Ben’s cabin stood drab and quiet in the overcast afternoon. After knocking on the door and getting no answer, I turned the latch and pushed the door open. The old man wasn’t inside, and the cabin’s contents lay undisturbed. The shotgun was missing from the wall pegs over the bunk, but that meant little. Either Ben had taken it hunting, or he had stashed it under the mattress to hide it from prying eyes. He hadn’t installed an outside lock with a key since he didn’t own much of value. Looking behind the door, I realized his bike was missing, a sure sign that Ben had made a trip to town.

          A ruckus outside broke the calm. “Oh, crap!” Brian’s voice rang out. “Come out here and look, guys.” I hurried down the steps to the end of the cabin where the new chicken shed was being built. “He didn’t wait for us to help. He’s almost finished.” His voice whined, and he stomped his foot -- Charlie and Jason watching.

          Bear was right. Ben had fastened the trusses in place and nailed the wall boards to the studs. He had even attached the entry door to the hinges, installed a throw bolt to keep it shut, and built a trap door at the bottom for the chickens.

          Jason unbolted the main entrance, opened it, and peeked inside. “He finished the roosts, and the window in back is covered with chicken wire. There’s only one thing missing.” Throwing the door open wide, he grinned and directed one finger at the sky. We crowded around and looked up. There still wasn’t a roof. “He was planning to put on a metal roof like the one on the cabin that he salvaged from the old mine.”

          “Yeah,” added Bear, “He was gonna use a sheet of metal from one of the old mine shacks. Hey, guys, why don’t we go up to the mine and bring one back? Who knows, we might even run into Ben.” Bear couldn’t stand still and paced back and forth. “It would be a lot of fun to surprise him.”

          “Well, I doubt that we’ll run into him because his bike is gone, and he wouldn’t take it to the mine.” Then I looked at the afternoon light and asked, “Did anyone bring a watch?” All three of them shook their heads. “It must be getting close to five o’clock. My parents aren’t home, but won’t yours get worried?”

          “Oh, c’mon, Nathan, it won’t take very long. The mine’s just up the hill. And . . . it’s not gonna take a lotta time to carry back a piece of sheet metal. Besides, it would help Ben -- big time.” Brian pleaded his case, waving his arms and pointing toward the top of the meadow.

          Although I felt some misgivings, Bear was right about helping Ben. In the end that pushed my decision to “yes”. Everyone nodded their approval, and we set off up the meadow. The shafts of sun streaming through the clouds’ sparse openings made patches of color blaze in the upper field. Besides pink vetch and purple lupine, the clusters of goldenrod and dots of red and orange Indian paintbrush colored the lush, green open space.

          In the steep, top part of the meadow, Jason slipped to his knees a couple times, the tread from his holey, brown sneakers all but gone.

          “Hey, Jason, maybe you should use some of that prize money for new shoes,” I suggested.

          “Nope, these will do till they fall apart,” he answered. “Besides, I want to spend every last cent of the prize money on art supplies.”

          We trudged past the side trail that led to the berry patch and hiked upward on a well-defined path. The earth was packed firm from repeated footfalls, and the grass grew stubbly and short. The trail left the meadow and wound for a short distance through a young, deciduous forest of alder and maple until it opened with little warning to the site of the old Carbon Hill Mine.

          Old chocolate-colored tailings, beneath the rocky lumps from the explosion that sealed the mine, spread over the ground in front of us. We walked to the rusty, iron rails that used to be the mine’s cart tracks and looked back at the hillside. The mine was sealed shut in 1960 with dynamite.

          We marched past bushes and small trees dotting the hillside, and I caught a hint of where the tunnel had once burrowed into the hillside. As we followed the old tracks from the collapsed opening, Jason tripped over a rotten rail tie and stumbled into me. I managed to grab him and we chuckled together. Soon, we all stood on the landing at the base of the first coal cart pillar, surveying the concrete hulks standing in a line. Nothing remained of the cable system that had floated full carts above the ground to Carbonado and returned the empty carts to the mine.

          On the far side of the track lay the remains of Carbon Hill Coal’s dilapidated outbuildings. Most of them had been leveled. Only one shack stood with part of its walls and roof intact. Ben had salvaged some of the timber, metal, and furnishings from it to build his cabin.

.

          Jason waved a hand at the remains of the only standing structure and walked straight to some sheets of rusty, corrugated roofing lying on its floor. “There.” He kicked at the metal. “If we can separate one of those panels, it should make a decent cover for the chicken house.” A series of four by eight sections, connected by rivets, formed half of the remaining roof of the outbuilding.

          He was right. One panel would be perfect, and we could carry it back to the cabin. But there was a problem. Each of the sections was attached to the others with rivets, and we hadn’t brought any tools with us. The rusty rivets weren’t as strong as they used to be, but separating the panels without proper tools could be a struggle. It would also take time to complete the tough, dirty job.

          I looked around for some rocks to use as hammers. “There!” I noticed some fist-sized stones. “Bear, let’s grab those and start pounding on the rivets. Charlie and Jason, would you guys look for something we could use as a pry bar? We need to pop the rivets free to separate the roof sheets.” They nodded and started searching while Brian and I grabbed a couple of rocks and pounded on the rivet tops, trying to break them. Flecks of rust and metal flew as we whacked away. Meanwhile, Jason and Charlie spread out on their scavenger hunt.

          I looked down at my new off-white Nike's, scuffed and dirty from the day’s hiking and work. I’d clean them when I got home, realizing I should’ve worn an old pair of shoes. At least Jason’s no-name dirty sneakers were sensible for this type of work.

          Brian and I beat away at the rusty rivets until we pulverized the tops. Jason found a length of pipe beneath the debris and dragged it back to the roofing. “Do ya think this’ll work?” he asked.

          “Only one way to find out.” Brian and I took a welcome break from the pounding. “Stick the end of the pipe between the sheets while Bear and I hold them down.”

          Inserting the pipe between the two sheets, Jason and Charlie forced upward pressure while Bear and I stood on one of the roof sections. After a couple minutes of shoving with the pry bar, one rivet popped and the metal sheets sprung apart. When the second rivet gave way, the entire panel lay free for the taking.

          “Yay!” we shouted in unison.

          “First part finished,” observed Charlie. “Now, we have to get it back to the chicken shed.”

          We thought that getting it back to the cabin would be the easiest part, but the roof sections were made of steel and coated with zinc. They were heavy. The four of us could handle the panel easily, but the path was too narrow for whole gang to carry it all the time. We needed to maneuver it through narrow openings between bushes and trees. Jason and Bear started off lifting the new chicken shed roof. When they got tired, Charlie and I took over. The trail between the mine and meadow was windy and narrow. Sometimes we tilted the metal panel to guide it through the tangle of vegetation. One time Jason lost his handhold, causing the sheet to clang against the rocky path.

          The task proved more difficult than we imagined.

          “I wish we’d brought some water with us!” moaned Brian, his face the shade of a ripe strawberry.

          “Yeah, and I’m getting hungry, too,” I complained. We had eaten our snacks after leaving The Pit, and the hour was getting late – probably close to seven o’clock. As we emerged from the trees at the top of the meadow, we lowered the grooved, metal piece and plopped it to the ground for a few minutes of rest.

          “Boy, ain’t anyone else thirsty?” Brian asked, a bead of sweat dripping off his chin.

          “I think we all are. Plus, I’ll probably be grounded for being late,” Charlie confessed.

          “Geez, my dad’s gonna be pissed. I’m not gonna make it back in time to cook dinner.” Jason let out a sigh and hung his head.

          “Why don’t you take off now,” I suggested. “The rest of us can handle the sheet metal the rest of the way.” I didn’t want him to get in trouble; his dad could get real touchy.

          “Yeah, sure you can.” His tone was sarcastic. “All four of us can barely pick up the sucker and carry it to the cabin. No, I might as well stick with it until the job’s done.”

          “Hey, I have an idea.” Bear pointed down the slope of the meadow. “We could drag this baby the rest of the way. It'd be a whole lot easier.”

          “Yes, it might be easier, but it would also smash plants on the way down. Don’t you know how fragile mountain meadows are?” Charlie was determined to protect the environment even at the expense of our tired bodies.

          “Charlie’s right,” I decided. “It was our idea to do this. Let’s just suck it up, stick to the trail, and lug it the rest of the way to the cabin.”

          Charlie and I grabbed it again and, with tired and aching muscles protesting the whole time, we hoisted the piece of roof over our heads and hauled it down the path. It wasn’t long before we arrived at the cool, inviting spring. After lowering the load to the ground, we took turns scooping delicious handfuls of water out of the rock basin, letting it run down our throats until it quenched our thirst. Then, we splashed the cool liquid over our hot, sweaty faces.

          “I’m so tired and sore I'd give up my nickname if I could be home right now. Remind me about this the next time I make a stupid suggestion,” groaned Bear.

          “Hey, it’s not your fault.” Jason put his hand on his shoulder, and we all muttered our agreement.

          Finished drinking, all four of us picked up a corner of the chicken house roof and carried it the rest of the way to the cabin.

          Still, nobody appeared to be home. We leaned our load against the front porch, trying to decide what to do. Charlie wanted to wait a few minutes because Ben never traveled after dark. Brian wanted to “hit the trail” right away.

          We gazed at the trees in the darkening forest below. The setting sun seemed to grow ghostlike shadow fingers before our watchful eyes as the creeping gloom soaked up the color from the meadow. I opened my mouth to suggest we head home when, out of the trees, a stooped figure pushed his bike up the slope, a small crate strapped to the back.

          Piercing the silence, Brian shouted, “Hi, Ben, we brought you a present.”

          Ben’s head snapped upward, but he didn’t speak. His pace quickened as he pushed his bike toward the cabin. I didn't know what was wrong. His stiff, body language suggested anger. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, a hollow cold spot in the pit of my stomach, and wondered what we’d done to make him so mad at us.

          Brian continued, “We saw you almost finished the chicken house, so we brought back some metal roofing from the mine.”

          Ben still didn’t respond. We heard clucking sounds as he grew near. The crate on the back of the bike held several young laying hens. We could see them now as well as hear them through small holes in the large cardboard box.

          His forehead lined with furrows and his eyes little more than slits, he shook his head and spat in his gritty voice, “What are you kids doin’ out here this time of day? Jeezus, it’s almost dark!”

          We stood in stunned silence as he leaned his bike against the cabin, removed the cardboard crate, and lifted it through the front door. No hello, no thank you, he disappeared inside, and when he returned, he shut the door behind him, carrying his shotgun cradled in his left arm.

          “Well, what are you waitin’ for?” he barked. “It’s gettin’ dark. You know what I told you about bein’ out here after the sun goes down!”

          “Yes . . . but . . . but we lost track of . . . .” Brian tried to make an excuse, but nothing else passed his lips. The rest of us didn’t say a word.

          “Let’s get you to the main trail while there’s still some light. Come on!” he ordered. Spurred on by his words, his jerky movements, and the shotgun in his arms, we double-timed it down the trail. Ben led the way until we reached the path to The Pit; and then, glaring back down the trail, he fell to the rear, herding the rest of us in front of him.

          When we reached the concrete pillar marking the coal road, he stopped. “Okay, it should be safe now. Sorry for scarin’ you like that, but this is the wrong time of day for a visit. Now, get on home, and be quick about it.”

          We didn’t hesitate. Brian led the way, and we all followed, half walking, half trotting toward the fading light in the west. Cold prickles of fear danced on the backs of our necks as we quickened our pace.

          Far behind we heard Ben’s echoing call. “Thanks for the chicken shed roof.”