the smuggler’s bible

Old Trundle

Old Trundle moves his cart down the tracks and grimaces at the squeal of brakes farther along the line. Down the vally, he can see horses pulling machinery up the hill over some ruts. A hawk makes a lazy turn in the distance.

“You fellas ever wonder what we’re building?”

Trundle’s team shrugs. Four men, eight shoulders.

“I figure it’s an antenna, maybe.”

“Hotel?”

“Why the hell would we need a hotel all the way out here?”

“I didn’t want any argument,” Old Trundle says. “Just a discussion.”

“What’s the matter, Trundle? You bored?”

“Jesus, how can you not be?”