Jack and I sat like gods on nice, flat chair-sized rocks right outside the mouth of the mine shaft. We looked down and watched the two idiots hop across the mossy creek stones. Sure enough, the fat one slipped and landed on his butt. I looked at Jack. He shook his head, took a short nip out of the pint bottle, and tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans. I didn’t consider that to be a safe place to store a glass bottle, especially when you’re inside a mountain, mining gold. My little brother isn’t as smart as me though.

The idiots finally made it across the creek and started climbing up the slag pile. They didn’t look like much, but that’s what you get when you recruit your help out of the Crazy Horse Saloon. We didn’t have time to look for better workers. If we didn’t hit some gold soon, we’d run out of money. No more dynamite, no more gasoline, no more beans. The idiots weren’t gonna be a problem in that regard. We had no intention of actually paying them.

I watched the skinny one scamper up the hill. He couldn’t of had ten pounds of muscle on his whole body. I kicked a small rock with my foot. It tumbled down the slag pile going right for him. I got pretty good aim. The idiot scampered out the way at the last second. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.

Both the idiots stared at me with their stupid mouths hanging open, and I yelled, “Well, get on up here we’re burning daylight.” They scurried faster, confirming my opinion…idiots.

I turned on my headlamp, grabbed six sticks of dynamite and disappeared into the mine.

We had the hole blasted 80 feet into the mountain. It sloped down at a 5° angle, more or less. Jack was pretty good at estimating these things.

Jack lit a camel cigarette. I wish he wouldn’t do that. The air in the shaft is bad enough already. I don’t smoke. Not when I’m carrying dynamite.

It got a little darker when the idiots finally got to the entrance and blocked the sunlight. “Get on down here,” I yelled, “and bring the cart with you.”

Jack went on to the end to examine the pile of rubble that was left after the last blast yesterday. I watched him pick up a chunk the size of his fist and lick it. I didn’t know what gold tasted like myself, but Jack claimed he did.

The cart wasn’t moving yet, even though the idiots both leaned into it with their shoulders. “Release the fucking brake,” I yelled at them. They searched around for a while, and then the fat one found the lever and pulled it. The cart started rolling down the tracks, picking up speed. “Grab a hold of it you idiots. Don’t let it get away from you.” I spit at the rail, but my goober fell short. It was gonna be one of those days. Why did I have to tell everybody what to do. It’s a curse always being the smartest one.

I followed Jack down to the bottom. “What do you say Jack? Any good?”

Jack tossed a rock aside and picked up another one. He gave it a lick and then smacked his lips. “I think we’re getting close. It’s got a good acid taste.”

The two idiots finally got the cart to the end of the track, dug their heels in and stopped it before it ran into us. “Did you say acid,” said the skinny one?

I ignored him. “Go up and flip the switch on the compressor,” I told the fat one. I wanted to watch him run up and down the track all day.

Soon as the compressor built up a head of steam, I started loading rocks in the cart with the power scoop. Jack picked at the wall and knocked down the loose rubble. One spot in the ceiling shifted a bit, but then it stabilized. It’s good mining practice to prop wood shoring against the ceiling, but it costs money and it’s a hassle to get it to the mine in the first place. We’ve skipped it before and got away with it.

I filled up the cart and told the idiots, “Push it up the track all the way to the log across the end, then pull this lever, turn it sideways and dump it out. Be careful don’t push it past the log.”

Jack had the wall cleaned up pretty good, so we watched the idiots while they pushed the cart to the end of the tracks and dumped the rocks down the mountain.

Jack took another sip out of his bottle and said, “I don’t feel so good.”

“What is it? Your sacroiliac?”

“Naw. It’s something in my damn chest. Maybe that sausage we ate for breakfast was bad.”

“I don’t know. I feel fine.”

The idiots were heading back down with the cart moving a little too fast. “Easy there,” I yelled at them “Don’t let it get away from you.” You wouldn’t think you’d have to tell everybody that over and over again, but then I remembered people aren’t as smart as me and I gotta make allowances. I spit and missed the rail again. That was bad luck.

I fired up the power scoop and was loading the rest of the rocks when I found an unexploded stick of dynamite. Sometimes the fuse doesn’t go off. Jack thinks we ought to use them again, but I’m more safety conscious than him. If it didn’t work the first time, it’s not reliable. I pitched it in the cart.

The idiots freaked out. The fat one started running up the tracks. I was torn between watching him waddle at high speed and getting something done before we ran out of daylight. “Settle down,” I yelled at them. “It’s okay, don’t worry, that dynamite can’t explode unless there’s a fuse in it”

I loaded up the cart, the rest of the way, shut off the power scoop, and sat down on a handy rock. I must be getting old. I can’t go out at it like I used to.

The cart was heavier this time, and the idiots had their heads down, looking at their feet while they pushed with their arms straight out and locked.

Jack sat on a rock opposite me on the other side of the track. He took a sip out of his bottle and lit another camel.

“Dammit Jack,” I yelled at him “Don’t be smoking there right next to the dynamite.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I ain’t gonna set the damn dynamite on fire.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette. There’s not much air down here so you got a draw in deeper.

Jack carried on some more. “Shit my chest hurts like a mother. Feels like I got a damn crab clawin’ at me.”

Jack’s been a whiner since he learned to talk.

“Damnit Jack, I ain’t got time for your heartburn. We gotta hit some gold.”

I watched the idiots pushing the cart up the hill. They were still looking at their feet and pushing hard as they could. They were going too fast. They weren’t gonna be able to stop. As soon as that became clear to me, I jumped up, yelled, “Stop!” and started running like a mad man. I was all knees and elbows. I had to get there to help.

The cart hit the safety log and knocked it off into the air like it was never doing any good in the first place. The idiots had their heels dug in now and were pulling for all they were worth. The front wheels reached the end of the tracks and rose up onto the point like a bird getting ready to fly.

I saw I wasn’t gonna get there in time, so I stopped. If the cart went one more inch, it would go over the edge and flop all the way to the creek. Even if it wasn’t mangled beyond repair, we’d never get it back up the slag pile again.

The idiots pulled with everything they had. I’ll give them that. It teetered over the brink. The idiots grunted so hard one of ‘em farted, and a frog hair at a time, the wheels backed off the edge and safely onto the tracks.

The idiots let go, sighed relief, and started congratulating each other.

The cart commenced rolling back down the tracks. It was much heavier this time because it was still full of rocks. When the idiots figured out the cart wasn’t gonna stop itself. They grabbed a hold and tried to dig their heels in again, but the cart had the advantage on them and begun to gain speed. I flattened myself against the wall. The cart slipped by me doing 20 miles an hour.

Naturally, I turned my head and watched it, so I was looking that way, and couldn’t help but see Jack flopping back-and-forth like a dying fish. He was loud-moaning something like, “My heart! Oh, shit it’s my fucking heart.”

The cart reached the end of the tunnel, slammed into the wall, and shook the mountain enough that the loose stuff in the ceiling, that we should’ve had some shoring under, came tumbling down.

Jack was in the forward bend part of his fish flop, and a good size rock hit him on the noggin which knocked his skull, shoulders, and arms in the cart. It didn’t look good. I took off running at him. The idiots were right behind me.

Jack was kinda messed up. While we watched, the bottom of the cart started getting red right under his head. The skinny idiot turned around and puked.

I got done watching him puke and looked at Jack again. The red was getting bigger. Then I saw it, the color in a split open rock. I picked the rock up and looked closer. Gold. I licked it. Didn’t taste like anything. I picked up another rock. More gold. “Jack,” I said “Jack. Look Jack. Gold! We found gold! More gold ‘n I ever seen in my whole life. We’re rich Jack. We’re rich!”

Jack didn’t say nothing about it. I looked back and forth between him and the rock. Red and gold and gold and red.

I shook my head and got a little misty until it hit me, what was I gonna tell momma about Jack? Then I remembered the gold. I had another problem. Was I gonna tell momma about the gold?

As soon as people know, you have gold, they start trying to get it away from you. Just read any story about a guy that’s struck it rich.

I looked at the gold in the rock in my hand. I looked at the idiots. Had they figured out about the gold? They were pretty stupid, but I didn’t know if I should take a chance. And this was all their fault. If they hadn’t let the cart get away from them none of this would have happened.

The skinny one glanced at me. He had slime hanging out of his mouth, and a sneaky look in his eye.

I looked at the skull sized hunk of rock in my hand. I bounced it a couple of times testing its weight. It’d do as well as any, although I hated to get blood on the gold.

The skinny idiot bent over to finish puking. I sprang on him and gave his skull a good roundhouse whack with the same gold-rock what got Jack. The skinny idiot went down like a sack of potatoes.

I landed on my feet, spun, and stared steel into the fat idiot’s soul. His eyes got huge. He backed up, stumbled, and for the second time that day, he landed on his blubber butt.

That was about the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I needed a good laugh, considering what happened to Jack.

The problem was while I was laughing, the fat idiot scampered around, jumped up and started running. I launched the rock at him, but he covered his head and ducked.

Normally, I wouldn’t have any trouble catching a fat fuck like that, but I was tired. I had already run up the track once that day, so even though I gave it a try, he out paced me and I gave up running.

The fat idiot reached the end of the mine and started sliding down the slag pile. I took my time walking the rest of the way up the tracks. I was plenty sad about Jack.

When I got to the end of the mine and walked out into the glorious sunlight, it almost didn’t seem right, so I just stood for a minute, taking it all in: the crisp mountain air, the sunlight, so dazzling after the darkness in the mine, the aspen trees trembling their yellow flags at me.

I got the 30/30 out of the storage locker, sat down on my nice easy chair rock and waited.

The fat idiot got to the end of the slag pile and started running across the mossy creek rocks. He was in my scope and an easy shot, but I held fire. I wanted to see him fall on his butt one last time.

After the shot quit echoing around and before I got to all the work I had to do, I took a moment to let the sun shine on my face and just enjoy myself.

My plan was to go back in the mine, check on Jack and get a couple of those million-dollar rocks before I went down and buried the fat idiot in one of the big piles of rocks that the dredger had left behind 100 years ago. Then I’d go into town. I hadn’t been to the whorehouse in three weeks.

– Bruce Kell