A cloud of dust followed the heavy break pulled by four sturdy horses at a speed it had likely never traveled before.  The long reins snapped just above the beasts' dusty backs, the sound doing more to urge them along than any actual physical contact.  Horses were creatures of habit and their habit had been pulling heavily laden wagons slowly out of the mine and over to the smelter where the nearly worthless ore was heated to yield the silver that made it all worthwhile.  But after five days of inaction after the collapse, the team now found itself racing down a road they had only come up once when they had arrived at Dead Reach Mountain.  The load was light though, just a handful of men, the driver who was nearly as crazed as the horses, urging them faster and faster towards the small town doctor who was the only hope for the survivors of the collapse.  In the back of the wagon, two of the three lying figures were as lifeless as the usual cargo, a third clung to life even as his blood continued to seep into the dust that seemed to be everywhere at the mine.  The only reason their was still blood left in him was due to the pressure the fifth man kept on the deep wound in the victim's gut.  Gustav Wagner used what was left of his strength to keep the  scraps of dirty dungaree pressed into the wound but he could practically feel the man's life slipping away.<br/><br/>They should be celebrating right now, Gustav couldn't help but think through his sleep deprived exhaustion.  He couldn't remember how few hours of sleep he had grudgingly accepted since the collapse, the last of which was at least 48 hours ago.  He had led the few men left at the mine on a brilliant rescue, bypassing the unstable roof and improvised shoring as they went.  It was finesse work as far as mining went, but there was no dynamite just muscle, and you could only put so many men to work in such a small place.  Gustav was still recovering from the shock of what he found when they broke through.  These men, they should have been alive, cold hungry and anxious but alive.  Instead they had found twelve dead bodies and these three that still had some life in them.  The crazy thing was, none of them seemed to have died from the collapse.  The wound he was currently trying to plug was almost certainly made from a pick, these men died fighting each other, there was no other conclusion but Gustav was afraid to even say the thought out loud.<br/><br/>As the wagon finally pulled noisily into Onyx Landing, Gustav looked up at the driver who set the brake and looked nervously back at him.  "Find the Doc."  He told him, this one still has a chance.  He waited anxiously for the Sawbones, wondering what he should even tell her, he was certain she would make the same conclusion and frankly his brain was in a fog thicker than the dust still settling from their ride in, that damn dust, it was everywhere.  He looked down at the face of the miner he was trying to save, Frederick a fellow Deutschlander, though he didn't know him all that well.  He of course wanted to save him as he would anyone, but he also couldn't help but think that this was the only (barely) living soul that could explain what the hell happened down there.  His face was pale though, even through the dust he marveled at just how pale he was, as if he were turning to a ghost in front of his very eyes.  It had to be the lack of sleep, where was that damn doctor?<br/><br/>Before the driver could return the last survivor's eyes went wide open, he clutched Gustav's shirt with surprising strength, pulling him down until they were nearly face to face.  "Teufel!  Teufel!"  He exclaimed then his grip went limp and the light faded from his eyes, though they stayed open, like an accusation from the beyond.  Gustav stared at the dead man's face even as the driver returned to the wagon.  The driver frantically explained that he couldn't find the doctor, asking what he should do.  Without looking away from the dead eyes he told the driver to find the undertaker, it was too late."  Feeling the exhaustion of the past several days he struggled to get up and out of the wagon.  He staggered towards the Dusky Belle, brushing off the worst of the dust as a courtesy to the owner.  "Bier" he said to the bartender the German being close enough to the English to get him what he wanted.  Normally he would have sheepishly approached the beautiful eponymous owner of the establishment but he just didn't have the energy.  "Ich brauche..."  he started then remembered to speak English.  "A room, I need a room."  He was a mess, he should really take a bath first but he would likely drown in the tub falling asleep from exhaustion.