by P J Skinner
Rhett raised a rude eyebrow but she ignored him. There was no way she was going to admit that her aversion to riding came from a holiday in France. She had been given a riding lesson on a frisky horse and had to grip on with her legs for hours. The next day she could not sit down or walk without pain, and the family she was staying with invited people to their house to mock the English girl who could not sit down. Once bitten.
Sam wandered into the local shop and bought two cases of water and a case of tonic water.
‘How much do they charge for a mule to the Cerro Calvo Project?’ she asked as she was paying.
‘Five dollars up, or three dollars down. My son Pepe is outside with his mules if you want to use them, but you’ll have to go soon. He doesn’t like to do the trip down after sunset. Lots of thieves loiter up there because of the rich pickings.’
‘Rich pickings?’ said Sam.
‘People coming down the hill from Monterico with their gold production have been robbed at gun point, and worse.’ Seeing Sam’s bewilderment, she added, gesturing up the mountain. ‘Monterico is across the ridge from Cerro Calvo. It’s an artisanal mining town built on top of a gold deposit. Fortunes have been made and lost there. It’s a hell hole.’
She drew her finger across her neck. Sam shuddered. If she needed an incentive to walk quicker, she now had one but she was also intrigued. If Monterico had a high-grade gold deposit, Cerro Calvo might not be a dead loss after all.
‘We can leave straight away,’ she said.
‘How many mules do you need?’
‘Three please. Two to carry the water, tonic and my suitcase, and one to carry a tall gringo.’
‘How much does he weigh?’
‘About a hundred and ninety pounds.’
‘Okay, pay me for the mules and I’ll tell Pepe to get ready. Where’s the suitcase?’
‘On the front steps at the restaurant.’
‘I’ll get him to put it in a hessian sack. Have you got a rubbish bag?’
‘No, do I need one?’
‘We need to put your suitcase in plastic so it doesn’t get wet when the mules cross the stream.’
‘Thank you. How much is a bag?’
‘Don’t worry I have an old one. Come with me and we’ll find my son. My name’s Lorena Verdoza, by the way.’
Pepe saddled up three mules and strapped the cases of water and tonic and Sam’s suitcase to the wooden saddles while Rhett stood smoking a cigarette on the steps of the restaurant. When he saw the mules were ready, he sauntered over and mounted the free mule by swinging his leg over it. Lorena Verdoza gave Sam a cheery wave but it didn’t erase the memory of her warnings about the journey up to Cerro Calvo. Sam blew out through her cheeks.
‘Let’s go then,’ she said.
They set off up the gravel path following the stream in the valley between two steep green ridges which formed part of a forested chain of mountains. The rain had not relented. Water ran off Sam’s waxed jacket and down her fingers in a continuous stream. Her trousers were stuck to her legs within minutes.
At first the path was even and relatively flat and they made good progress despite the downpour, but soon it became steep and rocky with intermittent patches of knee-deep, sticky mud. Sam struggled not to lose her boots as they were sucked into the quagmires. From his seat on the mule, Rhett scoffed at her efforts.
‘Shanks’s pony is no substitute for travelling in style,’ he said.
‘We’ll see.’
Chapter IV
Theirs was the last mule train to leave the village that day, a soggy procession starting up the daunting hill. It wasn’t long before they met another one coming back from Monterico. The tired mules thundered down the path, empty plastic diesel cans clacking together, the sound acting as an advance warning of their approach. Sam and Pepe had to leap out of the way to avoid their determined descent. Rhett’s mule spun around and tried to join them. Despite all his efforts, he fell off and landed in the mud on his back with a splash.
‘Are you okay?’ said Sam, trying not to gloat.
‘Yes, only my dignity is bruised,’ said Rhett, hauling himself back onto the saddle.
The path wove back and forwards across the stream. At first it was easy to ford but as they continued upwards, the channel cut deeper into the ground leaving steep banks with muddy sides. There were tree trunks placed across the banks as makeshift bridges. Sam scrambled across the first two, but she fell off the third and ended up sitting in the shallow stream. Rhett did not disguise his glee.
‘That’s one all, I believe,’ he said, smirking.
When they got to the next crossing, Sam readied herself to wade across but Pepe put his hand on her arm and handed her the reins of the mule transporting her suitcase.
‘Wait here and watch me,’ he said, and threw himself over the saddle of the other mule so that his arms hung one side of the mule and his legs on the other. The mule carried him across the stream and he jumped back off at the other side.
‘You do it,’ he said.
Despite her misgivings she followed his leave and lay across the saddle. It was not comfortable but it was effective. The mule crossed the stream and Sam jumped off at the other side. Rhett made a face.
‘I don’t know why you don’t ride,’ he said. ‘It would be a lot easier.’
After walking for nearly two hours, they arrived at a platform with a wooden hut built on one side.
‘Refreshments,’ said Pepe.
‘No thanks,’ said Rhett. ‘I’ll have a cigarette.’
Sam staggered indoors, glad of the rest. She asked for a couple of fizzy drinks and handed one to Pepe.
‘I’ll have one,’ said a voice from the corner.
Sam peered into the gloom. A man stepped out of the shadows and approached her. Evil seemed to seep from his pores. A shiver ran up her spine. He glared at Pepe who took his drink outside. Sam had not yet paid for the drinks so she stayed at the counter. A challenge had been issued.
‘Sure. Would you like some crisps too?’ she said, with studied nonchalance.
The man did a comical double take and winked at the shopkeeper who pretended to organise something behind the counter. Sam did not react, waiting for an answer. As usual she had blundered into something she didn’t understand and would have to wing it.
‘No crisps. Buy me a ham roll.’
Sam nodded at the shopkeeper who handed one over.
‘Come and sit with me,’ said the man.
It was the last thing on earth she wanted to do, but Sam hated to back down and her legs were begging for respite.
They sat at an ancient Formica table with a full ashtray and a trail of ants carrying crumbs of sugar across the top and down the leg. The man brushed them off and sat down with his legs open, arms folded across his chest.
‘Do you know who I am?’ said the man.
Sam shook her head and took a swig of her drink. The bubbles tickled her nose and she fought the urge to sneeze.
‘My name is Señor Muerte.’ Mr Death. Sam didn’t react but her grasp tightened on the lukewarm bottle.
‘I’m Sam,’ she said. ‘What do you do?’
‘I kill people,’ he said, and reaching into his bag he pulled out a handful of identification cards which he spread on the table like a poker player with a full house. Normal looking people with faded faces growing old in his rucksack. She trembled.
‘You must be good at it,’ she said, trying to quell the tremor quivering in her throat. ‘I’m a geologist.’
She searched in her rucksack and pulled out her compass which she gave to him to examine. He gazed at it, turning it in his calloused hand, watching in fascination as the needle returned to the north. Suddenly bored, he thrust it back at her, and pulled a gun out of his bag. He pointed it at Sam, waving it to and fro. She didn’t flinch despite her rising terror. Señor Muerte seemed disappointed, as if he had imagined that she might cry or beg for mercy.
‘Are you going to kill me?’ said Sam. Her heart th
undered in her chest as a rush of adrenaline threatened to overwhelm her.
A nasty leer crossed his face as he enjoyed her consternation.
‘No, not this time,’ he said.
He leant forward. Sam could smell the cheap aguardiente on his breath like liquorice. He took her unwilling hand and stuck his finger nail deep into her palm. She winced but did not pull her hand away. He then seemed to lose interest in her and contemplated his gun.
Sam stood up, leaving her drink on the table.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.
‘Finish your drink.’
She glugged it down, still standing, and to her horror, a loud burp escaped before she could stifle it. She stood rooted to the spot with embarrassment and terror. Señor Muerte lost his evil air and giggled like a school boy.
‘Ah, Sam, you’re more precious than any treasure,’ he said. ‘You shall have a free pass today but I will expect payment later. Don’t forget.’
Not sure whether to be thrilled or terrified by the encounter, Sam went back outside and started walking up the hill without saying anything to the two men, who picked up her mood and did not comment. She struggled up the slippery path, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, anything to get further away from that maniac. The physical exertion reminded her of her sedentary lifestyle in London and the many times she had announced that she would go to the gym but hadn’t.
The road was not empty. Many people passed them going down to the village, half running on the difficult ground like human goats. Sam envied their agility and high-altitude lungs. As often happened in her career, she wondered what on earth had possessed her to become a geologist when she could have had a nice cushy desk job.
They did not speak again until the lights of camp came into view as they tramped through the gloom of the approaching evening.
‘Home, sweet home,’ said Rhett, indicating the silhouette of the camp against the pink sky with a sweep of his arm.
The exploration camp sat on one of a pair of parallel ridges buttressing a higher one which ran at right angles to them. Blankets of almost virgin forest covered the ridges and hills around the site like swell on the high seas. The highest part of the mountain chain stuck out of the trees like a bald head and gave the project its name; Cerro Calvo. Sam stood transfixed staring out across the rolling waves of trees.
‘It’s wonderful,’ she said.
The Cerro Calvo project’s main building rested on short stilts at a precarious spot on the end of the spur. It was built on a platform which had been levelled for the purpose, constructed out of wood cut from local trees without drying it first. As a consequence, the wood had shrunk, and there were now large gaps between the boards which had been covered with random planks and sheets of tin. The top floor of the building was surrounded by a balcony which led to the doors of senior staff sleeping quarters. The guard rails were covered in laundry drying under the eaves of the zinc roof.
A second building, tucked into the hillside at the back of the platform, had a shower and toilet block at one end and housed the more junior workers. A slab of concrete covered the ground between the two buildings with rain channels running either side which fed into a discharge pipe that snaked down to the stream bed far below. The shed housing the generator emitted clouds of black diesel smog.
A plump couple emerged from the main house beaming their welcome.
‘Señor Rhett, welcome back. And is this your wife?’ said the man, shaking Rhett’s hand and turning to Sam. ‘I am Javier Perez and this is my wife Selma.’
‘I’m not married. My name is Sam Harris and I’m the new boss,’ said Sam.
Javier’s eyes widened as he took in this information but his wife stepped into the breach.
‘Welcome to the Cerro Calvo project,’ said Selma. ‘You must be tired. Dinner is ready.’
‘I’d like to take off my boots and give them a wash. Is there a tap?’ said Sam.
‘Leave your boots here. I’ll get one of the boys to clean them. Follow me and I’ll take you to your room.’
Sam’s room was on the right-hand corner of the house facing up the valley. From the balcony she had a view of the parallel ridge where the core shed and old mine entrance were situated. The mountains around the project were pitted with old tunnels and exploratory workings which followed narrow quartz veins into their core. Bill Maclean, the former owner of Cerro Calvo, had hoped to prove that the surface veins had arisen from a large mineable body at depth. Only time would tell if he was correct.
Sam’s job was to explore the area and drill into the mountain to test that theory. A frisson of excitement went through her as she imagined finding a giant deposit. She still felt slightly sick from the adrenalin rush that hit her following her encounter with Señor Muerte. Only in my life.
Dinner was served downstairs in the open plan canteen. Selma and her helper doled the food onto plates and distributed it to the hungry crew. Even the appearance of their food did not distract the majority from staring at Sam as if an alien had landed and popped in for a meal. When she smiled at one young man, he blushed and looked back down at his food, shovelling in the rice as if someone was about to remove his plate.
After the men left for their bunk house, Rhett sat at a table with Javier gesticulating and looking up words in a Spanish-English dictionary. Sam offered to translate but the men did not respond except to shake their heads.
Sam shrugged. It had been a long day and she hated politics. On the outside looking in as usual. As she started up the stairs, gloom wrapped like a cloak around her shoulders, Selma put out her hand and touched Sam’s arm.
‘Give them time,’ she said. ‘Men think they rule the world until they need us.’
Chapter V
Sam was woken by the sunlight piercing the gaps in the planks lining her room. It formed bright rays across her rough wool blanket, making a prison cell for the purple llama depicted on it. She lay in bed feeling the slats dig into her back through her thin foam mattress and making a list of the things to order from the mule driver’s mother next time someone went down to the village.
The smell of coffee and toast rose through the floorboards and filled her bedroom, forcing her to get up. She waited until the sounds of breakfast had died out before she ventured down to the canteen. Rhett was tucking into a plate of fried eggs and rice sprinkled liberally with pepper. He sneezed on cue and looked up to see her hovering on the bottom step.
‘Good morning sleepy head,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe you slept through breakfast.’
‘No chance of that,’ said Sam. ‘My bedroom’s over the kitchen. I’ve been awake since well before dawn.’
‘Ah. Do you want to move to another room?’
‘No, I’ll pay for the view with sleepless mornings. I’ll soon get used to it and sleep through. Actually, I was waiting for the lads to go to work so that I could use the bathroom. I’m going to have to work out a way of doing my ablutions without the whole camp sitting outside listening.’
Rhett laughed, his handsome face creasing up with mirth. It was tempting to flirt but she wasn’t that stupid. Look and don’t touch was the rule for the boss’s toy boy, or whatever he was. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out. Selma came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
‘Do you want breakfast?’ she said.
‘Yes, please. I’ll have the same as Rhett without the pepper, and a cup of tea. By the way, how do I wash? Should I use the shower block?’
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea. It’s not exactly private. There’s a shower cubicle in here beside the toilet that you can use.’
‘Okay, maybe later.’
‘There’s no hot water in camp. The water comes directly off the mountain and is teeth-clenchingly freezing,’ said Rhett. ‘I don’t bother to shower while I’m here.’
‘I’ll be here for three weeks, remember, so I don’t think that’s an option,’ said Sam.
‘I’ll heat yo
u up some hot water when you want one,’ said Selma.
‘That would be great,’ said Sam.
Selma brought in a plate with a couple of fried eggs sitting on mound of rice and put it in front of Sam who proceeded to demolish it. Rhett watched her with amusement.
‘You’re not on a diet then,’ he said.
‘No. Do I need one?’ said Sam glaring at him.
Javier came in with one of the team, a lanky, sallow-skinned youth with buck teeth and hooded eyes.
‘This is Napoleon, known as Zombie,’ he said. ‘He’s going to come with us to help me give you a tour of the cooperative workings. He used to work there but he’s come over to the dark side.’
Zombie?
‘Great,’ she said, shaking his hand. ‘I’d love to visit the underground workings. Is there a hard hat I can use?’
‘There’s a new one in the office at the core shed. I put your name on it so no-one else uses it,’ said Javier.
‘Do you want to come?’ said Sam, but Rhett was shaking his head already.
‘God no, I’ve got agoraphobia.’
Didn’t he mean claustrophobia? There was no telling with Rhett. He pretended to be as shallow as a puddle but Amanda wouldn’t tolerate someone like that as a partner; if he was her partner. His obsession with looking good and his other tics suggested that he might be gay despite his wandering hands. She didn’t care much. In truth she wanted free rein at Cerro Calvo and didn’t need him interfering.
‘Okay, I’ll see you later then.’
He didn’t look up.
She picked up her small rucksack from her room, and followed Javier and Napoleon down the muddy track to the cooperative. Soon a scruffy group of wooden shacks came into view, built up against the valley wall with many additions and repairs.
There was a larger building on the left-hand side of the shacks, next to an adit entrance with a chain hanging across it. It contained a Denver stamp mill, a primitive rock crushing machine with a row of metal poles attached to a horizontal bar which raised up and down, dropping the poles with their concrete shoes into a trough. The trough contained bright white quartz vein material from the mine.