Canary in a Coal Mine

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“We’re getting outta dodge, outta town, outta Colorado. We’re going to the coast, Phineas. I can’t stand it here, and I know you can’t either. I’m sorry, old boy. This environment is too cramped for me to truly blossom and spread my wings. I know you need a place where you can focus on your meditation and birdwatching. We can kill two birds with one stone. Er – what I’m saying is, this is not what mom would have wanted. She would have wanted us to live out our lives together, enjoying fish, no more beans. She always used to say that, ‘No more beans!’ She’d yell and groan and slam the table with her fork and knife. Fish and Milk. We’ll have a plump dairy cow. And a boat, you know, on the water. What do you think about that? Our own boat, fresh fish feasts, I’d even give you a little milk even though we both know it gives you gas. I’ll sit on our dock and write poems about you, Phineas. And I’m going to make sure we stay rich and fat forever. Oh, come on – don’t give me that look, I’m serious – I know, I know, you think there’s no way that I’ve got enough saved up to get us over there. But there’s just one final expedition, baby, one last job before you and me can take victory road to California. Murrieta said so himself. This job is going to be my big break. Our big break.” Gilbert Jiblet’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at Phineas.

Phineas, a yellow feathered common canary, stared unblinking back at Gilbert Jiblet who was laying in his bed, looking at the ceiling. Twenty-four years young, five foot three, and built like a stick bug, Gilbert’s legs hardly reached the end of his little cot. He stretched and squirmed in his sheets, and Phineas flapped her wings and landed on his bare chest. Gilbert squealed for a moment in pain. Phineas flapped again, sending a gust that made Gilbert’s blonde hair dance for a moment, before returning her wings back to her sides.

“Enough horseplay, it’s time to get up. Have you ever heard the expression: early bird catches the worm?” Phineas squawked aggressively.

“I do not keep you couped up in here! Okay, how about I just leave you outside all night without the fire to warm your feathers, and without any biscuits to nibble on every time your tummy rumbles?” Phineas watched Gilbert from atop his chest still, and Gilbert began kicking his feet to release the grip of his tangled sheets. Phineas fled to his favorite perch where he peered outside the window. Fresh snow engulfed the dirt paths of the gold rush boom town. Gilbert hopped out of bed in his undesirables.

“I know you think it’s all just talk, but the boss had a very serious demeanor when he told me, Phineas. I don’t think he was playing around. This is going to be our biggest payday yet.” Gilbert was walking around, bouncing on his feet with energy, and talking with his hands.

“I genuinely think those guys want the best for me, even if they don’t always say it. They may not be happy to see me go after all this time together, but I know they’ll be happy to see us continue our journey together, Phineas.” Gilbert smiled, and Phineas squawked again, watching him.

“I am not comparing our friendship with theirs, Phineas! We’re all that we’ve got, old chap. I know you’d take a bullet for me, but I wouldn’t let ‘cha.” Gilbert shook his head at the canary. “Don’t forget, my feathered friend, if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have you. And if it weren’t for me, you’d probably already be buried in some unmarked grave, being eaten by the very worms you should have been catching this morning.” Phineas turned his gaze away from Gilbert and toward the window, where he pecked twice against the glass.

Gilbert started dressing for work. He slipped on his frayed wool long johns, and a simple blue cotton shirt which hid his holey wool undershirt. Below, tight-fitting corduroy trousers which, judging by the fraying at the cuffs, were clearly too long. The pants were fastened by a leather belt with a large bronze buckle, engraved with the Jiblet family crest: a rabbit. Gilbert’s vest was leather and embroidered with a blue and yellow brocade, and a sheepskin coat kept him warm in the Colorado cold. He crouched and began tying his little brown leather boots, stopping to peer up at his feathered friend who was still watching the window.

“You don’t have to believe me, but I’m telling you, this is the final job.” Gilbert was interrupted with a short, sarcastic squawk. “You know, Phineas, you don’t have the bird’s eye view on every single situation.” Gilbert smiled for a moment at his quick retort, but quickly turned to hide his pride from the yellow bird. When he turned back, he was solemn.

“I’ve gotta get to work, don’t tear this place up. And we’re out of biscuits.” Phineas turned his head, locked his gaze onto Gilbert, and released a gullet-shaking squawk.

Gilbert grabbed his tan leather work bag, which included a cracked glass gas lamp, a battered work hammer, a sheepskin water pouch, a pocket watch, a pickaxe, and a ham sandwich.

“What’s so interesting out there anyways?” He said to Phineas, who still faced the window to the snowy mountain town. Gilbert opened the door to his little cabin and the heat inside rushed out to find another home. If it weren’t the middle of January, Phineas would have wanted to explore, but today, he was perfectly happy to sit inside, keeping an eye on his favorite window.

Outside, two little boys wearing thick layers of wool waddled together through the snow, both carrying a leather knapsack. A hood covered the head of the taller boy, who wasn’t any taller than a king penguin. Right next to him, so close that they rubbed shoulders, his friend with freckles was laughing. A cacophonous chorus of laughter sent two weasels scrambling to their burrows. Suddenly, the shorter boy stopped, putting his arm out to halt his friend. There was something little, yellow, and obscured in snow, writhing about beneath them. The two boys looked at each other, puzzled, and bent down to their knees.

“What is it? Said the taller boy.

“Should I stomp it?” Said the shorter boy, raising his boot.

“Don’t. Wait, not yet.” The taller boy grabbed a stick to poke the thing into identification, crouching to peer closer.

“Oh, will you just stop! Here. Jesus lord.” The shorter boy sat on his knees and grabbed a large handful of the snow around the writhing creature. Brushing the snow off, they saw yellow and red feathers.

“It’s a baby hawk.” Said the taller boy.

“No way, hawks ain’t yellow. I never saw anything like it.” Replied the shorter boy.

“That’s just because it’s a baby.” The little yellow bird with the red stripe sat in the shorter boy’s hand, chirping.

“If he doesn’t feel like flying then we might as well keep em’, right?” Said the taller boy curiously to his friend.

“Right.”

“New class pet, then?”

“No, we gotta hide him, dummy.” Said the shorter boy.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s get him back to my room. I know a good hiding spot.”

“Okay, but quickly! I’m facin’ a paddling.”

The taller boy grabbed his friend’s head, patted it, and the two of them hightailed it back, stepping in the tracks they had already made together.

Emerging from his cabin, blinded by the grand sun, Gilbert’s squinting eyes met the boys who scurried past him.

“Mornin’ Gilbert!” Said the taller boy, Tom, enthusiastically and without stopping his step.

“Howdy Gil!” Said the shorter boy, Henry, following Tom’s lead.

“Morning Tom, morning Henry.” Replied Gilbert.

“See ya Gil!” Said Henry, quick to beat Tom to the goodbye.

“Bye Gilbert!” Said Tom.

“Alrighty then.” Said Gilbert.

Gilbert’s fresh legs cracked as he took his first strides outside in the brisk winter air. He was reminded of his late mother’s creaky joints. This morning, while excited about his prospects, Gilbert’s melancholy mind reminisced. His life, unlike his mother’s, had been rather sedentary, or “sedimentary,” his mom used to joke. Gilbert came from a family of miners. Rumor had it he was born in a cave; when he popped out, his head struck a vein of coal. He had been a sensitive, happy kid. He read books, played ball, fished, skipped a lot of rocks. Aside from the occasional bully, Gilbert’s struggles were simple ones which everyone can relate to, like fetching water from the well in the winter, scrubbing laundry, or walking around with wet socks after waking up early to milk the goat.

He wasn’t always with friends, but not because he didn’t like the other kids, and not necessarily because he thought he was more clever. Sometimes, he might think himself a bit more clever than the average fella, maybe in a flash of triumph during ball practice, or during a particularly good spelling test, or even sometimes when he was talking to a pretty girl, but as soon as the sort of thought sprang from his mind, he’d wind up slipping on ice, stuttering, or simply feeling confused. Lately at work, he had been feeling confused most of the time.

Gilbert’s mother, Moira Jiblet, the matriarch of the Jiblet people, was a tough woman who had lived a rough life. Confusion had been few and far between for Ms. Jiblet.

When Gilbert was a child, she would tell him stories of her migration to Colorado, which Gilbert enjoyed hearing greatly; he would ask her to retell the stories of her adventures, even once he had grown up. But she never spoke much of Gilbert’s father, who had left before Gilbert knew him. Slipping along on an icy path to work, Gilbert remembered a late-night conversation at the dinner table with his mother.

“Wasn’t sure them wheels were gon’ hold,” Moira took a sip of whiskey, “but the three of us together, we were pioneers!” She slammed her glass down, silverware clinking together on the table. “A couple splinters weren’t gon’ slow us down.” Packing her pipe and lighting a match, Moira continued.

“I wasn’t just livin’ for me. No, no, big ol’ belly – you were mad, kickin’, screamin’, and squirmin’ when we ran outta venison. Had to sing songs just to keep the three of us sane.” She smiled big, meeting Gilbert’s focused hazel eyes.

“Thinking about it now, it probably just drove us all crazy.” Moira spoke, laughing, eyes now shut, rocking in her chair with her pipe smoldering on the table beside her.

“Damn him.” Gilbert said, not stopping from rearranging his toolbelt. He looked up at his mother.

Suddenly, Gilbert was drawn back into a cold reality as his foot caught a large rock hidden beneath a patch of powder. For a moment he was airborne, but quickly he wasn’t. Icy shards stung his face. Gilbert lay there for a couple seconds, face down in the snow.

“Git up Gilbert.” Gilbert heard the voice off to his right. He stood and brushed himself off, instinctively looking around. “You alright there, fella?” Frank, the apprentice to the blacksmith looked concerned.

“Yeah, thanks Frank.”

“Nobody else saw, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t really worried.”

“Well, good, it’s good not to worry bout’ those type of things.” Frank grinned and began to turn back to the shop.

“What type of things do you mean, Frank?” Frank stopped.

“Oh, just what people think, you know, like when people laugh at you when you aren’t looking.” Frank grinned yellow. “You wanna hear something? Other day, my coworker Jerry walked into the shop, and me, Marge, and Derrick, we had been having this roaring conversation about an alien, and Jerry stopped us. Told us to talk about something serious for once. You wanna know something serious?” Frank looked over either shoulder, continuing before he heard a response.

“Derrick knew a man who was half alien – not that he was born like that, no. He had been struck by a space rock. It was during a baseball game, this guy, Conner, was pitching. Bases loaded. Everyone watching the mound, expecting another dandelion from him. All the sudden crack he’s on the ground, out cold. Derrick said he saw the rock come down from the sky with his own eyes. Said ‘it was like God himself was tired of the way the fool was pitching, and wanted to show him how it was done.’ The rock was funny too. Was smokin’ hot when you held it, and it stunk too, like you’d an expect an alien might. And then from that day on, Conner started acting real funny, but not just stupid funny like Lenny. Nah, funny-funny.”

“How do you mean?” Asked Gilbert.

“Well, few days after the incident, Marge couldn’t find some of her chickens in the coup. So, she went around back to check, and found the funny fella carrying three of em’ away with him, mutterin’ ‘the egg comes first,’ over and over. She had to round up a few of us to wrangle him down when he started running. Well, he gets put in jail a few days. A couple weeks go by, we’re all sittin’ in church, and the damned fool walks into the middle of the morning sermon covered in leaves, puts on this funny looking hat, I thought he was wearing a Hannukah – achoo!” Frank interrupted himself with a sneeze.

“Yamika.” Said Gilbert.

“Thank you. Anyways, Conner was walkin’ up the aisle speaking gibberish, something about we need to go back to the coup. Now Ms. Dalton was screaming at him about her chickens. Lo and behold, ol’ Marge wasn’t Conner’s only target,” Gilbert quickly glanced down at his pocket watch, before returning to Frank’s gaze.

“Apparently Ms. Dalton had also caught Conner eyeing her coup the day before from the road. When she had caught the wild look in his eye then, she knew that he was after her eggs. Suspiciously, he had slowly walked away from her place, but he kept turning his head and looking directly at the coup. So, she had laid a stakeout for him all with the Bucky twins, but he never showed, not until finally in the mornin’ Ms. Dalton went inside to make tea: that’s when he advanced from the bushes he’d been hidin’ in all night. Well, in the middle of church now, she screamed and screamed to get him, and the Bucky twins popped up and gave chase and ended up tackling the fool on the altar. And I guess Conner hadn’t had a chance to do anything with them eggs, or maybe it was part of his plan to get them eggs into the church, but either way, when those boys caught him and he hit the floor, he looked like he’d killed Humpty Dumpty. Got yolk all over the altar boy, little Jimmy. And he’s allergic so his throat swole-up. Kid nearly died.”

“Wow.” Said Gilbert.

“Yeah, right?”

“So, what’d they do to him, what happened to the chickens she was missing?”

“They found em’ in his house all dressed up. He had sewn them dog ears and a tail and was working on the bodies. But only a fool would mistake a chicken for a dog no matter how convincing the disguise, because chickens don’t bark.” Frank shook his head.

“What’d they do to him?” Asked Gilbert.

“Well, they put him in jail again, but he didn’t have anyone to care for him. So, they did the only thing possible, and he was hanged.” Frank shrugged. “Anyhow, that’s all to say that my coworker, Jerry, who I mentioned at the start, is very rude, and will never know such a fantastic story because he didn’t have the sense enough to listen to it. And when Jerry leaves the room, people talk about how funny looking his nose is, anteater Jerry, I call him.” Frank chuckled.

“I just don’t really get what this has to do with me, Frank. You were talking about not minding when people laugh at you. Do you have mean names for me?”

“All I’m saying is, Jerry is an unpleasant fool, and even Jerry shows up to work every day. Even though we all don’t like being around him, he never misses work. Just because you are a fool doesn’t give you the right to lay down in the metaphorical snow, you understand?”

“I get it now, thanks Frank.” Gilbert looked at his watch again, he was now running late.

“Take care, Gilbert.”

Fixing his collar, snow slid down Gilbert’s chest like a snail, forming a little pool in his belly button which dripped lower. The clangs and bangs from the blacksmith failed to distract him from his wandering mind, which he now sunk deeper into as he trudged through the tundra.

He began to think of his mother again, and for a moment he wished he was once again a baby in her arms. Oh, to be a baby again. His mind kept wandering as he walked. What would it have been like to be in a womb? He quickly brushed the strange thought aside, but it crept back like a tenacious pigeon. Herold, the baker, waved good morning, but Gilbert didn’t notice; his eyebrows were furrowed, and he was looking down. It probably would have been nice in the womb, he thought, warm. He would have been spoon-fed every meal, no expectation to go to work, or send birthday letters, or cut his beard, or wash his hair. Or maybe, it would have been dark, confusing, unfamiliar, like when he became lost in a cave on his seventeenth birthday. Gilbert’s toes were still warm in his thick socks as he trudged up the mountain in the deepening snow. He thought back seven years to that terrible day.

Gilbert had intended to wake up the morning of his seventeenth birthday, greeted by the salty, savory smell of his good friend, Big Richard. As he imagined, a complicated tear would fall down his cheek as he rose oriented toward the source of the smell, because Big Richard was, first and foremost, a friend, and secondly, a rather large piglet. He was a gift which Gilbert’s mother had bestowed upon him on his sixteenth birthday.

Since the moment he turned sixteen and met Big Richard, Gilbert had been taking meticulous care of the pig; he washed and scrubbed him once a month, even getting the spots behind his ears. He took him for walks around the busy mining encampment where Gilbert had spent his days kicking rocks and digging holes. He often slept snuggled with the little pig.

“Good boy, Big Richard.” He would say and smile, petting his piglet by the fire. But, every time, his smile would fade to a grim stare as he looked off into the crisp flames.

Confusingly, the piglet, Big Richard, had been named after Gilbert’s best friend, who Gilbert had also previously nicknamed Big Richard. Big Richard, the boy, and Pig Richard, were both to be attending the party, as well as the sleepover the night prior to the party. It was a party to celebrate both Gilbert’s seventeenth birthday and the pig’s last day, one last oink. But this day, the name Big Richard was forsaken.

Gilbert had awoken that morning with a start. Anxiety panged in his chest like a drum, but he didn’t know why. It was his birthday, maybe that was why the air felt different, he thought. He was cold, which wasn’t unusual in the winter, it was the severity of his frigidity which was abnormal. Kicking his sheets off him and shivering, he walked into the living room where he had last seen the two Big Richards; they had fallen asleep curled up together by the fire following a joyous evening of dancing and moonshine. But as Gilbert stepped into the living room, he realized why it was so cold. The front door was wide open, and the fire was gone.

Where his friends should have been cuddled cozily together, a cold blanket lay. The sun hadn’t yet rose, but Gilbert knew something was terribly off. Had Richard gotten too drunk and wandered off? He had a history of taking the pig for a walk late at night. Or maybe he went out for a smoke, or to pee. What if he tripped, thought Gilbert. He might already be frozen by now. What if he were kidnapped, along with Pig Richard. Oh god. His two best friends, gone on his birthday.

Wearing pajamas, Gilbert threw on his coat and boots and left home kicking up dust. Where was he supposed to run? He stopped and peered down at feet. Yes! Very faint pig prints in the snow. And sure enough, boot prints too.

Gilbert started to run alongside the tracks on the road, but very soon, they diverged east into deep powder. It hadn’t snowed overnight, but the powder in the forest was still soft and Gilbert’s boots kept sinking in deep as he ran with his eyes trained on the tracks. After a little way, he was struggling to trudge on, and so he stopped running alongside the tracks and more slowly began to step in his assumed-friend’s boot prints. As he looked ahead, Gilbert felt sick to his stomach. Under the moonlight, the prints led on as far as he could see.

Gilbert’s heartrate began to skyrocket. It didn’t matter that his pajama pants were filling with powder, he felt hot with adrenaline. He sprinted to follow the tracks and felt the cold sting of snow melting into his boots.

After a mile, Gilbert began to slow his pace down because he wasn’t really in great shape, never had been. His toes were freezing, and he was about to pass out. It seemed to him that the piglet and the boy had gone quite far together in a very strange direction. Gilbert took his compass out of his jacket pocket to double-check his bearing. East. There was nothing to the east, not for a very long time. Gilbert jogged on, panting. He unzipped his jacket to reveal his cotton pajama sweater, which was stitched in large red and green block letters which spelled, “G I L B E R T” next to a heart – a Christmas gift from mother. He sped from a walk to a slow jog.

“Big Richards! Where are you?” Gilbert screamed to his friends with his hands cupped for amplification, but an echo was the only response.

Meanwhile, several things were happening, of which Gilbert was completely unaware. Firstly, the pig situation. Indeed, Big Richard, the boy, and Big Richard, the pig, had an incident very early in the morning. At approximately twelve-thirty, as Gilbert suspected, Big Richard, the boy, had needed to relieve himself. Carefully, so as not to wake the piglet, he rolled backwards out of his position as the big spoon, and slowly pulled himself to his feet. Stumbling outside, he blissfully relieved himself, pants at the knees.

The piglet, noticing a coldness on his backside, stirred, and letting out a yawn, rose to his hoofs. Sniffing, Pig Richard saw the door was ajar, and, as pigs do, he wandered out and headed east.

Big Richard, the boy, oblivious, finished his business and went to return to his warm position inside on the floor when he noticed the pig was nowhere to be seen. He scoured Gilbert’s small home for the petite pig, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to hide, and as the Richard stepped outside, moonlit hoof prints made the great escape transparent.

Big Richard, the boy, knew if that pig got away, it was going to be the worst birthday Gilbert would remember, and to avert the crisis, he hustled as hard as his wide, six foot four, seventeen-year-old body would carry him.

Four miles, the boy chased the pig’s prints through the tundra until finally, after a long climb up a steep, powdery hill, the tracks reached their conclusion at the mouth of a cave. In front of the cave was a small clearing, surrounded by dense forest on every side. Big Richard, the boy, stood staring into the cave. He had no lamp, no food, no water. And he knew he was far from home. Should he just return with the bad news? What might Gilbert say?

‘Will he still talk to me?’ He thought. Go. Now. He followed the pig’s tracks inside the cave, slowing his pace, and holding his hand to the wall.

Now, before I continue, I must explain one more thing to you. When Big Richard, the boy, arrived at the cave, he and the piglet were not the only ones there, which was especially strange considering the remoteness of the cave. The cave was marked, and marked for a very good reason. Gold lay within. Pig Richard, the pig, would be the third soul to enter the cave; Big Richard, the boy, the fourth. And outside, two dangerous grown men stood beside the cave mouth grinning, Doctor Doug Dirt and Boss Joaquín Murrieta.

Joaquín Murrieta watched the pig as it snorted and wandered into the cave. He also snorted, laughing, revealing three gold teeth.

“Was that a damn pig?” Said Murrieta. Doctor Doug Dirt just stared straight on wide eyed, sipping his gin from a flask.

“That poor guy better not run too far, otherwise we’re gonna have to scrape him off the walls. Twenty pounds of black powder.” Said Murrieta. They both started to roar with laughter and held each other. After a few seconds of holding, Murrieta didn’t want to let go, still smiling. And so, Doctor Doug Dirt remained acquiescently in the embrace. Finally, Murrieta released him.

“I can’t wait to hear what Judy and Jim have got to say.” The doctor said, flexing his shoulders backwards.

“Hah, yeah. Judy always with something quick to say.” Murrieta paused, and checked his platinum pocket watch. “They shouldn’t be out for another five minutes. Just relax my friend, you’ve got it easy today.”

“Amen. You can put me on watch duty any day, boss.”

“I’ll consider ye for the next operation. ‘Bout five miles to the west of town. You heard of the spot.” Murrieta flashed a greedy toothy smile.

“So, that’s what we’re gonna keep doing? Stealin’ in the night – ain’t you worried? I don’t mean no disrespect Murrieta, but people in the tavern talk. They ain’t happy about a lot of these oddities. You and I both know a lot of guys feel something about the accident. Ransacked caves, missing caches. Patterns are patterns, everyone sees ‘em.” Doctor Doug Dirt cleared his throat. “I got a whole book of plans after this, you know that. Speaking with the hanging man ain’t in that book.”

“Damn you, Dirt!” Murrieta stood face to face with the doctor, who could smell the stink of gin. “You sang another tune the last three nights.” Murrieta poked the doctor’s chest hard. “What’s got you soft now?”

Doctor Doug Dirt cleared his throat and began to speak with a shaky voice.

“Trust me, I know I’m going to sound like a fool, but I had a dream last night. I was walking on a cobblestone path in a beautiful forest alone. It looked to be twilight, and a great canopy of eucalyptus trees shaded me. They smelled so strong. And the air was cool. The rocks I walked on barefoot were cold in the shade, and perfectly warm in the sun. The only thing I had was my pocket watch. I flicked her open to check the time, but the hands weren’t spinning. I looked down to the path and saw an albatross perched in the middle of the road facing away. A ray of light shown down on the great bird. It stretched out its wings to dry, flapping them twice before stretching them again. You know, I had only seen those birds in books my father had showed me.” Doctor Doug Dirt cleared his throat and motioned to Murrieta for a sip from his flask. Murrieta chuckled and handed him the flask. The doctor took a swig, cleared his throat and continued,

“I walked closer to get a better look without scaring the bird away, but when I got close, the thing turned, cocked its head to the side, and just stared at me. It felt like she was looking right into my heart. For a moment we both stood still, watching each other, and it’s like the dang air was sucked outta the place. I took a step forward on the cobblestone closer to the bird, and my bare feet didn’t make a sound. The eucalyptus trees stood with every leaf still. Then, whoosh! A gale wind rained down orange leaves onto me, and the branches swayed and cracked. I raised my hands above my head to protect myself, and I felt my hair fly backwards. I closed my eyes, and debris rained down on me. My ears began to burn as the albatross rang out a terrible scream. I felt a knot in my stomach the size of an apple. I think that was when I wet the bed, which I hadn’t done in a year.” Murrieta began eating a tough piece of jerky aggressively. He held up a piece, and the doctor declined.

“Standing on the ground still, the bird finally stopped screaming and flapped its wings, stepping closer to me. It was a big bird. Every nerve in my body rang the alarm to go back the way I came, wherever that even was, back down the shaded path. I could see a bright clearing far behind me, which must have been where I came from. But I stopped and thought to myself, this was just a bird, after all. So, I grabbed a rock and was about to crush the big buffoon. I raised the rock above my head, but all of the sudden, I heard these sounds off to my right, rustling, trees falling, crashing and shaking the forest floor. Sounds growing louder every second. The albatross took flight. I threw the rock and it missed and bounced off a tree, plopping onto the forest floor. Branches cracking grew closer and closer. I just stood there with my eyes closed, waiting for the soul-cleaving feeling that you get when you’re killed in a dream. A violent chorus raged.” Doctor Doug Dirt spoke with wide, glistening eyes. “But then there was almost silence, no pain, just heavy, hot breath on my face. I didn’t open my eyes for a long time, I don’t know how long, but when I finally did, an old grizzly bear stood in front of me, watching. I stood still and stared into the thing’s eyes; it snarled, and I couldn’t move a muscle. I prayed hard to wake up. But it was no use. With one great sweep, the bear brought down his paw, taking out my feet. I felt the nerves in my right leg erupt and heard a nasty crack like the trees snapping from before, and I crashed into the ground. I felt my leg wasn’t cooperating, so I started to crawl backward, and I thought to myself again that it’s definitely time to wake up now. I tried tricking my mind that my house was on fire, or that there was a thief about, but I wouldn’t wake. So, I kept crawling back down the path, away from where I had seen the albatross, and the bear followed me slowly. He would get about ten yards away and stop walking and perch like a dog. I watched the last rays of sunlight leave the sky, replaced by a crescent moon. I watched the bear, whose paws kept slapping on the cobblestone. Sometimes my head would droop down as I scooted backwards, and I’d hear him begin to jog and I’d hear the paws on the path and I would scream. And he would slow back down, sometimes he’d full-stop. I was finally close to escaping the forest, and I thought maybe he’d stop following me. It was getting harder and harder to scream, my voice was runnin’ out. The bear started runnin’ fast and so I yelled one more time, and he slowed down. I crawled on and reached a meadow of poppies, and then I just stopped crawling and laid back in the flowers lookin’ at the moon, cause I had nothing left and wanted to just wake-up from the nightmare. I saw the albatross circling me like a vulture and I heard the bear’s steps go from cobblestone to grass. I said aloud ‘I’m dead’ and woke up with my heart runnin’. Felt like I hadn’t slept a lick.” Doctor Doug Dirt let out a large sigh and wiped sweat that had accumulated on his brow. “I got a real bad feeling people in town have got an inclination to act, you know, irrationally, if they hear about somethin’ else that sounds funny. And I’m worried we’re getting caught up in fate’s net. My father used to say if you don’t want anyone to know, then don’t do it.”

There was a long pause in their conversation, and Murrieta spat a tight wad of tobacco which exploded on the ground; Doug Dirt saw specks of saliva hit his shoe. Murrieta took out his pipe, and sprinkled in fresh tobacco, before motioning to the doctor for a light. He took a big puff, and looked up at a full moon which seemed as bright as the sun. It illuminated a rocky tundra sprinkled with white pines.

“Quite a story. And did you ever get around to washing those sheets?”

“I did. But Murrieta, I’m serious about this. It’s had me feeling sick lately.”

“I am not going to make plans based on your premonitions. Next time you have a dream and have something vatic to say, write it down in a journal, that’s what my little sister did. Now, if you have facts to present me, I’m happy to oblige, and if there’s a stitch, I can tell you how, and you can fix it.” He patted the doctor’s back hard, so his grey hair jumped.

“Got it, doc?”

“Yes, boss.”

“And guys complain that I don’t listen to my employees. I listen to their damn dreams.” They both laughed, the doctor laughed a little too hard.

A soft, methodical crunching sound broke the conversation between the two middle-aged men, and their ears perked up like bloodhounds. Quickly and silently, they both crept behind the boulder, and lay prone. A small gap lay between the bottom corner of the boulder and the cave mouth where the two men lay, eyes peering at the clearing. They watched, as slowly but steadily, a large boy trudged and crunched though the powder. In front of the cave, the boy, Big Richard, stopped and peered into the darkness before continuing inside. Doctor Doug Dirt began to scramble to his feet when Joaquín Murrieta grabbed him by his coat and yanked him back down.

“Murrieta. The black powder. That boy–”

“Shh! Save it.”

“That boy could die in there Murrieta. I know that boy. His father–”

“I said save it!” Murrieta rolled closer and snatched the doctor by the throat like a viper. The doctor squirmed.

“Don’t you utter another word, damn it!” Murrieta whispered furiously, “Get it together!” He slapped the doctor before grabbing him by the scruff of his jacket. Murrieta whispered,

“Don’t you know what the fine is for being caught dead in that cave, let alone with twenty pounds of black powder?” Murrieta slowly loosened his grip on the doctor’s jacket, eyed the pipe beside him which was smoldering, and emptied it into the snow. “Damn it! You think I want this? That’s another life on you, doctor.”

“You’re talking like he’s already dead…”

“He is already dead, fool. You call yourself a doctor?” Murrieta spit again. “If the explosives don’t get him, then I will.” The doctor was shaking his head. Murrieta grabbed him by his hair and pulled him close. “It’s just another life, Doc. ‘been plenty before, there’ll be plenty after.”

“And what about Jim and Judy?” Asked Doctor Doug Dirt, grimacing.

“Jim and Judy know how to act.”

Big Richard, the boy, didn’t see, hear, or smell the stinky men outside as he chased the pig into the cave. He could hear the distant steps of little pig hooves, but his heart was beating like a hummingbird’s which made it difficult to hear anything at all. All that he could smell was the dankness of the cave.

He delved dangerously deeper into the cavern, and the shadows cast in the cave from the moon quickly gave way to pitch-black darkness. The boy trudged steadily as his hand followed alongside the chalky wall to his right. What had he gotten himself into, all of this for a piglet. ‘I was cold’, he thought, ‘I’d gone much farther than I should have gone for a little pig. But I was in it now, no going back.’ Four souls in the cave. Two outside. One running to join the party.

Deeper into the tunnel, under the light of a lantern, Greedy Jim flicked an apple core onto the ground and began to pick his teeth carefully with a knife. His vicious silhouette danced with goblins on the cave wall.

“More light. Now.” Rude Judy squawked. Greedy Jim put his knife back in his pocket and lowered the lamp for Rude Judy, who had just finished packing clay into the rock wall of the cave. Her fingers were stained with black powder.

“Alright, that’s the last one.” Said Greedy Jim.

“I thought there was one left? Shine the light over there, now.” Rude Judy gestured to the edge of the wall, but Greedy Jim ignored her, bent down, and lit the fuse.

“I been watching you finishing up for the last twenty minutes, you think I don’t know when we’re done? We’ve got six minutes, honey.” Said Greedy Jim.

“Hold up I said!” Rude Judy snatched the lamp from Jim and stomped out the lit fuse, while Greedy Jim rolled his eyes.

“Ima give you a minute, and then I’m taking that lantern back and leaving you to rot.” Said Greedy Jim.

“You damned fool, give me the powder. And the clay! Can’t trust a single one of you to get the job done right. Puttin’ the whole operation in jeopardy.” Greedy Jim fumbled for the items and handed them over to Rude Judy.

“So dramatic. What’s one charge gonna change anyway?” Greedy Jim spoke sheepishly.

“It ain’t just one charge, it’s three. Come on, help me. Now.” The two fumbled with black powder to fill the three remaining holes that they had bored in the cave wall, packing the holes tightly and closing them off with clay.

“Alright, now Judy I’m not playin’ anymore. Come on. They gon’ start worrying. We already been taking way too long.”

“Yeah, well maybe you could have made yourself useful.” Rude Judy leaned down and ignited the fuse, which would take around six minutes to blow. It would take almost four to get out of the cave if they moved at a reasonable pace.

The two began to follow the way they came, guided by Rude Judy’s lantern light. They had made it about halfway out when Rude Judy put her hand up.

“What in the hell?” Said Greedy Jim. They both listened. Whatever it was, they knew it was getting closer.

“Probably just some rats, keep moving.” Rude Judy kept walking.

“That ain’t no rats.”

“It’s nothing. Keep moving unless you wanna test the integrity of these walls.” The steps from the pig echoed in the caved and were growing undeniably loud for Rude Judy and Greedy Jim. They both heard a loud snort. Suddenly, a sharp pain hit shot through Greedy Jim’s right thigh, and he was thrown onto the ground. Pig Richard carried on past the two goons, oinking.

“What the hell!? Git up!” Rude Judy grabbed Greedy Jim by the arm and tugged him to his feet. In her lantern’s light, Greedy Jim was grimacing.

“Was that a pig? My leg...” Greedy Jim groaned.

“Yeah, it was a tiny pig, you runt. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“I don’t think I can walk.”

“Enough! Come on.” Rude Judy pulled Greedy Jim with her, and he winced. The fuse they had lit still had around four and a half minutes; they needed two minutes to leave.

“Shush!” Rude Judy clasped her dirty hands over Greedy Jim’s mouth and whispered,

“Listen.” Craning their necks toward the sound, they both heard boots.

“Ain’t no way. We had a deal. They had a job to do.” Said Greedy Jim

“We’re gonna have to kill this man, you know that?” Said Rude Judy.

“And if it’s boss or doc?”

“I said. We had a deal. Nobody was supposed to bother us. They said nobody else was getting into that cave until we did our job. That ain’t boss and it ain’t doc.”

“We don’t have much time; we can’t afford to just wait here.”

“Get out your knife at least–” Rude Judy was interrupted as she heard the fast-approaching, heavy steps from the unknown intruder. Hiding the lantern behind her, she stepped to the side of the cave wall and waited. Sure enough, Big Richard, the boy, came charging through the tunnel at the two goons, driven at this point entirely by his fight or flight response. He knew he had badly overestimated his abilities to catch the pig, but had already doubled, tripled, and quadrupled down on his bet. For a moment he noticed a strange presence of light, but he was moving too fast, and Rude Judy stuck out her leg. The boy flew, cracking headfirst into the side of the cave where he twitched once, twice, and then lay unmoving. The two looked at the boy, and Rude Judy raised her lantern, revealing blood on the wall.

“I knew that boy.” Said Greedy Jim.

“Of course you knew that boy, there’s two-hundred people livin’ in this damn town.” Rude Judy spat to her right,

“That kid hit rock bottom.” Greedy Jim crouched close to him and looked the boy up and down. He grabbed his arm and lifted it, moved his leg to the side, and grabbed his coat, inspecting the inside.

“Hmm. Cheap coat.” He grabbed the boy’s limp arm again and held it by the wrist. Two rings and a watch. Greedy Jim took off his right glove and wore the rings. He slid the watch into his pocket. Greedy Jim looked over his shoulder at Rude Judy who was walking away with the light.

“One minute, wait up Judy, come on!” Greedy Jim jumped to his feet and followed. “We’re just leavin’ him in here?” He said.

“We don’t have the time to drag his elephant-sized body out of here. Plus, why don’t they just do it?”

“How are they gonna explain this one? We’re getting a raise Judy, I can’t deal with this nonsense.”

“We? I killed the boy, you told us to leave before the job was finished. Always complaining about never getting’ enough respect, crying about a damn piglet, yella-bellied...”

“Judy, please, I’m beggin’ you, I’m broke.”

“Haven’t you swindled enough drunken fools, now you’re gonna try the boss? Where I’m from, mutiny carries a harsh sentence.”

“And what would be the sentence for a canary who sings so pretty like you?”

“I ain’t a canary but I sure as hell ain’t a pushover. You wouldn’t need the money so bad if you didn’t bluff so much.”

“…Witch.” Greedy Jim spoke under his breath. As they approached the cave entrance, Greedy Jim ran his hand alongside the smooth right wall of the cave. Moonlight scattered on the cave floor like quicksilver, outlining stalagmites. Rude Judy turned the valve on her oil lamp and the flame quickly dimmed and died. She looked back at Greedy Jim, put her finger to her lips and they tiptoed. As they emerged from the cave, the moon shone on them like a spotlight in the middle of the clearing. The two marauders examined the tree lines surrounding them and listened like hunters for a crying deer. Nothing. They were exposed, and snowfall quickly turned the two of them white. With this camouflage, they scampered over to the rock where Murrieta and Doc had been standing; Murrieta was there with his flask in hand. When he saw Judy and Jim, he let out a cooped-up sigh. And then, there was a massive crash. A shockwave exploded out of the cave, echoing power across the mountainous tundra. A family of Juncos took to the sky. The gang jumped. Murrieta started laughing, thinking of the pig.

“What the hell, Murrieta? What kind of sick joke are you pulling, huh? Don’t you got enough to think about when you’re falling asleep?” She got up close to her boss, “You ever hear ‘em in bed, talking, laughing? I know I do.” Murrieta looked straight on, sipping his whiskey.

“If you have any gripes, take them up with Doc. He was on watch.”

“I’m takin’ it up with you.” Rude Judy put her hand on her holster and Murrieta fumbled his, but the Doc stood between them.

“If you have got something to say Judy, by all means, but I don’t appreciate the funny talking.” Murrieta looked directly at her now.

“I want twenty-plus. For killing a kid. And Jim gets five more, for his injuries.”

“Fifteen. And three.” Murrieta said.

“What about four?” Said Greedy Jim.

“Good.”

“Eighteen.”

“Seventeen.”

“Fine.”

“So, the boy is dead?” Asked Doc. The three others turned and looked at him.

“Course he’s dead.” Said Rude Judy. Doc looked down, and then spoke,

“I’ll get the gear then. It’s a mess?” Said Doctor Doug Dirt.

“No, it ain’t bad. Just a big fella. One by the head, two on the legs. Jim gets the head.” Said Rude Judy.

“Alright well let’s grab the fool. I’d say Doc, dig a grave for ‘im, but if we want to get any work done before the sun rises then we don’t have time for that. You three, go get the fella, I’ll hold the lamp. How far is he?” Said Murrieta.

“Just a few minutes.”

“And the pig?”

“He’s in there. Ain’t got nowhere to go.”

“Well someone needs to grab the damn pig, or what’s left of him so we can cook him up. I’ll try an’ grab…” Murrieta’s sentence petered off as the cave began to rumble. Another massive crash sounded as masses of smooth limestone scraped, grinded, fought and crashed together until they were reduced to jagged boulders, pebbles, and dust. The gang watched and stared in awe from the tree line that they escaped to. Moonlight ignited the dust in the air.

“Looks like we buried him after all.” Said Murrieta.

Gilbert was about a mile away from the cave when he heard the first boom, which scattered various flocks. He could hear their wings flapping, and he sped up his jog. Soon after, came the second crash, shaking the floor. He imagined what the sounds could be. Had a giant clambered over quietly in the night, stuck his finger in his home, and plucked his friend and his pig? Or maybe both Big Richard’s had been hexed by a warlock, since they shared the same name, and now they were doing a warlock’s wicked bidding.

With sweat and tears in his eyes, Gilbert climbed the hill, following the boot prints which were now almost invisible from the snowfall, and he found himself in the clearing. Gilbert looked up at the mess of rocks in front of him, and then back to the boot prints at his feet, and then back again to the mess. Slowly, with his eyes locked on the boot prints, he crept forward, praying that his friend’s tracks would suddenly diverge to the right, or the left, or up a tree and Big Richard, the boy, would be sitting there holding Big Richard, the pig, laughing and pointing at Gilbert. But Gilbert kept following the steps and the path was still clear enough in the snow.

In front of the cave, next to his friend’s final print, Gilbert sat down and cried.

In the tree line, four murderers hovered, watching the boy. They looked at Murrieta. He motioned and they followed him back the way they came, careful where they were leaving new prints.

“I’ll find something to do with that boy.” Murrieta said without turning his head.

After a morning spent remembering, Gilbert crested a hill and was brought back into reality by familiar voices. Catching himself before slipping, he saw his crew: Rude Judy, Greedy Jim, Doctor Doug Dirt, and Joaquín Murrieta.

“Oi!” Gilbert grinned at his crew.

“Hey.” Rude Judy didn’t turn her head towards Gilbert, only her eyes, which quickly flicked between Greedy Jim and Doctor Doug Dirt. Rude Judy was wearing an elaborate embroidered leather vest and dark brown corduroy pants that matched her high leather boots which carried large spurs.

“Yeah I mean don’t know, I feel like sometimes I forget what year it is.” Said Greedy Jim.

“I like to write things down like that when I can’t remember them, that way I can refer back to my notes.” Doctor Doug Dirt pulled out a notepad from a leather bag as he spoke.

“What about names?” Said Greedy Jim.

“Like who?”

“Ahem. Gil. Thanks for showin’. I was just briefing the team on what we spoke on yesterday.” Gilbert’s boss, Joaquín Murrieta, the old, rugged, black-bearded man who had been named, “Minor Miner of the Year” from age ten to fourteen, something he loved to remind the youngsters of the North Pass of, smiled at Gilbert.

“Of course, boss.” Replied Gilbert with a dimple in his smile.

“Howdy, Gilb.” Turning away from Doctor Doug Dirt, was Greedy Jim, who wore a green and white checkered cotton shirt with dark colored suspenders. A large cowhide coat kept him warm. He bared his teeth in a sort of a smile, sunlight glinting off his golden incisors.

Doctor Doug Dirt who was usually talkative, was invested in his broken watch, tapping the glass, perhaps hoping that it would automatically switch to the right time. He looked up at Gilbert and nodded before returning his attention back to his watch. His dark black handlebar mustache gave the appropriate appearance of a highwayman; the embroidery on his smooth leather boots and vest showed he appreciated wealth.

Murrieta eyed Gilbert.

“Alright y’all, you know the deal. We done most of the heavy lifting already, mostly just about getting the rest of the silver, easy thing. Now, Doc, I believe you finished installing the final supports early this morning?” He motioned towards the mouth of a cavern.

“Indeed I did, they are strong and wooden, like Judy’s heart.” Rude Judy groaned, sticking out her tongue.

“Alright, Gilbert’s gonna finish off the rest of the rock. Remember, you’ll be inside a long while, so if you feel like you need a breath of fresh air.” Murrieta paused, laughing. “As if you’ve ever needed a breath before.”

“There may have been a few times.” Doc chuckled.

“A few? I can’t count the number of times I’ve ended my day wheeling Gil out in a cart.” Said Rude Judy.

“And I appreciate you for that.” Said Gilbert.

“The rest of us are gonna focus on transport. I’ll be refinin’.” Joaquín Murrieta took a breath. “We all ready?”

“Born ready.” Said Gilbert, and the crew began their long day of work.

Gilbert worked like an ox, this day, and every day; it was a big part of the reason why Murrieta had decided to keep him in his crew for so long. That, and his loyalty. He always said yes to a job from Murrieta. Gilbert was grateful to have his own crew. He had also had a keen eye. Aside from the boss, Gilbert was the most gifted surveyor in the town.

One time, couple years back, the crew was crossing a river to reach a site rich with copper. The riverbed was clear until they started trampling the sediment, and then you really couldn’t see a thing. But Gilbert had his head down the whole time because he thought he had seen a little glint from the hill before they sullied the water. Halfway into crossing, he bent down, soaking his whole body. The others started laughing, wondering what he could possibly be fumbling for. Gilbert raised something out of the riverbed, cupped it in his hands to disperse the sediments, and opened his palms above the water to reveal a perfect golden nugget. He had a great eye, and he was lucky. Murrieta ended up selling the nugget and distributed the earnings himself.

While it was safety protocol to always have a canary with you to avoid suffocating or breathing in harmful gases, Gilbert was also a very unique worker in this regard.

About a year after he began working in Murrieta’s crew, when Gilbert was almost nineteen, the crew had three canaries in rotation. Any sign that one was getting sick, and they would be switched out. They were kept in wood and wire mesh cages and would be taken to every single job. As we all know, canaries are expensive and hard to come by. In the small town, there had been a breeder, but an incident with a big bad wolf had severely impacted his business. Plus, canaries drop like flies in a mining town.

Before Gilbert, the crew had taken good care of their canaries, they were vital to the whole operation. Even in their avarice, the crew recognized the birds as a bulwark. Gilbert himself had fallen in love with the birds when he had met them; in particular: one bird with a funny looking feather atop his head, that he had named Phineas. As a treat, he would boil eggs for himself and share them with the canaries. He thought it was a little bit morbid, since they were bird eggs after all, but they went crazy for those eggs.

Tragically, the local supply of canaries was dwindling, and having them shipped wasn’t really an option either. So, when the crew was finally down to their final canary, Gilbert stepped up to the plate. In Murrieta’s dining room, he spoke.

“I’ll do it.” He had said with pride.

“What’re you talking about, Gil?” Said Joaquín Murrieta.

“I’ll be your canary. I’ll do it.”

“But…” Doctor Doug Dirt had begun to speak but was interrupted by Murrieta who flashed him a stare of death.

“You’re hired kid, and you’re getting a raise.” Murrieta had laughed, and then Rude Judy had burst out laughing along with Greedy Jim. Doctor Doug Dirt looked down at his boots. And Gilbert had smiled.

Today though, like most days, Gilbert toiled in the mine from dusk till dawn. He worked with great efficiency, unlike the other members of the crew, who seldom came to check on him. When they needed to, they lazily collected his ore, but let him work until he was picking at the rock for scraps. Every muscle in his body was strained, but he barely slowed his pace even as the sun shrank. His body was caked in cold sweat and soot.

“Should we go and help him finish up?” Doctor Doug Dirt asked, looking down. The gang waited outside, watching a brilliant sunset behind snow-capped mountains. Joaquín Murrieta was holding a gold coin. Every time he flipped it, it glinted from the brilliant sun which was setting. Joaquín Murrieta was playing a silly betting game with Greedy Jim. Rude Judy had already packed her tools and was sitting on a rock sharpening her knife with a whet stone when Doctor Doug Dirt spoke.

“Why do you keep laughing – are you cheating me, Murrieta?” Said Greedy Jim.

“I don’t mean to laugh Jim, my apologies. Let’s go again?” Greedy Jim was tearing his hair out.

“Eighty shillings on heads, I mean, it just ain’t even possible. It can’t be tails ten times in a row, that would be some kind of voodoo magic.”

“You sure, Jim? I don’t want your debt unto me to be unbearable. And quit pulling your hair out, you’re already nearly bald.”

“I’m all-in. You know, to keep everything fair, why don’t you let me flip the coin?” Greedy Jim raised his eyebrows.

“What’re you saying?” Said Murrieta.

“I’m not saying anything, just – you flipped it every other time, why don’t I give it a try once? You know, for good luck.”

“I don’t trust the game you’re playin’.” Said Murrieta.

“Ain’t playing no game. Why would you assume that? What game is there to play with a fair coin-toss. Have Judy flip it for all I care.” Greedy Jim threw his hands up.

“I ain’t flipping the dang coin.” Said Rude Judy.

“So, it is about me flipping it then?” Said Joaquín Murrieta, brushing off trail mix from his lap and locking eyes with Greedy Jim.

“Nah, go on and flip it Murrieta.” The coin flew up and landed on tails for the tenth time in a row.

“Lady luck is a wicked temptress, Jimbo.” Murrieta flipped the large gold coin clinking it one last time before carefully placing it in a little pouch in the breast pocket of his coat. Greedy Jim grabbed a stone and tried to huck it, but released it too late so it hit the ground just a few steps from where he stood. He relaxed his shoulders, sighed, and collapsed into the snow, supine.

“Guys, Gilbert, he’s – he’s still working away. You think one of us should go get him. I don’t mind.” Doc spoke softly, devoid of emotion; he was clearly tired, but he felt compelled to speak for the boy. Doctor Doug Dirt was the oldest in the crew at fifty-five. He had been around the area before people from all over came looking for a fortune.

“Dirt, would you for once, just keep your trap shut, you miserable dotard.” Rude Judy engaged in the conversation, enraged by the doctor. “Go in that cave, Dirt, and die in there for all I care.”

“The boy is young, let him work if he wants to work. He knows to come out when the job is done. A little hard work might help keep you young, Doc. As for the rest of us…” Murrieta trailed off.

“First rounds on you?” Said Greedy Jim.

“Ay!” Murrieta yelled with a grin, and the three of them began to head back down the snowy hill. Doctor Doug Dirt quickly packed his things and followed without turning back.

Back in the cave, Gilbert was exhausted and he sat down to eat the second half of his ham sandwich which he’d saved all day. His hands and face were stained black, and his head felt funny, but it didn’t necessarily hurt; it was a familiar feeling. ‘I’d best get out of here,’ Gilbert thought to himself. His stomach growled at him. Maybe just a few bites, for the energy. Gilbert looked around himself at the mess of rocks. His calloused hands burned and he had one more cart to haul out; it was overflowing.

He looked back at the ham sandwich. ‘Mmm.’ He took a big bite; it tasted like heaven. Gilbert was chomping in slow motion. His head swayed, but with each bite he felt like he was gaining consciousness. Gilbert took another bite of the cold ham sandwich and was blown away.

“Wow.” He said aloud to himself. “Woah.” Gilbert swayed his whole body to the left and then back to his right before settling again, balancing like a tumbler doll. The cave seemed like it was getting darker. He looked down at his lamp, which still shone bright.

Gilbert heard a ball start bouncing on the cave floor. Bounce, bounce, bounce, nothing. Repeat. Like someone was picking it up and throwing it. He looked at his watch and listened to the ball roll to a stop. He had been in the cave for ten hours. He felt nervous. Gilbert stretched out his fingers as straight as they could be and gasped.

“Ahh!” His fingertips seemed to grow longer and longer, he couldn’t bear to look at them. Around him, the walls and the ceiling began running away from him, leaving him utterly alone in the darkness. The room was becoming so long. Cold air coursed through Gilbert’s hair, and he shivered. His lamp went out. In the pitch black darkness he started to hear whispers, like a million silent conversations caught in the wind at once. He listened hard for some minutes but couldn’t make out a single word. Gilbert fumbled around for his matches. He struck one, but it blew out immediately. The second match, no luck. On the third, he struck the match with all his might, and the flame lit up the cavern. He quickly ignited his lamp. A headache was raging now, and he lay down on his back with his eyes closed, hoping that when he opened them, reality might return to normal. When he opened his eyes, a stalactite as sharp as a knife was directly at the bridge of his nose, so close that he could feel the pressure. Gilbert scooted carefully to the side, and looked back at his ham sandwich, which now lay on the cave floor beside him, stained with black fingerprints. The whispers stopped. Gilbert tried to stand but his legs felt like jelly, and the room kept moving further away.

“What do I do? I can feel myself falling away. I can’t move.” Said Gilbert, aloud.

“Take a bite, quickly. I’m from the future.” Speaking with a deep voice, bread from the ham sandwich flapped open revealing a tongue of ham.

“Okay.” Gilbert took a bite of the sandwich, which began to scream bloody murder.

“AHHHHH! STOP! PLEASE!” Said the ham sandwich.

“Oh no, oh no. I’m so terribly sorry, I thought you were asking me to.” Gilbert was still chewing as he spoke.

“I’m dying, oh my god I’m dying in a cave. My tomatoes...” Said the ham sandwich.

“I’ll get you out of here ham sandwich, but I just can’t get my legs working, they feel like jelly. No offense.”

“I’m just kidding, Gilbert, I’m fine. But why would I take offense to that?”

“Well, I figured if you were a talking sandwich that you might have a relationship with peanut butter and jelly. Jelly might not appreciate their name being used derogatorily.”

“You just assume, that just because you eat all of us that we are all pals? That we all know each other?”

“I don’t mean to assume, that was a silly assumption, my apologies.”

“I’m just messing around again, Gilbert. But no, I don’t know PB or J. Not anymore at least.” The sandwich began smoking a rolled cigarette. “How was I?”

“You tasted great. And I think I’m starting to feel better. I think.”

“Fantastic. Which brings me to my next question, Gilbert. What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing.” Replied Gilbert hazily.

“You brought me here, Gilbert. What do you think I should be doing?

“I’m not exactly sure. What do you do for a living?”

“Well, I’m a marketer. I come up with billboard ideas for the freeway.”

“Billboard ideas for the ‘Free-Way’? What is that, some kind of cult?”

“I make signs that people riding in their carriages can see, like ones that say, Been in a Crash or Looking for love? Or, one of my favorites, Jesus is always watching.”

“And what’s the use in all that?”

“They help people to do something they might be thinking about doing. Or stop people from doing something they might have been thinking about doing. But almost never, do they help you find what you need.” Said the ham sandwich.

“And you come up with the stuff that goes on those things?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Who do you work for?”

“A large firm in New York City. But I do a lot of travelling, you could say I have itchy feet.” Gilbert peered down, but saw no feet on the sandwich.

“Where do you travel?”

“Wherever there’s business.”

“Can I have another bite?”

“Sure Gilbert, but I’ll be gone soon.” Gilbert hastily took another bite.

“Delicious.”

“Thank you, Gilbert.”

“The job, does it pay well?”

“I do alright.”

“Does it make you feel proud?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well Ham Sandwich, I’m proud of the work I do because I toil hard for long hours in the mines. It’s not always easy to spot gold or iron or copper but I’ve got a keen eye because I’ve had a lot of practice. I warn my friends when they aren’t safe. I’m a good teammate, I think that’s what makes me proud.”

“I am satisfied with the work I do. My work accomplishes its purpose.” Said the Ham Sandwich.

“And what’s that?”

“Well, to make money of course. What do you think the purpose is of your work?” Gilbert paused and thought.

“I guess to find treasure.”

“To what end?”

“To live properly.” Said Gilbert, pausing. “Ham sandwich?”

“Yes, Gilbert?”

“Am I alive?”

“You are.”

“And are you alive?”

“That depends.”

“I’m starting to feel worse again I think.” Said Gilbert.

“Do you have any more questions before you go?” Asked the ham sandwich.

“How do you work without any hands?” Gilbert’s eyes were fluttering closed and he lay his head back onto the cave floor.

“I have an interpreter.”

“Who’s your interpreter?”

“Colonel Mustard.”

“How do you manage to stay so fresh and put together?” Gilbert spoke with his eyes closed.

“Preservatives.”

“Am I dying, ham sandwich?”

“Yes.”

“Are you dying?”

“No, Gilbert.”

“You are now.” Gilbert said and reached for the last bite of his sandwich and shut his eyes to chew. When he opened his eyes, still chewing, Gilbert was blasted with a powerful, cold night’s wind that whipped his hair back furiously. He was surrounded by darkness and sat straddling something. The wind didn’t quit.

He looked beneath him where a massive albatross was focused, flying through dark clouds. He looked up and saw a bright moon and a sky glittered with stars as he still chewed. Gilbert couldn’t imagine how fast he was going and felt his chest tighten as he held onto the massive bird with every part of his body. In the distance, Gilbert thought he saw a rainbow; the colors were becoming brighter the further he flew; they glowed in the night. But they were still just small, brightly colored dots as Gilbert squinted at the horizon.

“Look in the pocket under my wing.” The albatross turned its head, still flying forward as it spoke to Gilbert.

Gilbert was bewildered, and shifted his body on the giant bird, watching its eye as it spoke. If he hadn’t just had a conversation with a sandwich, Gilbert might have been more uneasy about a talking bird, but he was focused on the ground below. Still, Gilbert didn’t trust just any bird. He peered down and couldn’t see past his boots in the cloudy dark sky. He could feel cold condensation on his face.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as you grab what I want from under my wing.”

“How do I know you aren’t fooling me with what’s under your wing? What if there is something nasty in there, like an old sock, or rotten pork.” Wind was whipping through Gilbert’s hair and he raised his voice as he spoke.

“I don’t wear socks, and I only eat fresh fish. And sugar cubes. Boy I do wish I had some sugar cubes.”

“Tell me now, what is under your wing, bird?”

“It’s a prize, sir.”

“What’s the prize?”

“Go on and see, sir. It’s a sir-prize.”

“I’d prefer if you told me first.”

“That’d ruin your surprise, sir.”

“I don’t mind if it does – never was much of a fan of surprises. In fact, this all has been quite a lot so far.”

“It’s a completely safe prize, man. It’s not gonna hurt you. Come on, don’t be a buzzkill, it’s a prize after all. Have you got anything better to do up here?”

“Well. Alright.” Gilbert began to fumble around under the giant right wing of the albatross.

“There’s just a bunch of eggs in here.” Said Gilbert.

“Oh shoot, it’s the other side. Leave those eggs be.”

“Why are they all different sizes? Are these even albatross eggs?” Gilbert put down a huge egg the size of a goose’s and held a chicken’s egg out, examining it.

“Albatross eggs – they come in all shapes and sizes. Put those back. It’s in the other pocket.”

“I really don’t trust you.”

“You ought to trust me, we’re too high up in the sky for it to be useful to you to not trust me. Plus, after finding those funny-sized eggs, aren’t you now extra-curious about what’s in my pocket, Gilbert?”

“Fine.” Carefully, Gilbert leaned his body over to the left side of the large albatross which he straddled, and slowly stuck his hand into the pocket underneath the bird’s wing.

“Ow! There’s a knife in there!” Yelled Gilbert.

“Oh shoot, I forgot I had left my sharpest knife in there. I’m sorry. And right after I told you to trust me. Be careful, but there shouldn’t be any more knives. And the prize should be at the top.”

“What was your name?” Gilbert reached into the pocket on his right again, nervously.

“Albert. Was named after my great grandfather.”

“Last name?”

“Tross.”

“Albert Tross. Really?” Gilbert dug around the pocket and pulled out a little red velvet pouch. He released the string to reveal cubes of sugar.

“My family name is no joke. Ah, I see you’ve found the prize! Well done.”

“It’s a pouch of sugar cubes, Albert. That’s the prize you were awarding me?”

“Mmm, delicious sugar cubes, I love them. Lucky you, right?”

“I don’t eat sugar cubes.”

“No, ah shoot, I guess I’ll just have to eat the whole bag myself. You mind feeding me the cubes, one at a time.” Albert looked back at Gilbert with a hopeful eye as he continued flying full speed toward the luminescent rainbow lights.

“You can just drop them in my beak, like so.” The giant albatross’ beak opened revealing a cavity for sugar cubes.

“We’ve only just met. I don’t even know your name. You want me to feed you sugar cubes?”

“Please, my blood sugar’s low. And if I crash here, man, we both crash. And I know we only just met, but it feels like we’ve always known each other.” With pleading eyes, the large bird looked longingly at Gilbert.

“How long until we’re there?”

“I promise you the faster you start dropping those delicious sugar cubes down my gullet, the faster I’ll fly.”

“Ugh. Alright, fine.” Gilbert, disgusted, began to toss sugar cubes at the open-mouthed avian. A few missed the mark and fell through the sky.

“Stop dropping them!” The bird squawked loudly in the wind, turning its head and offering an evil eye. “Lean in closer.” The bird screeched. Gilbert scooted to the neck of the massive bird. As he got closer, he realized just how big its mouth was. Gilbert easily could have been swallowed. All that was needed was a hard enough buck, and then he’d just swoop down and catch him in one bite.

“You said that you only ate fish and sugar cubes, right?”

“Mostly. Every once in a while, something else delicious serves itself up.” Gilbert continued reaching into the bag of sugar cubes and carefully dropped them into the bird’s mouth.

“When is my stop, Albert?”

“Today. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have sent me to pick you up.”

“Do you know ‘when’ today?”

“When is such a tricky term. I know you’re hoping that I’ll say soon, but that’s not really up to me. The time is not for me to determine.”

“Albert, I can see there’s some bright colors over there,” Gilbert pointed to the rainbow lights, “are we headed there?”

“We’re going that direction.”

“An hour? Two hours? Can you just wake me up from this dream already?”

“I would have told you if you were dreaming Gilbert, what do I have to gain in deceiving you like that? Unless…” The bird’s eyebrow furrowed in thought.

“Wait a minute. Pinch me, Gilbert.” Said Albert.

“This isn’t your dream, albatross.”

“How can you be sure, human? For all you know, this could be a turtle’s dream.” Albert Tross, the Albatross stopped eating sugar cubes for moment and pondered the idea.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, Albert. I just don’t know what I’m doing here, or how I got here. Now, I’m just trying to figure out where I’m going.”

“When a speck of light is released from a star, does it ask where it’s going?”

“How would I know? I guess not?” Gilbert looked off in the distance, and saw they were approaching something else, and quickly; he squinted. Sitting atop a cloud was an empty minecart.

“And would you look at that. Your stop is coming up, right here.”

“What do you mean? Where does that go?”

“I’m just a driver, man.”

“Where does it go?” There was panic in Gilbert’s voice. “Why do the tracks look like they are descending?”

“I’ll see you around, Gilbert. Say, you wouldn’t have a dollar to spare? You know, for my troubles.”

“I didn’t even ask to come on this ride! And no, I don’t have any money on me.” Gilbert turned his pockets inside out to demonstrate.

“I’m going to have to let you off a little early then, alright?” Gilbert looked beneath him and the clouds parted ways to reveal a raging sea. Gilbert’s stomach turned like the heavy wheel of a wagon.

“Just take me to the minecart, please.”

“I really don’t have time for this, I have a flight schedule I’m supposed to meet. My boss, I swear they’re the devil. You’re headed that way anyways.” Thunder boomed around them.

“Here, you can have my belt. Just drop me at the minecart, please. The buckle is worth a lot more than a dollar,” Gilbert paused, and spoke more softly, eyes on the rabbit engraving on the buckle, “especially to me.” Albert looked back at him with a greedy smile on his face, licking sugar from his beak.

“Oooh. Put it in my pocket, next to the knife.” The buckle clattered into the pocket of the bird among a few dings. Something yelped. Gilbert looked down at the sounds, but then looked forward at the approaching minecart in the sky, sitting atop a cloud.

“Get ready to hop out, okay?”

“I’m ready.” As the bird approached the cart, Gilbert rested on his left knee and held onto the neck of the albatross with his left arm. Albert the Albatross slowed and yelled out.

“Now!” The bird screeched and Gilbert leapt into at the cart. He managed to land with his feet inside, but he was still flying forward. His knees hit the side of the cart hard, and his torso dipped over the edge. The cart rattled loudly on its track. Gilbert’s knees and ribs screamed, and when the cart finally stopped shaking, he shrank down into the bed, panting. He caught his breath, pulled himself to his feet, and surveyed his track. Down into the clouds it headed.

“Nowhere else to go.” Gilbert grunted and hit a metal lever. Down into the cloud he went, the wind screaming in his ears, flying much faster than when he was with the great albatross. Escaping the shade of the cloud, a landscape came into view under the light of the moon. A tundra. Mountains everywhere. The wheels of the cart squealed and burned as the cart rumbled with the force of one Gilbert Jiblet. He recognized the town, his house. He recognized the cave he had been working in earlier in the day. It grew larger and larger as he flew faster. Gilbert heard voices in his ears again. They screamed his name. He understood them clearly, they all spoke simultaneously, again and again, GET UP, GILBERT. He was flying straight toward the rocks. He looked down and the track was gone but he was still flying straight fast. Gilbert screamed as he approached the rock, shut his eyes, and braced for impact. But there was nothing. Silence.

A dizzy Gilbert woke up on the cave floor with a start. Someone was shaking him and yelling.

“Ham sandwich? Is that you?” Gilbert opened his eyes and with blurry vision, he saw a wily looking man dressed in a coat made of bear, glowing with a hue of gold holding a torch whose flame flicked across his rugged, bearded face. He held his hand out to Gilbert, who still lay paralyzed on the ground. Gilbert watched, frozen in fear, and then suddenly sprang backwards. The wild man put his hands up, but before he could speak, Gilbert was running at him full speed, out of the cave, leaving all of his belongings behind. Gilbert shoved the man who fell to the cave floor with a thud and a ‘Hmph!’

Gilbert emerged from the cavern heaving and looked around at the snowy expanse of forest ahead of him. His crew was nowhere to be seen, so he took off back toward the town with fire in his step, worried that the wild man had gotten to his crew already. He was still dizzy and felt extra sluggish in the thick snow.

When he arrived back at the town, he went to the only place still open. The lights and laughs from the tavern seeped through the cracks of the door onto the street. Gilbert swung open the doors, and sure enough, laughing, drinking, and eating pretzels by a warm fire sat Rude Judy, Greedy Jim, Doctor Doug Dirt, and Boss Joaquín Murrieta.

Gilbert trudged over to their table, and he plopped down, bringing an intemperate evening and a roaring conversation to a halt.

“Hey there, Gil. What took so long?” Said Murrieta, sipping brew from a wooden tankard.

“We were worried, Gilbert. I was about to come look for you myself, but–” Doctor Doug Dirt was interrupted with reproach from Rude Judy.

“Oh, shut it, Dirt. You toasted to the boy an hour ago and wished him luck.”

“Like I said, I was thinking about him.”

“I was gon’ go after I finished this pint if he didn’t show up.” Said Greedy Jim.

“I’m just glad you guys are alright. I’m near certain that cave we were workin’ in today is haunted. Or if it isn’t haunted, it’s been cursed by a warlock.” The gang looked on with confused stares and cocked heads. Gilbert continued,

“I will spare you the whole story, because it made about as much sense as a fish with a raincoat. But I’m never going back there, and I don’t want you guys there either. I passed out and a bear-man ended up chasing me out of the cave.”

“Bear-man?” Said Doctor Doug Dirt.

“I believe it, my older brother used to tell me about the bear-men.” Said Greedy Jim, gesticulating with a knife.

“I think that you might need a drink. Barman, two pints!” Murrieta barked at the bartender from across the tavern, who made himself busy.

“I’m still dizzy. And so cold.”

“Just relax Gil, you did great today. Cozy up. The job is finished.” Murrieta spoke, ending his sentence with a nasty burp.

“Can we get back to the conversation? I was enjoying it. You were saying something about a strange telegram you received, Doc?” Said Greedy Jim.

“Well, yeah, as I was saying, I was going to the office to check my telegrams, I was expecting a message from T. G. Morton, but instead I had this message someone claiming to be my cousin.”

“What’d he want?” Asked Rude Judy.

“He said that he was a banker, and that he was looking for some blood that he could trust with some of his business ventures. Apparently, I was all the family he had left.” The letter was scrawled on some old parchment paper and Doctor Doug Dirt showed the crew.

“Sounds like an opportunity.” Said Greedy Jim.

“So, what he was offering you free money, no catch?” Asked Murrieta.

“No catch, he told me his full name and address and said he’d be happy to meet me and explain things, just as soon as he knew I wasn’t gonna rob him.”

“And how would he know that?” Asked Greedy Jim.

“Well, he said all I had to do was send him fifty dollars. Fifty dollars as a trust fee, and in return he’d send me back one hundred in the mail. After that, we’d meet up and get to work together.”

“Your cousin sent you a telegram asking for fifty bucks, telling you he’d double your money.” Murrieta choked out a rough laugh which turned to a cough. Greedy Jim laughed and banged the table while Rude Judy shook her head.

Drinks continued to pour as the crew laughed and told stories, and Gilbert gradually relaxed. He hadn’t forgotten about the stresses of the day. He was a little taken-aback that his crew hadn’t checked on him in the cave, but after his third tankard, all he was thinking about was how crooked Doctor Doug Dirt’s jaw was, how great at telling stories Murrieta was, and how funny it was when Greedy Jim slurred his words. Murrieta was in the middle of telling a story about a stagecoach robbery, when just then, over by the bar, an altercation began. A short, stout, gruff, red-bearded man was shouting at the bartender. He knocked an empty glass onto the floor. Murrieta’s crew stood up as the glass shattered.

“Don’t need no business from lowlife chumps like you!” The bartender with the big belly yelled with a whiskey-rage.

“I’m tellin’ yee’, I’ll pay your stingy rate twice, jus’ give me a day. I ain’t no four-flusher!”

“You are mistaking me for a lender. Now, get the hell out of my tavern!”

“How many times did I tell ‘ya? I struck gold!” The fat, orange haired man’s face suddenly turned red, and he paused and flicked his eyes over his shoulder before turning his head back to the bartender. “Y-you’ll see. And you’ll be sorry when the moonshiners take all my – my business.”

The angry, drunken man burped and scooted off his barstool, creaking floorboards as he landed. With a red face, he turned again to glance at the witnesses of his tirade. Murrieta’s crew all sat staring, the only ones left in the tavern. Greedy Jim chewed sunflower seeds with his mouth open, spitting shells onto the floor. The eyes of the drunken, red-headed man flicked from Jim to Judy, to Doc to Gilbert; finally, his eyes fixed on Joaquín Murrieta. Looking straight forward, the stout man briskly stumbled out of the tavern.

As soon as the door the swung closed, Murrieta hopped to his feet. Contorting his cheeks, he made two distinct clicking-sounds, looked out to the door and back to his team. It was time to go.

With sea legs, the drunken crew all rose to their feet. Smiles had vanished from everyone’s face, except Gilbert, who was confused. Murrieta whistled at the bartender and flipped a heavy gold coin onto the table, slamming it down with his palm. The bartender looked up, nodded, and continued sweeping up the broken glass.

“Doc, Judy, go on then!” Murrieta pointed at the door, and the two crew members jogged out of the tavern. “Pack a bag. Right now. And a few shovels.” Said Murrieta to Greedy Jim and Gilbert.

“Boss...” Began Gilbert.

“Go! Meet at my house after. I’ve gotta catch up to Jim and Judy. Go, quickly now! As if your lives depend on it.” Murrieta started toward the door,

“Boss, today was my last job. I mean – we talked about this. I told Phineas this morning. I can’t go home to him with the same story again. He’s going to lose faith in me.”

“If you trust me Gilbert, you’ll pack a bag, get those shovels, and meet me at my house, no questions asked.”

“We’re just skipping town? Why right now?” Asked Gilbert.

“You told me yourself you wanted to go to California, and Gilbert I’m right there with you. But you gotta listen to me. One last job.”

“What about Phineas?” Asked Gilbert.

“Look, Gilbert, I gotta go catch up with Judy and Doc to make sure there’s no trouble. Pack what you need, we’re hitching a ride.” And with that, the three crew members split from the tavern.

Ahead Rude Judy and Doctor Doug Dirt had already caught up to the short-legged drunken man, who had been stumbling and tripping ever since he stepped foot in the snow. He had hardly made it twenty yards before they had caught up. Pulling him behind a shed next to the tavern, Rude Judy and Doctor Doug Dirt slammed the red-bearded man into the wall where he dropped his bag.

“Where’s the gold?” The man trembled as Rude Judy spoke. As Greedy Jim and Rude Judy held him, they checked his pockets for weapons, removing a bowie knife from his coat. Rude Judy still pinned the man tight as he struggled for air.

“Please, it was all talk, I swear. I haven’t found anything good in months. Th–that’s why I was hassling the barman. You have to believe me.” The man, crying, stunk of whiskey.

“Doc. Check the bag.” Rude Judy shoved the man into the shed and his head banged loudly against the wood.

“Ow! What are you– stop!”

“Seeing if you’re a liar.” Doctor Doug Dirt pulled out his knife and flashed it.

“Please, I’m telling you!” The Doctor took his blade, tearing through the man’s bag. Among the debris that fell, was three large gold nuggets which glinted in the moonlight.

“Hm.” Said the Doctor. Rude Judy, still pinning the man to the wall, looked at his watery red eyes,

“Very well.” She released the man’s head and pushed him to the snow and the man groaned.

“Now git up.” Greedy Jim grabbed the man by his coat and pulled him back up to his feet. From around the corner, appeared Murrieta. Greedy Jim flashed him a gold nugget, and Murrieta smiled.

“Alrighty, let’s do this quick, you know, so we can all be back for breakfast in the mornin’.” Murrieta nodded at the man who lifted his head to meet his eyes.

“Now, you know the deal. Show us your spot. Don’t make us beg, I hate begging.” Murrieta pulled out a Colt 44.

“If you’re just gon’ kill me anyway, why should I bother?”

“There’s things worse than death.” Said Rude Judy.

“I ain’t never listened to a threat.” Said the red-bearded man.

“It’d be wise to have a change of policy, for today.” Said Doctor Doug Dirt.

“Take us where we need to go, we’ll spare you, and be on our way. You’ve got my word.” Murrieta said, smiling.

“What’s that worth to me? Or anyone for that matter, Murrieta.” Replied the man.

“My word is all you got now. Now,” Murrieta held out his palm and Greedy Jim passed him the golden nuggets, “where are you hiding the rest, little man?” There was a pause, and the ginger man spoke.

“It’s a couple miles away.”

“Good boy.” Said Rude Judy.

“I have your word, Murrieta? I have a wife… a boy.”

“Well, that makes it real simple. If you want your boy to grow up and your wife to raise him, you won’t yank my chain around.” Turning to Rude Judy and Doctor Doug Dirt, Murrieta continued,

“We’re meeting at Jim’s. Pack a bag with a couple of your favorite trinkets.”

Meanwhile, Greedy Jim was gathering tools for Gilbert; as Greedy Jim rummaged through his equipment chest, a drunken Gilbert stumbled around.

It was Gilbert’s his first time in Greedy Jim’s house. He was impressed at the craftmanship and was admiring a delicate light wood trim lining the inside of the door of the cabin. He stepped onto the stained wooden planks, expecting a familiar creak, but the boards were sturdy.

Gilbert sauntered around the living room, picking up what interested him; he happily rubbed a skunk pelt against his face from Greedy Jim’s impressive pelt collection. Greedy Jim cursed and threw belts and jackets about looking for gear to pack. Gilbert looked at the mantle overhanging the fireplace. It was intricately carved into beautifully soft waves. Atop it was a clay pot with an engraving of an eagle, sat next to a ceremonial dagger, and a little ornate chest.

He wandered over to the mantle, and high above his head he reached, grabbing the clay pot. As he brought it down, he fumbled it. From hand-to-hand Gilbert juggled the pot and it drew closer and closer to the ground. Caught it. With clammy hands, he examined the pot, carefully replacing it back on the mantle. Then he grabbed the blade. He unsheathed the dagger from its bejeweled leather scabbard, revealing clean, vicious steel. He flicked the dagger around, and looked over to Greedy Jim, who was still cursing to himself in his bedroom. He sheathed the blade, putting it back on the mantle again, and grabbed the miniature chest. Holding it in one hand, he opened it, revealing a collection of rings. Just then, Greedy Jim peaked his head back into the room.

“Hey!” Gilbert looked up from the chest in his hand.

“Sorry, Jim, I was just–”

“Five minutes! I let you loose in my house for five minutes, and you already get to stealing?

“What? No, Jim, I was just curious and–”

“I’ve heard the same thing fifty-five-hundred times, Gilbert.” With great might, Greedy Jim snatched the jewelry chest from Gilbert’s hands. Several rings clattered onto the wood floor, and Gilbert crouched down to pick them up.

“Get your thieving fingers off ‘em!” Greedy Jim yelled and yanked Gilbert’s arm, tearing open his palm, and grabbing the rings from it.

Gilbert looked down at what remained on the floor and felt a pit in his stomach deeper than the ocean, swirling. Swiftly and angrily, Greedy Jim snatched up the rest of the rings, but Gilbert’s gaze didn’t shift from the floor.

He had bought two of the rings that were in the chest on the mantle. He knew it without a doubt. Two little unforgettable engravings: a ‘G’ on the gold ring and an ‘R’ on the silver ring. He felt himself getting sick. He thought of his flashback earlier that day. He thought how people looked at him when he came back that morning from the woods in his wet pajamas without Big Richard. He thought about how he had planned to skip town, even though he had nothing. That was when Murrieta offered him a job. He had been saved, he had lost a best friend and gained a family. Now, Greedy Jim was fuming, looking for a more discrete location for his little chest, but he turned back and looked at Gilbert who still stood with his head facing the floor. Greedy Jim felt his throat tighten. He turned away from Gilbert, back into his room.

“Just sit down! And wait.” Yelled Greedy Jim, walking away.

Gilbert looked again at the ceremonial blade. Then back to the door. He sat down. Greedy Jim came back in the room, holding a shovel and two bags.

“Here, I packed for ya.”

“I need to stop at my house and get some clothes, for the road.” Said Gilbert.

“We’ve got no time, gotta get to the rendezvous, yesterday. Already taken too long.”

“It’d just take a minute. I want to grab Phineas, too. Boss said to.”

“Look Gilbert, we don’t have time. I packed extra clothes because I was thinkin’ of you.” Greedy Jim tossed Gilbert a heavy bag, which he caught in his chest. “When we get to California, I’ll buy you some new clothes.”

“What about Phineas?”

“What about it? That canary has outlived its lifespan, anyway. You did it a great duty, Gilb.” Thunder cracked and both men peered out the window.

“Look, I can’t just let him die inside like that! At least let me release him. Please, Jim.”

“That bird isn’t surviving a day out here in the cold. Tell me Gilbert, if you were a canary, would you rather starve or freeze?”

“I can’t leave him like that.”

“You haven’t got a choice. I outrank you. Let’s go. Now.” Gilbert looked back at the ceremonial blade on the mantle, stood up, and made his way to the door.

“Remind me to hide my valuables from you, too.” Greedy Jim laughed, patting Gilbert on his back, and he opened the front door. Their boots crunched loudly on the icy snow making it hard to hear anything but their own conversation.

“Jim, you’ve known me a long time.”

“I’m going to stop you right there. I can’t risk another mistake – the last thing I want to do is put this operation in jeopardy because you couldn’t be without your bird.” A branch cracked off to the right. The men’s ears perked up and they both stopped in their tracks and looked around. They waited for a minute before Greedy Jim nodded and they kept walking.

“It’ll add ten minutes, max. And I could grab some provisions. Please.”

“Tell me Gilbert, when we finally get to sunny California, and we’ve all got fancy new haircuts and suits, tell me, how are you gonna explain to the respective authorities, that you aren’t the same stealin’, murderin’, scumbag drifter that came from Colorado with a band of bandits by his side and a canary on his shoulder?

“Murdering? After tonight, I can understand stealing, but murdering?”

“Gilbert, hurry up. And forget about the bird.” The two men trudged on in silence until they came upon Murrieta’s lodge. Greedy Jim rattled a secret knock, and the door flew open, freezing-cold air rushing in.

“Alright, y’all, just a few miles to the east. Our little friend here, Tim, kindly is gon’ show us the way. And then he’s gon’ lend us a helping hand diggin’. How’s that for a stand-up guy?” Murrieta sat in a chair in his home, grinning with every tooth. He looked at the red-headed man whose head was bowed. “And after a night of drinking, too. Truly, it’s an honor, Timmy.” Murrieta said. Cheers came from Greedy Jim, Rude Judy, and Doctor Doug Dirt.

“Boss? Can I have a word, quickly before we go?” Said Greedy Jim. Murrieta nodded and Greedy Jim whispered into his ear.

“I see.” Murrieta appeared solemn as he spoke, “Now are we all set to go?” He asked.

“Ay.” Said Greedy Jim, Rude Judy, and Doctor Doug Dirt in unison.

“Ay.” Said Gilbert. Murrieta eyed him, and Gilbert looked down. Murrieta watched Gilbert for a moment, and then gave Tim a push in the back, and together they marched in a line, east. First Tim, then Joaquin Murrieta, Gilbert Jiblet, Doctor Doug Dirt, Rude Judy, and holding up the tail, Greedy Jim. Nobody had much to say. Gilbert never picked his head up the whole way and nobody asked him why.

After a half an hour, the red-haired man halted beneath a grand oak tree.

“Go on, then.” Said Murrieta, and Greedy Jim tossed him a shovel. The man looked back at him with an emotionless stare, and began digging in the snow.

“I’m gonna need some help.” Said Tim, still digging.

“Go on, boys.” Said Murrieta. Greedy Jim grabbed a shovel for himself and tossed another one to Gilbert. The three men dug. Under the moonlight, sweat glistened and dripped from Gilbert’s nose. After about three feet of dirt, the men were sluggish. They finally heard the clink of metal on metal.

“There, stop. Move.” The red-bearded man, Tim, crouched down and Gilbert climbed out of the hole, reaching his arm down to hoist Greedy Jim out. With his hands, Tim dug out five metal cans from the dirt while Murrieta stood smiling, smoking his pipe as the crew watched in awe. Murrieta picked up one of the heavy cans, brushing off the dirt. With his knife, he sliced the top open and twenty-dollar double-eagles spilled onto the snow. Murrieta started laughing, crouching down to pick up the heavy gold coins.

“All over a drink, Tim. I might feel bad for you if I wasn’t so damn giddy right now.” Murrieta said. A flash of lightning dashed across the night sky and thunder crashed, but nobody looked up from the gold except for Gilbert, who jumped from the crash.

Tim spoke, standing in his hole, “May I take my leave? If I know my wife, she’ll be thinking the worst. And she’ll freak out the boy.” Greedy Jim, Rude Judy, and Murrieta all erupted in laughter.

“Look, Tim. None of us are happy about this, but you knew it was coming, I knew it was coming, hell, the birds in that oak tree right there knew it was coming.” Murrieta spoke calmly.

“I don’t know what’s coming, Boss.” Said Gilbert with a shaky voice.

“Now’s not the time, Gilbert.” Said Doctor Doug Dirt.

“What do you mean ‘not the time’? You aren’t about to kill this man – you can’t. I’ll say something.” Tim raised his head from his boots and watched confusion and anger take hold of Gilbert’s face. “I know you guys have done some shady stuff, but we aren’t murderers.” Gilbert slammed the shovel into the ground.

“Gilbert, I’m going to tell you once. Stop. Put the shovel down because you’re digging your own grave.” Murrieta spoke in a low tone.

“Why are we giving this fool a warning? You wanted to see the elephant, kid? Well, you got it.” Rude Judy unholstered her revolver.

“I told you, Murrieta, he’s already turned snake.” Said Greedy Jim.

“Everyone slow down, okay. Gilbert’s a leal-hearted fool. We all know it, it’s why we keep him around.” Said Doctor Doug Dirt.

“I’d rather be a fool than a gang of murdering sots. You can’t keep me quiet. I–” Murrieta put his hand on his revolver and interrupted Gilbert,

“You don’t wanna talk crazy right now, Gilbert. I told you, this was the last job, and then you’re done.”

“No, you said that about the last job. I could have died in that cave! I should have known.” Gilbert was shaking his head, backing away from his crew, “Should have listened to the rumors, should have listened to Phineas.” Greedy Jim got close to him.

“You don’t have to talk nice to him, Boss. The fool’s packin’ pixie dust. Might have a knife but that’s all.” Said Greedy Jim. Jim grabbed Gilbert by his jacket and threw him near the hole.

“Leave him alone, Jim! Damned fool. Gilbert’s the best of you, sorry sacks. I don’t want to have to do anything unsavory tonight, unnecessarily.” Murrieta spat and Greedy Jim sneered and stared at him. Murrieta approached Greedy Jim, digging his finger into his chest. Rude Judy looked around at Doctor Doug Dirt, who was trying to get in between Greedy Jim and Murrieta. She looked at Gilbert, who was beside the hole on the snow, and Tim, who was still standing in the hole. Then, looking at the five cans beside Murrieta’s feet, she caressed the barrel of her six-shooter.

“That fool, the ‘canary’? He’s the best of us?” Greedy Jim spoke with his chest puffed; he didn’t back down from Murrieta, standing in his face.

“Gah!” Murrieta headbutted Greedy Jim who was knocked unconscious, falling into the hole beside Tim, the red bearded man. Bewildered, Tim started to scramble out of the hole. Doctor Doug Dirt, spotting him on the move, booted him in the head, down into the dirty snow. Rude Judy drew her pistol and pointed it at Gilbert.

Gilbert looked up from the commotion to watch lightning flash across the sky behind the great oak tree again. Thunder shook the valley. As Gilbert returned his gaze from the sky back to the violence, he did a double take. Sitting perched in the tree, holding a full-sized pig, and wearing a coat made of bear, a wild man winked at Gilbert. For a moment Gilbert stared, mouth agape. The man signaled him to be quiet, and Gilbert looked back at Rude Judy, who was now brandishing a pistol and pointing it toward the hole at Tim.

“Put the pistol down, Judy! I gave you no such order.” Yelled Murrieta with his hand on his hip. Rude Judy turned her gaze and trained her weapon onto Murrieta.

“Don’t move a muscle, don’t speak another word Murrieta. Else I’ll leave the rest of your worthless thoughts out here in the cold.” Said Rude Judy.

“Judy, you dirty, two-faced–” Rude Judy rang off two well-placed shots, leaving Murrieta supine in the snow.

“Are you nuts? You lunatic, you–” Doctor Doug Dirt tried to close the distance to Rude Judy, and she released three more bangs. Panicked, Gilbert looked up at the tree and saw the wild man clutching the bear tightly and watching Rude Judy; he was clearly terrified too. Rude Judy began picking up the cans of gold and putting them into her bag. Gilbert caught her eye and opened his mouth to plead, but she cut him off,

“Give me a hand, will ya Gilbert?” Rude Judy spoke, but Gilbert just sat, staring at the doctor with his face down in the dirty snow. He thought about going for his knife, but he knew Rude Judy’s ruthlessness knew no bounds, and that her knife was faster than his and more wicked. It was no use.

“Nothing to do now.” She said, as if reading his thoughts. She looked down at the pit at Tim, who pleaded.

“I won’t say a thing, I swear. You can keep every–” Rude Judy released a pop into the pit and Tim fell silent. Her sixth shot. She turned to look at Gilbert and he looked down the hill, and shifted onto his knees.

“Never really had anything against you, Gilbert. I’m sorry it’s gotta be like this. You are one unlucky dunce.” She said, beginning to reload.

“What in the–Judy?” Greedy Jim slowly woke, and he pushed Tim’s arms and legs off of him, rising to his feet.”

“Murrieta got hasty. I almost don’t blame him.” She shook her bag of gold which clinked around in the metal cans.

“You shot him after he hit me?”

“I was looking out for you.”

“And what about Doc?”

“Doc didn’t have it in him. We both knew that. Didn’t deserve it. Me and you, we deserve it all.”

“So, we’ll split it then? fifty-fifty?” Greedy Jim grinned. “See, because if I hadn’t gotten up in Murrieta’s face, we–”

“Seventy-thirty.”

“I’ll take it. What about the kid?” Greedy Jim nodded at Gilbert, who stood in the snow, watching the murderers talk.

“I’ve gotta reload.” Said Rude Judy. Greedy Jim, pulled his revolver from his holster, and pointed it at Gilbert, who finally had the sense to start running.

“CAW! CAW!” The three living members of Murrieta’s crew looked to the sky and were met with an unbelievable sight. As he fired a shot off at Gilbert, a flying pig crashed directly into Greedy Jim’s chest, slamming his head into the ground. Oinking, Pig Richard continued east, as pigs do, and Greedy Jim never consciously moved again. Gilbert stopped when he heard the shot, and felt himself for wounds. He turned, and saw Greedy Jim in the snow. To his right, something yellow and red lay in the snow.

With vicious eyes, Rude Judy pulled her knife and ran at Gilbert. He turned, but tripped in the deep snow. She lunged at him. But she started to scream, batting her eyes. Birds began bombarding her from every direction. Hundreds. Yellow with a red stripe, they pecked mercilessly at any skin they could find. Rude Judy screamed, running in circles, swatting them away. Finally, she lay in the snow in a ball with her face covered as the flock continued harassing her. After several seconds like this, Big Richard whistled, and the birds flew to the nearby oak, except for one.

“I must be dreaming still.” Said Gilbert.

“This is no dream, friend.” Said Big Richard.

“I’m so sorry, Big Richard. You know I never would have got caught up with them if I knew–” Big Richard interrupted Gilbert,

“You’ve got nothing to explain Gilbert. But you know who does?” Rude Judy carefully looked around and untucked her head. She fumbled for her revolver. Bang! Big Richard released a shot from Greedy Jim’s pistol which blew up the snow near Rude Judy. She remained still and dropped her pistol.

“Rude Judy, raise your hands above your head, and get to walking to the hangman.” Said Big Richard. Slowly, she raised to her feet, leaving her pistol in the snow.

“Here, hold onto this for the walk. Enjoy it.” Big Richard tossed the heavy bag of gold to her. He whistled, and through the trees came Pig Richard. Oinking happily, he rubbed his head on Gilbert, who patted and scratched him. Big Richard whistled again in the same tune but furrowed his eyebrows. He did the same whistle once more before terror struck his face.

“Phineas?” Said Big Richard. “No!” Big Richard scrambled to the ground near Gilbert, and Gilbert followed his gaze. When he spotted his feathered friend, he dove to the ground.

“Phineas! What did you do?” Gilbert screamed. The poor yellow bird was bleeding badly, and Gilbert was crying. He grabbed a canteen from a nearby pack and poured the water on the wound. A bullet sat nestled in Phineas’ breast.

“I’m so sorry Gilbert.” Big Richard, the man, spoke softly, patting his friend’s back. Gilbert set Phineas down, tears falling into his feathers.

“Hey, I don’t know if you guys think I’m dead, but, uh, I’m not.” The voice of the red-bearded man rang out from the hole, and he stood up. Gilbert and Big Richard quickly turned.

“I’d been playing dead, I guess her pistol misfired. Some luck, huh?” He paused and looked at the dead bird. “Awfully sorry to see about your bird.” He cleared his throat, “Not the worst outcome overall, considering the situation though–”

Watching Tim, Gilbert didn’t speak. He pulled up his pants, which without his belt, had sunken below his waist, and sucked up his snot. He took out his handkerchief and wrapped Phineas in it.

“–Least in my opinion. But, I–I’m terribly sorry. Horrible thing to happen to someone you love. I did have an expectation that one of ya would check on me, if I’m being completely honest. But hey, I get it, barely know me. I do appreciate you standing up for me earlier, Gilbert.”

“Sorry.” Said Big Richard to Tim.

“Well isn’t that just rootin’, tootin’, and absolutin’. You mongrels mind if I can go face my fate already?” Rude Judy spat red after she spoke.

“And I was just thinking of letting you go free.” Said Big Richard, laughing with Tim. Their faces turned solemn again as they peered at Gilbert, who with eyes welled, was looking at Phineas.

“Give me my dang gold, demon.” Tim snatched the bag from Rude Judy’s arms.

Under the moonlight, Big Richard grabbed Gilbert’s head, and patted it, and the three men – and Rude Judy – made their way back to town with their heads hung low, stepping in the tracks they had already made.