Around the Fire

“Lord above, been gettin’ colder every day,” Desmond held his arms tightly to his sides as he walked over to the fire, tripod and pot in hand.

“It’s October, Uncle Des,” Bill mumbled, “that’s how it works.”

“Yeah, well. I just remember it takin’ longer for the leaves to change last year, if you catch my meanin’.” Desmond set up the tripod over the fire, awkwardly fiddling with the chain that hung from the middle before attaching the pot, full of water from a nearby stream. It swung ominously, suspended over the flames.

“I imagine you’ve seen a few cold winters before, old man. Ain’t so sure this one’ll be any worse…”

“What are you implyin’, boy,” Desmond eyed Bill, who lay with his feet to the fire, arms crossed, and hat covering the top half of his face.

“I’m just sayin’, maybe it ain’t gettin’ colder. You’re just noticin’ it more on account of you’re many, prodigious years upon this grand Earth,” Bill replied.

Desmond shifted toward Bill. “Boy, I got half a mind to-”

“Oh, shut up, Des!” A voice called out from just beyond the light of the fire, accompanied by the sounds of hooves scraping over dirt. “I leave for less than an hour and you two are at it again.”

Dean rode lazily into camp, his horse walking at a deliberately slow pace. He eyed the fire and pot that hung above it, giving an almost imperceptible nod. He dismounted at a nearby tree, slinging the horse’s reins around its trunk. He loosened the saddle and removed it from the horse, setting it on the ground near its flank, where he sat. He fished out a metal chisel and took one of its hooves in hand to whittle out debris that had gotten wedged inside.

“What’re you two arguin’ about anyhow,” Dean asked, flicking his eyes up toward the men before focusing on the hoof once more.

“Well, I was just mentionin’ to your boy that it seems like it’s gettin’ colder faster this year than it did last year. And then he proceeded to forego his divinely mandated obligation to respect his elders in favor of jabbin’ at my...advancin’ years.”

Dean looked to Bill, then to Desmond, “Seems the boy might have himself a strong argument,” he smirked. “Besides, he ain’t a boy no more, man’s got more hair on his face than either of us did at that age.”

“To hell with the two of you,” Des said, sitting next to the fire as an embarrassing number of pops and cracks emitted from his joints, “Both o’ you oughta have more respect.”

Bill ignored him. “Pa, tell me a story, from the ol’ days. I am sorely in need of motivation to rest my eyes.”

“Now don’t push your luck, son,” Dean fished out a caked ball of mud and rocks from the hoof, grunting in satisfaction.

“Oh, well I think that idea is inspired, Dean! Tell him one of your ol’ famous outlaw stories. I know, tell ‘im ‘bout the time you lost twenty-thousand dollars in gold bars.”

“Lost and found, you fool!” Dean pointed his chisel at Desmond, “And I told you, I don’t like that story.” It was too late; Bill had already sat up, eyebrows raised.

“You lost twenty-thousand dollars?”

“Which I found!”

Bill made a show of looking around, spreading his arms. “It don’t look like you found no twenty-thousand dollars, Pa!” He motioned to the horse, “Appleseed don’t look like no twenty-thousand dollar horse. That don’t look like no twenty-thousand dollar pot of water.”

“Ah, hell,” Desmond jolted up and felt the pot before hurriedly producing an old canvas bag from his pack and pouring coffee grounds in the audibly boiling water.

“Son, where d’you think the ranch came from. You think buildin’ supplies and deeds come rainin’ from the sky?” Dean switched to another of Appleseed’s hooves. Desmond chuckled, stirring the pot.

“Well go’on. Tell you’re story, old man,” Bill said, laying back down and covering his face once more.

Dean looked visibly reluctant, but began, still focused on the hoof and chisel in his hands. “Must have been about ‘78? ‘79? Me an’ Des and a man by the name of Colin was all working with Cooper Bradbury--you remember him, boy. At that time we was robbin’ coaches along with every other young cattleman West of Kansas. Cooper had this grand idea to run a series of coach robberies all in the same couple days. Had it all planned out too, in that little black book of his. You remember that damn little book, Des?”

Desmond lifted the pot off the fire, lightly burning his hands as he did so despite using a thin cloth to grasp the handle. “Yeah I remember, he Grunted, “If it weren’t in the book-”

“It weren’t part of the plan.” Dean finished, “And nothing happened that weren’t part of Crazy Coop’s plan. He was very particular about that. Anyway, he had it all planned out to where we would go along the treasury route and rob three or four of the armored coaches all in a row, only instead of tryin’ to bust open the car vaults, we was to collect the bonds and cash from under the carriage driver seats: bank teller and manager salaries you see. Coop figured that’d make the banks less likely to throw a fit and call on the authorities, which I suppose ended up bein’ not too far off. I was the bag ma- Hey, you listenin’ boy?”

Bill snorted abruptly, starting awake, “Yeah, yep. Go’on.”

Dean set the hoof down and put the chisel back into his pack, producing a tin cup in its place. He walked to the fire and filled the cup with Desmond’s coffee. Desmond already had a steaming cup clutched in his hands.

“I was the bag man, “Dean said, pouring, “Meanin’ I was to collect the money and the bonds and hold on to em till we was done, then we’d all split up and I stash the take for later.” He sat down next to Desmond, opposite the fire from Bill. “Only thing is, when we robbed the coaches we didn’t find no bonds or bills. We found gold under them seats. Can’t say why, but for whatever reason the banks decided transportin’ metal unlocked was a good idea.” He took a sip.

“And that’s when things went South?” Bill asked.

“Actually no,” Dean said, “Whole thing went ‘Cooper-smooth’. Them banks don’t exactly hire the brightest to run the coaches, funnily enough. By the time we was done with the route and all split up, I had a tin box with twenty-thousand dollars in gold bars. Coop lent me a page out of that black book with directions to the stash. There’s where I ran into trouble.”

“Sheriff”s?” Bill asked.

“No...I couldn’t read Coop’s damn handwritin’. I ran around all night lookin’ for a tree on a hill, or somethin’ or other. Hell I still ain’t sure.” Anyway I eventually got tired of lookin’ and stashed the gold in some reasonable place. I was so happy about the take I went into town and got probably more drunk than I’d ever been.”

Desmond poured himself another cup of coffee, offering the pot to Dean for seconds as well. “Much obliged,” Dean said.

“Now here’s where your Pa got himself into trouble,” Desmond said. Bill lay, unmoving, but not yet asleep.

“I got so drunk,” Dean continued, “I woke up in a pig pen, of all places. Didn’t care too much though, on account of my guaranteed five-thousand in gold waiting for me. I went back to where I stashed it, and the damn mound had been dug up already.”

“No kiddin’,” Bill mumbled.

“‘Now I’m in trouble, I thought’. Sure enough when it came time to convene and split the take, and I came up empty-handed...Boy if your uncle weren’t there to talk him down I’m sure Coop would’ve shot me dead. He went and stormed off, swore that until I turned up with the gold I was gonna owe him and the rest of the gang five-thousand each. I looked and looked but that gold never did turn up. Figured some old drifter got hisself a nice payday.”

“So how’d you find it,” Bill asked, eyeing the now empty pot of coffee and frowning.

“Well that’s the best part,” Desmond said.

“As I was sayin’,” Dean said, “I had given up lookin’, when a few weeks later I found myself in that town again, the one I got drunk in. I’m walkin’ through and I come on that pig pen again, and wouldn’t you know one of them pigs is goin’ wild, diggin’ in the mud-”

“Hog-wild,” Desmond said.

Dean glared. “He’s digging in that mud with such severe determination I had to go see for myself what he’s got. And I’ll be damned if it wasn’t the corner of that damn tin I had stashed the gold in. Boy I dug that out so quick I nearly knocked that hog over. Sure enough, it was all there. Course by this time Coop had already been cornered by the Pinkertons down in Arizona, and Colin was locked up in some prison or another, so the take went to me and Des.”

“Well, ain’t that fortunate for you,” Bill remarked, “How in the hell did the stash end up in the pen.”

“Way I see it, there’s two explanations. The first bein’ that somehow the stash migrated over some...geological means to end up miles away from where I buried it.”

“Or,” Desmond interrupted, “Your dumb ass got completely drunk, had reservations about your previous hiding place and went to grab the stash and move it somewhere you didn’t think anyone would look. Probably feel asleep diggin’ the damn hole!” Desmond laughed and Dean pushed him, nearly knocking him over.

“Like I said, two possible explanations,” Dean said, taking a final sip and standing to retrieve his bedroll.

“Well, that...was a very stupid story,” Bill said, finally drifting to sleep.

“Yep,” Desmond said.

Dean unrolled the bedroll next to the fire and sat, “Sure is.”