DUMONT

Suddenly, he heard a banging sound from behind which completely frightened him. He drew his pistol and quickly turned to engage in whatever caused the unexpected noise. The gate on a fence appeared to have been blown shut from the blowing wind. To his relief, it was not the stranger and his friend. His hand holding the gun was becoming numb from the extreme cold. Looking again for anyone and not seeing anybody, he unconsciously went to put the gun in his coat pocket. Unbeknownst to him, the gun missed his pocket and fell into the deep snow. Now every exposed portion of his body was becoming more distressed from the cold blowing snow. His feet were frost-bitten and it made it extremely unbearable to walk. He had a claim to file and certainly did not want to freeze to death before enjoying his wealth. As he approached his cabin, he observed his horse and mule standing virtually in the same spot where he had left them earlier. He was much too cold to stop and give them more hay. They would have to wait until the morning when the sun was, hopefully, shinning bright for fresh water and hay. Before stepping through the door of his cabin, he glanced around the area for anything he felt was suspicious. Upon seeing nothing unusual, which included the stranger and his friend from the saloon, he walked into the cabin’s interior where the stove had finally produced a comfortable amount of warmth around him. The first thing he did was remove his boots and socks. He rubbed his feet in an effort to get the blood circulating again. Both of his feet were beginning to discolor, a sure sign the frost bite had set in. He was relieved to make it back to the cabin unharmed. He leaned back against the wall and began to fall asleep. Exhaustion, along with the whiskey’s effect, began to take its toll. His eyes grew heavy and the room, with the exception of the illumination from the small flame in the stove, had become darker. He finally drifted off to slumber. All was peaceful until the door of the cabin seemed to blow open as if an explosion caused it to. A gust of cold air and snow swiftly blew into the cabin. He caught a glimpse of two individuals entering his cabin in haste. Frightened, he reached for his gun that he placed in his coat pocket but instead of it being there, it was gone. Shock had consumed his entire body and he could not move. Suddenly, one of the individuals reached down and grabbed him by his coat and lifted him to his feet. The miner could smell an odor of whiskey on the assailant’s breath and recognized him as the stranger from the saloon. He noticed the stranger’s friend rummaging through his personal belongings. “Found the gold,” yelled the stranger’s friend, “twas hidden under his clothes!” “Where’s the rest of ‘em,” shouted the stranger shaking the man violently, “where did’ja put ‘em?” “Ain’t got no more gold!” “Bull shit, we knows ya got more.” “I’m tellin’ ya the truth, I ain’t got more.” “I’ll give ya one last chance ta give us more gold!” The miner, who was extremely frightened, knew that he was out numbered and probably had little chance of defending himself. He saw the door of the cabin was wide open and this was his only chance to escape. The adrenalin in his body had built up to the point where he needed to act quickly. It was now or never. “We’re gonna kill ya if ya don’t tell us where the rest of the gold is hidden.” It was time to run. He made a fist and struck the stranger in the face. This momentarily stunned the stranger long enough for him to let go of his coat. The miner ran for the door but was not able to make his way out of the cabin. The stranger, who recovered quickly from being hit, was able to reach out and grab the man’s coat. The stranger’s friend, believing that his friend was in danger, picked up the pick axe which was lying on the floor. He swung it swiftly using both hands…