Cut and Run 2 - Sticks and Stones

couldn’t afford to go anywhere with wet, cold clothing on.
    He could hear the storm worsening outside, pounding rain on the roof and a steady trickle of water through the shingles in the corner. Ty glanced over at the man who sat watching them all quietly as Earl and Deuce followed suit with their own clothing.
    Now that he’d gotten the necessities out of the way, Ty could afford to be friendly. He took a step toward the bunk and offered his hand. The man took it and smiled at him. He was dry, obviously having made it to shelter before the storm broke.
    “Ty,” Ty offered as he shook his hand. “Zane, Earl, Deuce,” he rattled off as he pointed at each of the other men in turn.
    “John,” the man announced in return.
    “Made it in before the rain?” Zane said conversationally.
    “Only just,” John told him.
    “Are you hiking by yourself?” Zane asked curiously.
    John nodded as he crunched down on a piece of jerky.
    “Started late in the season, huh?” Ty wagered.
    John smiled at him. “Started early, just been going slow,” he told them. “Figure it’s my last one, so I’m enjoying the sights,” he said serenely as he gnawed on his jerky.
    Ty glanced to Zane. “Trail goes from Maine to Georgia,” he told him.
    “The Appalachian Trail?” Zane said, his voice rising a little toward the end. “That’s got to be a couple thousand miles.”
    “Two thousand, one hundred and seventy-five,” Ty said with a nod. He looked to John. “North or south?” he asked.
    “Heading south,” John answered. “You?”
    Ty shook his head. “Just a local thing,” he answered with a smile.
    John tilted his head and smiled suddenly. “So then you’ll know about the Romney treasure?” he asked excitedly.
    Zane was staring at John. “You’re hiking more than two thousand miles… for fun?” he asked incredulously.
    “Done it every summer for twenty years,” John told him.
    Zane’s jaw actually dropped. “That’s… incredible.” John merely shrugged.
    “Lots of folks do it,” Earl told Zane quietly as he pulled out some fresh clothes from his pack. “Through-hikers. I’m sorry, did you say you’re looking for treasure?” he asked John after a moment.
    John shook his head and leaned forward in his bunk. “Not looking for it, no. Just interested. Ever heard tales?” he asked.
    Earl just shook his head in amusement. Zane was still peering at John with a peculiar look on his face, like he thought the man must be off his rocker.
    “Romney,” Ty repeated curiously. “You mean like the city?” he asked dubiously. The mountains were full of stories about buried treasure, lost gold mines, hidden caches that were never reclaimed. It wasn’t unusual to hear about them from hikers who soaked up the lore and retold it as gospel. Ty himself knew quite a bit about a few of the treasure stories in the area, but he’d never heard one associated with Romney.
    Muttering something about vacations under his breath, Zane stripped off his windbreaker and Henley, revealing the thinner long-sleeved shirt underneath, and dragged his bag across the small room to settle on the floor near the fireplace, leaning back against the hearth.
    John scooted to the edge of his bunk and placed his elbows on his knees, looking around at all of them. “You’ve never heard of the Romney treasure?” he asked in disbelief.
    Ty glanced over at Zane distractedly and back at John with a shake of his head. A crack of lightning outside was followed by thunder that shook the small cabin around them. It was close. Ty thought he might have gotten a whiff of ozone. Deuce gave a low whistle as he glanced up at the ceiling.
    “I’m not from here,” Zane said as he studied the roof above them, looking doubtful.
    John nodded as if that explained it. “I teach about Appalachia back in Maine,” he informed them. “Romney isn’t exactly on the syllabus, but it’s a good story,” he said hopefully. He obviously wanted to relate it. Ty figured he probably hadn’t had much in the way of conversation for months.
    Ty glanced over at his dad, who was watching John with a hint of a smile. It was the same look most of the locals gave a tourist when they used the word “quaint,” a look that said smile and humor them until they go away.
    Ty cleared his throat against a laugh. “Well, why don’t you tell it to us while my brother makes dinner,” he said with a look at Deuce.
    Deuce glared at him from where he sat huddled on the