Part VII

It was a long day for Jimmy. He really wasn't used to be alone for long periods of time. Back when he was sickly, a nurse or some other member of the staff was never far from him in case he needed them. Fortunately, Victor had given him a job and that was keeping him from getting too bored as the rain kept falling. He was working on one of the dozen or so sticks that Victor had left for him, carefully using Victor's old jack-knife to whittle one end of each of them to a point.

Every so often, he looked toward the entrance, but he didn't really worry any more about whether or not Vic was coming back. He always did. Besides, he'd said that with the way the weather was today, if he ended up too far away near dark, he'd just find a semi-dry spot and return in the morning. Jimmy had things to do, a fairly dry spot to sit and lay down plus the cooked bear meat he could chew on whenever he was hungry. One thing Vic had found on one of his scouting trips was an old tin cup someone had abandoned because the handle was torn up. Jimmy had put it out onto a rock within reach of the entrance where the clean rainwater could fall into it, so he could even get a drink and only get his arm wet. No, no reason to worry at all.

Elsewhere, Victor was slowly waking in the musty dark to the smell of stale whiskey, the taste of blood in his mouth and a throbbing pain in his left arm. His initial reaction was panic. He was still disoriented enough from hitting the hard dirt floor that, for a second, he was back home. Waiting for his Pa to come down with whatever he'd grabbed to 'teach a lesson' with. A chain. Pliers. The ax. His guts twisted at the memories. Then the pain helped clear the fog in his head enough that he remembered where he was. A low growl began in the back of his throat. That sound surprised him as much as the roar that had come out of him when he was attacking that bear. There was more than just a little something different between him, his brother and the rest of the world. He was getting surer of that by the day, but not really sure what that meant for the two of them. First things first though.

His left arm was in an unnatural position. Broken. Not the first time, so he knew what had to be done even though the thought of doing it made his stomach hurt again. He consoled himself with the fact that the bone wasn't sticking out through his skin this time. Feeling carefully around in the pitch darkness, he finally found a place he could wedge his wrist. Then he tried to jerk the bone back in line. He certainly didn't mean to do it, but he screamed as his attempt didn't do anything but send pain shooting through his body. A minute later, a sudden shaft of light blinded him, then he saw Rory's head poking down through the hatch.

"Hell, Willie. Boy fell wrong an' broke his damn arm. You better go set it or he won't bring us enough t' get even a bottle o' rotgut."

There was some cursing upstairs followed by even more cursing as Willie climbed down the narrow ladder. Rory lowered a lantern on a rope down so that Willie could see what he was doing.

"Hold still, boy. Less'n you want t' be a cripple th' rest o' yer life."

In spite of his own desires on the subject, Victor did hold still. He screamed again when the bone was jerked back into alignment before Willie strapped the arm to a piece of board to keep it from moving again. The pain didn't last long. In fact, the odd sensation was telling Victor that whatever it was his body did to do it, his arm was pulling itself back together just the way his skin had. He managed to catch his breath and speak as Willie started back up the ladder.

"You plannin' on sellin' me?"

Willie paused on the ladder and looked back down at the boy. He was already surprised the boy hadn't blacked out from having his arm set and now, here he was asking a question with no pain in his voice. Didn't even sound upset. That bothered Willie. Didn't seem natural.

"You an' yer brother both, boy. We know a fella runs a mine. He needs pit boys an' boys o' any age are in short supply in these parts. Sooner you tell us where t' find him, sooner you can come outta this hole."

The lantern was pulled up and the hatch slammed shut again, cutting off the light. Victor knew what a pit boy was. His Pa had threatened to get him a job as one once when he was smaller. Even went so far as to drag him to a mining area to show him the boys as they came out of the mines at the end of their day. Every single one of them was pale from never being in the sunshine and smudged with black streaks from head to toe. Threat never really worked though. Sure, his Pa could have made him go to work there, but then his Pa would have had to do the chores himself. Fat chance of that.

Running his right hand through his wet hair, he considered the work. They'd be fed an' clothed, but that'd be about it. Probably just enough food and rest to keep them going, especially if this mining guy was going to own them. He'd make sure he got his money worth and after that? No telling. Victor knew the sort of work the pit boy did in the mines, leading the ponies through the shafts and going into the other tight spaces where a grown man didn't fit well. He'd heard tell they even used boys as young as five. Wasn't the sort of life he wanted for himself or Jimmy though. Even if the man owning the place offered to pay them. Which he wouldn't be likely to do. Be in the man's own interests to work them until they dropped and then make sure they disappeared. Not like anyone would come looking after they were gone and there wouldn't be anyone to bring up anything the owner might find hard to answer if a mine inspector ever came around.

No. Being shut up in a mine shaft twelve hours a day was way too much like the cellar back home. The cellar here.

Victor felt his stomach grumble, then laid down and forced himself to try to nap. He needed to bide his time until his arm was whole again. And then? Then he might just let those men see what he thought about their plans for him and his little brother.