Summer 1869 – The Blood of Stones Does Foul A Man’s Heart

 

Hannon scratched his beard. I could hear the dirt in it. He said, “At first, we thought it was the rum. That Dick wasn’t holding it like he used to. He woke slower and more surly every day. He didn’t leave the mine for a week. He’d have me bring down his food but he wouldn’t eat with me. He’d hardly speak with me and he’d always do it with his back turned or from under his hat. I didn’t think much of it. Dick’s never been the friendly sort. Dependable but not social. He was finding silver. Enough that I understood him wanting to keep digging.”