He was working alone, but he could hear miners in other areas at his level using their picks. As Shelby swung the pick, his mind went back to his conversation with the chief U.S. marshal in the parking lot at Denver’s First Baptist Church. John Brockman’s words echoed in his brain: “Please tell me if a man who will lecture against nothing is anything more than a fool.” As Shelby thought of those ice-edged words, wrath welled up inside him. He stopped swinging the pick and dropped it on the dirt floor of the cave. His face was set in a harsh and furious mold as he shook his fists and growled, “You think because I don’t believe your nonsense about God, heaven, and hell, that you’re smarter than I am, Brockman! Ha!” He leaned down, grabbed the pick handle with both hands, and swung the sharp point of the steel head against the cave wall. When chips of gold splattered from the solid wall, Shelby hissed, “I wish I could whack your head with this pick, Brockman!” He viciously hit the wall again, breathing hard.
