Sticks & Stones

Page 17

A man sat on one of the four bunk beds in the room, watching them sedately as they darted in from the deluge. Once Zane had slammed the door shut against the rain, the man nodded at Ty.
“Hello,” he greeted drolly. He was unshaven, his graying beard long and scraggly. Ty knew he was a through-hiker just from the smell. Soap wasn’t an essential item when hiking from Maine to Georgia in one go.
“Evening,” Ty responded as he dropped his pack and struggled out of the wet slicker. He threw it aside, headed for the fireplace without another word, and hugged the rock chimney happily.
Zane leaned back against the wall next to the door with a tired half-smile, shaking his head at Ty’s antics. Earl had already dropped his bag by the other set of bunk beds, and as soon as Deuce shed his wet clothing, he claimed the lower one, sitting down hard and stretching out his leg.
Ty turned to them and shook his head. “No, no, I got the floor last time,” he protested as he pointed at the bunks.
“And you’ll get the floor this time because we’ll offer the same arguments we did then,” Deuce countered with a smile. “He’s old; I’m crippled; what are you gonna do?” he posed carelessly as he pulled off his damp socks. Earl laughed softly and began stripping off his outer layers until he came to dry fabric.
“Damnit,” Ty muttered. He turned and looked at Zane critically. They would have to fight over the last bunk. And it didn’t matter how accustomed to a hard surface you were, sleeping on the floor when you knew there were mattresses was unpleasant. He glanced at the bunks. Okay, well, not mattresses. But up off the floor, certainly.
Zane had set down his pack and was pulling the slicker carefully over his head. He still had to shake his head when he sprinkled water drops all over himself as he took it off. He let it fall to the floor and pulled his shoulders back, trying to stretch out.
When he looked up at Ty, he raised an eyebrow in question. “I’m just going to be glad to be down for a while,” Zane admitted. “I don’t care if it’s the floor.”
Ty narrowed his eyes, looking Zane over carefully before sighing. It came out a heavy, dejected sound. “Take the bed, then,” he told his partner.
“Quit being a bastard,” Zane said mildly as he started stripping down.
Ty huffed at him and began shedding his wet clothing as well. He delved into his pack and pulled out a tight pack of clothesline, which he attached to the walls by slipping each end onto hooks that had been mounted for the purpose. It strung along the center of the cabin, dividing the bunks from the fireplace. Then he began hanging the wet clothes on it so the fire would dry them faster. They couldn’t afford to go anywhere with wet, cold clothing on.
He could hear the storm worsening outside, pounding rain on the roof and a steady trickle of water through the shingles in the corner. Ty glanced over at the man who sat watching them all quietly as Earl and Deuce followed suit with their own clothing.
Now that he’d gotten the necessities out of the way, Ty could afford to be friendly. He took a step toward the bunk and offered his hand. The man took it and smiled at him. He was dry, obviously having made it to shelter before the storm broke.
“Ty,” Ty offered as he shook his hand. “Zane, Earl, Deuce,” he rattled off as he pointed at each of the other men in turn.
“John,” the man announced in return.
“Made it in before the rain?” Zane said conversationally.
“Only just,” John told him.
“Are you hiking by yourself?” Zane asked curiously.
John nodded as he crunched down on a piece of jerky.
“Started late in the season, huh?” Ty wagered.
John smiled at him. “Started early, just been going slow,” he told them. “Figure it’s my last one, so I’m enjoying the sights,” he said serenely as he gnawed on his jerky.
Ty glanced to Zane. “Trail goes from Maine to Georgia,” he told him.
“The Appalachian Trail?” Zane said, his voice rising a little toward the end. “That’s got to be a couple thousand miles.”
“Two thousand, one hundred and seventy-five,” Ty said with a nod. He looked to John. “North or south?” he asked.
“Heading south,” John answered. “You?”
Ty shook his head. “Just a local thing,” he answered with a smile.
John tilted his head and smiled suddenly. “So then you’ll know about the Romney treasure?” he asked excitedly.
Zane was staring at John. “You’re hiking more than two thousand miles… for fun?” he asked incredulously.
“Done it every summer for twenty years,” John told him.
Zane’s jaw actually dropped. “That’s… incredible.” John merely shrugged.
“Lots of folks do it,” Earl told Zane quietly as he pulled out some fresh clothes from his pack. “Through-hikers. I’m sorry, did you say you’re looking for treasure?” he asked John after a moment.
John shook his head and leaned forward in his bunk. “Not looking for it, no. Just interested. Ever heard tales?” he asked.
Earl just shook his head in amusement. Zane was still peering at John with a peculiar look on his face, like he thought the man must be off his rocker.
“Romney,” Ty repeated curiously. “You mean like the city?” he asked dubiously. The mountains were full of stories about buried treasure, lost gold mines, hidden caches that were never reclaimed. It wasn’t unusual to hear about them from hikers who soaked up the lore and retold it as gospel. Ty himself knew quite a bit about a few of the treasure stories in the area, but he’d never heard one associated with Romney.
Muttering something about vacations under his breath, Zane stripped off his windbreaker and Henley, revealing the thinner long-sleeved shirt underneath, and dragged his bag across the small room to settle on the floor near the fireplace, leaning back against the hearth.
John scooted to the edge of his bunk and placed his elbows on his knees, looking around at all of them. “You’ve never heard of the Romney treasure?” he asked in disbelief.
Ty glanced over at Zane distractedly and back at John with a shake of his head. A crack of lightning outside was followed by thunder that shook the small cabin around them. It was close. Ty thought he might have gotten a whiff of ozone. Deuce gave a low whistle as he glanced up at the ceiling.
“I’m not from here,” Zane said as he studied the roof above them, looking doubtful.
John nodded as if that explained it. “I teach about Appalachia back in Maine,” he informed them. “Romney isn’t exactly on the syllabus, but it’s a good story,” he said hopefully. He obviously wanted to relate it. Ty figured he probably hadn’t had much in the way of conversation for months.
Ty glanced over at his dad, who was watching John with a hint of a smile. It was the same look most of the locals gave a tourist when they used the word “quaint,” a look that said smile and humor them until they go away.
Ty cleared his throat against a laugh. “Well, why don’t you tell it to us while my brother makes dinner,” he said with a look at Deuce.
Deuce glared at him from where he sat huddled on the lower bunk, still shivering. “Fine,” he muttered as he unfolded himself and began getting out the makings of dinner.
John sat forward on his bunk and smiled widely. “Well, as you probably know, West Virginia was just Virginia about a hundred and fifty years ago,” he started.
Ty exhaled slowly. If this story started a hundred and fifty years ago, it was going to be a long night. He sat beside Zane, his back to the warm rocks of the chimney, and listened half-heartedly.
“Back during the Civil War, the communities of western Virginia were sympathetic to the North, despite the state of Virginia’s allegiance to the South,” John was saying. “Most of the fighting took place in Virginia, and the western portion was a particularly tricky spot. The South didn’t want to lose it, and the North saw it as a strong position to attack Richmond from, populated with sympathizers who could offer help. The town of Romney in particular traded hands fifty-six times during the course of the war.”
“This is why I slept through all my college courses,” Ty muttered to Zane under his breath.
“Be nice,” Zane said softly. “He’s harmless.”
“I don’t like being nice,” Ty reminded. Deuce cleared his throat pointedly as he handed out food.
“During the spring of 1863, two years into the War, there was a skirmish in nearby Burlington,” John told them as his eyes danced with firelight. “A Confederate cavalry commander had captured twelve men of the Ringgold Cavalry. These men just happened to be the Cavalry’s foraging party. Legend says this foraging party had stumbled over something, something spectacular. You know what it was?” Ty and the others shook their heads in answer. “Neither does anyone else, but the best guess is that it was the long lost fortune of Lord Fairfax, stolen from him in the 1700s.”
“Who the hell is Lord Fairfax?” Ty whispered to Zane, who shrugged and closed his eyes.
“Stolen from him?” Deuce asked, whether to be polite or out of true interest Ty couldn’t guess.
“By one of his land agents. Collected fees and rents that he never turned over to Fairfax. Rumor says it was hidden away until after any investigations could be done and the location was lost.”
“Lost and spent sound a whole lot alike,” Ty muttered under his breath. Zane jabbed him in the ribs, and Ty gave a soft grunt as he leaned closer to Zane and tried not to laugh.
“Some people believe that Union foraging party found it all those years later,” John was saying.
“And that’s the treasure that’s supposedly buried up here?” Earl asked doubtfully. “Why didn’t the Union army take it?”
“They did. That foraging party, they spirited it away, dumping out their supplies and using the sacks for the gold and silver they found. They even left their ammunition behind, blinded to the danger by the treasure.”
“That explains how they were captured in a skirmish and not killed fighting,” Ty muttered as he drew a circle in the dust next to him. Zane elbowed him again gently, and Ty bit his lip against a smile.
“When the Confederates went through their supplies, you can imagine what they thought. There was arguing over whether they should keep the money for themselves or send it to Richmond to finance the upcoming Gettysburg Campaign. They moved on to Purgitsville, where they themselves were attacked. The money changed hands again—”
“Before any official reports could be made about the money, of course,” Ty interjected cynically. There were never any written records to accompany these stories.
“Of course,” John agreed happily. “The Federals were then occupying Romney, and when the money reached the town, it was decided that the position wasn’t secure enough to keep it there. As often as the town changed hands, you can see why.”
Ty scrubbed his hand over his face. This was what being nice to people got him. Zane nudged him in the side yet again, and Ty was hard-pressed not to poke him back.
“The residents of Romney had been gradually taking their own valuables up into the mountains and hiding them, trying to keep them safe from the looting of the soldiers passing through. The man in charge of the Federal brigade, though, he had a sweetheart in Romney. The woman told him of the secret stash the town had hidden away, and one night just forty-eight hours before the town was attacked again, the Federals snuck all that gold and silver up into the mountains and hid it away.”
“Are you saying that even though a whole town of people knew where this super secret hiding spot was, that it still got lost?” Ty asked incredulously.
John smiled widely and nodded, as if that was his favorite part of the story. “Over the summer of 1863, Romney was constantly occupied and switching hands or being watched by scouts from both armies. As winter came around, the fighting died down, but as you well know, you don’t venture up into these mountains in winter no matter what kind of treasure is up here!”
Ty glanced at Zane and shook his head. Zane was trying hard not to laugh at him. Ty reached between them impulsively and squeezed his hand gently. It was nice to sit there with him and enjoy something physical that wasn’t even remotely sexual. He couldn’t really think of a time they’d even sat together like this, besides sprawling on the couch and watching post-season baseball to boo the Yankees together.
“So,” Deuce said slowly as he looked at John in confusion. “What happened? Why didn’t they ever go back for it?”
“The winter of 1863 was a harsh one,” John answered. “There were collapses of caves, mudslides, flooding when the snow began to melt. It changed the topography, and so did four years of heavy fighting. The soldiers who’d taken Fairfax’s gold and silver up there never returned to Romney. Those who’d been strong enough to drag the town’s treasures up there in 1861 had all been sent off to war. They told their families how to get there, using landmarks as directions. By the time the war ended, those landmarks weren’t there.”
Ty scowled heavily. He was hesitant to admit that that made a certain sort of sense. Still, he didn’t put much stock in treasure stories, much less the ones that had no proof of their existence.
“So it’s up there somewhere,” Earl concluded with a wave of his hand in the general direction of the peaks. He was smiling, obviously humoring the man.
“That’s the story,” John answered with a pleased nod. He shrugged. “It’d be quite a chunk of change, anyway!” he said as he pushed himself back onto his bunk and settled back.