Water and Gold, by Joseph Wolfe (Steampunk, The Gate Jumper).
3100 words, approx. 15 minute read.
Javier Ramirez had a reputation so bad not even God wanted to deal with him, so as Arthur Bell tied the fuse for the dynamite, he didn’t hesitate.
“I think God pulled a fast one on us, putting all the gold in the desert where there’s no water,” Arthur said, then puffed on the flattened end of his cigar.
“Pa, you sure you should be smoking that next to dynamite?”
“Safer here than in the mines, son. Keep your eyes on the horizon. With the Tokums towering behind us, Ramirez will be coming from Salvation Springs.”
“Why don’t the Sheriff deal with him?”
“Why doesn’t, I think you mean. Where did you learn to speak like that? It sure wasn’t from me or your Ma.”
Walter Bell grunted. “It’s how they talk at the Saloon.”
“That’s the problem. If you keep learning things at the Saloon you will be in Ramirez’s gang of desperados faster than birds fleeing a fire.”
Walter didn’t say anything, so Arthur turned and gave his son a firm pat on the back. “You know I wouldn’t want anyone else here with me right now, don’t you?”
“Yes, Pa.”
“Good.” Arthur fingered the ivory butt of his pistol and scanned the horizon. In the distance, several ramshackle buildings with false storefronts rattled in the wind. Salvation Springs. The gold was discovered first, but without water, the forty-niners were little more than food for the buzzards. Then one night some drunk miners got lost in the Tokum Mountains and stumbled on the Tokum Spring. The city also sprang up after that.
While everyone else went for the gold, Arthur Bell had a different idea. A mere two hundred paces behind him sat a low point in the foothills. A few dozen sticks of dynamite later, it was filled with water from the mountain spring.
And when Javier Rameriz heard about it, he wanted it.
“Son, there’s more water in these mountains than the Mississippi River. If we win today, we win for the rest of our lives.”
“I sure hope so. All that the men at the Saloon talk about is the gold they’re making.”
“We’ve got something better than gold, son. We have the very future of Salvation Springs. We just need to keep it.”
“I hope you’re right, Pa.”
Arthur chuckled. He hoped so too. It was his choice to bring his family out west. Elizabeth never questioned him, but there were nights when he looked into her eyes and saw the question on her mind.
Why didn’t we stay in New York, Arthur? There’s a Gate here. We could maybe make the Jump someday.
But in a city of over eight-hundred thousand souls, being the one to get the Vote was nearly impossible. One person per year, and no one made it without a Sponsor. That always rankled Arthur. The Vote was for the most worthy, but the wealthy had ways of swaying the Vote behind the scenes, like running puff pieces in the local papers. It wasn’t right. The Gate was God’s gift, a chance for His people to choose who would go to heaven.
But if there’s anything the gold rush taught him, it was that the wealthy would steal anything that wasn’t bolted to the floor. Then the desperados would come and unbolt what was left.
Walter set the spyglass down and looked at his Pa. “You sure they’re coming?”
Arthur checked one final detail, a machine he built himself. The clockwork cowboy, he called it. A wind up dummy that could not only pull the trigger on a revolver, but pull back the hammer for the next shot. He made two and dressed them up to look like Walter and himself. “They’re coming. If there is one thing I can give Ramirez credit for, he backs up his threats. But so do the Bells.”
Arthur’s entire gun collection, save for the pistol at his hip, lay out on an uneven wooden table. A polished, Wilson double-barreled shotgun, four standard Carver revolvers, one Carver two barrel revolver, and two lever-action long guns. The Carver two barrel was his least favorite, but too complex for the clockwork cowboy to use. He put two of the standard Carvers into the hands of the two clockwork cowboys, then checked to make sure the release mechanism was held firmly in place by a rope leading down a trap door.
“What do you think of my latest invention?” Arthur asked his son.
Walter looked and chuckled. “I don’t think it will work, Pa. I’m much more handsome than that. You would have to be blind to be fooled by these.”
Arthur laughed. “Gold makes men blind, son. And in order to get the gold, you must get the water first. Besides that, it’s hard to argue that something shooting at you isn’t a flesh and blood person.”
“Will ma be alright?”
“Well, after today, she’ll either be a widow with a dead son, or she’ll be the wife of a very wealthy man. If the former happens, she’ll have your sister at least.”
Walter swallowed hard. “You sure about this, Pa? Why not just move back East. Let Ramirez and the Sheriff fight over this town.”
There was no way Walter could know that his Pa had thought about that very same thing a few dozen times already. But those thoughts always led his mind to more thoughts, thoughts of the friends he lost to Ramirez’s gang and desperados like him. The killing and dying wouldn’t stop until law and order was established. If the water was controlled by Ramirez, that would never happen.
When Arthur didn’t answer, his son prodded, “Would you at least talk to the Sheriff?”
“I did–yesterday. The Sheriff doesn’t have enough men to fight off Ramirez. All he had were these.” Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out two silver stars. “Wear it proudly while you can, son. We’re giving them back when the day’s over.”
Walter took one of the stars and pinned it to his shirt.
“Sure thing, Pa.” Walter raised the spyglass once again, and froze.
“What’s going on, son?”
He passed the spyglass to his father. “Due east.”
Arthur raised the spyglass. Something was kicking up the dust into a whirling devil. Half a minute later, Arthur saw the devil himself. The shadowed shapes of horseback riders emerged, heading their way, led by the black-hat wearing desperado, the unmistakable trademark of Javier Ramirez.
“Grab a long gun and be ready, son. Don’t shoot until I say so. I want one last chance to try and talk them out of it.”
With long guns at the ready, father and son faced their fate. Nearly two dozen desperados tore across the desert dust on horseback and stopped short only a hundred feet.
Javier Ramirez took his hat off in mock respect. Even without the horse, he was tall, a Mexican desperado with a large brimmed hat and brown pancho over his shoulders. His right hand rested on the pistol at his hip.
“Señor Bell! I heard you have some water for us,” Ramirez called out. “This is your only chance, señor. Come out with your hands up and we’ll let you go. You can even work for me if you ask niiiiiiiiicely.”
The gang of desperados laughed.
Arthur shouted back, “Ramirez, I give you this one chance: leave Salvation Springs and never come back. This is your only warning!”
Ramirez’s gang laughed again, but when Jaiver held up a hand, they stopped cold. He took a moment to remove the cigar from his mouth. “Maybe you need to learn how to count, Señor Bell. I’ve got twenty men with me, and twenty is a lot more than two last time I checked. Thems not good odds for you, amigo.”
“My son and I are ready for you, Javier. Turn back now!”
“Ohhh, that’s your son? You sure you want to die with your padre, mi hijo?”
Walter took his place by his father’s side. “Do as he says, Javier.”
“Nah, I think not.”
The desperados charged, howling like coyotes, splitting up to flank the little shack, pistols barking out a hail of gunfire as they charged.
Arthur and Walter took cover against the initial salvo of bullets, then popped out with their rifles to return fire.
“One,” Walter said as he shot one down.
“Two,” Arthur added.
Arthur and Walter worked the levers on their rifles as clockwork as the dummies behind them, spitting out hot shells with each click, loading fresh bullets into the chamber one after one, firing down Ramirez’s onslaught. The small shack had four windows to shoot from; Arthur and Walter kept ducking around and changing position so Ramirez wouldn’t know where to shoot next.
“Seven!” Walter called out. That still left fourteen men, and they were getting in close.
A shot whizzed past Arthur and he dropped down, grabbing his ear. He didn’t know if he was already dead.
“Pa!” Walter called out.
Arthur put a hand to his shoulder, then pulled it away. It was red.
“Other shoulder’s still good,” Arthur said, trading his long gun for a pistol. Walter fired off one more with his long gun, then traded the empty rifle for a pistol of his own. At shorter range, their pistols were nearly as good as the rifles. But their shack was quickly turning into swiss cheese, and Arthur didn’t know if the shot to the shoulder would bleed him out or not.
“Pa?” Walter called out, his voice cracking. “You’re bleeding bad!”
“Grab the rest of the guns and go! I’ll be right behind you.”
Walter pulled up the guns in his arms and opened the trapdoor, hurrying down the steep ladder into the tunnel where a single lantern on the wall lit their way. Arthur was right behind, and ran over to the dynamite fuse which dangled through a gap in the floorboards. He worked his cigar over to the fuse and puffed to stoke the heat. The fuse ignited; he pulled out his pocketwatch, noting the time.
One final thing to do. He listened for a few more gunshots, then tugged hard on the rope, pulling the release for the clockwork cowboys. A loud click as they snapped into position, then the Carver pistols barked out shots. After the sixth, the dummies would both collapse, making it look like they were dead.
That is, if they worked properly.
“Lord, I’m trying to do your work, as ugly as it is,” Arthur prayed. “Please blind these men to our plan.”
“Pa?” Walter called out from the other end of the tunnel.
“I’m coming son!” Arthur called back.
Five seconds later, they reached the other side and climbed up out the hatch behind some desert sagebrush and large rocks. They set their empty rifles aside and kept their pistols close, looking back at the rickety shack. Ten of Javier’s men remained, circling the shack and looking through the windows.
“What are you waiting for?” Javier called out in Spanish. “Useless buscaderos! Go inside and make sure they’re dead!”
Four of the men dismounted and walked to the front of the shack while the rest stayed nearby outside.
Arthur pulled out his pocketwatch, counting down the seconds.
“Nothing in here!” one of the men called out.
“Are you blind?” Javier shouted back.
“Just two metal dummies!”
“Dummies?” Javier asked. He was putting two and two together.
Too late.
“Son, down!” Arthur hissed.
They ducked not a second too soon as the fuse hit the dynamite in the closet, sending the shack in thousands of directions and pieces. Boards and splinters ricocheted off the rocks the Bells ducked behind. A shower of wood splinters and dirt rained down on them.
“Go, before the dust settles!” Arthur commanded, keeping a pistol ready while Walter charged with the shotgun.
When they sprang out from behind the sage and approached, Javier Ramirez was down, a wood splinter the size of a railroad spike rammed through his eye, his black hat pooling with blood.
Arthur reached down and checked Ramirez’s vest pocket.
“What are you doing, Pa?”
Arthur retrieved a silver flask and popped the cap. “Only fair he fixes what he broke.” Arthur grit his teeth and poured the whiskey over his wound.
Four of the desperados groaned and started to stir.
Arthur tossed the flask on the ground and pulled out a handkerchief from his own pocket. “Do me a favor son and plug up the hole in my shoulder before they get their wits about them.”
An hour later, Arthur and Walter had herded the remaining four desperados at gunpoint all the way back to Salvation Springs
“Hey! That’s Ramirez’s gang!” one of the local miners called out from his seat in the saloon. Within seconds, the saloon cleared out as everyone came to watch Arthur and Walter lead the desperados to the prison.
“They got him!” someone shouted. “They got the yella-bellied rascals!”
It didn’t take long for the entire town to come watch, cheering and hollering. The Sheriff himself appeared at the front of the jail, hands resting on his belt.
“Special delivery, Mr. Bell?” the Sheriff called out.
“The last of the Ramirez gang.”
“Three cheers for the Bells!” someone from the Saloon called out.
While those cheers rang out, the Sheriff and his deputy walked over to cuff the four desperados and take them into custody.
“You alright, Arthur?” the Sheriff asked. “I can ask Doc Wilson to take a look at you.”
“With all due respect, Sheriff, the hole in my shoulder will heal better without the doctor poking his grubby fingers in it.”
“What will happen to them?” Walter asked as the deputies escorted the desperados away.
“That’s for the circuit judge to decide,” the Sheriff said. “But it ain’t lookin’ too good for ‘em, I can tell you that much.”
Arthur took off his silver star and held it out to the Sheriff; Walter did the same.
“You sure, Arthur? This doesn’t have to be a one time thing.”
“It puts a bad taste in my mouth. I think the good Lord has given me a different path in life.”
The Sheriff nodded. “I ain’t gonna argue with Him.”
Six months later, Arthur Bell cranked on the steam engine he built, and watched as the pump system he built brought precious water from the reservoir all the way down the pipeline, towards Salvation Springs. Walter was down the line, making sure the water tower in the city filled properly. The glint of a mirror from that direction signalled the water as flowing well.
The four remaining Ramirez gang desperados were convicted and hung three months prior. Arthur attended the hanging, but it only convinced him further that his calling was not to be a lawman.
Arthur’s shoulder still ached a little from Ramirez’s bullet, but the lead had gone clean through and he had full use of it again. He was lucky. A lot of men took with fever and died painfully after getting shot.
The city of Salvation Springs put up the funds for the water tower and the pipeline, along with a purchase order for the first five years of water supply. The night the deal was made–that was the first night in years that Arthur’s family had more to eat than just pork and beans. Watching Elizabeth’s face when she bit into a fresh apple–that was heaven on earth. Her smile was all that proof he needed to know he had done right moving out West.
With the steam engine chuffing and precious water flowing to the city, Arthur grabbed a wooden sign and pounded the stakes into the desert sand.
Bell Waterworks. Est 1868.
“To the Glory of God, and the prosperity of Salvation Springs.”
Arthur took a few steps back and examined his work while giving his arms a good stretch. For a man who joined the gold rush, he was getting on in years.
“Lord, I promise never to use that dynamite for killing ever again. Only for creating.”
Suddenly, a sound like a train braking hard screeched through the air, sending Arthur to the ground with hands on his ears. Then the ground underneath him suddenly gave out, and he fell and smacked hard, getting tossed around like a sack of potatoes in the back of a wagon. Rocks from the reservoir cracked and split, and boulders from the Tokums thundered down the mountainside before safely landing in the foothills and coming to a stop.
It was over in less than a minute. Arthur stood and dusted himself off. When he looked up toward Salvation Springs, he froze. High in the sky over the city, a bronze ring floated in the air, suspended by propellers. A teal mist slowly formed around it.
“Here? Impossible…” he said aloud as he ran for his horse. He mounted and took one last look at the reservoir before riding to the city. A hole had opened up in the reservoir wall and water flowed into it. He wondered if all his efforts had been for nothing and the water was escaping into the earth, but he would look later. He wanted to make sure Walter was alright first.
Coming into the city, the entire town gathered to gawk at the mysterious object in the sky. The teal mist radiated from it now, the propellers spinning and swirling the strange gas into miniature whirlwinds.
“Pa!” Walter called out.
“Son! Are you alright?”
“Sure am. That was some earthquake, but the water tower held. Might have to double check the pipeline and pump though; the water pressure cut out.”
“The reservoir will need some repairs. That should fix the pressure.”
“Pa, what is that thing?” Walter asked.
“It’s…” Arthur swallowed back tears. “It’s everything we could every hope for, son.”
“What’s that, Pa?”
“Look!” someone in the crowd shouted.
From the center of the bronze ring, a pair of feet appeared. The women screamed; the men ran to get their long guns.
“No shootin’, you yella-bellied cowards!” the Sheriff called out. “Don’t you know what this is?”
Everyone looked at the Sheriff like he was crazy. “We’ve been chosen!” the Sheriff added. “We’ve been given a Gate!”
“Good God above,” Arthur whispered as he took off his hat.
“Pa, what’s it mean?”
Now wasn’t the time to correct his son’s grammar. “We have a chance. We all have a chance.”
“A chance at what?”
Arthur pushed back the tears in his eyes. “Heaven.”
Thanks for reading! The Gate Jumper is a novel planned for the future. Interested in more Steampunk? Check out the stories below:
The Wringing of the Bell
Lending a Hand
3100 words, approx. 15 minute read.
