Dynamite Has A Short Fuse, And So Do I

Parnell, Iowa

1885

“I still have half a dozen ponies to break and get to market,” Avery Cooke says. “Besides, Skeeter’s not ready for something like this.”

Snuffing out his pungent cigar, Andor Cressy, the rotund owner of the Zenith Mines and the Top Dollar Ranch gives Avery a grim look.

Avery corrects himself. “Mister Skeeter.”

“And don’t you forget it. You people have been free for twenty years and you act like you’re my equal. I ain’t above whippin’ nobody, black or white, who sasses me. When I say teach the boy how to use dynamite it ain’t open for discussion. And if he gets so much as a burnt finger, I’ll take one of yours, understand?”

Avery looks shell-shocked as he leaves Cressy’s office. He nearly bumps into Cole Calhoun, his friend of more than twenty years.

The bearish ranch foreman chuckles, scratching the stubble on his cheek.

“That’s the same expression I wore when Cressy told me to teach Skeeter how to shoot a gun.”

“Well, this is worse. He’s opening a new mine and wants me to teach Skeeter how to use dynamite. He’ll kill us all.”

Cole laughs hard until his belly shakes. “The boy’s too lazy to yell ‘Sueee’ in a pig pen. He’s not stupid, just a boy. Never had a reason to care about much. He’s always had somebody who’d do for him. Maybe handlin’ somethin’ that could kill him’ll give him a sense of responsibility.”

“Problem is, it could kill us too.”

“Righteous words, pard. Just make sure I’m in the next county when class starts.”

Avery and Cole watch Skeeter connect the fuse to the bundle of dynamite he’s placed under a stump.

“Everythin’ according to Hoyle?” Cole asks, tightening his hold on the reins of his horse.

“So far,” Avery replies. “Nervous?”

“Biggity. Remember when he was a pup? The boy used to eat dirt… by the spoonfuls!”

“His mama was a bad cook. He outgrew a lot of those bad habits thanks to you and me.”

“You’re right, Avery. Maybe I should have some faith in the little knothead. But I’m still not gettin’ down off this horse.”

Major, the Cressy’s friendly hound dog, sniffs at the nearby box of dynamite.

“Stay outta there, Major,” Cole warns.

“Your fuse is too short,” Avery yells to Skeeter.

“Are you kiddin’? It’s gotta be two foot long!” Skeeter returns.

“Dynamite has a short fuse and so do I. You’ve got about twelve seconds after you light that fuse to get clear,” Avery says.

“I ain’t as old and slow as you.”

“And if you make a mistake, you won’t get the chance to be.”

Skeeter lights the fuse, scrambling back to Avery and Cole.

The stump explodes, sending splinters in all directions.

“Yee-haw! Maybe this could be rip-roarin’ fun after all!” Skeeter shouts.

Cole’s horse whinnies as he struggles to hold it in place. “Well, professor, did he pass?”

“We’re still here.”

Major runs up to Skeeter holding a stick of dynamite in its mouth.

Screaming, Skeeter darts off. Major leisurely trots behind him, the stick of dynamite still firmly clenched between its teeth.

“How far do you suppose he’ll get?” Cole asks.

“Skeeter’s quick. But he can’t outrun four legs.”

An explosion sounds in the distance.

“Pshaw,” Cole says. “I really liked that dog.”

Charity Moore hurriedly exits the general store with Skeeter at her heels, jabbering endlessly.

“I’m gonna inherit my daddy’s goldmines and ranch someday, so I’ll have all the money I’ll ever need. In the meantime, I aim to start a family. I was thinkin’ maybe with you.”

The twenty-six-year-old strawberry-blonde bank teller freezes, looking at the short, skinny, freckled boy. “I’m a little old for you, don’t you think?”

“Nothin’ like an experienced woman.”

“I’m afraid I lack the experience I think you’re referring to, Mosquito.”

“It’s Skeeter, and we should about things over lunch.”

Spotting Avery tying his horse to the hitching post, Skeeter yells, “C’mere! I wantcha to meet my future misses.”

Avery slowly approaches the mismatched couple, his bewilderment evident in his pleasant half-smile.

“This here’s Charity Moore. She’s gonna be Mrs. Skeeter Cressy.”

“That so?”

“No. it’s not so,” Charity says defiantly.

“We got a few details to work out yet,” Skeeter offers.

“Such as me agreeing to be the wife of a wet-nosed Mosquito.”

“You watch your mouth, missy, betrothed or not. And my name is Skeeter! My daddy’s one of the most powerful people in this pig sty. You don’t wanna upset his son. So how about lunch?”

“I’ve already had it. I was just stopping in the store for a spool of thread. I have to get back to work.”

“Then dinner. You got five bucks, Avery, so I can take this fine lady out in style?”

Charity blanches. “I’m working really late tonight.”

Avery hands Skeeter some money. “Maybe you should use the money to unwind instead, Mister Skeeter. You’ve been working hard lately.”

Skeeter laughs, slipping the money in his pocket. “You’re right! I got a great idea, Charity. I can sport you around town during the Summer Festival next week. If you see my old man, Avery, tell him I’m in the saloon throwin’ a few back!”

Charity watches Skeeter bounce away.

“The sad part is, he thinks he’s a catch. Thanks for getting rid of him.”

“It might only be a slight reprieve if he tells his father about you,” Avery replies.

“I’m not worried about Andor Cressy. I worked along the Mississippi in some of the most raucous dance halls ever patched together. I learned how to take care of myself. I can do something so offensive Cressy’ll insist I don’t have anything to do with his little mosquito.” Turning to Avery, she adds, “Something like being friends with a well-spoken colored man.”

Stiffening and staring straight ahead, Avery whispers, “Thank you for the compliment, ma’am.”

“Don’t get your feathers in an uproar. I’ve only been here a few months, but I know most of the people in this town respect you a lot more than Skeeter.”

“Personal matters are somethin’ else,” Avery replies.

“Oh, you’re talking about the invisible code that says we’re not allowed to be together. Fiddle-dee-dee to that. We’re just having a polite little conversation. Not one passerby has stopped to stare at us or curse at you. They’re too caught up in their own sad, dirt-poor lives to string you up just for standing next to me.”

“That’s a comfort,” Avery says.

 Sighing heavily, Charity adds, “I wish I could get away from the stink of these cowboys and rednecks.”

“I say the same thing at least twice a day, although I’m already up to four times today.”

“I need a man who knows the difference between a fence and fencing.”

“You use a hammer on for one. The other, a sword,” Avery says.

“Sounds like you’ve had some schooling.”

“I got through high school in New York.”

“That’s farther than I got,” Charity notes. “You wouldn’t happen to know an intelligent, well-spoken man, would you?  I was hoping I’d find one here.”

Avery looks down at the sidewalk.

“The man’s got to have a backbone too,” Charity says. “If you could be someplace else, where would you go?”

“I read about this town called Nice in France. It said everybody there gets treated the same, no matter what they look like. But I don’t speak French.”

“I do,” Charity replies. “Sounds like a nice place to open a restaurant.”

“I know a good cook. Me.”

“But where would someone get the money to open her own place halfway around the world?” Charity asks.

“You’re a teller, aren’t you?”

Avery and Cole flinch as Skeeter nearly drops a box of dynamite before carrying it into the storage shed.

“Your nerves must be shot,” Cole comments.

“He dropped a few sticks in the sand before. Then he tossed them back in the box like he was playing horseshoes.”

“And he’s gonna be the big wheel around here someday,” Cole says. “Frightenin’.”

As Avery walks away in disgust, Skeeter emerges from the shed smoking a cigarette.

“Did you light that thing in the shed?” Cole asks.

“It was dark in there. I needed a light, so I struck a match. I didn’t wanna waste it, so I smoked the rest of the cigarette I rolled a while back.”

Later that afternoon, Cole rides into the ranch. He sees Avery taking the saddle off his horse and rides over to talk with him.

“Where you been?”

“The boss wanted me to get the mail and his medicine. Apparently, he’s got gout and whiskey is the cure,” Avery answers. “What have you been up to?”

“Cressy told me to fix the fence in the north pasture, so the beeves don’t get loose. I went up there to look at it. We need to get more wire to fence them in.”

“Have you seen the kid?” Avery asks.

“I thought he was with you.”

A thundering boom sounds in the distance.

“I think we found him,” Cole says.

Avery and Cole ride up on Skeeter, who is firing rockets in the direction of the north pasture.

“What in the blazes are you doing!” Avery snaps.

“I just came up with somethin’ that’ll leave you grinnin’ like a weasel in a hen house,” Skeeter says gleefully.

He picks up a stick of dynamite. “I take a stick of dynamite, then I attach it to a stick from a tree, and we got a rocket more powerful than any of those little pipsqueak fireworks they’ll fire off at the Summer Festival.”

Cole’s meaty features turn crimson. “You dunderhead! You’re shootin’ at the cows in the north pasture! You probably turned half of ‘em into ground beef! Your daddy’s gonna be madder than a wet hen!”

“Not if I was never here!” Skeeter says, bolting for his horse.

Avery and Cole watch Skeeter speed off.

“He expects us to hold his water,” Cole mutters sourly.

“Just like a thousand times before,” Avery replies.

Avery and Cole slow their horses at the peak of the hill overlooking the north pasture.

Cole curses under his breath as he looks at the slaughtered cows.

“I count eight dead,” he says. “Looks like the rest stampeded.”

“You’ve got something worse to worry about,” Avery replies, pointing at Andor Cressy, who is speeding toward them, his eyes black with anger and his gun drawn.

Pulling his snorting steed to a halt, Cressy points his gun at Cole. “You! You fat, lazy toad! I told you to fence in the north pasture!”

“You did. But if I had, the dynamite might have killed all of them beeves…”

“Shut your fat trap!”

Cressy turns his gun on Avery.

“I’m not healed, boss,” Avery says quietly, raising his hands to show he’s unarmed.

“That’s the only thing keepin’ you alive, boy! You were supposed to teach my son the right way to use dynamite! What do I get? Two yahoos blowin’ up my cows!”

“But Boss… We didn’t…” Cole manages to say before he’s cut off.

“Don’t say another word, you sidewinder! My son can run a ranch without you, and he can break and get my horses to market without you, Avery. I trusted you two for over fifteen years, and you go and murder my cows! Next, you’ll be bushwackin’ me! Pick up your pay, both of you. I want you hellions gone by tonight!”

“You’re gonna regret this,” Cole says.

Skeeter peels back the swinging doors to the Silver Bullet Saloon. Spotting Cole downing shots at the bar, he eases up alongside of him.

“Sorry to hear about you and Avery.”

“At least it’s the last time I have to cover for you, Skeeter.”

“Where’s Avery?”

“The owner won’t allow him in here, although his money spends just like anybody else’s,” Cole says. Owner of the hotel’s more hospitable. He let Avery take a room there. Avery says he’s gonna leave town in a couple of days.”

“You’re not goin’ with him? I thought you two was pardners?”

“He’s chasin’ a dream. He thinks he can be a free man somewhere, a man with the same rights as everybody else. Good luck, and God bless him,” Cole says. “I got a score to settle. Avery’s more willin’ to forget. I’ll miss him, though. He kept me on an even keel. If he hadn’t, you’d be writin’ your old man’s eulogy. That calm of Avery’s? That’s what earned him his familiarity with dynamite. I was Captain of the Fifty-Eight Regiment of colored troops out of New York. We had a white sergeant, Carl Cash, who worked with the dynamite until he accidentally blew his hand off. We had to blow up a bridge and we didn’t have a replacement, so Cash taught Avery how to use it. You gotta admire a man who can face that kinda danger and walk away without a scratch, and Avery did it every time. So, now that you’re on your own, what’s it like playin’ ramrod for your daddy?”

“I ain’t cut out for this.”

“Too dangerous?”

“Nah. There ain't enough money in it. My daddy’s made so much money from his goldmines and from raisin’ beef, he doesn’t know how much he’s got. And I’m on a salary like everybody else.”

Cole scratches the stubble on his chin. “Don’t seem fair. You say your daddy’s gold is in the bank?”

“Yeah, there’s probably twenty thousand in gold bars there and twice as much in cash. I wish I could get my hands on some of it.”

“Maybe you can. The Summer Festival has started. Most folks’ll be goin’ direct from church to the festival this Sunday. It just so happens that the bank’ll be closed Sunday. The Festival’s a mile outta town. Parnell’s gonna be emptier than a bone orchard.”

“I don’t have the combination to the safe,” Skeeter says.

“Who needs a combination?”

Cole and Skeeter ride through Parnell’s empty streets.

They pass Charity and Avery standing in front of the bank. Avery is carrying a large bag.

Grumbling, Skeeter rides up to them.

“What the hell is this? My girl out with a colored? No offense, Avery.”

“We ain’t got time for this, Skeeter!” Cole yells after him.

Charity stiffens. “Great. You insult him in one breath and cower in the next. Not that it’s any of your lookout, Mosquito, but Avery was just carrying some clothes for me.”

“C’mon, Skeeter, be sensible. If you can’t trust Avery, you can’t trust anyone,” Cole says.

“Where are you two dangerous outlaws headed?” Charity asks.

Skeeter looks at Cole, who quickly answers, “The saloon.”

“Isn’t it closed because of the festival?”

Sticking his nose in the air, Skeeter says, “Well, it ain’t closed to me. And my name is Skeeter!”

“Glad Avery and Charity didn’t dally in front of the bank,” Cole says, watching Skeeter attach a second bundle of dynamite to the safe’s door. “Shouldn’t one bundle be enough?”

“Who’s the demolition expert here, Cole? This here’s the finest safe made. Came all the way from Philadelphia. Four sticks might only put a dent in it. Eight’s gonna make us rich.”

Skeeter twists the two long fuses for each bundle of dynamite together. “Trick I learned from Avery. Now instead of lightin’ two separate fuses, I only gotta deal with one.”

Skeeter strikes a match. “If I timed this right, we got thirty seconds before she blows.”

He lights the fuse and the two men run outside, covering their ears.

“You sure people won’t hear the explosion?” Cole asks.

“I told you. They got a target shootin’ competition goin’, music, elephants all kinds of other noise goin’ on. Even if they do hear somethin’, we’ll be forty thousand dollars richer by the time they get here.”

Cole looks at the bank. “Did the dynamite go off yet?”

Skeeter moves on tiptoes toward the bank.

“Dang it. I bet the fuse went out.”

The bank explodes and Skeeter and Cole are thrown backward.

Stunned, Skeeter and Cole slowly regain their feet. Tiny shards of wood and metal fall around them like drops of rain.

A gigantic hole in the ground remains where the bank once stood.

“The money!” Cole shouts. “It’s blown to smithereens!”

“Forget the money,” Skeeter says. “The gold bars. We still got the gold bars!”

The pair rush to the edge of the chasm.

“That hole’s gotta be twenty feet deep,” Cole observes. “How do we get the gold outta there?”

A gold bar drops in the dirt on the opposite side of the hole.

“Maybe we won’t have to!” Skeeter says, elated.

Skeeter and Cole look up at the cloudless sky.

A gold bar cleaves off the top of Skeeter’s skull. Before Cole can complete the curse on his lips, a gold bar hits him between the eyes.

Both men’s bodies topple backward, falling into the smokey abyss.

Charity boards the 12:30 train, lugging a heavy valise. Seeing her struggle, a conductor grabs it from her, despite her protest.

“It’s got some precious items in it.”

“Don’t worry, Ma’am, I’m gentle as a lamb,” he says swinging it into the overhead rack. He huffs mightily, surprised by its weight. “I bet you’ve got a small fortune in there, eh, Miss?”

Charity twitters coquettishly.

The conductor looks over at the dapper Black man across the aisle, frowning.

“You behave boy, or you’ll be walking the rest of the way on broken legs.”

Charity situates herself in her seat. She looks across the aisle at Avery, who tips his derby.

“Fancy meeting you here, Mister Cooke. Where are you bound?”

“France. But I don’t know how to speak French.”

Charity smiles. “Don’t worry. I do.”