Amos Smith, the Gunsmith
Amos Bond the gunsmith, he got a letter from that old man that lived on Sagamore Mountain, and the letter it said, Make me a gun, make it to be true at three hundred yards, make it fine as can be, and as straight as the heart of God.
Along with the letter was a dollar, and the note it said, The next time I write, you will get twice this amount, and the next time after that, twice again, and after that, twice still, and so it will go, Amos Bond.
So Amos he forged the gun barrel and sent the old man a letter, saying, I have made the barrel that is true as you could ask.
And several days after that, Amos he got a letter with two dollars in it, and it said, Go ahead, Amos, go ahead.
And Amos he made the lock and trigger, and he sent a note to the old man, and the old man he sent back four dollars, and he said, Yes, that is what I want to hear. Go ahead, Amos.
Then Amos he put in the drum and flint, and he fixed them to the breech, and sent word to the old man, who said, Yes, that is what I want, go ahead. There was eight dollars in the letter.
And then Amos he made a fine stock out of a block of walnut, and he sent word to the old man, saying, I have made a fine stock, which you should see it is so fine, and I am about ready to sand it down on the left side as soon as I hear from you.
And the old man he wrote a letter right back, and put sixteen dollars in with the letter, saying, You have understood me well, go ahead and do what you said, and sand the left side of that stock.
Amos did, and then he sent another letter to the old man, saying, You would not believe how fine the grain is in the left side of the stock, for it is beautiful in a way that I have never seen before.
In a few days there was a letter come to Amos with thirty-two dollars in it, and a note from the old man saying, I am sure it is what you say it is. I am sure that the left side of the stock is beautiful.
And Amos he wrote a letter right back to the old man, saying, Do you want me to go ahead with sanding the right side of the stock, to see if maybe it is just as fine?
And there was a letter in a few days from the old man, along with sixty-four dollars, saying, Why yes, go ahead with sanding the right side of the stock and see how it turns out.
So Amos he went ahead and sanded it, and the right side of the stock, it turned out just beautiful, and Amos he showed it around to his wife and his children, saying, Did you ever in all your days see such a fine grain in God’s wood? and they said, No they had never seen the like of that beautiful grain.
So Amos he wrote the old man that lived on Sagamore Mountain, and he said, When you look at the grain in the wood on the right side of the stock, you will not believe how beautiful it is. It is like a sunset or like the dawn coming over the smoky mountaintops in early summer. It is enough to make you want to stop breathing and pray.
I believe you, said the old man in his next letter, and I want you to go ahead with that stock and put the barrel and lock on it, so that my gun will be the finest in the world.
With this letter there was a bag holding $128, and there was an armed guard that delivered it to Amos Bond.
Then Amos Bond he wrote a letter right back to the old man, saying, If you are sure you really want me to go through with finishing this part of the beautiful stock, I will start varnishing the right side of the butt the minute I hear from you.
Go ahead, came the answer from the old man in a few days. The answer was brought by an armed guard, and there was $256 in currency.
But Amos was not ready yet. He wrote to the old man asking if he wanted clear varnish on the stock, or varnish mixed with a walnut stain.
Clear varnish, the old man wrote back, and let the grain shine through the way God wanted the grain of fine wood to shine.
This letter from the old man came with $512, and two armed guards.
This is the most beautiful rifle in the whole world, Amos Bond told his wife that night, and it will make our fortune.
Yes, his wife said, already we have more money than we have ever had before, and I am sure that there is plenty more where that come from, if you only play your cards right.
I will play them right, Amos Bond said. You may be sure of that.
I am only afraid he will lose patience, his wife said, and stop sending you more money with every letter.
He will never do that, Amos said, for I have found things out about that old man that lives on Sagamore Mountain. He don’t never go back on his word, and he is richer than the wise man of Tophet and Solomon throwed in together.
I only hope so, his wife said.
It is a sure thing, Amos said.
Well, are you going to start putting the clear varnish on the right side of the stock? his wife asked.
Not just yet, Amos Bond said. I am going to ask the old fool does he want me to mix a little linseed oil with the varnish to make it soak in deeper and protect the wood.
So Amos he wrote the old man, and he got back a letter right away, saying, Yes, that is a good idea about the linseed oil, do what you think best. And with the letter there was exactly $1,024.
We are rich for sure, Amos said to his wife that night, and his wife she said, Yes, but I think you had better go ahead and start in varnishing the right side of the stock of the rifle, Amos.
With a little linseed oil mixed in, Amos Bond said, and he laughed so hard his wife soon joined in and started laughing too.
The next day Amos Bond he rubbed clear varnish mixed with a little linseed oil into the stock of that rifle, and oh, it was beautiful the way it shone and glistened in the darkness of his shed! Oh, it was like the blowing of a spring wind and the flight of a far bird, so graceful it was! Oh, it was like the silken sweep of a waterfall deep in the forest, where no one has ever been!
This is the most beautiful rifle in the whole world, Amos wrote in his next letter to the old man, and it is only about half done, maybe not even that much.
I am glad, the old man wrote back. Go ahead with the other side, Amos, when you think it is right. Along with the letter was a bundle of money that Amos Bond gave to his children to count that night.
There is $2,048 in that bag, his eldest daughter told him, and Amos he said, yes, I thought that’s how much there would be. He is an honest old man, I’ll say that for him.
So he went ahead and varnished the stock, and then sanded it down with fine paper, and then varnished it again —each time writing a letter to the old man on Sagamore Mountain, and getting back twice as much money as before with each answer the old man sent.
And with each new thing he did to that rifle, why Amos Bond he thought of something else that could be done to it. At first, it was a shot-and-rag compartment in the stock, and then it was a brass fitting and lid for the compartment. And then it was gold inlay by the grip, and then gold inlay set in the butt; and then it was brass fittings for the ramrod and the halfstock. Then it was pearl eyes at the side of the grip, and then burnt cord marks around the stock, and then refinishing again, with silver mounts on the lock, and a diamond set in the middle of the front sight, such as had never been seen before in the life of anybody, anywhere.
By now, Amos Bond he was a rich man, and his children had all grown up, and his wife was fat and beautiful, and he had servants waiting on him hand and foot. He had blooded horses in his stable, and a female companion for his wife. He had twenty rooms in his house with windows so big that they fair flooded the rooms with light. He had wood-paneled walls, Persian carpets, brass candelabra, leather-bound books, and dogs with pedigrees to shame a king. Amos Bond he drank brandy and whiskey out of crystal goblets, and a footman poured hot water into a porcelain basin big enough to float a yearling pig, and shaved him every morning at exactly a quarter till ten.
And all this time, above the big fireplace in the living room, hung the rifle Amos Bond had made for the old man who lived on Sagamore Mountain.
So Amos Bond he thrived, and his wife she was happy as a mare in deep clove
r. They were the richest folks anywhere, and they became the gentry of that land, and everything they touched prospered and returned to them twofold.
One winter night when the two of them were sitting alone by the fire, and Amos he was just a sitting there petting one of his dogs that had a pedigree to shame a king, his wife said, Amos, what are you thinking about?
And Amos said, I am thinking about the old man on Sagamore Mountain, and whatever happened to him.
It has been a long time, Amos said.
He don’t ever write anymore, his wife said, and nobody never mentions him.
He don’t write because I don’t write to him. And I don’t write to him because there just is nothing to be done about the gun.
And the queerest thing, Amos’ wife said, is that he never said anything about you delivering the gun, nor anything about having somebody come and get it.
Amos he said, I know, and there it still hangs above the mantel. It has never been shot, not even been sighted in, nor been held by no hands but mine.
And it is the reason we are now rich, his wife said.
Amos nodded, and said, That is the truth.
And when he was quiet for a while, his wife said, What are you thinking about now, Amos?
And Amos he said, I am still thinking about that old man on Sagamore Mountain. The truth is, the thought of that old man has been with me day and night for many weeks, and it won’t leave me alone.
I know you have been distant about something lately, his wife said.
I am going to take the gun up to him, Amos said.
Do you think you should? his wife asked.
Yes, I think it is about time, Amos said.
So the next day, he had his best horse saddled, and he took the rifle and set out for Sagamore Mountain.
His wife she had asked him to take somebody with him for protection, but Amos he said no. She begged him and begged him, but Amos he said no, it was between the old man and himself, and nobody else should go along.
He rode all that day and half into the night, because Sagamore Mountain was far away, as everybody could tell you, and finally Amos he was so tired that he stopped in a lonely old tavern in the mountains and slept that night.
When he woke up, he was surprised to find out that his horse was blind. This was the finest horse he had, and Amos didn’t know what had caused it.
It was a misty morning and there was a rumbling in the air, like thunder that was all choked up; and couldn’t speak.
But Amos didn’t stop. He took the rifle and left the tavern and started climbing up on a mountain trail, through clouds, until he came out into a green meadow filled with sunlight, and then he kept on climbing until he was in a dark woods again, on the path that led to where the old man lived.
Yes, this was Sagamore Mountain for sure. When Amos Bond come out of the dark woods, the path just kept on a going up and up and around and around, like a ribbon on the high meadows of the mountain, higher and higher. And all around the mountain, you could see a rainbow, so that Amos knew this was the place where the old man lived.
And then there was a cave up to the right of the trail, and there was smoke coming out of the cave, where somebody had built a campfire and was cooking victuals.
When he saw this, Amos left the trail and went up toward the cave, and when he was almost there, an old man stood up by the fire and looked at him. The old man was in tatters, and his white beard and long hair stuck out all around his face, which was like a little pink nub in the middle of a white flower.
Are you the old man? Amos asked.
The old man nodded, and said, Yes, and I used to be rich and live in a fine mansion, but now I am poor, because I spent all my money on a beautiful rifle that ain’t never been finished.
It is finished now, Amos said, and he pointed the rifle at the old man’s face.
You are Amos Bond, the old man said, and that is my rifle.
Yes, Amos said, and I am going to kill you with it.
Oh, Amos, the old man said, didn’t you know that there was an end to my riches?
I didn’t think about such things, Amos said, and now I am going to kill you.
What has taken you so long? the old man asked. I have been expecting you, but why did it take you so long?
But the only answer he got was a bullet in the face, and he fell down dead, and Amos Bond went away from Sagamore Mountain, and walked for two days and two nights until he came home, tired to death, but still holding on to the rifle.
Then he took the rifle and he hung it up above the mantel where it had hung before.
I will never shoot it again, he said to his wife.
That is a good idea, his wife said.
Then they stared at the rifle for a while and talked about what a fine piece it was, and how it was the most beautiful and the finest rifle in the whole world.
And after that, Amos Bond he told his wife that he had killed the old man on Sagamore Mountain.
I could not abide the thought of him living up there, he said, and waiting for his rifle, when I had made it with my own hands and toiled over it day and night for all those years. It was my work that made it.
It was your rifle, sure enough, his wife said, nodding.
There wasn’t no telling when the old man would have demanded it, Amos Bond said.
You done right to kill him, his wife said.
And then a few weeks later, Amos Bond he heard about a saddle-maker who lived in a distant town. This saddlemaker had become famous for the beauty of his saddles. The leather turned brown and creamy and strong under his hands, and oh the fittings they were shiny, and they clanked and creaked with the leather as they clung to the horse and the horse stepped along.
I am going to order me a saddle, Amos Bond said. I am going to have it made for me alone, and it will be the finest, most beautiful saddle in the whole world, as befits a man of my wealth.
It is only what you deserve, his wife said.
That night, Amos Bond he dreamed about his blind horse and it staggered through a forest, an empty saddle of beautiful workmanship on its back and the horse was a stumbling and was falling in underbrush that Amos could not see.
When he woke up, Amos he got a funny look on his face, and he said to his wife, I am going to have that saddle which I saw in my dreams last night. Then he sat down and penned a letter to the saddlemaker, and he put one dollar in with the letter, saying, I will pay you twice this amount when I write to you again, and twice this amount when I write to you again, and twice that amount with the next letter I write, and so forth. I want this saddle you make for me to be the finest in the whole world, and you must not spare the cost.
The night after he sent this letter, Amos Bond dreamed of his blind horse once more, and on the horse there was a glistening fine saddle that creaked like the timbers of a ship as the horse rocked forward, and upon the saddle the furry white corpse of an old man, nodding this way and that, his dead eyes open to the night wind that blew his hair and beard, as the horse climbed through the underbrush in the foothills of Sagamore Mountain.
But Amos Bond he never saw the horse, he never saw the corpse, all he saw was the fine saddle floating like a big flower on dark water – the saddle that was going to carry him to glory.
From the story collection Ghostly Populations (1986)
Three Times Time Page 3