The Wait

[Note: this is an entry in an "exactly 750-words" writing exercise. ]

The snow was falling increasingly heavily as Josh carefully worked his way on a horse, pulling the packhorse loaded with grub for Hal and Frank, up the Cripple Creek ravine into the Rockies. Hal and Frank were up at the camp, panning for gold, and Mr. Sinclair, impatient with Josh's surrender to him, was sending the young man up to the camp with the comment, "I'm tired of waiting and maneuvering. Let's see what Frank and Hal can do with you."

Josh knew what Frank and Hal would do with him—and then Mr. Sinclair could as well. And it wasn't that Josh was unwilling. It was as much a frustrating wait for him as for Mr. Sinclair. It was that he was scared of crossing that boundary. But he couldn't say he didn't know what awaited him at the gold mining camp up Cripple Creek.

By the time he got to the camp and the two-room sod house pushed into the hill and facing the rippling Cripple Creek that glittered in the sunlight from the specks of gold the creek leached off the surrounding mountains the snow had become so heavy that he could barely see his hand in front of his face. There was no sunlight now.

He could see light in the window of the sod house and smoke coming out of the chimney, but neither Hal nor Frank came to greet him and to help unload the packhorse. Josh knew there would be a Ute youth, Ouray, there too who lived here permanently, cooking for and cleaning up after a succession of gold miners using the cabin, but he didn't seem to notice Josh's arrival either. Josh unloaded the packhorse on the cabin's porch, put the horses in the barn, a wooden structure in better condition than the house was—livestock was valued higher here than the men who had answered the call of the gold rush in droves—and knocked on the door. No one answered, so he opened it himself and entered, dragging a sack of provisions with him.

From the entry door he could see beyond the main room into the bedroom, where he saw why no one had noticed he'd arrived or come out to help him bring the provisions in. There were three of them on the bed. Hal, in his skivvies, was on his back. Frank, also in his skivvies, was stretched out over him. Between them, being penetrated by both, was the Ute, Ouray, naked. The cabin was warm enough from the blaze in the fireplace. The three were rocking in one coordinated movement.

Sighing, Josh brought the provisions in and went to the stove to start a pot of coffee. He started a meal from the provisions he'd brought. The three in the bedroom were moving intensely enough that he figured they wouldn't be long finishing. And then they'd be hungry.

Pouring coffee, he sat, facing the bedroom door, and watched and waited.

Ouray padded out into the main room, in just a long, red, flannel shirt. The other two remained resting on the bed. The Ute, silent but giving Josh a look of resignation, languidly finished fixing the meal and setting the table.

Josh sat, waiting. He figured he wouldn't be waiting long now. He had known the nature of Hal and Frank. It was the same nature as Mr. Sinclair, down in the town. It was the acquired nature of many of the gold panners on Cripple Creek, a nature forced by the lack of women in the region and the needs of young, active men despite that lack.

Josh knew it likely would be his acquired nature too. He didn't try to deny that or rail against it, and he had been content he would respond to Mr. Sinclair—someday. He'd been waiting, though, waiting for his concern of how it would be to settle down.

Obviously, Mr. Sinclair had tired of waiting. He had sent Josh to Hal and Frank. He had known a blizzard was coming that that Josh couldn't come up to the cabin and then just leave the provisions and ride back down into town. He would have to stay at least overnight. And there was only one bedroom in the cabin and one bed—and two randy gold panners.

The meal done, conducted in silence but with steady gazes on Josh, Hal and Frank stood—on either side of Josh.

"Well then," said Frank.

Josh knew the wait was over.