Free Auraria: A Novel by Tim Westover

I’m a digger, or a miner, I should say. But sometimes, that sickness. It just makes you think—it would be nice to spend some time in the sun.”
    Holtzclaw nodded. “Perhaps I can help with that.”
    “Well, I’d hope so. Have you seen enough yet to make me an offer on the scrap?”
    “Let’s get on back to the realm of the light,” said Holtzclaw. “It’s a bit hard to write a contract down here, in the dark.”
    A bit of bluster came back into Bogan. “The way I figure it, while I got you down here, I might get another few bucks as a tip,” he said. “You know, for being your guide. There’s the rails, six big pumps—I’ll keep the one nearest my diggings—ten mine carts, then the statue, the beds, the huts, the chandelier, all of those cups and pipes and troughs.” Holtzclaw raised an eyebrow at the mention of such variety. “You would think there’s not much down here, but every tunnel is filled with so many things. Glance up and down the big tunnel, and it might look empty. Look down the side passages, on the other side of the mine cart, and it’s like the shelves of a store.”
    “There is another matter,” said Holtzclaw. “To bring all this selection up to the surface, I will need room on land. Space for a camp, a smelting and refashioning operation, even as a staging area for some other reclamation projects in the area.”
    “So you want to buy the land too? Couldn’t let that happen. I have ten years of digging here.”
    “I don’t mean to buy your diggings. You’ll retain the mineral rights. I need only the trees, or rather, the earth on which those trees stand.”
    “Well, my stars, I didn’t know that you could just buy and sell the outside and leave the innards. I wouldn’t have bought all that up there. Empty lake? Scrubby trees? What do I care? If you want it, Mr. Holtzclaw, you can have it.”
    Bogan held both lamps, which provided just enough light for Holtzclaw, bearing down on the rusted pump, to perform his tallies. Bogan argued over the prices Holtzclaw assigned to the various pieces of scrap, most of which Holtzclaw had not seen, but he said not a word against Holtzclaw’s price per acre for the surface land. Holtzclaw regretted not reducing his offer to offset the concessions he was making for scrap iron.
    “And what about the mineral rights?” said Bogan. Holtzclaw appended a standard clause to the contract, asserting that any minerals to be discovered below the described property would remain the property of Bogan. It was a powerful clause not because of what it asserted, but what it lacked. The wording did not compel Shadburn to conduct any mining operation or even to let Bogan enter his tunnels.
    Bogan and Holtzclaw began to retrace their steps out of the tunnels. “Did you see the bats?” said Bogan. “They always come back to the same place every year. If one is missing, it’s not because he’s found a new home.” Bogan held up his lantern three inches from a crevice. Inside was a small warm creature, softly breathing.
    “You’re going to wake him up,” said Holtzclaw.
    “Hasn’t happened yet.”
     
    #
     
    At the threshold of the outside, Bogan bid farewell to Holtzclaw and turned back into the mines. Holtzclaw stepped alone into the sunlight, then crossed over the rocky slope again to inspect his new lake and shake off the dank of the mines. The sun had traveled behind a high ridge of Sinking Mountain and its thick cover of trees, bringing a premature afternoon to the hollow. The cobalt blue water took on a deeper hue. It was an unusual lake, to be sure, but Holtzclaw was glad that the oddities in Auraria were not all eerie and unpleasant. Nature and dynamite had made a lovely work here. Neither could have done it without the other.
    His next purchase was halfway back to town, and Holtzclaw was certain that it would not call for another underground excursion. On the plat map, the property was listed as a small farm containing a cabin, barn, and