Gold Dust Dreams (The Tale of Purvis Roundelby)

Purvis Roundelby came West for gold and found very little--which rather disappointed him. He'd been told that the creeks were silly with nuggets out there, and that the only real problem was not hurting your back, toting it all to the bank.

"Sonny, may Beelzebub suck my eyes from my skull with a straw if I'm lying." The wizened old man had rasped to Purvis, in the lobby of a Boston hotel. "I've seen eagles literally crap nuggets of pure gold from the accumulation of gold dust on the scales of all the fish they eat."

The old man leaned forward and cupped Purvis' testicles. "That big, young feller, nuggets as big as your balls, sometimes bigger."

Purvis cleared his throat and desperately tried to think of how he was going to get the old man to stop cupping his balls without hurting his feelings or worse.

"Sounds pretty dang good, don't it young buck?--the wind in your hair, the creek at your feet and eagles flying around everywhere, crapping out nuggets of gold?"

And it did sound pretty good to Purvis, despite the unwelcome size comparison that had to involve his testicles, pretty dang good indeed. And right then and there he decided to go.

"Thank you old timer." Purvis said, easing himself out of his chair and gently backing his balls away from the gnarled, liver-spot hand. "It's West for me then and West I shall go."

"You're welcome Boyo. Shucks in a haller, I only wish I could too." The old man sighed. "But I'm just too damn old by a year or twelve."
A statement he proved moments later with a mild to moderate stroke--his third one that morning. He walked it off though and told Purvis not to worry. (Old timers were built pretty sturdy in those days.)

"Good travels young prince." The old timer called out with a grin as Purvis strode purposefully for the door. "Here's to gold dust dreams and friendly camp women who love you then rob you blind." (The last part was beneath his breath.)

***

As he huddled in rags on a frozen street, watching dogs kill each other for a mossy bacon rind, Purvis Roundelby couldn't help but think back to that sunny day in Boston, half a year and a continent away. And hope that somewhere, somehow, Beelzebub was using a straw to suck that old timer's eyes sideways out of his skull.

"Gold dust dreams indeed." Purvis snorted to no one in particular. "More like dung dust dreams." This struck him as rather funny for reasons probably known only to him, and he screeched his mirth to the sky for a while until something in his chest starting rattling around and his scabs began to ooze again.

But then later that night an eagle screamed, somewhere up the canyon. And as far-gone as he was, Purvis still heard that cry, and with whimpers of desperation and hope, he started frantically crawling toward it, cupping his balls in his hand.

The End