of-towners, one of which had been on the stage with him and at the head of the table was a slick, well-dressed young man. The young man looked up and winked at him – it was Charles.

He stared at him, unable to quite believe that this was indeed his brother. Charles, in his younger years, had been unable to keep clean for more than five minutes – dirt had seemed to gravitate in his general direction. Several marriage prospects had been lost because of this.

The young man in the suit that cost more than his own was nothing like the brother he’d left a year ago.

He swallowed, there so many words he wanted to say. “Hello, how are you?” “It’s good to see you, brother.” “How’s the farm.” “How did you afford to buy that suit.” And most importantly: “Why are you playing while I’ve been waiting.” The fact that he hadn’t shown up when the stage had arrived had been worrying him – he’d had visions of the farm being in ruins, that he would be hung if unable to pay their line of credit at the general store…but by the looks of things, everything seemed to be going rather well.

The young man that he was fairly certain was his brother stood and walked over – he slapped him on the back and handed him a cigar.

‘Charles?’ he asked, just to be sure.

‘Who else would I be? Welcome home, little brother. Come, join in the game.’

He followed and watched in a daze as his brother gambled with money comparable to a year’s tuition fees. He desperately wanted to ask where the money had come from – he wished he’d known the farm was doing this well. If he had, he may have spent the money to buy the ring for Elizabeth – he hadn’t, and he’d lost her.

Charles lost a lot, the kind of amount that would cause tension for most men – he merely shook it off and bought his friends a round of drinks.

They left the hotel and went into the night – Jackson finally found his voice. ‘Wasn’t that a lot of money?’

‘Not really. I win sometimes, I lose sometimes – that’s how the game works.’

He swallowed and looked up at the sky – it was good to be under familiar stars again. ‘I’m glad the farm is doing so well.’

Charles looked puzzled for a moment, then gave a vague nod. ‘Let’s go home.’

‘My bags?’

They loaded the bags onto the wagon and drove home in silence – he tried to start a few conversations, but Charles kept shushing him, telling him to wait until morning, so he shushed, and fell asleep as the horse pulled them closer to home.

*****

The bandit pushed him toward the cave again, and when he hesitated, shot at the ground near his foot. This urged him on, he knew the bandit didn’t have any trouble hurting people. Hell, Charles was probably dead already.

‘Here be dragons,’ he whispered and stepped into the cave.

*****

He awoke the sound of a distressed rooster – it sounded strained to crow in the morning. He didn’t remember going to bed the night before – traveling always tired him more than it should. He sneezed – the room was musty, and hadn’t been aired for his return.

A fine layer of dust lay over the bedside table. He stood and pushed open the window, found his glasses, then stumbled out the kitchen.

With the state of his brother’s wardrobe, the farm was obviously flourishing, so he was surprised to see no farmhands, and no cook preparing food for half a dozen strong men. He shook it off – he’d been away, it wasn’t his place to judge, especially before he knew all the facts.

He walked through the house, reacquainting himself with the place he’d grown up. Some of his grandfather’s effects were still scattered around – the tobacco pouch that “lived” on the mantle for example. He picked it up and sniffed it. It was almost as if that time hadn’t passed, and his grandfather hasn’t passed away.

He heard footsteps, and for one childish moment, he imagined that it was his grandfather. He turned and greeted his brother.

Charles wasn’t dressed for a hard day of farm work, nothing about him suggested that it had even crossed his mind.

‘I’ll make some toast,’ was all he said before heading to the kitchen.

He walked from the house, and stopped dead in his tracks. He hoped that he was still asleep, for what he saw was straight from a nightmare. The fields were dead – corpses of corn stalks lay limply on the ground, the soil, once rich, was dry and cracked.

‘So yeah, I was gonna get to talking about this,’ Charles said as he came up behind him.

He turned, mouth agape, unable to vocalise his thoughts.

‘Toast?’ asked Charles, proffering his breakfast, ‘there’s more cooking.’ After a full minute, he spoke again. ‘Stop staring at me, you look like some glassy-eyed store-bought doll.’

He condensed his thoughts into three words. ‘Everything is dead.’

‘Except my…our…future.’

‘But you…last night…and the clothes…’

‘You think clearer when you eat.’

‘My mind is as clear as that field,’ He replied, regaining some measure of composure.

‘Look, farming isn’t the only way to make money.’

Jackson stared at the field. ‘All you did last night was lose.’

He turned, and punched his brother in the face.

The blow wasn’t that forceful, Jackson was always the weaker of the two – but the element of surprise added everything to the impact. Charles stumbled back – he’d been hit by friends, shot at by people he owed money to, slapped by whores and kicked by horses…but somehow this was worse.

‘You didn’t have to do that.’

‘Yes, I really did.’ He spat into the dry ground. ‘You promised grandfather you would look after the farm – I went to study to ensure us a future, you failed. It’s going to take a miracle to get this farm back together. A miracle I don’t want you any part of.’

‘How you going to stop me?’

‘I’ll buy our your half, you really don’t seem to give a damn.’

‘Ask me how I could afford the clothes.’

‘I don’t want to know.’

‘Ask me.’

‘How?’ He balled his hands into fists. ‘How did you have all that money to lose? Did you sell your soul? Do we even own the land I’m standing on?’

‘I have lines of credit, but who doesn’t.’

‘Credit is to feed starving mouths, or to pay for something until a crop sells. Credit is not for clothes. Not for gambling.’

‘I’m going to pay it all back.’

‘Is that what I’m here for? To pull you out of your self-created hell?’

‘I was going to share my future with you. It’s a bright and shiny one.’

‘I want nothing to do with it.’

*****

Half a dozen steps into the cave, the fear was all consuming, but with that came a sort of calm. He was going to die, that was certain, but how was another issue. On the other hand, he was within metres of his grandfather’s treasure.

He had no idea what the treasure was, no one did – his grandfather had never said if it was gold, jewels or fine silks – it could have been a single horseshoe from his first pony if all possibilities were to be considered.

Hi grandfather had a mysterious past, so that gave credence to the idea that the treasure was real. When he and Charles had been children, they had pretended to look for it while planting seeds, or uprooting trees. Once in a while, they would find things – their grandfather had planted pennies to encourage their hard work.

Charles had stopped believing as a child – though obviously his greed had rekindled his belief. He, on the other hand, had always believed, and remembering those stories had helped keep the memories of his grandfather alive.

*****

11 Years Ago

Jackson looked up from his book as his grandfather came running into the house. ‘Your brother! Where’s your brother?’

‘He was going to-’

‘Have you seen him?’

‘No Grandpa, not in a while.’

‘Dammit!’ Grandpa shouted, running back out of the house.

He dropped the book to the table, pulled on his boots and ran after his grandfather.

‘Boy’s on a horse!’ one of the stable hands shouted. ‘Headed north!’

‘Jackson, come on!’ Grandpa shouted as he ran for the barn.

He ran into the stable, fighting the urge to wheeze as he was nearly tossed onto an already-saddled horse. His grandfather shouted at the dusty red he was riding, and the horse shot out of the barn. He took a moment to tuck his glasses into his pocket, and urged his pony after Grandpa, and after Charles.

Grandpa slowed his horse a little, waiting for him to catch up. ‘We’re going to take the shortcut, Jackson, we’ve got to head him off, just be careful now.’

His breath hitched at the idea of taking the shortcut, and he pulled his glasses out, better to chance breaking them, than to fall from his horse because he hadn’t seen a pitfall.

‘Grandpa,’ he shouted, trying to catch his breath, ‘what’s he doing?’

‘He found the map, boy, he found the map.’

He steadied his glasses on his face, wrapped his hands around the reins, and took off after his grandfather, determined not to slow the old man down, he couldn’t let him down, not this time.

The shortcut was dangerous, almost stupidly though, but it was a lot faster, and when they came clear of it, his brother was visible again. His grandfather urged the big red even faster, thundering across the plains like a knight from legend, his only mission to protect a silly squire from the dragons. His pony, however, couldn’t keep up, so once again, he was nothing but a spectator.

Charles made it to the mouth of the cave, but Grandpa leaped from his horse, knocking the boy to the ground before his brother could take even one step in. Charles screamed like a stuck hog, pulled himself free of Grandpa and clambered towards the cave entrance.

There was a short, sharp crack, as their grandfather hit him with the riding crop. Charles was stunned into submission and he into silence – it was the first time either of them had ever been hit, and a thin, vicious line of blood appeared across Charles’ cheek. Charles stumbled back, and fell to the dirt.

‘I said no,’ Grandpa said. ‘Never go in there.’

‘You buried the treasure in there!’ Charles screamed as tears rolled down his face.

‘Never go in there,’ Grandpa repeated as he helped Charles to his feet. ‘Never.’

‘We need the money!’

‘Not this badly.’

He found himself staring at the cave entrance. ‘Why can’t we go in there? A bear?’

‘Curiosity doesn’t only kill cats. I can’t tell you what’s in there, because I don’t know.’

‘Tell us what you do know then,’ Charles said, refusing to look at either of them.

‘Ghosts,’ the old man said simply.

‘I don’t believe in ghost stories,’ Charles said.

He refrained from mentioning when they were younger, he had indeed believed in ghost stories.

‘No stories, boys, just plain-speaking truth. Stories about this place are older than me. People go in there, and only the scantest few ever come out. It’s full of statues, and ghosts.’

‘Statues?’

‘They look like people…or were people, in any case, they’re dead, and their spirits are trapped there.’

‘If few ever get out, how did you bury the treasure in there?’

‘I’m one of those few.’

Charles kicked at a stone. ‘And if I don’t believe you?’

‘Your brother becomes an only child.’ Charles began to walk toward the cave. ‘Please don’t,’ their grandfather said, ‘I’ve already lost the rest of my family.’

*****

The silence is the cave was something he had never experienced before – even the sound from his shuffling footsteps seemed to be stolen away. The external quiet allowed him to hear every sound his body was making – the blood pumping in his ears, the pounding of his heart and the shaking of his bones.

The bandit had not given him a light, so part of him hoped that it was as dark as the dragon’s belly he felt he was walking into. If it was, he could find some pool of shadow and disappear for long enough – that was, if he could get free of the rope.

Slowly and surely, he began to slip his way free of the rope – his blood and sweat slick hands were actually a bonus in this case. He kept walking, so that the rope kept moving – if he didn’t they would get suspicious. Each step was one closer to death and one closer to freedom.

As he moved in, the whole cave became a play of light and shadow. Light from the outside streamed in through cracks, but what the light didn’t touch was as dark as pitch.

Something touched his cheek, the lightest touch he had ever felt. He closed his eyes, afraid to look at the ghost.

*****

‘So how did you afford it?’ he asked. They were in the kitchen now, Charles, despite his figure, seemed to have developed quite an appetite. Some dark, cynical corner of his mind assumed all the worries of his debts helped Charles keep the pounds off. ‘Or am I here to help you get the money?’

‘In one sense, but we do have the money, we just have to go get it.’

‘Charles, are you drunk? This is all Grandpa had in the world. It’s all we have too.’

‘Not true, little brother.’

He scoffed. ‘Yes? Then what is it that we have? What snake oil is going to save you from your mistakes?’

Then Charles said it: ‘Grandpa’s treasure.’

He stared at him. Then for a little longer. A tumbleweed could have blown past without his notice, a herd of cattle could have danced like showgirls and all he would have done was stare at his brother.

‘Say that again.’

‘The treasure. It will clear the debts a hundred times over. Or at least ten.’

‘Grandfather’s treasure,’ he repeated. ‘The one buried…somewhere out there.’

‘We both know where it is, Jackson.’

*****

The feather-touch left his face, and he dared to look. It was no spectre. It was no banshee. It was just a moth. He watched it fly into a pool of shadow, then disappear.

He freed his hands – but continued on deeper. A dripping permeated the silence as he went further into the cave. Water dripped from a source above and into a shallow pool illuminated by one of the streams of light.

All around the pool were large stones, and as he looked closer, he realised they were the statues his grandfather had spoken about. At first glance, they just appeared to be slabs of stone, but on closer inspection, they looked like people.

Curiosity, the kind that often killed, removed the sense of danger and imminent death from his mind. He let his eyes adjust a little more, then began to inspect them. Each one was different, some were taller, others were shorter, some were broken. The faces on some were very obvious – he could easy make out noses and the hollows for eyes. Others were merely slabs of rock with curves here and there.

They could have been man-made – carved for whatever reason – to remember those lost, or to serve as a warning. Whatever their origin, they weren’t what he’d imagined.

Three shots rang out – a warning that his time was nearly up.

*****

A few hours had passed since the revelation of Charles’ “brilliant” plan. He had spent all of that time in his musty bedroom, mulling over the facts. He sighed, and went and found his brother.

‘What if it’s not gold?’

‘It could be jewels.’

‘What if it’s dust?’

‘Then they won’t be very happy.’

‘Who?’ Jackson asked. Charles lifted his head and nodded, Jackson turned and looked toward the hill behind the farm – three figures on horses were silhouetted there. ‘Who are they?’

‘People with money.’

The three horses came barreling down the hill, kicking up the dead earth behind them. As they approached, it became clear that they were bandits. It wasn’t a rash judgment – he’d seen enough at distance during his youth to recognise the type. ‘People with stolen money,’ he scoffed under his breath.

‘Mister Charles,’ the one in the middle – obviously the leader as his horse’s tack actually looked well maintained – ‘today's our money day?’

Charles – evidently having expected this, pulled a map from his back pocket. ‘Payday indeed.’ He unfurled it in the manner of a showman and showed it to the bandit leader. ‘X marks the spot. There’s a treasure there that will more than pay you back what I owe you.’

The bandit snatched the map from his hands, and looked at it. ‘Ink's faded. How ya know it’s any good?’

‘I always come good on my word.’

‘That why the whiskey gets weak as piss as the poker goes on? Cheaper that way – is that keeping your word?’

Charles had time to look confused before he heard the shot. He stumbled and fell to the ground. He dropped down beside his brother – and was relieved when Charles moved enough for him to see that it had merely gone through his leg. It was serious, but not life threatening – not at the moment.

The bandit put his gun away and stared at the map. The gun came out again and this time was aimed at Jackson. ‘You.’ Jackson nodded in response. ‘Know where this is?’ Another nod. ‘Good, you’re comin' with us, fancy boy.’

‘He’ll bleed to death before we can get back.’

‘Best be hurryin' then.’

‘Doesn’t work like that.’

The bandit fired the gun, Jackson jumped, but it just hit the ground near his feet. The bandit’s lackeys jumped off their horses – one bound his hands, the other bound Charles’ hands.

‘You can’t leave him there. He’ll die.’

A simple growl was all the answer the bandit gave.

‘Does he really owe you that much?’

The bandit nodded and said the amount. He raised a hand to his mouth and used God’s name in vain. He felt winded.

‘Charles, you utter idiot.’ He hated himself for his words, but hated his brother much more at the moment.

Everything their grandfather had worked for was being destroyed because Charles was lazy, or just too greedy. The allure of easy money was like a siren – a sadistic one at that. He allowed himself to be dragged away, while his brother rolled around in agony under the hot sun.

*****

‘Where is it?’ he asked the walls desperately. The ground was solid rock – it couldn’t have been buried, and there were no obvious hiding places – though the lack of light made it impossible to determine whether or not he had walked past a baker’s dozen.

‘I see the dragons,’ he said, casting a glance at the statues, ‘but where is the hoard?’

He continued ever deeper into the cave, wondering if the earth was merely going to swallow him up – it made as much sense as anything else that had ever happened.

*****

17 Years Ago

‘I hear he’s crazy,’ Charles said.

‘You’re just saying that,’ he said as he held his duffel-bag tighter. He looked up and down the street. ‘Shouldn’t he be here by now?’

‘Yes I am crazy, and yes I’m here,’ their grandfather said as he walked up behind them.

Charles straightened up. ‘Hello sir, sorry sir.’

‘Don’t apologise to me, you didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.’ He laughed. It was a good laugh, one used to telling jokes under the sun, doing work that created calluses. ‘All farmers got to be a little crazy, it’s what lets us talk to cows, and ask things of the earth.’

‘Hello,’ he said, looking up at his grandfather.

Grandpa knelt down and smiled. ‘And you’re the quiet one, aren’t you? Well, the earth can hear you when you whisper.’

He then handed them each a bag of store candy and led them towards the wagon.

*****

He stopped and started a few sentences. ‘I feel like an Indian,’ he murmured. ‘Earth…ground…stone…I need your help. Please…’ he swallowed, feeling like an idiot. ‘I need my grandfather’s treasure.’ He shook his head. ‘Help,’ he said louder. ‘Help!’

When his voice echoed, he knew he’d done the wrong thing.

A moment later, resounding footsteps began to come closer.

He heard a skittering sound, and looked down at the ground. The pebbles near his feet were moving, he stayed still and looked around…everything was moving, just slightly.

‘All right then,’ he said.

He took a deep breath, and screamed with all of his might. He took another and roared. He made all the sound he could before he exhausted himself.

It didn’t stop the footsteps from coming closer, but the cave was definitely reacting. The earth was helping him. He heard shouts, and then there was only one set of footprints.

The whole cave was collapsing.

He ran as fast as he could, jumping over falling stones and parts of the roof. He threw himself against the back wall of the cave and prayed. He pressed himself against it as much as he could – hoping to avoid the falling debris.

He looked up and through all of the falling rocks and dust. He could see the bandit. The bandit rose his gun and pulled the trigger.

As he did, there was a flash of light – Jackson assumed one of the falling droplets of water had caught the light at a fortunate angle. The bullet impacted the ground near him.

The bandit went to fire again, but was crushed as section of the roof fell.

More of the cave collapsed in, but then all went silent.

He reached down, the bullet up from the floor and placed it in his pocket – it was a reminder of how lucky he was. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief, as the air was thick with settling dust. carefully made his way across the floor, and looked down at the bandit as he passed.

The section of roof that had fallen had completely crushed his lower half, leaving his chest and head visible. He was entirely caked with dust – he looked as though he had turned to stone.

‘Thank you,’ he said, just in case it hadn’t been simple sciences that had saved his life.

He looked again at the pool that the water dripped into, knelt and scooped out all the pebbles at the bottom. He found a rotted hide-skin bag and inside, wrapped in wax paper was a small wooden box. He held it lovingly, then looked down – in the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar reflection in the pool

‘Grandpa…’ he said without turning.

The image in the pool didn’t move.

He nervously turned, but saw no one. He looked to the pool again, and saw that it had been his own reflection – he was just seeing what he wanted to see.

He turned to look at the cave. ‘Goodbye Grandpa. Thank you.’

*****

Five Years Ago

‘What do you mean he’s gone?’ he asked his brother.

‘I mean, Grandpa’s not here.’

‘Is he working already?’

‘All them brains and you can’t hear the words coming out of my mouth?’

‘He can’t just be…gone…’

‘Jackson, he’s gone to die, you know that. Suck it up, take it like a man, we just inherited a farm.’

‘You’re crazy, he’s just…’

‘He took his pipe.’

Those words made Charles’ assumption true. The tobacco pouch lived above the mantle, but the pipe went with him, rain, hail or shine.

‘Can’t grieve today, we have to bring the crops in.’ With that, Charles walked away.

He shook his head. ‘Not that you’ll grieve anyway, you son of a bitch.’ He looked out the window towards the where he knew the cave was – it was the only place his grandfather would go to die.

*****

The bandit’s associates had been nice enough to leave their boss’s horse behind for him to ride – though their reasoning had probably been from fear. He placed the wooden box in the saddle-bag, mounted and bolted for home.

He arrived to find nothing but bloodstains where his brother had been. A wavering whistle made him look up. Charles waved at him from his bedroom window. he ran into the house and found two women attending to him.

‘Thank god,’ he said.

‘Get apples delivered today,’ Charles – sounding slightly drunk – said. ‘Apple women saved my life.’

He nodded to them. ‘I’ll repay you for saving him.’

He left them to tend to his brother – he didn’t want to be in the way. He took the new horse to the stable and removed the tack. He carried the saddle bags into the house and began to empty them. Aside from some dry meat, tobacco and a small bottle of whiskey, there was hundreds of dollars in cash and the treasure box.

He stored the cash in a flour barrel, satisfied that at least he would be able to restore the farm. He drew himself a long bath, and fell asleep in the comfortingly warm water. He roused himself when the water began to chill, and went to bed.

In the morning, he took Charles breakfast and strong, sweet tea. He sat on the end of the bed and shook his head at his brother.

‘So much trouble Charles, so much trouble because of you.’

‘I was making a living.’

‘You were making a ruin of your life.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t want you a part of this life anymore.’

Charles, still slightly groggy, shook his head. ‘Meaning?’

‘I’m going to buy the farm out from you. I’m going to restore it, I’m going to work it. I’m not going to let Grandpa’s memory dry up and blow away like dust.’

‘Look, I’m sorry, little brother.’

‘You nearly cost both of our lives. There’s nothing you can say that will make up for it. I want you well, then I want you gone.’

Charles drank his tea in silence, then asked the burning question. ‘Did you find the treasure?’

‘You mean, did I find gold? Or jewels?’

‘Yes,’ Charles asked, feeling shame for once.

‘No. I didn’t.’ he left his brother to finish his breakfast.

*****

One Week Later

In the silence of a house empty but for candles, a new dog, and the wind whistling at the windows, he sat at the long kitchen table, soon to be filled with men working to restore the land, and opened his grandfather’s treasure box.

Inside the box was a ruby the size of his palm, a gold bar engraved with what he assumed to be oriental writing, and most importantly, his grandfather’s pipe. He tapped the dust from the pipe, and went in search of the tobacco pouch.

He lit the pipe, and placed on the mantle his memento from the “adventure” – the bullet the bandit had shot at him. The bullet wasn’t metal – though he was sure it had once been – bullets made of stone didn’t fire.

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