Buck Sterling in CHEROKEE GOLD!
A Tale of Gold, Bandits & Broken Bridges...
“Alrighty, let’s see which one we’re doing tonight. The one about the road train of synth modules? Nah. The gunfight between them mean ol’ thugs Hell Patrol was after? Nah. The--here it is! The one where your ol’ Pop went treasure huntin’.”
Buck Sterling held his battle-weary journal up to his face as his pups, Laci and Junior, curled in towards him. The stocky gray dad nuzzled them both before saying those four special words.
“And there I was...”
I’d been working with a couple of fellas from my road-building days; fellow survivors of that mean ol’ Foreman Grant. Jack Henderson was a white wolf about my size. A little shorter-n-squatter, but just as tough as your ol’ poppa. They’d been on some scavenging hunts, snagging little bits of metals here and there for the taking. Just stuff to keep rides fixed and their houses in order. That was, until we made one heck of a find.
We’d been hunting around some ol’ craggy caves, mines back when there was stuff worth mining. The whole pack had been working their metal detectors to the bone and back, but it never amounted to much. Just some nice copper coins here, some silver jewelry there if we were real lucky.
Now this old mine had a proper rail line and everything. Most of the old cars they used to bring the ore out from under earth were gone or laying on their side. But there was still one: a rickety old pump car. She was pretty rusty, but also still on the rails. Thinking nothing of it, me and Jack decided to take it on down the line and see if any fellas from long ago left some good stuff behind.
Off we went, sweatin’-n-swearin’ over that creaky old hand pump, nothing but walls of old gray stone. That track ended in a pretty little grotto where the sun shone through. Still, it didn't seem like there was any pickings left.
“Say Buck,” Jack teased, “let’s try and see if that circle marks the spot.”
I took out my metal detector and gave a good sweep over our little sunspot. But sure enough: we got something.
Jack leapt off the carts, shovels in hand and the pair of us dug like hell to find what we found. One big ol’ dirtpile later, boy did we find it!
Right under the sand beneath us was an ol’ treasure chest. A proper one too, like all them pirates used to cruise with all across the seas. Curved top, flat-bottom, and filled to the brim with gold. Genuine, fang-cracking gold! The coins and bars glistened in that baking-hot patch of desert sun as we loaded it up onto the pump cart, and went hellbent-for-leather racing out of the caves.
“Better get outta here before any booby-traps come crumbling--”
And before he could finish, a huge rush of dust came blasting up behind us.
“KEEP PUMPIN!” I hollered as we heaved and hoed our way out as fast as those rusty four-wheels could. I made sure to shout down “GET BACK!” to everyone near the mouth of the cave. And sure enough, we damn well pumped the cart right off the tracks!
The chest went flying off, me and Jack following right behind. Fortunately, meant nothing more than a mouthful of sand for your pop and his buddy. After the gang made sure we were doing all right, we looked over the huge chest.
“Figure it’s only fair we split ‘er even.” Jack surmised in that gruff-n-gravelly voice of his. “Sure is plenty to split too.”
“Whatcha think it’s good for?” I asked. “Cables, piping, brackets?”
“Trading,” came the reply. “Even with how kooky things are compared to way back when, gold is gold is gold is gold. Folks love the stuff. Keeps its worth and is a damn fine utility like you says.”
Boy was we a happy bunch that day. Just like that, I whisked us all back to Jack’s house in good ol’ Jeepy, and we all got sent away with an even share. Five of us total.
Funny thing was Jack gave me the chest too.
“Cuz you’re the only fella strong enough to lift that much oak, gold or no gold.”
And just like that, our foraging at an end, I went back to my pad a hundred or so miles away. This was before I met your mama, so I was letting Jeepy take her sweet time rolling along. We’d sweep by canyon passes and old mesas, drinking in the sights. It was a nice time to start daydreaming about what I could put the gold towards.
Buying things was easy, it was what to buy that was the tricky part. I knew Mrs. Peterbury down the street needed some help getting her nice old Caddy in mint condition, so dropping some gold on good parts might be a good idea. I knew the town I was livin’ in then needed some real renovating, and we was coming up short on wood. Truth be told, all I could think about was all the little things my neighbors and friends were fretting over. I knew there was something good I was gonna get Jeepy, I just didn’t know what. Maybe some cute new bumpers for that smiling little face of hers. Maybe some new hubcaps. All sorts of little things to make her the prettiest little beast on four wheels.
Now I got so wrapped up thinking like this about what to do with all that treasure that, before I knew it, the sun was setting, and I was still dozens of miles from home. Now you know why I make sure you pups are all tucked in bed, safe-n-sound at this hour. Lots of nasty pieces of work come racing out the dark, and boy was I getting the fix brought on me.
Now that rickety old chest was practically spilling gold out everywhere. I plucked one of them old coins off the passenger seat and tried to figure out what it was. My money was on Spanish gold, but I wanted a better look.
Just as I held it out in front of me, sure to keep my eyes on the road, the coin caught a quick flash of light. Doggone near blinded me, but shook it off and kept my paw steady. Figured it might’ve just been the Cherokee flashing her pretty little headlights for me, but that didn’t track once my ears got to twitching and I heard another engine start up in the distance; bandits.
Now these fellas and gold are like flies to honey. Whether they came riding their old appaloosas or storming around in a well-built pickup, bandits ain’t ever changed since they set up shop back here all those centuries ago. When they see something they want, ain’t nothing gettin’ in their way of gettin’ it.
First the headlights started flashing in my rear-view, then that rusty ol’ flatbed Ford came rocking up on my side. I didn’t pay ‘em no mind at first, but when I saw that spyglass peeping out the driver-side window, I knew they were looking for my loot.
It was also pretty hard to ignore that raspy shout of “GO’ON AND GET ‘IM” when they shout it at the top of their lungs like that. Especially when that one truck turned into about two trucks and five vans running up poor Jeepy’s tailpipe. I slapped my paw down and told her to hightail it right outta there, but these fellas had the good sense to keep their engines tuned up.
Now you know your poppa, I don’t carry guns myself. Couldn’t pick the right one for me, but that don’t mean our lil’ ol’ SUV didn’t have some heat on her. When I was fixing her up, I made sure to add a coupla button on the wheel. I got one for each kinda problem I had back in those days. For this one, I just wanted to get these creeps off her tail. I flicked the panel open, hit it, stomped the brakes down flat, and blasted a hole right through the first grill behind us! That sent one truck spinning out into another, off into the dark desert night. Two down, four more to go.
Unfortunately, one of the fellas got wise and came up on Pop’s left. The flatbed Ford and her Dodgey twin made a B-line for the doors. Closer and closer and closer until
BAM!
They got Pop right on all sides! And with another of them ratty rods screaming up the rear, they was fixing to drive me straight into the first rock wall they saw fit. They had a pretty juicy one come up that woulda put me out for good.
Luckily, Button 2 was just the trick I needed.
When I pressed that little old switch, two makeshift cans shot my little yella Cherokee up and away like a big ol’ antelope. They don’t work like they used to--especially with a whole crew of you pups to keep safe--but boy did it give those punks a good fright. I heard nothing but squealin’ tires and a buncha foul mouths as I swerved right away from that big ol’ cliff.
Now I can look back on this all good and sober, but I gotta be honest: I was getting pretty scared. I didn’t want these devils following me back home, and I didn’t want to take them through any towns. Someone can get hurt real bad when you’re driving that fast. So I had to figure out which way to take ‘em, and fast.
And luckily, I remembered something good ol’ Jack told me.
Back when we was working on the highway, one place we wasn’t ever told to worry about fixing was the Belmont Bridge, halfway between Hamilton and Sopwith. The bridge was beyond what we could do for it. She was old and rickety, her trusses rusty and both ends boarded up. It was boarded ‘cuz during the war long, long ago, a bomb split ‘er right in two. It was one mighty gap, and what I bet the farm on that day was that Jeepy was lighter than all those crummy trucks. More importantly, she’s about the most economical little critter in the whole neighborhood, so she’d be sure to have more gas than those rotten old clangers.
The only problem was making sure I even made it there.
Boy were these punks FURIOUS! They were lighting up the night like the Fourth of July, all kinds of crazy colors rocketing past my head and dinging up the Cherokee’s paintwork.
Now, you remember how mean I got when that nasty fella done spilled paint all over her hood? Imagine how much madder-n-meaner I could get with a whole pack of real rotten scavengers on my tail. Boy was I spending every last bullet out Jeepy’s tailguns, trying to nail these devils. I was hoping to use my air cans to get her across the bridge, but she’d just run out when I had to pull another fast one on these thieves. And with all this commotion, I almost missed my bridge all together!
Coming on dead-ahead was the Belmont, but I was so busy with these creeps I didn’t have a chance in hell of picking up enough speed to make the jump. I couldn’t bank on these loonies not getting on with me, and even if I swung both paws flat on the brake, they’d have a prime opportunity to send us over the edge. The Belmont goes right over a ravine and it is one nasty fall.
Luckily, I still had lucky Button 3. Good old-fashioned nitro, just as God intended.
I slammed the button down, hit the gas good-n-hard, and prayed like the dickens. That speed needle went flying across the dashboard, the revs off the charts, and those dummies still on my six. They done loved gold more than their own lives, and when we rammed that barrier, we was gonna see just how much they loved it.
Jeepy smashed down the old wooden planks and sped towards the bridge’s edge. My paw was right through the floor, my nitro burning good-n-bright, and those trucks and vans were still fixing to get Daddy’s gold. There was only a couple hundred more feet until that awful drop.
You think Pop made it?
Well of course I’m still here, silly, but you know how bad some of our scrapes can get. For all I know, the two of us coulda plummeted right off the edge then and there. That’s an awful tumble even for a fella who’s still livin’ to tell the tale.
Alrighty, here’s what happened: that ol’ Cherokee of mine took a good long look at that gap and she laughed at it through her screaming little engine. The last of the nitro shot us over the ravine, and for a second, time stood still. We was FLYING! Right through the beautiful night sky, with one cold river waiting for us if we didn’t stick the landing.
But luckily, we did. Her four wheels slammed down on the old wooden road and blasted through the other barricade. Now this was my time to pump her ol’ brakes, because I wanted to see how many I’d be left dealing with. And what I saw done shook me right to the bones.
The two vans who had always been coming up the rear had skidded to a hard stop off to the bridge’s side, but soared through the rusty old fencing and went tumbling down the cliff! As for the Dodge pickup on my left, he sure had good enough brakes to stop just in time, the dually’s wheels just inches from the edge.
Unfortunately, that flatbed Ford didn’t.
All four went tumbling down, and with a single, distant “BOOOSH,” went up in a blaze of glory. I made sure to phone Jack when I got back to the house, and all he said was, “boy, you got lucky with your hunka trouble. I done had the time of my life tonight.”
But I think I’ll let him tell ya that one when he comes over on Saturday...
He kissed each pup on the forehead and helped them into bed. He had to pry Junior off him, his son’s embrace almost as strong as his.
“Reminded you a bit of that time we fell down the canyon?” Buck asked gently.
“A little.” his pup replied. “But I knew we’d make it. You always do, dad.”
“You’re damn right, boy.” the older gray grinned. “Gotta getcha ready for your own adventures when you’re all grown up. G’night, trooper.”
“G’night.”
With that, he snapped his journal shut, switched off the lights, and left the two to dream of their own wild escapades across the desert of their dreams.