The Misadventured Summer of Tumbleweed Thompson

Suddenly, a figure swooped out of the darkness with a yelp. It, too, wore a bandanna and cowboy hat, but all else was hidden by the yellow glare of a lantern clutched in its left hand. The figure raised a large stick and swung it at my head.

“Wait!” I cried, as the stick whooshed by my ear.

“Who goes there?” the figure growled. “Speak now, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a righteous clubbing.”

I backed up, now able to gather a few more key details about my masked assailant. He wore denim overalls. Sand-colored freckles dotted both his cheeks.

“Hang on a second. What are you doing here?”

The figure froze. A hand reached up and lowered the bandanna.

“Gene? What in the name of Calamity Jane?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Tumbleweed raised the lantern, shedding light on his nervous features. “I’m, uh, looking for, something.”

“Army gold, perchance?” I asked.

He blinked. “Wow. How’d you know that?”

We both paused, then uttered the same name.

“Harmony Curtis.”

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Harmony found me this morning and said she had an urgent mission for me.”

“Let me guess—it involved retrieving her grandmother’s buried gold bullion?”

He lowered his head. “Yup, that sounds about right.”

I whacked my hand against my thigh. “I don’t believe it.”

“She told us both the same story, buddy,” Tumbleweed said, slumping against the wall. “Told me she couldn’t believe I was going to let the meek and mild preacher’s kid beat me to the buried treasure. She thought I was rougher and tougher than that.”

“Wow,” I said. “That hurts a little.”

I shook my head. She hadn’t needed to use my new friend as my bait. I had fallen for another tactic.

“I’m not sure,” I said, slumping against the wall beside him. “Just for fun?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “Some people just like to see what they can get other people to believe.”

“That’s ironic, coming from you,” I said.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “So what if we don’t get to be the hero alone? We made it all the way down here in our quest for untold riches. We have to keep going. Adventure awaits!”

Tumbleweed paused. “I like where you’re going with this, Eugene.”

“Plus,” I added, “If we find the gold, we split it two ways, not three. I can’t wait to see her face after that.”

“Yeah, except you can tell her yourself, Gene.”

“No, we’ll go together. Think about it!”

I grabbed him by the shoulders. “What’s the matter with you?”

“My name,” he mumbled.

“I can’t ever lay eyes on that gal again, Eugene. She made me tell her my name.”

“I mean, my real name.”

I fought back a laugh. “That’s it? That’s why you won’t go through with this? Because you’re embarrassed about your name?”

“Hey,” he said. “We’ve all got something.”

“Yeah, well, get over it,” I said. “There’s a good chance there’s Army gold somewhere around these parts, and I aim to find it. With or without you.”

He raised the lantern and shone the light down the passage. “Fine. I saw something down that way, but you interrupted me before I could check it out.”

I smiled. “I knew you’d come around. Partners?”

“Partners,” he said.

“So what is your name, after all?”

He shot me a cold look. “No way, Gene.”

“Okay, okay. Follow me,” I said.

I pointed. “Because there’s a ladder down there, and I saw it first.”

He whirled. “Ladder?”

I raced down the passage. My mind reeled at the possibilities of what lay at the top of the ladder. A room full of gold. Treasure chests overflowing with rubies and emeralds. Maybe pirates had stopped here on their way up the Colorado River from the Pacific Ocean, discovered the hiding spot, and added their own cache of hidden valuables. Maybe they were still guarding it.

“Gene, you coming up the ladder or not?”

My eyes flicked open. Tumbleweed leaned against the ladder, lantern dangling from his left hand.

“Hey, let me by,” I said, dashing for the ladder and beginning to climb. At the top, I found a small wooden door built into the roof of the cavern. I shoved, but it held fast.

“Give me a light,” I called down. Tumbleweed handed up the lantern, and I saw a small door handle. “We don’t know we’ll be up against,” I said, raising my tomahawk. “Weapons out.”

“Very nice, Gene,” Tumbleweed said, his gap-toothed grin widening. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I reckon I am,” I growled. “Now screw your courage to the sticking place and follow me.”

He snickered and set down the lantern, then drew a long, curved knife from his belt. I tightened my bandanna and lowered my hat. There was more eye-narrowing and throat-clearing.

“On three,” I ordered. “One—two—three!”

As the last number left my lips, I threw my shoulder into the door and burst upward. Tomahawk raised high, I let out a whoop that I’m sure was quite blood-curdling. At least that’s how I heard it described in the days that followed.

I was ready for anything—booby traps, pirates, quicksand.

I wasn’t prepared for the blinding sunlight streaming through the windows.

Or the fiddle music.

I scrambled upward and came face-to-face with a massive oak pulpit. But my arm was already in motion. Before I could stop myself, my tomahawk soared downward, smashing against the pulpit.