Spake As a Dragon

by Larry Hunt

  * * * * *

   

  THE HOSPITAL

  Much farther to the east of the Cumberland Mountains and Kentucky, Luke and Nate walk their mounts down Main Street of Port Royal, Virginia. The day is sunny and cool, not cold for this time of year.

  Luke watches the folks walking the plank sidewalks and had it not been for the blue Yankee uniforms of most of the men he would never have believed this dreadful War has just ended. The ladies stroll with their frilly parasols and large hoop skirts; some holding their dainty lace handkerchiefs to their lips as though stifling a laugh at some humorous remark their escorts must have made. The stores up and down the broad way are open, and customer traffic appears unusually heavy for a weekday morning. It is easy for Luke to see the difference between this northern city just south of Washington, D.C. versus the devastated remains of the city that he and Nate passed a few days earlier – Richmond, Virginia, the capital of the South. Port Royal appears to have been spared the ravages of war. Richmond was just a burned out shell of a town. Most buildings had been burned or destroyed, and debris filled the streets. ‘No sir,’ thought Luke, ‘the War passed this place by.’”

  “Sir,” Luke says riding up to the first Union officer he sees walking along the sidewalk, “We seek the hospital. Would it be presumptuous of me to think you might know its location?”

  “Why! Why!” The officer says stuttering, “You’re a Johnny Reb! I shan’t provide you with a tittle of information?”

  “You are partially correct Captain. I was a member of the 48th Alabama Infantry in the recent unpleasantries between the states, but the reason I am presumptuous I figured being a blue-belly you wasn’t intelligent enough to know where the hospital is located!”

  “Why, why,” says the Captain. “Dismount, you...you gray back, and I will give you a thrashing that you will not soon forget.”

  Luke can spot a combat veteran a mile away – he says they all have a look – something he calls the thousand-yard stare. Their eyes have a glazed over hollow look. Eyes, which have seen the most horrible, dreadful things a human being could ever have witnessed. This officer did not have the look.

  Glaring at the Captain from atop his horse, “A beating similar to the ones we Johnny Rebs gave you Yanks at the 1st and 2nd Battle of Bull Run, the Battle of Shiloh, the Battle of Chancellorsville, the Battle of Chickamauga, the Battle of Fredericksburg, the Battle of...of...oh that’s enough Captain.” Being facetious, “I suppose you ‘saw the elephant’ in a number of our engagements, huh Captain?”

  Half apologizing for his service, “I wanted to serve in the infantry, but at my enlistment, upon graduation from Dartmouth University, I was assigned to the Commissary Department. You as a foot soldier surely know the importance of supplies. My job was providing those essentials to our Union men. As you well know, the Army is said to travel on its stomach you slave-owning Rebel. I see you still have one of those unfortunate individuals with you.” He said pointing at Nate.

  “That may have been true in your Union Army Captain, but if the South had depended on its stomach, the War would not have lasted the first year. We boys of the South traveled and fought simply with courage, bravery, our heart, the man standing next to us, and loyalty to our state. Most of the time our fighting was barefoot and no, not totally for slavery as you Yanks think.

  “Most of us never owned slaves,” looking at Nate, “this man here, that you pointed out, is free and had been free for a long time before Abraham Lincoln issued his proclamation of freedom. He is not my slave, he is my friend.” Reining his horse to turn Luke touched the brim of his hat, “Good day to you Sir.”

  “Wait,” said the Captain, “go down two streets and turn right, the hospital is at the end of the road.” Touching the brim of his hat too, he said, “Good day to you also Sir.”

  The sign on the corner of Main Street reads ‘Hospital Way’, Luke and Nate turn right and head down the busy street. A few hundred yards ahead is a large, white, three-story building. As they ride closer, they can see the Stars and Stripes of the United States on the right of the door and a large white flag with the word ‘HOSPITAL’ on the left.

  Hitching their mounts Luke walks inside to find a Union Sergeant sitting at a desk in the narrow hallway. Approaching Luke asks, “Sergeant, we have come from South Carolina seeking information on my father. We received word it was possible he was here sometime in the spring of last year, maybe March or April. We are merely trying to find out what happened to him.”

  The Sergeant replaces the pen in the inkwell, folds the paper he is working on, opens a drawer and files away the slip of paper. “He a Reb or Union? From your looks and accent, I’d say Reb.”

  “Yes Sergeant, he was a Confederate. He had been a prisoner at Point Lookout. We are merely trying to find out what happened to him. Does being a Reb make a difference to you?”

  “Nah son, jest makes a difference in which ledger I look in. What was your Pa’s name?”

  “Sergeant Robert Steven Scarburg, of the 48th Alabama Infantry.”

  “P,’ ‘Q,’ ‘R,’ oh yes, here we are the ‘S’s,” he uses his index finger and goes down the list turning pages as he searches. Luke is beginning to think this trip has all been in vain. He looks at Nate, rolls his eyes as though the Sergeant is not going to find his father’s name.

  “Ah, yeah, here he is: ‘Scarburg, R.S., Sergeant, 48th Alabama. Stayed with us up ‘till the fall or ’65; then he took the Oath of Allegiance to the Union and was released to go home.”

  “Does that book say when Sergeant?”

  “Sure does; he left here on the 7th day of September. That’s all I got boys.”

  “Where did he go Sergeant?”

  “Don’t know men, home I suppose, but once their butts pass that door, we ain’t got no more responsibility for ‘em.”

  Standing outside next to the hitching rails, “Nate, I noticed a saloon on Main Street before we came down here. How about we go up there and get us something to drink and eat? I think we could use a good hot meal for a change. We might even get a shave, and standing next to you, I think we both could use a bath. Then maybe we can figure out what our next move will be.”

  ‘REBEL’S ROOST’

  Back on Main Street Luke can see he missed a few saloons, in fact, it seems there are as many drinking establishments as there are other stores. Then it hits him Port Royal is a military town. Military towns have soldiers, and soldiers have money, and they like to spend this money on drinking, gambling and wild women, others just waste their money. Most military towns aim to please, and this one is no different. Obviously this street is the place most of this decadence occurs.

  Luke notices one saloon with the name ‘Rebel’s Roost.’ “That might be the place for old Confederates to hang out, let’s try it,” Luke says to Nate.

  Pushing open the two doors that keep the wind out, Luke and Nate walk through a pair of swinging doors into a large, dimly lit room. The room was dark owing to the paint on the front windows. The one on the left was painted green with the word “Saloon” and the one on the right reads “Free Lunch.” A big, black, pot-bellied stove stands in the far right corner of the room. A chandelier lit by a number of candles, in the shape of a large, wagon wheel, hangs from the center of the ceiling. A handsome, shiny, mahogany bar occupies the back wall. The remainder of the room has a number of green, felt covered, gambling tables scattered about. The air in the room has a stifling aroma of tobacco and cigar smoke, stale beer and a couple of other smells Luke really doesn’t what to find out what they are.

  Luke and Nate slowly walk toward the bar. The silver spurs that Luke had taken off the outlaw Bart Black, a long time ago, jingles as he walks. He places his boot on the brass rail running the bars entire length. The spur glistens like a new silver dollar. He reaches for two glasses. The barkeep that had been watching their every move since arriving is wiping down a glass with the end of his apron, an apron that appears to need a good cleaning i
tself. Holding the shot glass up to the light from the chandelier as tho’ he were inspecting it for its cleanliness asks, “What’ll you have?”

  “Well, we’d like you to fill these two glasses with a couple shots of that Red Eye, then some baths, shaves and a couple of thick steaks. Cook ’em just enough that we can’t still hear the bull’s bellow.”

  “I can fix you up with all these things Mister, but we ain’t gonna serve the likes of him,” referring to Nate. “We don’t coddle to no darkies in here.”

  “What you talking about friend? This man ain’t no darkie he’s an Indian. His name’s Chief Run’em Fast. For sure he’s a dark Indian, I’ll grant you, but an Indian never the less, do you coddle to Indians?”

  “Well...well yeah... Indians are okay I reckon... if they can pay, but...”

  “No buts about it, get my Indian friend and me those things I asked for,” Luke said pitching a gold piece on the bar.

  The metal clink of the gold coin is still ringing when the barkeep asks, “You been a fighting man Mister?”

  “Yeap, sure was.”

  “Wuz you Yank or did you fought fer the South?”

  “The South, sure enough, fought with General Bobby Lee. Got myself captured during Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg. Was on the way to the prison at Point Lookout, Maryland, and I escaped. Hooked up with General John Hunt Morgan until his whole outfit was captured, including myself, later I broke out and ran off again, by then the War was about over.”

  “Say you wuz at Gettysburg huh? What’s yer name and what wuz your outfit? Can you prove it?”

  “Yeah, I was there. My name is Luke Scarburg; I fought with the 48th Alabama Infantry. Nah, I can’t prove it, the only thing, I got, is this scar on my forehead where a Minnie-ball bounced off a rock at the Hornet’s Nest and sliced me up pretty good. The Yanks captured me standing on that rock wall on top of Cemetery Ridge.”

  “That ain’t no proof; yer old woman could’uh hit you with a frying pan!”

  “Yeah, you’re right barkeep, but I’ve been there, done that. I ‘saw the elephant’ that day, up close and personal. I’ve seen enough men, good men, mangled and dead - don’t have to prove it to you or nobody, understand,” Luke said bumping the shiny, mahogany bar with the barrel of his .44. “Take my word or you can kiss my as....”

  “Let ’em be Bull,” a man interrupted who was sitting at one of the tables in a location too dark to see the man’s face. “This here is the one and only Luke Scarburg, and sure enough he was with us at Gettysburg.”

  The man doing the talking stands up from the table and begins to walk toward Luke.

  “Do I know you Mister? Luke asks. “What’s your name? I can’t see you very well.”

  “That’s okay Luke, I know all about you. I served at Gettysburg with your father, Sergeant Robert Scarburg. I hear’d him talk about you and that brother of yours...what’s his name...?”

  “Matthew?”

  “Yeah, that’s it, Matthew, like I said I’ve hear’d him talk so much about his family I got to thanking I almost knew you myself. Bull get Luke and his...his...Indian friend a couple of glasses and bring a bottle of Red Eye over to my table.” Walking back to his table the stranger sticks out his hand, “I’m P.T. Cox, me, and your father was together at Gettysburg and later at Point Lookout.”

  “Nice to meet you. This is my friend...uh...my Indian friend Nate,” Luke said grinning as he shook P.T.’s hand.

  Bull the barkeep is leaving the table as Luke nervously asks, “P.T., is there anything you can tell me about my father? He along with my brother Matthew and I all enlisted back in the spring of ’62, but Mother has never received a post from him. Was he injured too badly to write, I was with him at Gettysburg the day he got stabbed by that Yankee bayonet. I wouldn’t have thought that would have bothered his writing arm though.”

  Sliding up close to the table P.T. leans over and explains: “Most of the fellers in this saloon are Rebs, but one or two may not be, so with them Yanks winnin’ the War, us Rebs have to be careful what we say. You know the history is always writ in favor of the winnin’ side.”

  “Go ahead P.T. tell me what you know.”

  Looking around from side to side as though he though someone might be listening P.T. begins, “Point Lookout were a cesspool. The livin’ conditions were terrible, the food, what there were of it, weren’t fit for the hogs. And the Commandant, Adams were his name, were one of the worst. It were as though he had a burr under his saddle. He were sadistic. If it hadn’t been fer his grandpa bein’ a President a while back, he’d have been hung from the nearest oak tree. His second in charge Sergeant Samuel O. Belue were just as bad. We had a name for the Sergeant; we called him, not to his face of course you understand, the S.O.B., ‘cept we used the real words. You see those be Blue’s initials, and about yer Pa postin’ letters, he were sendin’ notes out every week or so. More since he got that job workin’ with Blue in the Commandant’s office – they had paper to write on you know.”

  “Very creative with old Belue’s initials, S.O.B., I like that.”

  “Not much to do in them prisoner camps Luke we had to get some fun when we could. Now back to Robert – he got picked to work with Blue in the Commandant’s office ‘cause Robert could read and write in a nice hand.

  “Well, one day Robert were tellin’ Blue if the burial gang had more food they could work harder. Robert had Blue convinced, but that dastardly Commandant overhear’d them talkin’ and thought Blue and Robert were scheming up something. He hear’d Robert tellin’ Blue they could be court-martialed after the War fer mistreatin’ us prisoners. The Commandant didn’t take too kindly to this talk. Anyhow, Blue were transferred to an infantry outfit and Robert were taken out of the Commandant’s office and put on permanent burial detail.”

  “P.T., this is all real interesting, but get to the part about what happened to my father.”

  “I am Luke, I am. Well, the food didn’t get any better, in fact, it got worse and poor old Robert’s health kept droppin’ lower and lower. There fer a spell he couldn’t even git outta bed and go to the grub house. Ever now and then I would slip him a morsel or so. He lasted until the spring...”

  “Hold on P.T., are you getting ready to tell me Father died!”

  “Heck no Luke, just you wait. As I said, spring brought the end of the War. Me and Robert got paroled at the same time. The talk in the prison were once we got discharged a river steamer would take us down river to Norfolk, Virginny, ‘cept when the release day come Robert were so sick they sent him to this here hospital here in Port Royal. I volunteered to go with him ‘cause he couldn’t even walk by hisself.”

  “P.T. I’m following you, but Nate and I have just come from the hospital and the Yank Sergeant at the front desk said Father was discharged back in September. What happened to him?”

  “Well, you see Luke, Robert were laid up in that hospital fer a pretty long spell. Course I would go check on him from time to time and by-ned I couldn’t hardly believe it – he begin to get better. Finally, one day I visited, and he got up and walked across the room. One of them orderly men told me Robert wuz sufferin’ from malmunition.”

  “Malmunition...? Huh? Oh malnutrition? Father was suffering from malnutrition?”

  “Yeah! Yeah, that’s what I said. That’s the word ‘malmunition.’ The hospital man said Robert didn’t have enough to eat while he wuz in the ‘pen’. Man, wuz that ever right.”

  “Okay, P.T. go on.”

  “Well, it comes that final release day. Your father had to take that Yankee Oath of Alliance, or whatever it wuz called, and he walked out of that hospital. In the meantime, I had picked up a small job workin’ in this here ‘Rebels Roost,’ sweepin’ and cleanin’ up and all. Bull, the barkeep, has a small room out back that he lets me stay in. I brought Robert up here and he’s been livin’ with me all these months.”

  Jumping up from the table Luke grabs P.T. by the arm, “Take me to him P.T., please I want to
see him.”

  “Be glad to,” answers P.T., “but he ain’t here!”

  “What do you mean P.T.? Father isn’t here, where is he?”

  “Hold yer horses, and I’ll tell you. Robert had picked up a few small jobs around town and saved practically ever penny he made, well he got his self one of them steamer boat tickets and sailed off down the river. He said he never could get back to Alabama walking. He aim was to put in at Norfolk catch another boat down to Charles Town, South Carolinny and try to make his way over to his brother’s place in a town called... Scars...Char...”

  “Oh, Charleston and Scarlettsville?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. You jest missed him – he’s been gone pert neer a week now. I’m sure goin’ to miss that old coot. Funny thing though...”

  “A week? Nate did you hear that – a week! We missed him by just a week!”

  “Yeah, sure did Luke, but we’ve done learnt two thangs – Robert is alive and we know wheres he headin’ - he’s goin’ home!”

  “Oh, P.T... sorry we got carried away about Father, what was so funny you wanted to talk about?”

  P.T. leaned over the table as before, “Did you ever know your father as a deeply religious man Luke?”

  “Deeply? No, I would not say Father was a fanatic about such things, but he was a good father, a good husband, and was generous to the poor, and he would help a neighbor when needed. We went to church, but not every time the doors were opened. Why do you ask?”

  “The night before he left we wuz sittin’ out back smokin’ when yer father sez to me, ‘P.T. if I get back home I’m gonna send word to you at yer house in Bull’s Gap.’ You see, that’s where I’m from Bull’s Gap, Tennessee...”

  “Okay, P.T. enough of the geography lessons, what was so important about Father and his religion?”

  “No Luke, you mistook what I said, it’s not about Robert’s religion it were about his Bible.”

  “What Bible?”

  “You see, that is the mystery, Robert never had no Bible! But that night afore he left he told me if I didn’t get a letter from him telling me he got home okay, I was to write to Scarlettsville, South Carolinny and tell y’all not to forget his Bible. He said to tell y’all to remember 2K168. Reckon what he wanted y’all to do with them numbers? And yer Bible, was he afeared y’all wuz gonna lose it?”

  “P.T. that is peculiar, especially since he was talking to me about a Bible the day he was nearly killed at Gettysburg. At the time, I thought he was asking for a Bible, but he was telling me not to forget about his Bible! And those numbers scratched on the rock where he was wounded at Gettysburg are the same ones he told you about. Reckon what all of this means?”

  “I don’t know, but does he own a Bible Luke?”

  “Well yeah, at home, we only have one Bible and it’s about a foot thick. Father always said it belonged to Pappy, one of my past grandfathers, but I never saw father reading it. Huh, the Bible, that is curious?”

  “What you thank Luke, does we head out fer Norfolk or try to catch’em at Charles Town?”

  “Neither Nate – even if we were able to get to Norfolk or Charleston we still might miss him. Both those places are pretty big, and it would be easy for him to get lost in the crowd. Nah, you and I are goin’ back to South Carolina and hope he finds his way home. Father is a very resourceful, survivable man, he can take care of himself, he is good at that. There just isn’t much more you and I can do anymore. Throw our possibles on our mounts, we might as well head south and go home.”

  HUFFING AND PUFFING ACROSS THE MOUNTAIN

  “Slow up Sam, I’ve got to rest. You’re going so fast I can’t keep up!”

  “I’m sorry William, but I’m anxious, if I’m reading the map right that creek should be over this next ridge. Right over yonder is them Twin Peaks and that’s...,” Sam said pointing, “That’s got to be Chimney Rock.”

  “What are you waiting for Sam I’m rested, let’s get going.”

  Huffing and puffing William finally reaches the crest of the ridge Sam was talking about, but the forest is too thick to see down in to the canyon on the far side.

  “William I remember Luke telling the story of Old Bill’s gold strike. Luke said Old Bill was in the creek when those outlaws rode up. I think if those gents were riding horses there must be a trail down to this gorge. Let’s let Kentuck work along this ridge and see if he might hit on the trail they used. Climbing down from here to the creek is going to take forever, and it is so steep just one slip and we might end up with a broken leg.”

  “That’s good thinking Sam, come on let’s get Kentuck at it.”

  “Hold on William, hear that? I don’t like that sound.”

  “Hear what Sam? All I hear is water rushing down the creek below.”

  “Yeah, it’s water all right William, lots of water! It shouldn’t be this loud, and it definitely shouldn’t be rushing! Man, I wish we could see the bottom of the gorge and the creek from here.”

  Traveling along the crest of the mountain, Sam and William walk through the woods trying to find another way down to the canyon below. It is tough walking for William; the snow is deep and beginning to get slushy. “William I’m telling you, it’s too warm. We ought to be freezing our butts off up here on top of this mountain this time of the year.” About the same time, old Kentuck begins barking. Sam hollers “Here William, Kentuck is on the trail.”

  Kentucky Lead has found the trail leading from the top of the ridge to the creek below. It, like the rock overhang where they had spent the night, was probably a trail that had been used by the Indians for hundreds of years.

  Sam is worried, the closer they get to the creek below the louder the roar of the water increases. About half way down they could finally see the creek far down in the canyon. No, now the word ‘creek’ does not accurately describe what they are seeing. What they see is a river! A wild, raging river being fed by the melting snow pack miles farther up the mountain.

  A couple of hours later Sam, William, and Kentuck stand on a rock ledge overlooking the turbulent, ice cold waters of Indian Creek. Best described today as the Indian ‘River’, this was no creek. The water in the creek covered the canyon almost from one side to the other. Not only was seeking gold out of the question, merely getting too close to the raging waters could be perilous to one’s life.

  With tears almost flowing Sam speaks, “William! William! What are we to do?”

  Sitting down on a fallen log, the two discuss the latest turn of events. Sam is visible upset; William is crestfallen, but sitting on this log isn’t getting them anywhere.

  “Okay Sam, you have been trying to warn me for a week about the early snow melt. I just did not realize its implications. When is the usual time the snow should be melting?”

  “William, not for another month at best, maybe two. I never dreamed the creek would be in flood stage so early in the season. What do you suggest we do William?”

  “Aw Sam, we ain’t got but one thing to do – bad as I hate to say it, go back to the farm and return later in the spring.”

  “All right William, but before we go I’m gonna nudge myself close to the waters edge and see if there has been any gold washed up.”

  “Sam, I don’t think that is a very good idea. Those rocks are wet and slippery and even if you find a nugget it will just be a stray one that happened to get washed out.”

  Disregarding William’s warning Sam begins to inch his way from his place of safety down toward the side of the roaring river. Even Kentuck realizes the danger and begins to bark. Sam examines the dirt at the edge of the water. He cut off a length of mountain cane, which grows abundantly along these mountain creeks, and uses it to poke the small rocks and pebbles.

  “Comeback Sam, you’re close enough and haven’t seen anything!” Kentuck is obviously agitated too and runs back and forth along the water’s edge barking his warning.

  Sam’s concentration is on the end of his cane, and he does not notice he has ventured o
ut onto a piece of rock that has been undercut by the swift flow of the river. Sam is unaware of the danger. Kentuck’s sixth sense is telling him of the peril and he is barking excessively.

  “Hush up Kentuck! And get back from the water.” Sam sees something shiny and tries to pick it up. He doesn’t get close enough on his first step, but with the second he places most of his weight on the unstable piece of earth.

  It gives way!

  Sam is hurled headfirst into the swirling, frigid waters. “Help! Help, William!’ Sam screams, his voice barely able to be heard above the roar of the water. Kentuck runs along the edge of the raging river barking, as though there was something he could do.

  “Grab hold of something Sam, I’m coming,” but by the time William has gotten upon his feet Sam disappeared down the foaming rapids. William began to run downstream yelling as he ran, “Sam! Sam! Hold on, I’m coming.” A few hundred feet downstream the canyon narrows making it impossible for William to pursue Sam any farther. William and Kentuck stand at the edge of the river and stare downstream hoping to get a glimpse of Sam, but to no avail. Soaking wet and bleeding from scratches caused by the saw briers in the canyon William dejected, turns and begins to walk back upstream. Kentuck will only leave the waters edge when forced by William. Tears form at the corner of his eyes as he thinks what he will say to Catherine when he arrives back at Scarlett. He can do nothing but admit it was entirely his fault he should have stopped Sam. He will have to say he knew better, but regardless he allowed Sam to venture too close to the water.

  Squeezing the water from his hat, William sits on a rock and wishes it had been he who had fallen into the icy waters. Telling the family is going to be a fate worse than death. ‘How am I to tell Catherine her brother is dead?’ Kentuck sits facing him whining a mournful whimper. Placing the wet hat back upon his head, he starts back upstream toward the trail. As they begin to mount the trail, Kentuck stops and begins to bark. Above the roar of the water, he hears something. Turning back toward the flood filled creek William faintly hears the cry, “William! William I am here. William!”

  ‘No, no, it can’t be,’ thinks William, ‘is my mind playing tricks on me?’

  “William I’m here! Holding onto this tree branch!”

  William searches downriver and sees nothing. He scours the river from bank to bank carefully, ‘There, the tree.’ Sure enough, he has spotted Sam with one arm waving in the air the other hanging onto one slender, tree limb, which protruded out over the frigid water.

  An hour later William, Sam, and Kentuck are sitting in a log lean-to that William quickly threw together. William has a warm fire going, and he and Sam sit buck-naked, except for a couple of blankets, waiting for their wet clothes to dry. Kentuck is asleep close to the heat. “How can I ever thank you William, you saved my life.”

  Grinning, William replies, “You know in Indian lore, Sam that means you are responsible for my life from now on!”

  “William, I will surely try, but in all seriousness, I want to just say ‘Thanks.”

  “If it will get you to hush – you are welcome.”

  Sam extends his hand to William. William thinks Sam wants to shake, but Sam has something else in mind. As their hands touch, Sam opens his fist, and a large gold nugget drops into William’s hand. “You’re not telling me you held onto this nugget you found as you were being swept downstream?”

  “Sure did, you don’t think I was gonna let something that big get anyway, did you? And William it’s yours now. I’m gonna call it the Good-Luck Nugget. In fact, if I ever get to mine this creek that’s what I’m gonna call her the ‘Good-Luck Gold Mine’. In addition to me, Luke, and Catherine I’m giving you one-fourth of my gold strike too. A fourth for you, a fourth for me and a half for Catherine.”

  “Sam me and you don’t know nothing ‘bout running a business, especially a gold mine.”

  “That’s right William. Catherine’s got real book sense we need someone who knows how to run the whole operation. Catherine is the one to do it.”

  “Wait a minute Sam, what about Luke?”

  “Oh, well you know the whole map thing was given to him by Old Bill. Luke had the map and me and Catherine owned the land, so I’ve always thought Luke and Catherine would someday move back up to our farm, and we would all work the mine together. The half belongs to them both. It seems this is where they belong. Luke can provide the brawn and Catherine can be the brains. Me and you will let them run the whole mine as they see fit. They can take their half of the profits, and we’ll each take our fourth and be livin’ it up in Knoxville. Shucks someday me and you might even go to New York!”