Chapter 4

KNOCKING

Morning came and both men arose
And re-arranged their slept-in clothes
And peered out the cabin window
Which offered nothing new to show.
Bill fired up their meager oven
And Bart, with poker, started shoving
Wooden logs to build the fire
But neither spoke their true desire.

Bill cooked biscuits and salt pork
And Bart even ate with knife and fork
But still their eyes did not contact
As they continued with their act.

Finally Bart spoke low and slow,
"I think we're finished with the snow.
I think the sun will shine today,"
And stopped so Bill could have his say,

Billy glanced up from his plate
And remarked of Tommy's fate.
"I wonder where the boy is at?"
And Bart shifted where he sat.

"Oh, I don't know where he might be,
To be sure, it puzzles me,
With the weather looking better,
What say we look for Tom together?"

"I suppose," said Bart, "If we must."
But underneath his breath he cussed.
Both got up from breakfast time
And bundled up without a sign.

Without a sign of guilt or nerves,
Without the reverence death deserves.
Without a care of what may be
Just beyond the door to see.

Bart finally opened wide the door
And Bill looked on quite unsure
Of what they might finally see
Of Tom, their partner's tragedy.

There before them at the door
Lay Tommy who was dead for sure
With arm stretched in knocking fashion
And on his face, a look of passion.

Passion yes, in disbelief
That partners could allow his grief,
That those he trusted early on
Would be his killers, all along.

"One leg gone," said Bart as fact.
"No telling where that might be at.
Too bad he couldn't cry for help,
I guess that's how the cards were dealt."

"Ya!" said Bill, "Now lookie here."
He's clutching something in his fear."
And pulling Tom's hand from his mitten
They saw the poke on which was written

"Property of Mister Tommy Smith."
And with that, this dubious gift
Of gold to partners was assured,
If not somewhat undeserved.

Both partners passed a moment sober
Before they turned poor Tommy over
And struggled with his lanky frame
To the wood shed to remain.

"It's too cold to dig now, Bill,
Come the spring we both will
Bury him and say some words
And mark the spot where he's interred."

"You're right Bart, His kind of lad
Makes the parting awfully sad.
Too bad he has no next of kin!"
"Right Bill, it truly is such a sin."

The remainder of the day
Bill had nothing much to say
and Bart mused close to the fire
And re-weighed his gold desire.

And though the days slowly passed
Neither could forget or ask
About the boy who sought his fame
And here forever shall remain.

~Robert E Browne~