A Campfire

    Perhaps the heat had gotten to them throughout the day, or perhaps the water in their canteens had run dry, or simply they found themselves too weak to go on much further along the trail, but come sundown the trio of travelers had settled a patch of dirt for their campsite and set to work piecing together a ramshackle campfire. Eli had collected much of the firewood (and was collecting more still) and Amos the flint to light it, while Emmett was at work pulling their dinner from his rucksack which he’d set down beside their caravan, where the horses stand hitched to the nearest available tree branches. Surrounding them on three sides were trees aplenty, towering high into the orange sky, and on the fourth a calmly-babbling river that the trio had been trailing along for the past several miles.

    “Eli,” crowed Amos as he struck two rocks of flint together, “if you ain’t getting this fire started, mind letting the men get to it?”

    “Least I ain’t playin’ with rocks.” Eli shot back, eliciting a chuckle from the older Emmett, who stood from his perch on a chopped trunk of a fallen tree.

    “Boys, I warned y’all to quit actin’ like fools if you want to sup at all, so cut the bosh before I clean both y’all’s plows, like last time.”

    Eli and Amos had a good laugh at Emmett and continued their work in silence a moment more before Eli had finished chopping at the branches with his hatchet, dumping his bundle of sticks down and arranging them as best he could into a pile. Amos surrounded the bundle in stones drawn from the river and held his flint above it, striking thrice until a spark lit the dry wood aflame. Leaning in to blow at the fire, he fanned the flames enough to set the sticks ablaze proper, the warmth of the fire beginning to spread out as the sun disappeared into the canopy of trees. Emmett, who stood still beside his log, wrenched free from the rucksack a jar of preserves and a small cast iron skillet for cooking sausage, which he’d stored with him for the trip, as well as a sealed tin of beans.

    “Eli, you finished with the axe?” He asked. Eli nodded once and offered the handle to his elder, who took it and, setting down the tin itself on the log, gave it a firm whack. Twisting the hatchet into the metal, he peeled it back and sure enough emptied its contents into the skillet, holding it over the flame. “Boys, fetch ‘em bowls from the bindle and a couple spoons, too. Beans up first, then sausage ‘n some coffee, if I can find the crock.”

    The other men obeyed hastily, Eli stepping before the slower Amos to get his ceramic bowl and iron spoon. Amos, shoving Eli as he went, retrieved his as well and another for Emmett, setting it down on his log before taking a seat on the grass beside Eli, the youngest.

    “Ain’t we got no rice, Emmett?” Amos inquired, leaning back on his palms in the crisp grass. Emmett, shooting a look at him from under thick white brows, gave a firm shake of his head as he watched the pan and beans simmer.

    “Nada. Remember when Eli kicked up a row back in Blackhollow and we had to light a shuck on out?”

    “Heh, yeah,” Amos guffawed, “Eli was full as a tick, I reckon.” Eli, with his stubbled young face, glared something fierce at the two older men and tipped his hat down over his chestnut hair.

    “Hobble yer lip, Amos, or I’ll do it for ya’.” He warned.

    “Let fly, boy,” Emmett warned back twice as fierce, “an’ I reckon you’ll feel the business end of this here skillet.”

    Amos again laughed, and Eli, frustrated, swatted him upon the shoulder and Amos slugged him one back. Before they knew it, the two were doling out hits on one another until they’d both petered out and lay watching the fire crackle and burn, its embers rising to the darkening sky. Beneath the pink-hued clouds of sunset, the pines did sway in a soft wind that carried downriver, and the horses snorted and whinnied softly as it went.

    “You boys,” Emmett spoke as he drew back the skillet from the flames, “must be on the shoot tonight, or just like getting an old man wound up, I swear it. Bowls out, gentlemen, soup’s on.”

    “Reckon we just don’t give a damn, Em.” Eli replied as he held his bowl out first, getting a heaping helping of beans scooped into it. “Could be we just like gettin’ your back up, anyhow. Don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

    “Yessir, fine as cream gravy are me ‘n Eli.” Amos piped up, spooning himself some beans as well. Emmett dumped the rest of the beans into his bowl, scraping out what stuck to the pan with the spoon, before setting upon it for a quick spoonful. Setting down the hot skillet on the dirt, he grabbed the wrapped-up sausage patties, salted to keep them fresh, and threw them flat into the pan, spacing them out enough to fry and returned it to the fire.

    “You mudsills play to the gallery all you like, but ain’t no gallery here to see.” Emmett jested, using his spoon to sift the patties along in the pan as they sizzled, their juices flowing freely along the iron and seeping into the meat. “Everybody’s got three, by the way. Gonna’ sup fine tonight, but we gotta’ find a general store and restock soon. Clear on that?”
The other two agreed between mouthfuls of beans and sips from their canteens.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

As the patties crisped, Emmett removed his hat with his free hand and laid it flat beside him on his log as Eli turned over a spoonful of beans onto the dirt before his horse, who lapped it up like a mutt much to his amusement.
“Shoot, that crowbait’ll eat anything, won’t it?” He announced, causing Amos to chortle as he chewed his beans. Amos, scratching the side of his scraggly chin, barked a reply:

“Sure will. I reckon it learns from it’s rider.”

“Cut it, or I’ll lay you flat, Amos!” Eli retorted.

Emmett, rolling his eyes, flipped the sausages and pressed down on them with his spoon to a sizzling cloud of steam, filling the air with the sweet smell of cured meat. The night had since dawned upon them, not a speck of twilight remaining, and the fire now was their only light save for a few oil lanterns they had tucked away in their wagon should the fire go out. The eldest cowboy gave a look that could stun a buffalo toward the two younger men.

“Now, I warned y’all a’ready…”

“Awh, c’mon Em,” Eli preached, “you’ve gone through the mill, ain’t you never heard big talk in yer life? Pull in yer horns and settle in, we ain’t gonna’ cause no trouble nohow.”

“Yessir, we ain’t.” Amos concurred.

This seemed enough for old Emmett, whose expression changed to a tired smile as a sigh escaped him. The sausage seemed as good as done, blackened on both sides but plump, and he pulled the skillet again from the fire, holding it out to the gentlemen. Eli and Amos took three each, leaving three more for Emmett, who dropped them into his bowl atop his beans. After setting the pan aside, Emmett halved his sausages with the dull spoon and mixed them in with his beans before digging in for a spell. In silence they ate, just the three men and the crackling fire, undisturbed save for the occasional snort of one of their horses, until Amos piped up.
“How many miles til Clear Ridge, Emmett? You got the map on you, still?” Emmett looked to him and patted his breast pocket, the crinkle of old paper emanating from it.

“Always do, son.” He replied. “I would reckon we got abouts another day ahead of til then, assuming we get saddled up come sunrise. Still have to make a stop at  Breakdale Summit and get some supplies for the road, like I said.”
“Breakdale Summit ain’t far,” Eli pitched in, “so it shouldn’t be too long a stop. Reckon we might pass by a saloon and see some girls?”
“Eli,” chimed Amos, “I think the girls would shin out the second you walk in.”
“Stuff it, Amos.”

“Cut it, the both of ya’.” Emmett shook his head. “Y’all know we only got enough money for supplies and nothin’ else, so I expect to see no money spent on nothing we can’t eat or use. I certainly don’t expect neither of you boys trying to make a mash on any girl, not even no whore. Do I make myself clear?”

    “As glass, Em.” Eli looked away, dejected.

    “Ain’t even allowed no whiskey?” Amos complained. “Gee, you old croaker, I never took you to be down on some oh-be-joyful. How about some tobacco? I’m running low on my quirleys.”

    “Reckon I do a round of poker or two in the saloon, scrape us up some extra cash?”

    “Boys, now I done told y’all already,” came Emmett’s stern reply after a mouthful of sausage, “we ain’t got the money for it. No tobacco til we reach Clear Ridge and get us some gold. And Eli, sure as you’re born, you ain’t playing poker with nobody in Breakdale Summit. Last time you damn near got it in the neck by some ol’ rip who played you for a fool.”

    “Is that a bluff, or do you mean it for real play? I reckon you mighta’ forgot, but I won last time we all played together back in Richstone. Might wanna’ check that memory again, before you wake the wrong passenger.”

    Amos nearly spit out the water from his canteen, eyes wide. Choking on his own laughter, he tossed his head back and yucked aloud, smacking his thigh before patting Eli strongly on the back. Eli offered up a wide, toothy grin to Emmett, who raised a bushy brow to the youngest.

    “Funny. Look, let’s just wind up supper here and get some coffee going, we’ll talk about it later.” Emmett set his bowl down upon the log beside him, sucking the remains from the spoon before tossing it into the bowl as well. Kicking his boots off, he sprawled out lazily against the log, letting the fire warm his tired feet a moment. Amos, seeing this, took to doing much of the same, and soon Eli joined in and the lot all laid about the fire exchanging stories for some time.

    As the night bore on, the moon shone through the fleeting black clouds and the stars twinkled high above the rising embers of the campfire. Eli and Amos cracked some jokes, Emmett played his harmonica for a time, and the trio had made up a batch of coffee from some grounds and freshwater from the river, the three all drinking from tin cups plucked from the wagon. Crickets chirped out in the tall grass and the river kept on its babbling, same as before, while the winds whipped through the pines with a slight chill, bringing the three men closer still to their fire. In time, the conversation drifted back toward Clear Ridge.

    “Say, Emmett,” Amos had started, “when we get to Clear Ridge, what do you think we’ll find there? You don’t really think Bulldog left nothing there, do you?”

    Emmett chewed his lip briefly before taking a sip from his coffee.

    “Bulldog always shot his mouth off, but I’d tie to him on this ‘un. He told me right before he bit it in the hoosegow, and I’d trust him on it. The details were too fine for a man to lie about, he knew more’n he let on. This map here was the only thing left of him when he died, and I’d wager it’s all accordin’ to Hoyle.”

    “The genuine artifact, huh?” Said Eli. The older man nodded solemnly, face covered in strange shadows from the flickering light of the fire between them. “Shoot, I reckon t’ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of blow anyhow, Bulldog was always soaked most his life before they even nailed him.”

    “He was, but I tell you boys, this one is a bonafide truth and by hook or crook we are going to find that gold he buried. I’ll swear to it.”

    Amos, who laid flat against the log staring up to the night sky, didn’t even offer a glance to the other two men and merely grunted before replying.

    “Hidin’ gold in a bone orchard,” he breathed, “what a deadbeat. Now, if it were me, I’d be throwin’ it this way ‘n that and makin’ myself known. Why, I’d be the richest man ‘round if I had all the gold that old fool wasted. Makes a man wonder just how roostered you gotta’ be to bury it all.”

    “Ain’t that the truth. Shoot, I’d fight like a Kilkenny cat to get my hands on even a bit of it.” Eli had said, then, reaching for his canteen and finding it empty. He stood to his feet and took it toward the river, calling from it: “And another thing: why is it you reckon he buried it in the first place?”

    “Stumps me,” Emmett sighed, “I’m sure he had his reasons. He always was a strange ‘un. Regardless, map leads to the grave he marked, so that’s where we’re headed. After that, we can go our separate ways, like the deal was.”

    A minute of silence hung in the air as Eli returned to the fire, sitting himself before the other two men. His young face flashed concern briefly, but with a tip of his hat he did well to hide it as he thumbed his suspenders without much a second thought. He asked aloud, to either of the other men, a question.

    “What do y’all reckon you’ll do with your take?”

    “Go on down to Mexico.” Amos said without hesitation, tossing his head to the side to look at Eli with a tired expression. “Buy myself one of them nice little pueblos or whatever they call ‘em down there and make good with my dinero. They say you live like a king down there, and I always did like them Mexican girls a bit. Fine as God can make ‘em.”

    “How ‘bout you, Em? How you reckon to spend your take?”

    “That’s easy. Get myself some stock in those railroads,” Emmett’s gaze drifted to the fire, “pay a heap and get myself some fine clothes and live like those thoroughbreds up in Graybrook do. Have one of them big houses and ride the rails as long as I’m alive. I always wanted to do that.”

    “How about you, Eli?” Amos asked. Eli paused, unsure how to answer at first, until clearing his throat and taking another sip of his water.

    “Reckon I’ll go back home.”

    “Why would you wanna’ go and do that?” Emmett sat forward on the log, reaching down to the grass to take his canteen as well. He saw Amos reach and do the same, but for his coffee--Emmett checked his cup and found it empty. Emmett would refill it shortly and offer to do the same for Eli’s as he replied.

    “There’s a girl I know there, fine as an angel. She’s waitin’ for me, and I promised her I’d come on back and take her away from there. She took on as I left, but I told her I’d be back and I’d take her ‘ways out from that dumb ol’ town. Treat ‘er the way she should be. Once we cross the mountains, we’ll be right as a rivet and I’ll propose then ‘n there.” For a moment, there was nothing to say: Emmett and Amos, in awe of the sudden maturity of the younger Eli, simply watched him in the dancing light of the campfire. Eli, smiling to himself, looked down with a shrug. “That’s what I’d do with it.”

    Amos raised his tin cup above the fire.

    “Toast, then. To yer lovely bride-to-be, that is.” It was not long before Emmett raised his cup as well, leaning back against his log.

    “Here’s how!”

    The three men would go on to toast to one another’s health by that babbling river, vowing that God would guide them true toward Clear Ridge in a day’s time. They would drink to their good fortune, and to their futures, and to the antics had along the way. In time, they would all come to fall asleep, too, one by one near that warm fire, lulled to sleep by the crackle and snap of burning twigs--three different men, bound together in one great search for a buried treasure they were certain would be found lying in wait, just for them.