River Rocks: A West Virginia Adventure Novel

by Steve Kittner

  Deceased Otises would do them no good. They needed to find one who was still alive. Giselle finished with the tax files and came over to lend a hand to the boys’ search. Once again, they needed to determine a bracket of years to start their search for descendents of Matthew Otis. This next generation would surely have to produce a living relative of the infamous Arthur B. Otis

  Giselle suggested, “Why don’t each of us take ten years apiece, starting with 1936 and go from there? Matthew would have been twenty years old in 1936, so that is a pretty reasonable place to start, right?”

  “Sounds good,” Josh chimed in.

  The kids dug right in and continued their search. Each young detective doing his or her part to find a living Otis to talk to about the old red can and The Legend of the Southern Jewel.

  A few more minutes went by and Josh’s stomach was audibly growling when Eddie said, “Got one!”

  Josh and Giselle turned to see what Eddie had come up with and noticed Sheriff Collins looking at them, this time through the Dutch doors. Sheriff Collins was a bit more courteous, however, offering the kids a smile and a tip of his hat. His shoes didn’t make a sound when he walked away. Neither did the old boards under his feet. Former detectives could do that.

  Josh and Giselle turned back to Eddie.

  “Whata ya’ got, Eddie?” Josh asked.

  “Okay, 1948. Baby born to Mathew Otis and Teresa Hinkley Otis. They named him Burl Arthur Otis.”

  Eddie flipped through the papers in the file. The usual stuff, but this time…..no certificate of death.

  Giselle said, “Hey….this one could be alive still! Let’s look through here real carefully and make sure there are no little notes or riders or addendums or anything.”

  Josh and Eddie didn’t really know what all that fancy talk was but once again, they were glad that they had recruited their new friend.

  They went through every legal document in the file and everything was in order as it should be and there was no sign or mention of a death certificate at all.

  “OK,” Giselle said, “We have a possible living descendant of Arthur B. Otis. Now we need to know where he lives. Back to the tan cabinets.”

  This would not take long. The three friends went right to the current year tax files and fingered their way to the “O” section.

  “Burl A. Otis. Here we go. Let’s take a look!” Eddie exclaimed.

  The three kids were now getting a little excited about their long day of looking through files and trying to find a living relative of Arthur Otis. They laid the file out on the little table and gathered around it. Josh flipped open the front cover and right there on top, on an official Red Creek Property Tax document it was.

  Burl Arthur Otis

  Rural Route 120……..Tater Holler Homestead...22 acres……Taxes paid..$ 218.00

  Eddie and Josh’s jaws both dropped simultaneously as Giselle reacted, “Oh my gosh!”

  Josh said it slowly, figuring it out as he went along, “Burl Otis lives in the original Tater Holler homestead that his great- great-grandfather Zeke Otis settled in the mid 1800s! Wow…that is so cool.”

  A real sense of accomplishment overcame the three as they smiled, looking at the file, proud of their sleuthing skills. They sat there in silence for a moment and then Eddie said, “ Dude….we gotta go there! We gotta talk to this guy.”

  Josh looked at Eddie in agreement, with a “let’s go” grin on his face.

  “I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” a voice from behind them boomed.

  Startled, the three turned around and, once again there stood Mayor Billingsworth, filling up the top portion of the Dutch door. “What interest would you kids have in a crazy old mountain man moonshiner like Burl Otis, anyway?”

  They paused a minute as the Mayor rolled his cigar around in his mouth a little.

  Eddie spoke up. “Oh, uh,…. We were just doing some research, that’s all.”

  Sheriff Collins stepped up beside the Mayor, paused a second and said, “What kinda research would you be doing on a no-good family like the Otises?

  Giselle defended, slightly irritated, “No good? How can you say they are no good? We just traced their family tax records from the 1850s up to the present and the only time that they missed paying their taxes, another family member stepped up to pay it for them.”

  “Sure. Moonshine money paid all them taxes. Not an honest dollar in a century came from that bunch. Whata you kids know about the Otises, anyway? Why are you prying into their business?” the Mayor questioned, squinting one eye.

  Giselle offered them this: “We are just doing some research on early Red Creek settlement and we got the Otis’ name sort of randomly from someone. We thought it was as good a name as any to look up.” She shrugged one shoulder to give her excuse nonchalance.

  Sheriff Collins and Mayor Billingsworth looked at each other, both knowing a good cover when they heard one and both wondering what the kids were really up to. The two officials did realize, however, that all the information the kids had uncovered for themselves, was public record and that their curiosity in what the three friends were up to would have to end right there. For now.

  “Well…OK.” He paused. “Just remember to put things back as they were when you leave” the Mayor said. He then looked at Sheriff Collins as he walked away and gave him a quick shoulder shrug. They both walked in the same direction towards the little room with the coffeepot.

  “What was that all about?” Josh asked. “Whatta they care what we are doing?”

  “Who knows,” Eddie replied. “These guys don’t have much to do, ya know. Why don’t we make some copies and get outta here.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know of anything else we need here. We have a family tree that we traced to a living descendant and we have an address,” Giselle added.

  The three friends took the latest tax document they found with the address and the birth certificates of Burl Otis, his father, grandfather and great-grandfather, Arthur B. Otis, to Mrs. Anderson to make copies.

  “Can we have you make some copies for us?” Giselle asked her politely.

  “Oh, umm… ya know what…..Can you run a copier?”

  “Sure.” Giselle replied.

  “You guys come on back and help yourselves if you like. I have a deadline I am trying to beat today and heaven forbid if I go over it.” She gave a head nod toward the Mayor’s office.

  “Gotcha,” Giselle replied with a smile. “We’ll just be a second.”

  The three kids walked to the back room where the copier was and commenced to make the four copies that they needed. They copied the birth certificates first and once finished with them, Giselle took them back to the records room to put them back in the files and put the files back in the cabinets where they belonged. Eddie and Josh were making the copy of the tax record as Giselle walked past the front window and was startled nearly out of her shoes when just outside the door they all heard the unmistakable sound of tires screeching just a split second before a loud CRUNCH !!!

  Everyone in the offices ran out to see what had happened, including Josh and Eddie. An older lady in a big old 1973 Chrysler New Yorker had rear ended a Ford pickup truck that had stopped in the middle of the road for whatever reason. All occupants were fine as Sheriff Collins handled the situation with the help of a deputy who arrived soon afterwards. The kids watched the formality for a little bit and then decided to make tracks for home.

  “We got everything we need, right?” Giselle asked.

  “Yep, all set,” Eddie said. “Let’s go get some fries at Ryder’s.”

  “Sounds good.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The three friends sat at the counter of Ryder’s Restaurant, each with a plateful of crinkle cut French fries and a large puddle of ketchup. Ryder’s made them the best and no one really knew why but they were great. Maybe it was the oil or the quality of the potatoes or a combination of both or maybe it was just the atmosphere of the quaint little restaurant, but
these fries were great and for one dollar you could get a full plate of them. As the kids ate, they chatted about the things that had happened up to this point and the information that they had gathered.

  They had discovered a milk can that had probably been lost for decades, one containing the biggest secret in West Virginia history, a map of clues to the Southern Jewel, a huge stash of Confederate gold that had been robbed off of a train on a stormy night in 1903. The document had been drafted and placed inside the milk can for safe keeping in 1904 and, most likely, in case something happened to the person who had hidden the gold and drafted the map, another generation could discover it. Which is just what had happened! They also knew that a wallet that belonged to a man named Arthur Otis had been left at the scene of the crime, which immediately made him a guilty man or at least a “suspect of interest.” Arthur Otis disappeared immediately after the robbery and that did nothing for his case either.

  They knew that Elton Mansfield seemed to have an interest or at least a curiosity in what they were sleuthing and they knew that a living descendant of the man who left his wallet on the train tracks on that night in 1903 lived about five miles downriver and then straight up the mountain who knows how far. They knew something else too; they wanted to go find him!

  “So, now we need a plan,” said Josh. “We have to get up Tater Holler to talk to Burl Otis.”

  “I have freshman orientation downtown the next two days so you guys will be on your own. I do expect you to keep me updated though,” Giselle said. “So …what’s the plan gonna be?”

  “You know that camping trip you been wanting, Eddie?” Josh asked. “I was thinkin’ how about we take the backpacks and go for a couple days.”

  Eddie nodded his head in approval as he chewed and swallowed a mouthful of fries.

  “I‘ve never even been up that way before. Do ya think there is a place to pitch a tent?” Eddie asked. “Besides in the middle of the woods, I mean.”

  “Well, there’s usually an old oilfield location to camp near if nothing else,” Josh replied. “You just have to listen to the pumps all night.”

  This region of West Virginia was full of oil wells with pumps busily pulling crude out of the seams of the hills. The drilling companies came in with all their equipment and huge drill bits, sometimes up to fifteen inches in diameter, and drilled over a mile deep, searching out the black gold. Once the hole was drilled, they ran a four-inch diameter pipe all the way to the bottom and cemented it into place. Once that was done, they set in place the pump jack that would, with the help of a small engine, rock a plunger type device up and down inside the four-inch pipe, sucking the crude out of the ground and into a storage tank on sight. It made for a noisy campsite, with the engine running, but sometimes was the only flat spot that could be found with enough brush cleared away to keep the snakes out of one’s tent. There was usually a well site about every mile along the old oil roads that crisscrossed through the mountain region.

  “We’ll find somewhere to camp. We always do, right?” Eddie replied. “Do you think this guy will talk to us? We don’t know anything about him.”

  “He’s gonna be around sixty-five years old, if he was born in ’48,” Giselle said, just offering information. “How are you planning to find out where his house is up there?”

  “You think we could MapQuest it on the computer?” Eddie asked.

  “MapQuest ’Tater Holler Homestead?’” Josh asked, cocking an eyebrow at his friend.

  “Probably just have to go search the place out, huh?” Eddie conceded. “Do it the hard way.”

  “You mean the fun way!” Josh smiled, itching for more adventure. “Here’s another problem,” Josh said, shoving a fry into his mouth. How are we going to get downriver to the point where we cut up the holler?”

  “What about your boat?”

  “It’s a deep-V. It won’t go over the shoals down there. It’s also light-gauge aluminum and Dad would have a fit if we brought it back with a hole in it.”

  “I got news for you,” Giselle said. “If you put a hole in it in the river, you won’t be bringing it back!”

  The friends all laughed at the reality of what Giselle had said, all indulging themselves in their fries once again. Each one was thinking about how they could overcome this obstacle and be able to get downriver five miles and explore Tater Holler in search of Burl Otis, the man whose great-grandfather left his wallet at the site of a train robbery in 1903.

  “What we need is something with a real shallow bottom, something that will float right over the shoals. I am thinking that the rocks are about a foot to a foot and a half below the surface of the water down there.” A flat-bottomed jon boat would be ideal, but I don’t know anyone who has one who would loan it to us,” Eddie thought out loud.

  “Me neither,” replied Josh, shaking his head and eating his last fry. “A rubber raft would work, too.”

  “Until you hit one sharp rock,” Giselle said. “Blub, blub, blub.” She made a sinking motion with her hand then laughed.

  Josh just looked at her as he pulled his eyebrows down. “No, we need something that can take a hit or two and keep floating,” he said, “and it’s not like we can ask for a ride, either. Then we’d have to tell the whole story and we can’t do that…not yet. Can’t ride our bikes either. Not down the railroad tracks.”

  Eddie said, “We could just cross the river behind your house and then hike the five miles to Tater Holler, ya know, walk the tracks.”

  “Last resort. That’s a long walk carrying packs,” Josh replied shaking his head.

  “We’ll figure something out. You guys ready? I gotta get home,” Giselle said.

  “What’s the rush?” Josh asked.

  “Probably got a date,” Eddie teased.

  “No, my Dad is doing some maintenance stuff on my car tonight before I start driving back and forth to school every day. Oil…and…. some other stuff.”

  Josh and Eddie just looked at each other.

  “He said to have the car back in the garage by six o’clock. He is starting right after dinner.

  “Alright, well I’m ready,” Eddie said.

  The three spun their counter stools around and hopped down to leave the best French fry joint on Elk River. Giselle reached for the old door handle and as she did so a beefy trucker pulled the door open from the other side. As he opened it, he tipped his greasy Peterbilt hat at her, offering her the right of way. Giselle thanked him and the three walked out of the restaurant and continued their way back to Josh Baker’s house, where she had parked the newly named Silver Bullet.

  “So when are you guys planning to take this camping trip. I mean, are you going sooner than later or what?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. We gotta see what we can come up with for getting to Tater Holler first and then we’re good to go, or at least I am,” Josh Replied.

  “Oh yeah…me too! Hey, it’s summer vacation. Not too much to work around as far as schedules go. Eddie said.

  “Well, keep me posted. Let me know what’s going on. You have my cell number, right?”

  “I got it,” Josh confirmed proudly.

  “We’ll call ya,” Eddie said.

  Arriving at Josh Baker’s house, the two boys watched Giselle hop into her fabulous looking Grand Prix, lock her seatbelt, back out of the driveway and head home, her dual exhaust rumbling slightly as she took off. Both boys were thinking the same thing but said nothing. They enjoyed her company and man, was she cute!

  “Josh, is that you, honey?” his mom called from inside the house.

  Eddie laughed at the honey part and Josh smirked back at him.

  “It’s me, Mom,” he returned.

  Mrs. Baker walked over to the door. “Are you hungry? We have pot roast, almost ready, with potatoes, carrots and corn bread. Oh, hi, Eddie. You’re welcome to eat too if you’d like.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Baker. Thanks, but we just killed three plates of fries and I am stuffed,” Eddie replied, putting his hands
on his stomach.

  “Yeah, me too, Mom. I’ll have some later, though. It sounds great.”

  “Okay,” Mrs. Baker said, a bit surprised that teenage boys would turn down such a hearty meal. It wouldn’t take them long.

  “Later it’s serve yourself, ya know,” She said, giving them the eye and reminding them that the kitchen closes after dinner, for service, that is.

  “That’s fine. We’ll fix it,” Josh said. “Hey, let’s take a cruise down the riverbank on the bikes,” he said to his friend.

  “Let’s go.”

  The boys liked riding their rugged bikes down along the sandy banks of the Elk River. There was a trail that followed the terrain of the rolling banks that took them across small streams that emptied out into the river and then back up and through a huge patch of milkweed plants that grew six or seven feet tall, maybe an acre of it, and then through a wooded area where the boys had built their tree house a year earlier. Of course, all the boys who lived in the area would take the liberty of sharing the tree house without the courtesy of asking, but what could they really say? It wasn’t even built on their property.

  The two friends rode along, enjoying the pleasant fragrance of the honeysuckle and the lilacs that grew in abundance along the river banks in the summertime, while watching the falling sun sparkle on the ripples of the river like diamonds. Every once in a while Eddie would look back to make sure his friend was still back there and then resume hard pedaling.

  As they rode along, Josh was taking it all in. The scents, the sights, the feel of the bike as it dug into the dry, sand/dirt mixture. His mind went back a few days to when, just across the river, they had pulled a muddy can from the bank of the river that held in it a message from the past. There was no doubt about it now. Someone had drawn up a document, of sorts, that was meant to be a message for someone. But who? Was it a treasure map? Treasure maps, he knew, were more myth than reality. In all the years of all the pirates who are so well known: Blackbeard, Long John Silver, Captain Morgan and so on, not one documented treasure map was ever found directing a lucky soul to an “X” in the sand. It was all fiction. So he thought, wouldn’t it be a bit of a reach to even think that he and his best friend, Eddie, had stumbled on to the world’s first, real documented treasure map that would lead them to the proverbial “X”-- the Confederate gold known as the Southern Jewel?