The Claim

Part 1 – “Into the Wild”

“You’re usually way in front, what’s wrong with you today boy,” John said without turning.

Will shrugged. “Thought I would take a break today.”

“By the looks of it the bush is breaking you,” John said.

The boy straightened his back, tossed the reins into the air and the horse took off. “Bush can’t break me.”

Henry Halvorsen, half asleep in his oversize jacket, swayed side to side on his horse. The animal’s heavy breathing pans strap and rifle at Henry’s side. Behind him, Old Jorden follows along talking to himself, head down staring at the last patches of snow. Dutch Finch at the rear, sluggish and irritated by the load strapped to his back.

“John,” Dutch Yelled, his voice echoing through the mountains. “I hope you know what you’re doing? Because I’m starting to doubt it.”

John pointed ahead “it has to be this way.” They headed down the mountain, where thin air met cold frost melting into streams of water.

The sun beamed high above, and as they reached the flats, a river appeared.

Will caught up, breathless. “Will there be gold?”

“Gold will be where it wants to be.” John replied.

The others followed slowly, their bodies weary, dirt clinging to their clothes. Birds sang in the trees as the jackets came off, and the forest thinned into rocks.

They passed the remnants of old camps and rusted tools evidence of miners who had turned back, unwilling to go further or the thought of returning.

Following the stony river, John and the others rested beneath a dark oak tree, its bright green leaves glowing yellow under the sun. Despite its age, the tree still bloomed with life.

Will checked his flask, took a drink “lovely,” he said to himself.

“don’t get your hopes up,” John warned.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this” Will said loudly.

John looked at him, disappointed. “It’s only early days yet.”

They continued on, admiring the wild beauty around them, hollow trees held up by vines branches torn by past storms, and a cold gentle breeze brushing against their face.

“Deer,” John whispered.

He dismounted, stepping into the icy stony river. The water instantly numbed his feet.

“Quickly,” Henry said.

“Not so loud,” John replied, moving upstream. “The wind in our favor the deer hasn’t caught our scent,”

Old Jorden followed close behind. “You think we can make the shot?”

Will grinned. “Can’t even hear myself think with this river roaring. The deer won’t know what’s coming.”

“Keep still,” John said, freezing in place. “The buck on edge. Be ready it could turn south any second.”

Then the wind shifted, carrying their scent upstream. The deer’s ears twitched froze, sensing danger. Before John or the others could act, it vanished.