“Keep your voice down, Frankie. Do you want to wake up the whole camp?”
Teddy Smithers sat up on the thin layer of blankets that served as his bed and listened into the darkness.
“There’s no waterfall in these parts, Frankie,” the old man said.
Around him, Teddy’s fellow railroad workers began to stir.
“Hush up, Teddy!” one of them whispered harshly from across the barracks. “We’re tryin’ to sleep.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Frankie.” Teddy lowered his voice.
Nearby, Bob Chambers leaned in closer. Just who was Teddy talking to?
“Well, it ain’t that I don’t believe you, Frankie. It’s just that I never heard of anyone finding gold around here.”
Frankie! Ol’ Teddy must be losing it, Bob thought.
Frankie Smithers was Teddy’s long-lost son, killed in a railway explosion near on three years ago now.
“Alright boy,” Teddy said, eyes darting back and forth in the dark. “No need to get all riled up. I’ll head out there with you.”
Bob eased back down onto his own mat and watched Teddy sneak out into the moonlit landscape.
When he was sure the old man was gone, Bob followed after him.
--
They walked for a good fifteen minutes through the cold desert night, Bob lagging behind a hundred feet or so. Though the words were inaudible, he could see that Teddy was talking all along the way.
Finally, Teddy disappeared over a small hill.
Bob eased his head over the ridge and was astounded by what he saw -- Teddy shuffled with reverence toward the bottom of a suddenly lush valley.
On the other side, a raging waterfall splashed into the ravine.
And Teddy was talking again -- but this time, Bob could hear a second voice.
“The gold’s right there, Dad.”
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