Two Rivers Anthology Book Eight

Part 9: A Close Call

What a sight! A raging river. Three out-of-towners carrying Betty Norbert’s body through a field of snow melting quickly under a torrent of rain. It took four men from our party to lift Betty over a barbed wire fence. With blood on her face and hair matted, she moaned softly as they carried her up to the road. I grabbed an army blanket out of the jeep’s locker for them to lay her down on. When Nick cleared away the mess on her face, we could see a nasty cut over the brow—she had fallen and hit her head. She needed a doctor, but the nearest one was miles away in Red Eagle—if Highway 49 was still passable. What a dilemma!

From below, I saw the computer guys—Andre and his two buddies—waving their hands, shouting for help. Still on the other side of the fence, they looked exhausted and needed help crossing, so I went down to assist. Dressed in the khaki shorts and sandals they wore in the café earlier, their legs were scratched and bleeding. They shivered violently. Deputy Jack was right. The boys were dressed for death.

Before scrambling up to the road, Andre said, “That lady’s stuff is down where we found her.” There, alongside a swiftly flowing creek, I saw a large tote bag—the same one Betty had months back when Marnie and I saw her on the road. As I went to retrieve it, I came upon a sign for a registered mine claim nailed to the fence. It contained the owner’s name, Woods, and a number. The notice read:

This mining claim is protected under state and federal laws. NO PROSPECTING ALLOWED! This includes Panning, Sluicing, Dredging, Metal Detecting or Any Other Activities that Result in the Removal of Minerals. VIOLATERS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW.

All over federal lands in Quartz County, these kind of postings dot the landscape—claims staked out by modern miners. The allure of finding gold is yet strong 180 years after the 49ers rushed in. The modern miners these days are typically optimistic weekenders from the Valley or Bay Area with big dreams and large pocketbooks. Comprising a huge tourist business for Two Rivers, it’s hypocritical to complain.

I picked up Betty’s bag and unapologetically peered inside. I was taken aback by what I found: a gold pan, a trowel and a jar that contained nuggets in a swirl of water with gold flakes. So mystery solved! Betty pans for gold on the down low—and claim jumps to boot! The secrets of a small town are wondrous and many!

By the time I got back up to the road, Betty was becoming more coherent. As she was placed in the back seat of the truck, Andre explained that the trio had been driving to the computer plant and saw her sprawled face down on rocks. “It is weird that she is out in bad weather,” Andre added.

So I decided to show them what I’d found in the tote. Nick was baffled. “What the heck has gotten into her,” he said. “This is what she’s been doing? Panning for gold?” I shrugged. She wouldn’t be the first person in these parts who was bitten by the gold bug and had gone off the rails. I had to admit, though, that panning in the middle of a crazy-ass storm was over the top.

Peering into the jar, Noel just shook his head and said, “We’d better get her down the road. This can wait.”

And that’s when we heard it—a mighty roar and thundering crash. A wall of water several stories high rushed down the canyon below us. Somewhere up river, a gigantic debris dam had let loose. A jumble of logs, whole trees wrenched freshly from the ground, and all manner of junk tumbled along, but the water, thankfully, stayed below our stretch of road.

“Let’s git now!” Rex said.

Our caravan of three hurried to cross the Perez Bridge at the end of the canyon. If the water didn’t wipe it out, the bridge could certainly be blocked by debris that would wash onto it. As quickly as we could, we drove over the slushy road and followed the unfolding destruction as the irresistible force of the Empire River moved downstream. It was heartbreaking to see the cascading water smash shuttered vacation cabins along the Forest Service tracts and wipe out the spindly bridges that crossed the dirt roads. Trees along the riverbank were ripped out and swooned into the frothing tumult.

Finally, we crossed that last bridge, ahead of the raging mess. We arrived at the gated road to the computer facility. Andre got out to open the lock, so we stopped to say goodbye. Off in the distance, sounding like a jet engine at full thrust, the roaring of the water came closer and closer.

“What’s that noise?” asked a shaky voice behind us.

We saw a dazed Betty peering out of the open truck door. Suddenly, she gasped and pointed! That’s when we all saw it. A monster emerged from the canyon, a huge, brown demonic thing—a seething, tower of water and muck. Startled by the sight, all of us as one, leapt backward. We watched as the massive, angry thing raced downstream. Right in its way on the riverbank was the computer building. One second the structure was there and the next second, it had vanished!

A native Californian, H.A. Silliman grew up in the Gold County and currently lives in the northern outback. Past stories from the Two Rivers Anthology can be found at hasilliman.weebly.com. All characters are fictitious or fictionally portrayed. ©2023 H.A. Silliman.