Archie rode uphill through the town, towards the elegant, yet out-of-place Victorian house on the hill. When those in the street and on the porches gawked at his unusual appearance he took pleasure in tipping his pith helmet to them.
He passed the Morning Star Saloon on his right, and tucked in behind it, found the mine. Convenient for the miners, thought Archie. And if he knew the breed, he doubted they would have any pay left over after drinking. The mine entrance was sunk into an unusual mound, perhaps thirty-five feet tall. Men were using mules to haul a heavy ore cart from the timber-framed opening in the hill.
Archie decided that his first step would be to survey the composition of the mound. If it was stable enough the engine could be installed on top, otherwise, the earth would have to be removed and a platform constructed. What a magnificent sight it would be if his engine was the tallest thing in town!
300 yards up the hill, he hitched his horse to the wrought iron fence that surrounded Jean DuMont’s house. Wrought iron? Ye gods, what expense in this wasteland.
By the glass in the front door, Archie could see that he was covered with the dust and grime of travel. He removed his helmet and could see a sharp line where the relatively clean skin began. He attempted to brush some of the dirt from his forehead, then realized the foolishness of it. He stood tall and knocked on the door.
His rap on the door was answered with frantic steps. The speed at which someone was approaching confused Archie. It had been a simple knock.
The door swung open quickly and a severe-looking woman in a nurse’s uniform whispered. “Who are you? What are you doing! Don’t you know that the Monsieur isn’t to have visitors?”
Taken aback, Archie asked, “Which one of those would you like me to answer first?”
“None of them. Go away.”
“My name is Archimedes Croryton and at Monsieur DuMont’s request I have spent some $30,000 of his dollars and traveled the better part of 2,500 miles to bring him pumps and an engine to clear his mine of groundwater.”
“The mine? The mine!” She said, “Why didn’t you say so? You must see Mr. Pulaski, the Foreman!” then she started closing the door. Archie placed his boot against the jamb, and said, “I really think he will want to see me.”
“Monsieur is not well!”
From inside the house came an angry bark. “Esther! Who is it?” This was followed by a phlegmy coughing fit.
“Go away,” Esther said, the anger in her eyes now replaced with pleading.
Archie was unmoved. “His letter was quite clear. I am to present myself immediately upon arrival.”
“Who is it!” Came the old voice again. “Is there something wrong at the mine?”
Reluctantly, Esther opened the door, glaring at Archie as he entered. To the right of the door, Jean DuMont was getting up from a chair with some difficulty. He clutched a handkerchief to his mouth and coughed loudly, angrily as if he were yelling at disease itself. But in his manner, he attempted to play it off as if it were nothing.
Archie had heard the rattling death sentence of that cough before. Tuberculosis. With the spirit of a true gentleman, Archie ignored the unpleasant noise, bowed his head and said, “Archimedes Croryton, at your service, sir.”
The older man’s eyes twinkled and his grey face lifted in a smile. He asked “have you brought it? The means to drain my sump of a mine?”
“Indeed sir, I have,” said Archie, and DuMont shook his hand heartily.
DuMont said to Esther, “This is him! The boy wonder that Stevens found in Boston!” Esther shook her head and walked away.
“Nevermind her. She’s professionally nasty. Keeps the riff-raff away. Come, sit. Refresh yourself.”
They talked for the better part of a half an hour. DuMont had real enthusiasm, but he tired quickly, coughing and wheezing as he struggled to breathe. Esther hovered behind the old man, flitting in and out of the room, attending to his needs, but always, always, glaring at Archie. As if her glare alone could drive him from the house.
As Archie sketched a diagram of the pumping mechanism he had designed, DuMont beckoned Esther for his medicine. She decanted him a glass of grain alcohol which had opium poppies floating in it. When he saw Archie’s curious glance he explained, “for my cough.” After he swallowed it, he did breathe easier and coughed less. But his energy quickly deserted him, and he collapsed into his wicker chair by the window.
“You must forgive me, Mr. Croryton. I no longer have the vigor I enjoyed in my youth. I am not well man, but I caution you, my mind is as sharp as ever. And I can see that my agent’s confidence in you was not misplaced.” He rose and went to his desk where he wrote a note, blotted it, and folded it. “Take this to Mr. Pulaski and he will give you everything you need to complete your work. But a word of caution. Trust in him, not a whit. Nor any of those other,” he paused for a coughing fit, “those other jackals in my employ. They are cheating me. Attempting to rob me blind. They think my mind and my eyes have gone because of the weakness in my lungs. But I know. Do you understand, *I know*. And I will have my revenge on all of them in the end.”
Uneasily, Archie said, “I know not what to make of your troubles, sir. But I will build your pumping engine. I will clear your mine. And if I can be of service in any other way…”
DuMont was wracked by a coughing fit, but his eyes never left Archie’s. The stare was an accusation Archie did not quite understand. When he had recovered himself, he said, “Welcome to the Morning Star Mine.”
As Archie exited, DuMont collapsed into his chair and Esther hurried to him with another glass of laudanum, hissing at Archie, “show yourself out.”
~ ~ ~
Beside the Morning Star Mine men were cutting timbers with a horse-powered sawmill. Four teams of horses walked a well-trampled circle around a central spindle. Archie followed the main drive belt as it came off the top of the spindle, then through several transfer spindles across the top of the barely roofed pavilion and then around the smallest wheel. The smallest wheel turned a spindle that led to a cage and peg gear that turned a horizontal shaft. Around that shaft, a circular saw blade now spun with blinding speed. As two men rolled a log onto a cast iron sled, Archie estimated the efficiency and effectiveness of the gearing.
While the blade was turning with great speed, Archie wondered if it had enough torque to get its job done. As the men pushed the carry sled forward, the log touched the blade and sawdust fountained through the air. The word parted easily enough at first, but halfway through the saw bound and the leather belt slipped and screeched hideously against the wooden spindle. The men stopped the horses and heaved against the heavy sled trying to back the log off the blade so that the mill could be restarted.
“You. What want?” Set a voice with an Eastern European accent.
Archie turned to see a man in filthy denim, wearing a mine lamp on his forehead that was still burning. Behind him, men were unloading an ore cart.
“Are you Mr. Pulaski?"
"He's down mine, come back later."
"I rather think you should go fetch him. Mr. DuMont sent me."
“Old snake, what new?”
“A curious term for your employer. I have 30 wagons of equipment due any moment and I need a place to put them.”
“Who are you?”
Archie turned and saw that the men with the sawmill were preparing to make the same mistake with greater vigor. With impatience, he said, “A man who makes improvements. Now, fetch Mister Pulaski while I repair your saw mill.”
With all the command and disdain of someone born to the aristocracy, Archie turned and strode to his work.
He held a hand up to stop the man about to set the horses into motion again. The man looked confused, but Archie offered him no explanation. He handed him his pith helmet as he walked by and the man took it and said nothing.
The men on the sled turned to see why the mill hadn’t restarted and watched Archie walk up and pull a lever that disengaged the cage and peg gear. Only then did he direct his attention to the saw blade. He ran a finger along the side of the metal blade and found it abrasive and hot to the touch. Then he set his thumb against one of the teeth and made a disapproving noise.
An angry man in suspenders with a sharp nose approached him and said, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Archie said, “When was the last time this blade was sharpened?”
The man blinked twice in thought, then mustered his anger again, “What’s that to you in your funny suit?”
Archie took his attention from the blade and spindle and stepped directly up to the man, saying, quietly but with real intensity, “This is no way to treat machinery you fool. If you treated your co-worker over there as poorly as you treated this mill, you would be in jail.”
The man sputtered and struggled to find words.
Archie said, “You will find me a small file…”
“You can’t talk to me like that!”
Archie continued in his quiet, but unbending way, “and a candle. Can you remember that? A small file, and a candle, repeat it back to me.”
“I… I…”
Another of the men intervened, saying, “The file is over on that stump. I’ll be back with your candle.”
Archie returned to his study of the blade and shaft.
“You, you mess with wrong Wlod. Now we see how good your name!” said the man, lifting his fists.
If Archie had risen to the argument, there might well have been a fight, right then and there. But Archie ignored him altogether, looking about the mill yard until he spied a sledgehammer. He walked and quickly picked it up, lifting it above his head.
Wlod jumped back in fear, thinking that Archie meant him harm, but Archie walked to the end of the rails that the sled was set upon. He hit one rail and then the other with two mighty blows that set the pavilion ringing. Then he checked the rails again, muttering to himself.
Archie looked up, suddenly becoming conscious of the man again. He said, “Has to be perfectly parallel to the direction of travel you see.” Seeing that the man didn’t see, Archie waved him off dismissively, grabbed the file and fell to sharpening the saw teeth with a will.
Archie gave each tooth five passes with the file then moved on to the next. By the time he had come back around to the first tooth the man had returned with the candle.
He spun the blade and brush the candle against each side of it. Then he handed the candle back and said, "every time the blade stops, you wax it do you understand?"
The man took the candle and looked at it, not quite understanding, but pretending that he did. Archie gave the signal to start the horses then engaged the pin and cage gear. The saw blade disappeared in a whirr of teeth. Then, with one hand, Archie pushed the cast iron sled and the saw parted the wood effortlessly.
Archie looked directly at Wlod and said, "less muscle, more sharpening."
The men, marveling at how easy their job could be said, "yes, sir."
A barrel-chested man with a sour look on his face called Archie, "now that you fixed the saw, what do you want?"
"Mr. Pulaski?" asked Archie and the man nodded and waved for him to come out of the sawmill so they might talk.
Outside Archie had it in the letter. Pulaski recognized the handwriting and shook his head. "Did he tell you I was stealing?"
Archie said, "in fact, he did."
"The only man stealing from this mine is him! If he'd stop meddling with his frightful suspicions and distrust –"
"Perhaps there is something to do that will allay his concerns?"
"You think I'm a thief!" Pulaski said getting red in the face. "What would I steal? Raw ore? There's no water here. We have to send the ore to Bisbee to be crushed and washed and smelted. Do you want to go through my pockets for silver nuggets?"
"I do not, Mr. Pulaski."
"He's crazy! You'll see. He'll turn on you too. Faster than you think."
"Be that as it may, Mr. Pulaski, I have 30 wagons of equipment on their way here and I need…"
"You don't believe me? He's watching you right now." Pulaski nodded his head uphill.
Archie turned and had a clear view of the Victorian Mansion’s turret.
“Sets up there with a spyglass he does. All day coughing and watching the mine, his brain et up with consumption. And when he gets bored with that he comes down here and gives us hell. I've half mind to quit right now.”
Archie said nothing, for there was nothing to say.
Pulaski stared at the sawmill now making cuts three times faster than it was before. He growled his approval as a fresh beam was dropped off the sled. "All right," he said with a violent jerk of his head that served as a nod. Pulaski indicated the empty lot across the street. “You can leave the wagons there tonight and we'll figure out the rest in the morning." Then he looked sharply over Archie's shoulder and said, "that is if you still have a job."
DuMont was stomping down the middle of the street covering his face with a handkerchief and coughing as he came. Following close behind him was his furious nurse. "Mr. Croryton!” Cough, cough, cough. "Mr. Croryton !”
Archie looked straight at the man, and still, he called out “Croryton!” as if Archie hadn’t heard. And he only stopped yelling Archie’s name when he got to arm’s length.
"Explain yourself, sir!"
"How do you mean, sir?"
“Give an ack ack accounting of your behavior. Are you not in cahoots with this man,” he said pointing at Pulaski.
"I don't see how I could be, as I do not know what cahoots are."
"Do not play games with me!" snarled DuMont, falling into a coughing fit again.
"Really sir, You should be in bed," said Archie with real concern.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?” asked DuMont. "Give you and the rest of these shirking scoundrels time to rob me blind!" He was interrupted by coughing again."But I am watching. Even when you think I am not. I am always watching! And I have revealed you for the fraud that you are!"
"How do you mean, sir!” said Archie, finally starting to take offense at this absurdity.
"The wagons, sir. You claimed to be something you are not in an attempt to defraud me no doubt!"
"The wagons are on the other side of town and only want but a small exertion of your much-vaunted perception to be seen.”
"Ha," cried DuMont, "there are many wagons in this town. But where is your cargo? Answer me that, sir."
Archie looked down Main Street and saw the wagon train advancing slowly towards them up the hill. "There, sir!" cried Archie and walked into the middle of the street waving his helmet above his head. As DuMont argued with his nurse in French, McAllister pulled the lead wagon alongside Archie.
"Where is Miss Siskin?" Asked Archie.
"We've one last wagon stuck in the wash and she's seeing to it. Rather violently, I'm afraid. But she and the wagon will be along in due time."
"Park here,” said Archie, and directed the train into the lot across the street from the mine and catty-corner from the Morning Star Hotel and Saloon.
The driver of the third wagon shouted to Archie, "across the street from the bar! You're a good man, sir!"
Nowhere Ch 5 - Welcome to the Morning Star