Drowning in Silver

Driscoll Springs is a dilapidated mining town that briefly sprang to life near Dan Driscoll’s No. 7 Mine, back when Dan was alive and the mine was producing silver. It consists of several abandoned buildings lining a dusty thoroughfare. The current impoverished and even desperate residents occupy an old hotel named The Peaks and loiter in a disreputable saloon across from it named Brindle’s.

Like the foothills that surround it, the town is dusty and dry, and fresh water is a precious commodity that pools only in a few communal cisterns after a rain. The small creek that once ran past the town has dried up and the ground is full of holes where the residents have tried unsuccessfully to dig wells. A small cemetery with a large number of shallow graves lies just over a hill to the south, behind the abandoned church.

Currently, in Brindle's Saloon, a minor discussion is taking place, setting a passing saddletramp straight regarding the town and the mine...

The unofficial "mayor", Jeb Clemmins, is holding forth from his usual place at the bar, "It ain’t right, I tell ya. When Dan Driscoll dynamited the No. 7 Mine, none of us was surprised. We all knew he’d gone plum crazy by then. Hellfire, we thought Dan, his wife Clarabelle, and his foreman Bill Granger died in the explosion, because no sign of them was ever seen again, and Driscoll Springs soon became the ghost town you see now. Not one of us here ever dreamed of reopening that cursed mine. But now we got this fancy doctor fella from the crazy house in Fillmore laying claim to the No. 7. Wilhelm’s his name. Dr. Karl Wilhelm. And he’d have to be crazy himself to travel with those three he brought with him."

Jim Tassel joins in, "You know, last night, I saw that young girl with the dark eyes, the pretty one, standing underneath the tree where Rab Flanders hanged himself a few months ago, like she could sense something bad had happened there. Only, she was smiling like the cat that ate the cream."

The bartender breaks in, pouring out another round, "And then there’s the other fella. The fidgety one with the mask who looks and acts like a prairie dog. You can tell that one ain’t had a sane thought in his head since he was born. But it’s that one-eyed gunhand that scares me most. Those shootin’ irons of his, the ones with the silver star and the black handles, I reckon they’ve seen a lotta killin’."

Jeb takes back the reins of the conversation, pouring his drink down his throat and reaching for the bottle, "That bunch wouldn’t have come all this way for nothing. I’d bet my life they know where Dan hid his silver, and now they’ve come to claim it. It ain’t right, if you ask me. We’re the ones who’ve been here for the past six months, roasting in the hot sun, drinking dust between rains, and living off whatever roots and buzzards and lizards we can scare up for grub. That’s our silver! Bought and paid for with the lives of friends and family members who died here. I say we finish off this last bit o’ whiskey and then go up to that camp and take what’s ours! Who’s with me?!!!”

Before you know it, you find yourselves heading up the rough track along the dry bed of Salt Creek towards the mine, thoughts of enough silver to get yourself out of this miserable hole dancing through your whiskey-soaked brains...