The Crane’s moved on a few hours ago. They left at sunset, their bellies full and with enough food and water to hold them over for a few more days. We tried to get them to stay, but despite the first hand news of the loss of Los Angeles, they are determined to see it for themselves, – no matter how hard Bagman and I tried to talk them out of it.
I hope to see them again.
But, I know I won’t.
After they’d left I told Bagman of my find at the quarry and his face light up like a Christmas tree.
As I recall the conversation went something like this…
“All right, Dante, spill it.” He tells me, “I know you’ve got something you’ve been dying to get off of your chest. So, go on, spit it out.”
I have to admit I had been beaming since I’d gotten back.
“What if I told you I ran across twenty sticks of dynamite, and enough C-4 to take out an entire convoy?”
He stared back at me, blankly at first, like he was trying to decide if I were pulling his leg.
“I came across a rock quarry. Hadn’t been touched…”
Bagman cut me off, – he’d decided I was serious.
“And, blasting caps?”
My smile said it all.
Seventy years old and, and let me tell you, no one dances a finer Irish jig.
We have some work to do.