Fools Gold: The Chronicles of Lawmaker August Flynn

By Bill C Cannon

Lawmaker August Flynn receives a tip-off that a Savannah gold mine is being sabotaged and many young men's lives are being needlessly lost. But the town is so wrapped up in lies, deceit and greed that it's difficult for Flynn to know who's telling the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raging Bull Publishing
• Release date: Aug 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386000228

Book preview

Chapter One:

Trouble in Savannah

If there's one good thing about bein’ a Lawmaker, it's the travellin' - town to town, just my horse Buddy n' me, nothin' else but the horizon as far as the eye can see and the dust. See, every state’s made up of somethin’ diff’rnt, and the dust don’t always look the same. My tan cowhide bucket hat was always a diff’rnt color after travelin’ so long, and whenever I dusted it off it always smelled diff’rnt too.

And nothing smells better than the dust of the family ranch of Louisiana.

My family stayed put, outta everyone’s way. My daddy worked in a fruitless gold mine on the outskirts of Baton Rouge, and my momma raised four boys all by her lonesome. Most nights was just bread and cabbage soup. Not much else grew in the dusty swamps of Louisiana.

Today I was leavin' behind my family and headin' to a job in Savannah. My journey to Georgia was gonna be long. Longest I ever traveled was four days to the other side of Texas. This journey alone would take me twelve.

I'd heard stories there was somethin’ unusual happ’nin with a gold mine. Worthless gold mine, lemme tell ya. Hadn’t produced any of that beautiful shinin’ mineral since the first year it opened. Yeah, they found a huge stash of it fifteen feet down, enough to build the town, but, by all accounts, after they harvested that layer, nothin’ else had been found.

That’s why I almost didn’t take the job.

Y’see, the townsfolk have been tryin’a shut that damn thing down for months. Lives are bein’ lost every day, resources are bein’ spent, and water’s bein’ wasted washin’ these men down after bein’ in the mine all day diggin’ up nothin’. Their gold mine was the talk of many towns I passed through, and when I told’em where I was headed they told me to simply call the whole thing off.

Close it down. It’ll save lives and resources, many would say, but I knew it wasn't that simple. Jobs and towns were built on industry and without the mine most o' the men would be out of luck.

Cause o' many fatherless children, others would add.

But, I wasn’t just intrigued by the lives bein' lost at the gold mine—I was also intrigued by the letter that started me on my journey.

Twelve days ago, the rarely-seen postman came a’knockin’ on my door, tellin’ me I had a letter. Said it must be from a wih-men.

I didn’t understand what he meant until I took a look at the letter: dainty handwritin’, legible words, sentences that made sense, envelope that was stained light yellow.

Perfume wafting from the inside—

But it wasn’t signed. Simply stated that this poor, scared woman felt the mine was being intentionally sabotaged and the local Lawmen were blind to it. Said her daddy came home one day talkin’ ‘bout his friend who had to go see the doctor, maybe lose a leg ‘cause of a cave-in.

Didn’t know if he was gon’ make it.

I felt for her, I really did. Minin’ ain’t an easy job, and here in Baton Rouge we buried our fair share o’ good men.

My eldest brother, ‘specially.

Buryin’ my brother ‘bout killed Momma. She wouldn’t cook, wouldn’t eat. Slept all day an’ drank when we thought no one was lookin’. There was no quiltin’, so the house money started to suffer, and Daddy was takin’ double-shifts in the mine just to make ends meet.

At one point we didn’t think she’d ever come back t’us.

Anyway, it wasn’t until I read the last line of this woman’s letter that I realized I’d be mountin’ my horse and goin’ to make some money.

There was another death this morning. A young man, not much older than my brother. And the Sherriff refuses to take a look.

Two hours later, I mounted my horse and started out of town. Momma kissed me and told me to be safe and Daddy slapped my horse’s ass while he stayed silent.

While Momma had pulled herself outta her grief, I don’t know that Daddy ever really did.

By day ten, I found myself crossin’ into Georgia. The Mississippi water line was humid and sticky, and the dust smelled of salt and fish. The Alabama coastline was filled with children wantin’ ta stay cool while swimmin’ away from the jellyfish washin’ up on the shoreline.

But as we crossed into Georgia, headed for the bustlin’ town of Savannah, the smell changed to country biscuits and hoppy beers that made my mouth salivate. I