Fall From Snowbird Mountain
by
CS Devereaux
(excerpt)
“Why me?” Jason asked.
“Friends help friends,” Joel Lovin replied. “You’re smart. I gotta hunch you’d be an asset to us.”
“But—counterfeit?”…
Feeling apprehensive and a little frightened, he asked questions, of them and of himself. What would happen if I said no to this venture? Would they trust me not to betray them? What if I said yes? What then?
A small windowless supply room served as their meeting place. In it stood a card table, set with a half-eaten platter of sandwiches and a bottle of whiskey, partially drunk. Jason sat there with three men: Adam Cable, a wealthy, gruff-looking rancher; Jacob Rose, a red-faced farmer and grain mill owner; and Joel Lovin, a balding middle-aged bookkeeper. Feeling apprehensive and a little frightened, he asked questions, of them and of himself. What would happen if I said no to this venture? Would they trust me not to betray them? What if I said yes? What then?
“Counterfeit is a big industry,” Joel said. “It may not be legit, but around here, ain’t nothing is.” He seemed to be their leader.
“Teaching young’uns is legit,” Jason said. “So’s ranching and running a grist mill.” He nodded to Cable and Rose.
“That working for any of you?” Joel retorted.
“Wouldn’t be dealing in funny money if ranching was reliable,” Cable said. “Cattle ain’t a sure thing.”
“Ain’t nothing a sure thing,” Rose said. “Except this.”
Jason wished he had never kept this appointment. “Joel, you told me there wasn’t a catch—passing fake scratch is a big one. You could all go to jail.”
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Jacob Rose replied. “Half the greenbacks out there are counterfeit. Bet you didn’t know that. Banks, legit and shady both, print money whether they got the funds to cover it or if they ain’t. Need cash? they say. Sure, gimme a minute. I’ll make you some. How is what we’re doing different from that?”
“Anybody and everybody prints Confederate bills,” Joel added. “You seen it; some of it’s mighty sketchy.”
Jason thought of the cash Joel bought groceries with a few days before. “No,” he murmured, “oh, no.” Louder, he asked, “Joel, did you give Tom Cooper fake money the other day?”
“Spends as good as it buys. It passes through Coop’s hands when he uses it to buy more stock. He don’t know the difference—and what he don’t know won’t hurt him.”
“But you’re cheating anyone who makes a living selling goods to the likes of you and me.” Jason widened his eyes to drive his words.
“Listen, Jace. Federal government’s printing these so-called greenbacks to finance the war,” Joel said. “They’s so many currencies floating around, who knows what’s legal tender?”
Jason rubbed his chin, thoughts buzzing. He has a good point. I know this, Cooper treated me with respect when I paid off my debt. I felt like a man again.
“Jace.” Joel’s tone softened. “I helped you feed your family t’other day. I know you’d do the same. Folks ain’t got two plug nickels to rub together. By spreading this cash, we’re helping our friends and neighbors.”
A hundred thoughts for and against the insane idea tumbled through Jason’s mind at once. He stalled for time. “How big is this operation? Do you print your own money?”
“If you want in, say so. No more questions till then,” Cable groused.
Lt. Jason S. Hyde 1829 - 1907 Thomas Legion, CSA
Jason studied the three men and saw a self-assurance in their faces that he lacked and desperately wanted. His heart fluttered with indecision. The moral question pressed.
Thoughts of his children’s five pairs of dark, expectant eyes squeezed his core. So many mouths to feed! How many more chickens could I steal without getting caught? What happens to my family if the bank takes our land? Am I a fool to turn this down? What other choices do I have?
He grimaced, then leapt from his chair and thumped the table with his fist. “I don’t have to do this! I won’t do it—I won’t!” He flung open the door and slammed it shut, leaving three slack-jawed men behind him. He stormed down the hall and out of Penley’s Boarding House…
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All content copyright © CS Devereaux 2023. All rights reserved.
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