Ironhorse

97

The two camps we walked through were vacant. We did not see anyone, or any sign of horses, no horse droppings, nothing, the camps were empty. Seeing the two camps gave us an idea of what we would be dealing with when we got to the third camp. They were laid out pretty much the same. The bunk quarters and mess quarters and privies, or what remained of them, were on our left, the south side of the road. They were like Jimmy John had said, wood-sided and canvas-roofed, but the roofs were gone and the wooden sides were dilapidated. On our right, across the road from the bunk and mess quarters sat the mining headquarters. The headquarters in both camps we passed through were constructed the same: complete wood construction and no canvas. The buildings were long narrow structures that paralleled the road with doors on both ends. We walked through them both. They were built just the same; half of the structure was a tool shed with a bunk and the other half had an abandoned desk, some chairs, and tables. We left the second camp and continued walking west. Berkeley and Virgil moved up the right side of the road and Jimmy John and I moved up the left, staying close to the trees. We walked for a ways and before we got anywhere close to the third camp we were closing in on, Virgil spoke up, very quietly.

“Far enough,” he whispered.

Jimmy John and I stopped. Virgil and Berkeley crossed the road to where Jimmy John and I had stopped.

Virgil pulled his watch. “Let’s see what we got.”

I opened my watch and so did Berkeley, and we held them next to Virgil’s watch. We all leaned in looking at them, comparing the time, and sure enough, they were all still showing the exact same minute after the hour.

“On the money,” Berkeley said.

“Good,” Virgil said. “We move in at exactly half past the hour. Everett, that gives you and Jimmy John a full forty minutes to go up and around to the other side and get back to the road.”

I looked at Jimmy John, and he nodded.

“You ready to get this going, Everett?” Virgil said.

“I was going before I was gone,” I said.

Virgil nodded. “Let’s get on, then,” he said. “Be seeing you boys subsequently.”

Jimmy John and I split with Virgil and Berkeley. We left them on the road and made our way up into the woods. We walked uphill for about one hundred yards or so and started working our way back to the west. We navigated through the foggy forest until we got to the overhead telegraph drop that we knew went to the third camp. We continued west a ways and started making our way back downhill. We stopped before we got to the road and waited for a moment. After we made sure there was no one near, we edged out of the trees and onto the road. I looked at my watch. We had exactly sixteen minutes before we were to close in on the mining office but we needed to get ourselves closer, within immediate striking distance. We started moving back east toward the office. We stayed to the trees and moved very slowly, very quietly, taking one careful step at a time. It took us a while and before we had the structure in sight, we heard voices.

We kept inching slowly and within a moment we saw the building and someone sitting outside of it on a bench that faced the road. I pulled my watch from my pocket, opened the face, and looked at the time. I held up five fingers to Jimmy John, and he nodded. We could not see the man on the bench too clearly until he moved some, adjusting his body, and we could see him very well. It was one of the hands, no doubt. It was clear he wore Mexican spurs with oversized rowels. He was talking to someone as he cleaned mud off his boot with a stick, but we could not see whom he was talking with or hear clearly what was being said. The hand laughed, said something, making whoever he was talking with also laugh. The hand stood up and started walking across the road toward the bunk quarters. His spurs were noisy as he moved off at a leisurely pace. We lost sight of him in the trees and after a moment we heard a door shut.

“He’s in the shitter,” I said quietly as I pulled out my watch again and opened it.

“Almost time?” Jimmy John asked in a whisper.

I nodded and held up two fingers. “Two minutes,” I said.

Jimmy John nodded.

“I’ll go this way to the office and deal with whoever we can’t see and you deal with the hand in the shitter.”

Jimmy John nodded.

I pulled my knife from its sheath.

“Think you can deal with the hand on the pot?”

Jimmy John pulled his knife.

“Yes,” Jimmy John said.

“Okay then,” I said.

I held the pocket watch up for both of us to see clearly. We watched the minute hand as it moved around the face of my timepiece. When it hit the get-go time, Jimmy John and I looked at each other and moved off swiftly, silently into the fog.