Book of Bravery: A Novel 2,000 Plus Years in the Making

CHAPTER IV

A Murder of Crows

Quintus was seated on a train that made its way westwards through Nevada. The year was 1871, just seven years since the state became part of the Union. He was seated in a second-class carriage beside a loquacious middle-aged man with the surname of Green, who was fascinated by a newspaper report on the discovery of giant skeletal remains.

'These half-dozen giants were from nine to ten feet tall, and they had

six digits on each of their hands and feet,' Green exclaimed, holding his newspaper. 'Incredible. Who knows how many other things are under all those mounds in the Midwest,' he said.

'But then again, they'll print anything to sell penny papers these days,' he added.

Quintus nodded. He was familiar with the mounds and the Indian legends of giants made extinct because they lacked a sense of decency. He had no doubt that giants once existed, Roman historians, such as Titus Flavius, wrote as much as well. Other cultures likewise had similar tales.

As Green continued to read his newspaper, Quintus looked out the window at the passing high-desert country. Decades before large numbers of Europeans arrived, he passed through the region on saddleback. It was then a land inhabited by remnants of three tribes — the Paiute, the Shoshone, and the Washoe — those who survived introduced diseases. He was not there to see how the sparsely populated tribes later fared against the powerful pale-skinned newcomers. He correctly guessed the likely outcome. The clash of cultures he witnessed in the Americas over the course of 200 years was not a pretty thing.

But that is how history rolled, and he had to roll with it whether he liked it or not. He had to wait until he was called upon. Whenever that was to be.

It was as if Green read Quintus' mind when he began talking about the misery he'd witnessed in displaced native communities.

'Man, or beast, all shall suffer. But "It is through much tribulation that we enter the kingdom of Heaven," so says the Apostle Paul,' Green said before shifting the conversation to Quintus.

'So why are you going to San Francisco for, work I presume?'

'Yes, to help with some building there, a new city hall,' Quintus answered.

'It can be a wild city, so be on your guard. I know of a rooming house on fashionable Kearny Street if you need one.'

Before Quintus could respond, a mustached conductor passed through the carriage, making an announcement as he went.

'Okay folks, two minutes and we will pull up in Reno. We'll be stationed there till 3 o'clock, and when the whistle blows, we then continue on,' the conductor said. 'What's more, it looks like it might rain outside; storm clouds are gathering, so don't wander off too far without an umbrella or coat.'

Soon enough, the coal-fired locomotive and its carriages pulled up at the Reno train station. Once it stopped, Quintus stood from his seat and stretched his body. He hadn't been able to exercise or meditate since the train left Nebraska three days earlier.

As the steam engine calmed down, he heard the familiar swoop of crows landing on the station's timber roof just outside. It wasn't long till several of them were cawing.

Given his Ireland experience, such sounds got under his skin. No matter if it occurred ten or a thousand years ago, he could recall everything as if it only happened yesterday, which could either be a blessing or a curse.

The crows' cawing rebounded inside the carriage, forcing him out of his seat and wanting out, away from the noise. Green offered some advice as he moved past, carrying his sack coat and a wide-brimmed hat.