Farewell

“Time is getting late, lads. I thought I ought to stop by and see you one last time. This is in case I don’t make it to the pearly gates,” said Henrick.

The miner was the last of the gang of three. They were the best at what they did, and what they did got most men killed.

“They called us menacing monkeys. There were no better powder monkeys in a hundred miles,” remarked the man.

“See, boys, I got the consumption. The doc doesn’t give me long on this here earth. I wanted to say how honored I was to be your friend,” said Henrick.

Andy was the first to go when the shaft he was working in collapsed, killing him.

Billy was next. He met his maker while riding a horse over the frozen lake. Too drunk to hear the cracking. Man and steed plunged in and were not found until spring.

“Well, I hope you saved me a place at the table, Billy. I’m sure I can beat you at sevens for a pint,” the miner said.

Henrick stood and walked over to each grave, placing his hand on each.

“You were the best pals a man could ask for,” Henrick said. “Rest well and say a prayer for your old pal.” Then he turned and walked away.

The next morning, the vicar went to give the last rites at Henricks’s bedside.

The old miner smiled at the vicar and whispered, “I’m coming, lads,” then passed to the other side.

Folks at the mine say they sometimes hear the three laughing down in the abandoned sections.

Most, though, know they’re too busy drinking and playing cards in heaven.

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