"Come on," someone from the crowd said. "Tell us what happened. You can't just come running out of the wild like a madman with no explanation. What in tarnation is going on?"

Ezra sighed deeply and looked at the crowd around him.

"We were attacked."

The crowd gasped. Murmurs spread quickly throughout the gathering of onlookers. He heard a variety of explanations from the crowd as they all speculated on what had happened.

"Did you get attacked by soldiers?" One man asked.

"It was probably Injuns," another interjected confidently.

"What was it?" The nearest man asked.

"I don't have time to explain," Ezra said exasperated. "We almost didn't make it. Vincent nearly bled to death."

"Where is he?" someone called.

"I had to leave him behind. I carried him as far as I could, but he was too weak to keep going. He told me to go on without him."

More gasps from the crowd.

"That's why I need help. I'm preparing everything I can reasonably carry, to go back and rescue him. Who will help me?"

This time the crowd didn't respond. Ezra looked around desperately, searching faces for a volunteer.

"Who will help me!? He repeated. This time with an edge of anger and frustration. Despite this, the camp remained stone-faced and silent.

"Is no one willing to help?"

Finally, someone spoke up.

"It's nearly dark. Going out now would be crazy. It's... too late."

Murmurs of agreement echoed throughout the crowd.

"I didn't realize I was surrounded by so many cowards." Ezra said with disdain.

Some had the decency to look ashamed. Despite this, not a single soul volunteered.

"What are we supposed to do? Run out into the dark of night, on foot, with no idea where we are going, to look for someone who's already dead?"

"Yeah." Someone else chimed in. "We could just as easily get lost or killed and then what good would that do? Better for one man to die than have a group of us go out and get slaughtered."

Agreement and nods from the crowd.

Ezra's stomach churned, and his heart sank. He was hoping to find help of some sort at the camp. He hadn't mentally prepared for what to do if everyone had turned against him and unanimously decided they were more than willing to hang Vincent out to dry.

"Can't someone at least offer me a horse?" Ezra asked in desperation.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"We don't have any." One of the men said. "The only people who have a horse are the foreman, a few of the guards, and probably the constable."

Ezra looked through the crowd again in disbelief. Even if they didn't have a horse to offer, he thought at the very least, a few of his colleagues would offer their assistance in some other fashion. Moral support, food, or help in putting together a rescue plan. Something. Anything. But instead, he was met with cowardice and apathy.

"Fine!" He said, fuming. "I don't need any of you. I've come this far on my own and I'll go the rest of the way on my own as well."

He turned on his heels and ran toward the camp headquarters. It was the only sturdily built structure in the entire encampment. It served as an office and residence for the foreman. Typically, a miner was not allowed to enter unless he had an appointment or some other assigned duty, but Ezra didn't worry himself with formalities.

The sunset was fading, and he had precious little time for niceties. He arrived at camp headquarters and was focused narrowly on his target, when he was ambushed by an eager friend, a dog – wagging its tail emphatically.

He paused briefly to pet Buster; the trusty hunting hound that often napped on the porch. It was a fine dog. Much too good for the foreman, but it couldn't help who its owner was.

Buster whined as Ezra petted him. Usually, he would have offered Buster a quick treat, but Ezra didn't have a crumb to his name.

"Sorry boy, fresh out. I'll get you something next time." With that, he stood and burst through the door.

The guard who was usually posted at the front had been dismissed and the foreman's attendant, sat in a chair just outside the foreman's bedroom entrance, with fresh linens draped over one arm.

He stood abruptly.

"Hey, what are you doing in here!?" He cried. Clearly shocked at the breach in protocol.

"The foreman has retired for the night. Any appointments will have to be rescheduled for mid tomorrow morning at the earliest."

"Forget his blasted appointments, I need to speak with him right now." Ezra said urgently.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that." The attendant said sharply. The man stood straight-backed, raising his head arrogantly as he said it.

Ezra clenched his fists in response.

The man gulped. But managed to summon his courage.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I'd really hate to resort to physical violence," Ezra said. Doing his best to make his tone sound threatening.

"If you attempt to use force, I am well within my rights to shoot you dead." He retorted indignantly.

"I don't think you have the guts." Ezra challenged. "Or the skill to best me if you did." He added.

The attendant looked visibly shaken. His bluff having been called.

"I can call out to the guards. They'll shoot you on sight... without a second thought."

Another bluff, they were nowhere to be seen.

"Look, I'm not here to hurt anyone. I just need to speak with the foreman immediately."

The attendant flushed, shaking his head angrily.

"I already told you –" The man was suddenly cut short.

"Brooks, is that you?" the foreman called, his voice rough and gravelly.

"What's going on out there?"

"My apologies," Brooks said, red-faced. "We have a rather rude intruder."

"Who is it?" The foreman called from inside, his speech partially muffled by the cigar in his mouth.

"It's Ezra sir. Ezra Holloway." Brooks shot him a look of disdain.

"I told him you aren't available for any appointments until tomorrow. But he insisted on ignoring good sense and proper authority. He barged right in, uninvited." Brooks paused.

"And threatened me with violence, I might add." Lifting his nose in the same snobbish defiance he'd displayed earlier.

"Hoity toity pansy" Ezra said under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?" Brooks said.

"Nothin." Ezra muttered.

"That's what I thought." Brooks retorted; his expression more prideful than ever.

"Ezra Holloway? Who is that and why should I care?" The foreman asked, agitated.

"He's one of the missing miners." Brooks said.

"Ahhh, I see." the foreman responded, sounding intrigued. "Send him in."

Brooks nodded emphatically, letting out a harrumph. Then quickly did a double take in the foreman's direction.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said let him in." the foreman reiterated with annoyance. Brooks took a moment to regain his composure, still baffled by the foreman's decision.

"Yes sir..." he said begrudgingly.

A smug smile tugged at the corner of Ezra's lips, but he fought to wipe it from his face. Brooks shot him an icy glare.