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1318 words

Normally, the sight of his campsite at the base of the huge outcropping of decomposed granite cliffs brought feelings of excitement and anticipation to old Jim Graham, but this time as he brought his ancient jeep to a stop alongside the small bubbling brook, he felt only sadness. The kind of sadness that can only be understood by those who have suffered a similar loss.

The mid-morning sun was already unbearably hot as Jim stared back down the canyon. The clouds of white, alkali dust still hung in the dead air to mark his passage. He rested his head against the back of the seat and muttered,

"Think I'll rest a little. It can wait a few more minutes." He closed his eyes remembering back to when he had first discovered this magical spot...

Back in 1978, when his doctor had insisted on his early retirement, he fought tooth and nail against it, but too much had done him in. Too much eating, drinking, and sitting behind a desk on his fat behind had made a physical wreck out of him and brought on a serious coronary problem.

He didn't fancy chasing a little white ball all over the pasture, so when the doctor insisted on his getting regular exercise, he decided for going prospecting. He had always planned on doing it someday, so why not now?

Martha, his ever-loving, nagging wife blew her stack. There was no way she was going to allow him to go off alone into the desert, where he could have a heart attack at any moment.

They argued for weeks until finally, he solved the problem by going to the animal shelter and getting a young lop-eared hound. He named the hound, Dawg and enrolled him in an obedience training school. He installed a voice activated C-B radio in the jeep, and had the instructor teach Dawg to run to the jeep and bark into the radio at his command.

When he and Dawg put on their performance for Martha, she relented and agreed to let them go look for gold. He lost no time in buying all sorts of equipment and heading into the hills to seek his fortune.

He did a lot of metal detecting, digging, and dry washing for several months and had almost nothing to show for his efforts. Then one day his luck changed. Normally, while he was prospecting, Dawg would search the area for jackrabbits, but would never get out of sight; however, on this day, Dawg took off through a narrow ravine and could be heard baying way off in the distance.

He followed Dawg out of curiosity, and about a mile up canyon he found Dawg digging into a hole, obviously after a rabbit. Looking around he noticed a small stream coming right out of the rock face. He had never used his portable sluicebox, but with the stream right there, now was the ideal time.

He sat it in the stream, then noticing the pile of dirt that Dawg had dug out of the face of the cliff, he took a couple of shovels of dirt and ran them through the sluicebox. Almost instantly, he started seeing color. By God, Dawg had found what he had been looking for. The more dirt he shoveled the more gold he saw piled up in the box.

He put out markers like he had read about, carefully brushed away any traces of their presence, and drove hell- bent for home. He excitedly told Martha about their good fortune and headed downtown to register his claim.

He named the mine, "The Lucky Dawg Mine." And throughout the years pulled out over forty thousand in gold. He pulled out something more valuable than gold from that mine -- he got his health back 'cause he worked it by himself.

Every day a little harder, a little more, and a little longer until his body was lean, his hands hard, and his heart stronger. He renamed Dawg. Dawg's new name was Lucky Dawg. He would work and Lucky would watch until early afternoon.

Then, Lucky would take off up canyon hunting for their dinner. When he could hear Lucky's baying getting close, he'd drop the shovel, pick up the shotgun, and wait. Soon, old Lucky would run that rabbit right into the clearing, so that they wouldn't hafta carry it too far, after he shot it.

Lucky always hated to leave. When he'd quit work and wash off in the creek, he'd take off his boots and soak his feet in the cold water. Then, when he'd get ready to leave his boots would be missing. Lucky would steal them and hide them, so they couldn't go home.

He and that Dawg were closer'n two ticks, and lately they'd sorta grown old together. Too damn bad that Lucky had gone first. Wasn't going to be much fun coming up here anymore...

He opened his eyes, wiping away the moisture with the back of his wrinkled hand, and muttered to himself,

"I best get on with this -- gotta find some high ground and I'll probably need a couple a wheelbarrows a rocks. Them damn coyotes'll dig him up if I don't use lotsa rocks." He worked in silence for about an hour then returned to the jeep. He tenderly removed a blanket wrapped bundle from the rear seat.

After the last rock was firmly in place, he sat on the bank of the stream lost in thought. He took off his boots and put his feet into the cold water. The fast moving water felt so good to his aching feet. He thought, "If only I could find something like that for what's aching inside me. Damn!"

He was leaning back on his elbows searching for familiar shapes in the fluffy, white clouds high above, when he heard the first sounds of the hound coming from up canyon.

At first, he thought he was hearing things, but the next time there was no mistaking the sound of a hound baying in full pursuit. It was getting closer now -- much closer....

.............

Sheriff Bob Simpson sat awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, twisting his hat in his hands as he talked.

"Missus Graham, I just want to reassure you that old Jim went easy. He was flat on his back on that creek bank, his feet soaking in the water, and a happy smile on his face. He obviously didn't have any pain."

Martha nodded, wiped her eyes, and answered,

"Yes, Jim loved it up there in the canyon. He and that dog spent more time up there than they ever did at home."

"That reminds me," Bob Simpson spoke as he stood, "in my report here, it says that when you called 911, you said that you knew your husband was in trouble because a dog told you over the radio. Could you possibly explain that? Frankly, I'm confused."

Martha explained about Jim's heart condition back in 1978, the voice actuated radio, and how Jim had trained the dog to use it. Then her hand flew to her mouth. She looked wide eyed at the sheriff,

"My goodness, in all the excitement I forgot that Jim went up there to bury poor, old Lucky. Our dog died of old age just yesterday.

"I've been sitting here worrying and waiting for that distress call for sixteen years. When it did come, I plum went outa my mind. I called 911 and gave directions to where the mine was located and never once, 'til right now, give any thought about that call. Our dog, Lucky couldn't of made that call. That's awful strange, don't you think, Mister Simpson?"

"Very strange, Martha, very strange -- and stranger still, we never could find old Jim's boots.