Treasure Hunter, Book Two of Dunsmuir Boy

By David Seed

Leif has left Dunsmuir to attend college. On his first return home he reunites with his friends and they once again engage in the activities of swimming and hunting, even though Leif now has a girlfriend, earning the envy and teasing appropriate to recent high school graduates.
The relationship between Leif and his girlfriend is frequently strained by Leif’s other relationship: the one with time. The concept of “tomorrow” is sometimes not readily apparent.
As Leif and his friends catch up with one another and swim until the water turns too cold, they reminisce about a story of a strong box of gold stolen by Indians and hidden in a not-too-distant granite fortress-like formation. They are certain the ancient tale is true and set out one morning to find the gold.
They discover the granite fortress is much larger than imagined from below and not forgiving of impetuosity or willing to reveal secrets.
In the lengthy, charming, and moving coda, the concept of time is viewed by a boy who becomes a man between one full moon and the next.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Western Grebe Publishing
• Release date: Dec 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310565649

David Seed

###About the author:David Seed was born August 15, 1931 in Minot, North Dakota. In his eleventh year the family moved to Dunsmuir, California where he graduated high school, believing himself to be a writer. In the fall of 1949 he started at the University of California at Berkeley and did his best to learn what he could of life. He managed to graduate in the spring of 1956 and continued to follow his calling, experiencing a chaotic life as both participant and observer. He is now an old man writing books in Oregon.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The old Buick rocked slightly, and the tires thumped as they went across the lines between the slabs of concrete. I relaxed back and imagined we were out on the lake and little waves were lapping at the sides of the boat, but I couldn't stay there for long. I was hot and sweaty. I wanted to go over the side, clothes and all, and splash into the cool water.

I looked out the open window, and the hot wind whipped across my face and made my eyes burn. The ditch alongside the highway was all yellow and brown with dead grass and weeds. The stubble in the fields was bleached white in the burning sun.

I gave a sigh and glanced over at Dunnigan who was driving. He was sitting up very straight and holding the top half of the steering wheel with both hands. He wore glasses and had on his special tinted glasses for driving. I noticed the serious look on his face as he studied the road ahead.

A big diesel truck sped towards us and roared past like a great charging bull. The old Buick shuddered against the sudden blast of hot air, but Dunnigan didn't flinch or lose his concentration.

Hey, it's hot, he said.

Yeah, how's the temperature doing? I asked, and Dunnigan glanced at the gauge.

We're still okay. It's not going up any.

That's good. I listened to the steady groan of the engine and considered it was doing as well as could be expected. Dunnigan held the speed at an easy fifty-five.

We can stop in Red Bluff and check the oil if you want to, he said.

No, we'll make it to Redding easy. Then we can stop and fill up the...

Dead rabbit, dead rabbit! Dunnigan interrupted.

Where? I raised up for a better look.

Right there. Dunnigan pointed to his left, and I just had time to see the furry blotch as we sped past it.

That's a dead rabbit all right, I said. What's the score now?

It's five to four in my favor.

Hey, that's right. I've got to keep my eyes open.

I settled back and started to study the highway. It stretched out as straight as a string and seemed to melt into the distance. I never did like a straight road. It was unnatural, and it was a depressing sight in the heat of the day.

I wish it wasn't so hot, I said.

You're the one who wanted to skip afternoon classes and get an early start.

Yeah, I know.

We could've taken our time, and things would've been cooler.

I suppose, but we wouldn't have gotten home until the middle of the night.

What's wrong with that?

Well, nothing...ordinarily.

Oh, now I understand. Dunnigan had a funny little smile on his face. He glanced at me and then back at the road. You're thinking about Josephine Clark, aren't you? I'll bet you've got a date with her.

Well, I did write to let her know I'd be home early tonight.

Uh huh. Dunnigan nodded.

I mean she's expecting me, and I don't want to stand her up.

That girl sure has you in line.

You remember the last time we went fishing, don't you?

Sure, that was a week or so before we left for school.

Well, I had a date with Josephine Clark that night, but we didn't get back until after midnight.

You're the one who wanted to fish Squaw Creek.

Yeah, but you didn't tell me how far we'd have to hike to get to the fish.

I seem to recall you thought it was some pretty good fishing.

Sure, and I forgot all about my date with Josephine Clark. She's still upset about that one.

What's she like anyway?

Huh?

You know what I mean. Dunnigan smiled again. What's she like?

She's just fine, I said.

What've you been doing? You've been going with her for over a year now, so you must be doing plenty.

I'm not giving out any details.

Well, I don't blame you. Dunnigan shrugged his shoulders. I'll bet she's pretty nice though.

Yeah, she's pretty nice all right.

As we went over the top of a slight rise, I studied the highway far ahead and spotted a black lump of something at the edge of the road. I knew Dunnigan had seen it, but we were too far away to tell what It was.

Ah... Dunnigan started to make a guess but paused. I thought I caught a glimpse of a bit of white.

Well... I waited for an instant.

It's a dead cat, Dunnigan said quickly. It's got to be a dead cat.

No, it's a skunk, I decided. I say it's a dead skunk. We were bearing down on it, but I still couldn't tell what it was for sure.

No, it's got to be a... Dunnigan stopped talking as the sudden odor of skunk broke in to settle the argument.

We rolled up the windows as fast as we could, but that didn't do any good. As we roared past the dead skunk, its overpowering stink seemed to rise straight up and envelop us.

For Pete's sake. Dunnigan screwed up his face. Then he turned his head and glared at me. That's the worst thing I've ever smelled, Collins. That's horrible!

Well, don't get mad at me. I held up my hands. I don't like it either. I didn't run over that skunk.

Man alive, that's a terrible smell.

He went on about it, and I could see there wasn't anything I could say to make him feel any better. We rolled down the windows and tried to air out the car, but the odor lingered for a long time. Dunnigan's comments concerning the offensive smell lasted just as long.

Well, that makes the score five to five, I said at last.

Wait a minute, Dunnigan said. Isn't a skunk a kind of cat? Isn't it called a civet cat?

Maybe, but I correctly identified the dead skunk as a dead skunk, and I identified the smell. If it had been a dead cat without the smell, you would've scored the point.

Never mind, Collins. It's too hot for all this, and it's too hot to be running over dead skunks. Holy mackerel, how can it be this hot in October?

Well, it's Indian summer. That's what it is.

It's Indian summer all right.

Yeah.

I wonder why they call it Indian summer?

Oh, it's a great time for Indians. It's a time for hunting and for gathering food and for laying in stores for the winter. I can't think of a better time for being an Indian.

Well, I don't know about all that. Dunnigan sighed, took a fresh grip on the steering wheel, and seemed resigned to concentrate on his driving.

I relaxed back and gazed out the open window at the purple shaded distance. I knew that somewhere there were high green mountains and cold clear rivers that splashed and sparkled in the sun. Those faraway places were lost in time, and I was an Indian boy. My first remembrance was of a long hot summer that seemed to never end.

CHAPTER TWO

Well, it's a hot day in Red Dog. Dunnigan wiped his forehead. You sure you don't want to stop?

Let's stop in Redding. Then we won't have so far to go.

Well, the shortest distance between two points is no rest stops. Dunnigan gave a steady push on the gas pedal, and the engine groaned to a high pitch again as we hit the open highway.

I looked ahead and noticed a flattened cardboard box in the middle of the road.

Dead box! I said. Watch out for that dead box!

What? Dunnigan stiffened and stared ahead. The tires thumped slightly as they ran over the crumpled cardboard.

You just ran over a dead box, I said.

A dead box? Dunnigan laughed. What are you talking about?

You saw that dead box. The score's six to five in my favor.

Don't give me any of that. We're not counting dead boxes. For Pete's sake, how can a box be dead anyway?

Cardboard's made out of wood, isn't it? I asked, but didn't wait for an answer. That box was once a part of a living tree.

That's not fair. We've been counting dead animals, that's all.

Well, anyway I'm tired of playing this game, I said. I give up.

Would you rather play Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral? Dunnigan glanced at me and smiled. He could always get the best of me playing Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral.

No, I don't want to play Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral. That's even worse than counting dead things.

Well, what do you want to do?

I don't know...I'm tired of watching this highway. Just look at it. It's a wasteland and a regular insult against nature. Nothing can grow on it. The bugs can't even survive it, and anything that wanders onto it gets squashed flat. I'm beginning to think highways are plain stupid. Things were better in the old days.

Are you crazy? Dunnigan glanced at me and shook his head. The highway system holds this country together. We're a nation on wheels. Think of all the money that's spent on highway construction. I think that driving a car is a privilege, and I appreciate the freedom to travel.

If this is freedom, how come I feel like I'm all tied up inside this car with my nose pointed straight down that white line?

Well, we can't hike all the way from Berkeley to Dunsmuir.

Hey, that would be a great thing to do. We could take our backpacks, our sleeping bags, and...

What are you talking about? It would take us two or three weeks to hike that far.

We could take along our rifles and poles, and we could follow the Sacramento and be hunting and fishing the whole way.

That's crazy, Dunnigan said. We'd be trespassing all over the place. You'd go hunting on someone's private property, and we'd land in jail.

That's my point exactly.

What do you mean? What's your point?

Think about all those people who own all that land. They don't want us coming around hunting and fishing all the time, do they? So what do all those people do?

I don't know what your point is, but I'm beginning to understand why people post their property.

All those people get together, and they build this highway and confine us to it.

What? Dunnigan started to laugh.

Look at the facts, I said. This isn't a car we're in. We're in a metal cage that moves, and we're hurtling down this narrow strip of concrete that goes on and on. We can't turn to the right or to the left, and we can't stop. We have to keep moving faster and faster until we think this highway's something real and everything else is some kind of illusion.

You're nuts, Collins. We're just going home, that's all. You'll feel better when we see some mountains.

Yeah, you're right, I said. I sure would like to do some hunting. What do you say we go hunting tomorrow?

That's fine with me, Dunnigan said.

Let's just take our 22's and go out and see what we can get.

Don't we always?

I'd like to shoot me a big bear.

Well, I don't know about all that. Dunnigan glanced at me to see if I was serious. You better bring along something bigger than your single shot.

No, I believe in giving a bear a chance.

I'm not sure they're in season.

When did that ever stop us? I asked.

It might be hard to keep a bear a secret.

We could make a lot of bearburger out of him, I said. Can't you just see a big bearburger steak with French fries.

You'd have to cook it well-done. Dunnigan glanced at me again.

Sure, that's just the way I like them.

You've eaten bearburgers before?

No, but the first time has got to be the best.

You've got me there, Dunnigan laughed. Do you think Sanchez will be home?

Sure, he'll go bear hunting with us.

Yeah, I'll make sure he brings along his two-seventy.

Pheasant! There's a pheasant! I pointed straight ahead.

Where? Dunnigan asked and sat up straighter.

By the side of the road. I pointed again.

Oh, he's a beauty, Dunnigan said. Then he started to slow down. Maybe he'll jump our way, and we'll have us a pheasant.

Yeah, don't smack him too hard. We don't want to squash him.

The big cock pheasant looked as if he might be thinking of making a dash for it across the highway. He stuck out his neck and cocked his head to one side to give us the eye. Then he turned, cocked his head again, and gave us the other eye. He paused another instant, and we were bearing down on him.

Then all at once he leaped for the ditch and burst into flight. His wings were a blur as he rose above the dead weeds, and he seemed to hang in the air for an instant. I raised my hands and took aim. I imagined the rifle stock against my shoulder and my finger on the trigger. I lined up the sights and had the post front sight dead on the pheasant as he cleared the barbed wire fence.

Pow! I said and heard the rifle crack and echo. I saw a little puff of feathers jump from the pheasant, and he fell like a stone and tumbled in the stubble of the field. I got him.

Nice shot, Dunnigan said.

Yeah, I couldn't miss a shot like that, I said. Then I looked back and watched the pheasant in flight. He was higher now and beating his wings furiously as he picked up speed. Then he went into a long low glide far across the field. I finally lost sight of him.

I sat back and relaxed. I started thinking of where my rifle was. In my mind I could see it lying across some rafters in the attic and gathering dust in the warm darkness. The stock was nicked and scratched, and most of the varnish was gone. Some of the bluing had worn off the barrel, but I knew the bore and the bolt were clean and well-oiled.

CHAPTER THREE

I remembered that my rifle was practically brand new when I first got it. I was twelve years old at the time. Grandfather Finstad was the one who gave me the rifle. He was driving through on vacation and stopped in Dunsmuir for a visit. That happened late in the summer just before I had to start the eighth grade. We were in the middle of a great swimming season that year down at Blackberry Hole.

Just before he left, Grandfather Finstad remembered about the Winchester single shot. He brought it in and gave it to me. I was as happy as I could be and thanked him.

Oh, dear me, no, Mother said. Not a rifle.

Aw, Mother, I said, and I suddenly felt as if I had swallowed a rock.

He'll get a lot of use out of it, Grandfather Finstad said. I really don't need it.

He's too young to have a rifle, Mother said.

Don't be silly. The boy's twelve years old. It's time he had a rifle of his own.

I just don't... Mother hesitated.

I started to get my hopes up. After all, she was talking to her own father, and he was saying that I should have the rifle. Mother seemed a little distressed, but she turned to look at Father.

Well, what do you think about all this? she asked.

Then I knew the rifle was as good as mine. I thought about all the times Grandpa Collins told me that Father had his own 22 when he was twelve years old and Father would stay out hunting all day long with no telling what all he might bring home with him. I handed the rifle to Father. He had a serious look on his face and seemed to be thinking about things. He studied the rifle.

Pretty nice, he said. It's got a long barrel, and that's good. It should be very accurate.

You'll have to teach him, Mother said. That's your responsibility.

Uh huh, he said.

You'll have to be sure he's very careful.

Uh huh.

The days went by, and I still went swimming all the time, but every now and then I asked Father when he was going to teach me to shoot my rifle. He didn't seem to be in any hurry, but one day he came home with a box of shells,