Fortune's Voyage

The floor around the base of the wall below the opening was covered with shiny golden flakes that clung to everything in sight. Both men were standing in soft piles of flakes and chips that came to well above their ankles.

GP reached down and picked up one of the smaller chunks of the soft yellow material. He held it up to Reno. The chunk was the size of a loaf of bread. He had to use his left hand, which held the flashlight, to momentarily brace his right.

"Gold, Reno. Pure three hundred dollars an ounce, gold. And I’m holding forty to fifty pounds of it right here in my hand."

Reno shook his head in amazement. "It is, isn’t it? Tons of it. Look at that thing over there," he said, shining the light on a large yellow boulder the size of a Volkswagen. "Solid yellow. Not a blemish in it. Pure as the driven snow."

"That ain’t nothin’," GP countered, shining his light back up to the wall. "Look at that vein. It’s fifteen feet wide and twenty feet deep. And solid yellow."

The two men stood awestruck in silence.

"Reno," GP finally said staring at the enormous vein.

"Ya, rummy?"

"I think I just had a wet dream."

Reno chuckled. "There’s tons of it, son. The mother lode of all mother lodes. And who knows how far down that vein goes. Could run for a half a mile. And at three hundred dollars an ounce," Reno slowly shook his head.

"It fairly boggles the mind, don’t it?" GP offered.

"Yep. It fairly does, son."

GP looked over at Reno. "Are we dreamin’ or hallucinating?"

"Or have we finally flipped out completely?"

"Somethin’ like that."

"Not a chance. If that were true, you wouldn’t be able to ask that question."

Reno hadn’t moved from where he stopped when they first arrived at the base of the wall. GP backed up to the same spot he started from after running his hand over the gigantic vein. They stood there staring. Frozen in wonderment. Hypnotized by their own fantasies.

GP was still holding the huge chunk he had picked up. He bent down, scooped up a handful of soft flakes and carefully shifted the big chunk to his other hand, cradling it like a fragile newborn child. He rubbed the flakes together, then turned to Reno who watched him intently.

"It isn’t, son. It’s the real thing," Reno said reading GP’s thoughts.

"You sure?" GP asked seriously, demanding Reno assure him as to the validity of the find.

*********************

Other than some boa constrictors and anacondas he’d seen in TV documentaries, it was the largest snake he’d ever witnessed. At least fifteen feet long. Five of those feet standing straight up from the ground. An average girth the size of a man’s bicep.

He watched the cobra carefully. It seemed confused by his odd behavior. It was not used to facing such defiance. It was being overly cautious and was clearly disoriented by his action.

Reno knew enough about animal instinct to know most of them could sense the presence of fear. It was then the predators of most species would press for the advantage. Leap or strike, as the case may be. He forced himself to remain calm and consider his options.

He thought about the large hunting knife in the sheath on his right hip.

The cobra blinked and leaned to the left just a fraction.

Reno didn’t move a muscle.

The cobra leaned back and hissed.

Reno regulated his breathing. Soft and slow.

The cobra swayed to its right and glared.

Reno stayed perfectly still.

The cobra eased back to its center position.

Reno’s mind worked feverishly. The cobra had moved to the left, to the right and back to center. A strike was imminent. He could feel it. And all he had to protect himself with were his hands.

The strike came like a flash of black lightening. But nothing like the streak of blue the little hard rubber indoor handball created after a blast off the front wall by a top open player. And Reno had faced and returned tens of thousands of the fiery blue streaks.

Reno’s reaction came from handball instinct. Smooth, deliberate and precise. The palm of his right hand caught the cobra on the left side of its head as it flashed toward him. The blow, which exploded from Reno’s powerful upper torso, sent the snake reeling back into the darkness uncurling from its base coil as it went.

Reno quickly looked around for the machine pistol. He could see nothing. He stepped back out of the edge of the light, pulled out the leather gloves from his hip pocket and put them on.

The cobra was back in front of him in an instant. It hissed and flattened out its throat.

Reno realized his mistake as soon as the large snake returned. He had grabbed the gloves instead of the hunting knife. Again, handball instinct.

The huge cobra swayed and glared at him. Intensity used to hypnotize frightened victims. Reno knew the fight was on. And it would be to the death.