One Man's Calling : One Man's Calling, chapter 5 by Wayne Fowler |
In the last part, Ben briefly returned to Creede where he ministered to Sheriff JD and a young man named Frankie. Ben has now returned to the mountains. “Hey, Ol’ Timer,” Ben said to the wadded-up soul he found sprawled on a jagged rock slope of Antelope Mountain. The mountainside was peppered with pines standing singly. With the large boulders and crags, Ben couldn’t see the codger until climbing right up to him. Done with the one he hauled to Creede, Slim, Ben had resumed his quest of following God’s will and calling. “Hah! You know the Morse Code, do ya?” the obviously broken-legged miner said through cracked lips that barely covered corn-yellow teeth. “Morse Code? No, but I figured that metal-on-metal sound wasn’t natural. So I followed my ears. This must be an Indian trail up here until you turned off a ways back down. Kind of out of the way.” Ben allowed him control of his canteen, watchful that he sip and not gulp. “Prospecting. You didn’t see my burro? Wasn’t Morse Code, anyways, this past hour I been hammerin’ out Amazin’ Grace. ‘Course maybe it was my upbeat that mighta been lost on ya.” Ben said he hadn’t seen the burro, that he’d hobbled Red down the slope where he’d left the Indian trail, praying that a mountain lion wouldn’t get the big gelding. “Prob’ly all the way back ‘round to Antelope Spring by now. Well, this would’ve been my last day up here. Drank all my water, yelled myself hoarse. Gonna be real cold tonight. I was done fer for sure.” “Broke your leg, I see,” Ben said, kneeling in front of the whisp of a man, ignoring the stench from what was obviously the old guy’s inability to contain his bladder. “Least it don’t hurt no more. Think you can get me offa this rock?” he asked, meaning the mountain. “Long as you don’t bust my ears screaming in pain,” Ben said in jest. “Screamin’s over fer me. I’m to the cryin’ stage.” Ben smiled as he picked up the lightweight as he might an infant. “Ahh,” the codger agonized. “Name’s Schmidt. Folks call me Ol’ Timer, like you said. Leg kinda hurts bad this way. Maybe if you let me hang on yer back. Let it sorta just dangle.” Ben’s slowed pace allowed him opportunity to appreciate the view, the monstrous mountains filling his vision. Though he would never deny his Ozark mountains their legitimacy, his home state heights were dwarfed by the colossal Rockies. Picturesque Ozark bluffs, as beautiful as they were, hardly compared to the breathtaking grandeur he witnessed with the crippled geezer on his back. “Think you can sit the horse?” Ben asked as they reached Red. “Leg won’t like it. Rather ride yer back, you don’t mind. Least ways down to the river?” “I don’t mind.” With Ol’ Timer like a child riding piggy-back, Ben picked his way down the mountainside, Red following untethered. Once at the Rio Grande, a river no wider than a buckboard and two-horse team were long, Ben made Ol’ Timer as comfortable as he could. “Gonna hafta get you to a doctor, somehow,” Ben said as he made camp. “Too far for my back and feet. Ruined these boots getting off your rock.” “Hah! You likely can doctor me. Clean breaks. Heard ‘em both, bouncin’ down that bluff. Pull ‘em straight, first one, then the other. Tie ‘em up tight and hear me holler.” Ol’ Timer guffawed at his sing-song. Ben smiled, nodding, as he sensed that God would help them both. +++ “Partner, huh?” “Yessir. I’ll do the talkin’. You do the walkin’. Hah! Workin’, I mean. I’ll teach ya ta hard rock mine. Sally, that burrow a’ mine’s gonna be around south and east a’ this rock. Got a bale a’ straw she’s partial to, prefers that to hay. Don’t guess your gelding would bother with it, though.” “You have a mine already?” Ben asked. “Hah! Yup. Got color, rather have a dollar. Not much, but color. Lookin’ for better. Nothin’ wrong in that, no Sir. Legal, too. You can have two, buckle my shoe. Hah! Or just ‘bandon one. Two weeks and it’s fair game for anybody else to claim.” Ben nodded, grinning at the old coot’s lame rhyming. “Make me a crutch and I can get there. Cain’t work, but you can. Hah!” Ben nodded, smiling. Walking together, Ben’s temporarily repaired boots easily held him to Ol’ Timer’s sluggish pace, they found Sally, her pack hanging below her belly. Ol’ Timer made faster progress hanging onto Sally with the arm on the side of his broken leg, the bones set and bound into a dogleg position. They were settled and stewing beans with salted pork well before fellow miners in the area quit work for the day. “Thought you’d quit us,” all in proximity said, more or less, some possibly wishing it were the case. “I’ll do my quittin’ after you boys been to skittin’. Hah!” Ol’ Timer answered. Ben shook his head, not getting the joke. Ben spent the next several days making and breaking blisters on his hands. Finally, out of beans and into the rice that neither man cared for, unable to cook the little pellets to chewability, Ol Timer declared a holiday, a day of rest and journey to North Creede for supplies, vittles and boots. “You know, Ol’ Timer, prospecting, mining, is an occupation, not a get-rich-quick scheme,” Ben said. “Don’t I know! Started in ’48 over ta Sacramenny. Been at it more’n thirty years. No quick in that. And no riches, either.” “But see, your head’s tellin’ you it is quick. One strike from instant wealth. Riches untold. The next hammer blow. The next stick of dynamite. The next rock.” Ol’ Timer smiled, “Yup.” Ben went silent, given no more words to speak. In North Creede, a pair of used boots sold by the undertaker were all Ben could find that fit. Grubbed up, Ben’s silence encouraged Ol’ Timer to pass the saloon by. “Don’t drink at’all, huh?” Ol’ Timer asked while stirring their beans back at the mine camp. “Don’t need it. Don’t want to be where it makes me go. Don’t want to do what it makes me do. Don’t want to hear what it makes men say. Why mess with it?” “You talk like you been there,” Ol’ Timer said. Ben smiled. “I was a lot stupider some years back. Teenager in Arkansas …” Ben shook his head at the singular experience. +++ “Ol’ Timer,” Ben began after the beans had been served. “We were talking about getting rich.” Ol’ Timer’s ear perked. By this time, he’d learned Ben well enough to know when to pay strict attention. “Look at your knuckles. Those hands can hardly hold a pick ax, or drilling rod. Your leg isn’t going to heal right. Come next year … That’s if we make it through the winter. This hole will barely feed us. There’s gold, here, sure, but it’s stuck to that quartz and we ain’t getting it off without more investment than we have. Now, look across the valley. See where Frank Thomas and Big Swede have their mines? “ Ben waited for Ol’ Timer to locate the area. “Why you reckon they left that wide a birth ‘tween ‘em?” “That bluff. My guess.” “So you get above it. Start below it. But behind it …” Ben knew inherently, in his spirit, that he’d been shown something. A one-time sight for a single purpose. He knew that God would not be showing him veins of gold willy-nilly. “We sell this hole for the few dollars it’s worth, claim the gap between those two, spend a month proving it, then sell it for enough to put you in a retirement home, or boarding house, with a tolerant housekeeper in Denver. You can Hah! those geezers to death, maybe find a widow geezer. And beguile everybody with your tales of wonderment.” Ol’ Timer began to say something, but instead locked onto Ben’s eyes. Finally, Ol’ Timer spoke … quietly, somberly. “You get all that from yer Bible?” Ben nodded. That he was ready to give up what he would be the absolute richest claim in the region bother him none in the least. "Ya know, Ben, I hear you aprayin'. Sometimes I'm thinkin' yer atalkin' ta me. Way you pray's like yer talkin' to a friend." Ben smiled. He knew the right moment had come. "Know your A, B, C's, Ol' Timer?" Ben waited for his nod. "Admit you need saving and want Jesus for your friend. Believe that he is the son of God and came to earth to save you. And then just confess your sins and that you accept him as your savior." "Heck, I know'd all that. Just ain't done it." Ben waited. Ol' Timer turned red, pinching his lips. After a single choking noise he asked Ben, "I gotta say my sins out loud? To you?" "Nope. You could, but don't have to." Ol' Timer wiped his eyes. "Sins. Mostly in my head. Ain't done 'em, but I thought on 'em so hard I might jist's well have." Ben nodded. "But I left my wife and youngun. Went back once, but they was gone." Ben nodded again as Ol' Timer bowed his head. After a long silence, Ben placed his hand on Ol' Timer's head. "Jesus, Ol' Timer's as wicked as they come. But he admits it, believes you sacrificed yourself for him, and would like to make your acquaintance." Ben drew back and waited a moment. "Oh! Ben! I feel like I'm havin' a heart attack, I feel so good!" Ol' Timer gasped, breathing in deeply. "I feel like I'm in a flower garden!" Ben smiled.
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Wayne Fowler
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