The moonlight embraces the world on this chilly, autumn night. An automobile winds around the curve of a mountain, its driver oblivious to the dirt road that descends off the side, and into a valley below. If the driver had followed the road after clearing the trees, he would have seen the glow of the burner below; the center of a sawmill.
The chain of the chipper is silent. A few feet outside of the burner, the night watchman sits by a fire, accompanied by two dogs. An old tomcat sits apart from them, keeping a wary eye.
The watchman smiles at him. He and the old cat have a lot in common. Both had seen better days. Now, they kept company and a peaceful vigil over the mill.
In the distance, a train whistle can be heard. Miles away, its voice is a haunting wail until it winds around the last mountain, into the valley and past. The voice changes then, into a thundering sound that shakes and rattles the very soul. The earth trembles as the train rolls by and goes silent in the distance.
Light bulbs twinkle on the upper levels of a building, and the night wind rustles past the vacant floors and out between the tall stacks of lumber that go on for a quarter of a mile or so. Along these same wooden hills, the old man moves on, punching time clocks along the way.
He had spent the better part of his life at the mill; seven nights a week, including holidays. A few stray dogs had found their way to his campfire through the years. Some had stayed with him while others had wandered off after a temporary rest. He wondered how their journeys had ended and hoped they had found what they were searching for. Old Brownie was one who had decided to stay. Although a reddish colored retriever, the name seemed to suit him and he became accustomed to it. The dog had bonded with him and soon began to follow him home, down the railroad track and returning with him at night.
As he passes the last time clock, he turns to look at the trucks parked in a row just below. A pair of headlights flicker on and off. The old man smiles in acknowledgement and whistles for the dogs who have wandered too far. The smaller dog returns to him and he pats him gently while waiting for his old friend to catch up with them.
By another fire, a young man poured himself a cup of coffee. As the steam rose and disappeared in the air, he pulled his coat tightly around his body. He had finished hauling the hot ash from the burner. The wheelbarrow lay propped against its side. It wasn’t the hard work he minded, although it did take most of the night in between making his rounds. It was the silence as well as the sounds that came out of the night that made him uneasy. He definitely had to get himself a dog. He heard that the watchman before him had a couple of furry friends. Sometimes, he could imagine that he heard dogs out in the woods. Wild, perhaps. He also got the feeling that he wasn’t alone when he made his rounds. When he saw or thought he saw the headlights go on and off in one of the lumber trucks, he remembered the story of a man who had died working for the mill a year before. The ghost of young Jim Kennedy was said to haunt the truck he had driven. A bad accident had taken his life on an icy December evening. The truck looked none the worse for wear, but its driver had been crushed when he lost control and slid over a steep embankment.
The young watchman was startled by a nudging from behind. He turned to see the source. He had not seen this dog before. He seemed friendly enough and looked to be a pure breed.
“Hey boy, where’d you come from?”
The dog eyed him patiently with his tail wagging.
“What’s your name? You hungry? Wait right there. I think I have part of a bologna sandwich left that you can have.”
Excited at the prospect of making a friend and companion, the young man back stepped toward his lunch pail while holding his hand up in the air. “Stay right there boy, just stay there. You’ll like this. I promise.” He rummaged through the remains of his lunch and grabbed the piece of wax paper that held his sandwich. He opened the matted layers and pulled out the bread which had been squished down into the layer of meat in between. He turned around with a smile on his face only to see that the dog was no longer there. The fire flickered into the air and he strained to see out into the darkness and then turned to the building behind him. He whistled for the dog and called out to him. “Here boy! Hey! Where’d you go? I’ve got something good for you! Be that way, then! This is your last chance!”
Sighing heavily, he threw the food on the ground. If the dog did come back, maybe he would make use of the stuff and decide to stick around next time.
He thought about the old man who held the job before he came. He was told the man grew old working the job. His wife had died young, leaving them childless, and he had spent his lifetime of nights working at the mill. His only companions had been the stray dogs that wandered in and stayed with him. And, wasn’t there a cat? An old tomcat had supposedly been here for years and disappeared right after the old man had died. The dogs had wandered off, probably feeling lost with their companion gone. Poor old animals, he thought. He could sure use their company on these long, lonely nights. Not that he was going to stay. He had his eye on a couple of day jobs, as soon as they opened up. He would bide his time. Breaking his back hauling ash and spending nights here wasn’t the way he wanted to grow old.
He looked at his watch and realized that he needed to make his last rounds. Looking up, he decided that the stars seemed to shine the brightest right before dawn.
The stacks of lumber rose up like huge beings that seemed to huddle together for comfort in the darkness. The only sound he could hear was the plodding of his own footsteps as he walked the distance, punching the clocks along the way. He had to admit that he felt uneasy walking along the lumber stacks. His eyes would play tricks, seeing shadows flitting around the corners.
The howling of dogs rose out of the silence. Damn them! Why did they have to do that right now?
“Get a hold of yourself, man! You’re not a kid anymore.”
It made him feel better talking out loud to himself. The wind struck sharply at his face as he turned the last corner. He sighed and pulled his jacket tightly against him and turned back into the direction of the fire. Its glow gave him comfort as his stride picked up. He wished the dog would come back. Maybe tomorrow night.
The early light of morning could be detected along the rim of the mountains and the young night watchman doused the fire with the remainder of his coffee. As he stretched tired arms, a shadowy figure made its way between the stacks of lumber and into the distance beyond. A faint whistle followed by yelps drew his attention and he squinted his eyes to see better. The morning mist shrouded everything and a chill crept up his spine. The figures melted into the morning light.
As the first rays of dawn covered the valley, the atmosphere of the mill changed. In a few hours, the place would be alive with men. The saws would run and the chipper would carry the shavings to the giant burner. The ash would build and wait for him to clear it away the next night. The headlights on the lumber truck blinked on and off. The night watchman shivered slightly and headed for his car.