The black liquid was oil, we’d struck it rich. We knew that we could now retire, and live in leisure. We actually started talking about all the ways we’d spend the money. Our first choice was to move out west, and buy land, or even try our hand in the market. Ross said we could go back east; return in glorious triumph. Joseph didn’t know what to do with it, but then again, he didn’t know what to do with himself in the best of times.
As the burning sun bore down on us and our discovery, we began to feel a growing sense of annoyance to take us. All alone in the wastes, we bickered about how we ought to split our find. Ross said he should get the majority, since it was rightly his equipment, while Joseph staked his claim by virtue of it being his land. While, I myself being a gentleman of sensible mind, suggested even shares, but the others would not have any of it.
Ross swung first at Joseph, knocking the smaller man to the ground; then mounting and pummeling as he went. I tried to pull him off, but it was too late. He had beaten the poor simpleton to death, for nothing more than oil out of dirt. He then came after me, but I pulled my six-shooter and shot him. I shot my best friend dead. I then was alone in that silent place with nothing but myself, my dead friends, and that catalyst of greed.
I wasn’t expecting it, but I was not surprised either. Maybe I’d seen it coming. At the very least I should have seen it coming. There had been signs. Ross had grown increasingly belligerent since we had that incident at Broken Hill site, where he swore that the other prospectors had been stealing from him. Then again, he’d always been an ass. The youngest of an old family, forever chasing the shadows cast from old glories.
I then stood at an impasse; if I returned home to Boston, folks would question why Ross wasn’t in company. If I don’t, I have only the equipment in our -- my pack, and five bullets to last me till the nearest town; at least a weeks journey. I pondered for a time before I made my mind.
I dumped all the bags, and took what I’d need. I will go, and journey west to the Oregon Territory, free from my misdoings and sins. If I returned home, they might hang me for what I had done. I did the decent thing, and buried my fallen friends. It was the least.
And that was that.
Many, many months later
Only another mile, I thought, keeping my head down. I watched each foot rise and fall, rise and fall, losing myself in the rhythm of it. I thought of what was one the other side of the mountain, and I remembered that there was another range across the valley. The mountains I had crossed at that time was the Cascades, weren’t as difficult as the Rockies, which I had crossed the preceding Summer.
The weather here in Oregon was much wetter than what I had experienced in recent months, which seemed like nothing but waste and dune, broken only by sparse grass in some places. While I was thankful for a change, the rain and cold presented a new challenge. After I hit the summit, I stared down into the valley. I was greeted by the sight of it’s verdant growth. Never in my journey up to that point had I seen such an abundance of untamed natural forest.
I was crossing a grave in the trees, when I saw what looked like a campsite. I announced my approach, but none answered. When I entered, a most heinous sight greeted me. A long dead person, reduced to nought but bone, and a camp that had long been host to nothing but the occasional animal or varmint passing through. Inside the tent, lay only another skeleton, a clear gunshot to the skull, and a rusted revolver still clutched in the bony hand.
I guess, even surrounded in abundance, desperation can just as surely find you as it can in desolation.
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