Well, you have probably guessed that those bears did not eat me after all. You can tell by the fact that I am writing this bit in plain English – not squiggly worm-writing – and also because I am writing it in a new Ledger Book. A lot happened which I will try to recount here, even though it is painful to do so.
After Pa died, I did something I cannot remember doing in my whole life.
I cried.
I was crying for my pa.
But once I started crying, I could not stop. I cried for Ma Evangeline & Pa Emmet, for my dead Indian Ma & for Dizzy the stagecoach driver.
I even cried for those two Reb Road Agents, especially the curly-haired one who had looked up at the stars.
I confess I also cried for myself as I would soon be eaten by bears.
Dawn was lightening the sky.
By and by, all that crying tuckered me out. I curled up on the dirt floor of the cave near the body of my poor dead pa. While I was down there I realized that part of the ground was too flat & hard.
I pushed myself up on one elbow & squinted down with swollen eyes. I thought I saw wood. I brushed at the earth.
Then I brushed a tad more.
There was wood under there.
A crate was buried with a little dirt sprinkled over it.
It was treasure.
But not gold.
Something better.
Inside the crate was a bag of coffee, a bag of sugar, a wooden spoon & another tin coffee pot. When I opened the lid I saw a big lump of fresh honeycomb. There was also a half-full bottle of whiskey.
I swallowed hard.
If I had found that box of honey & coffee & whiskey earlier, could I have saved my pa’s life?
I dipped my finger in the liquid honey around the comb & licked it off.
That honey was about the best thing I have ever tasted.
It was like the honey Jonathan ate while fighting the Philistines near Michmash in 1 Samuel chapter 14. I dipped in my finger again & sucked off the honey & ‘mine eyes were enlightened’.
Suddenly, I realized why the bears had been a-prowling and a-growling all night long.
They were not hungry for me: a poor skinny 12-year-old half-Sioux Misfit.
They had a hankering for that honey!
Bears have real good noses. They must have got a whiff of it even though it was closed up in a tin coffee pot & boxed up in a crate & sprinkled with earth.
That is why the Dead Reb Road Agents buried the honey and not the gold. Bears will do almost anything to get at honey, but they are not bothered about gold.
I tested my theory by tossing that sticky lump of honeycomb as far out into the clearing as I could. Sure enough, I saw those two bears come out of the trees and lumber after it. I licked the rest of the honey off my throwing hand while I watched them circle it for a spell, with gruntings & growlings & roarings. Then one of them finally grabbed it in his jaws and vamoosed towards Carson City with the other one in hot pursuit.
I was safe for the moment.
But my discovery had been too late for Pa.
I looked down at his body.
I reckoned it was my duty to bury him, lest the bear who did not get the honeycomb return for a consolation snack of carrion.
There was a spade over by the oyster cans & empty bottles, near the pit those Dead Reb Road Agents used as a latrine.
I went to the latrine & while I was there I used it. Then I got the shovel & came back & dug a hole. In the forest around me, woodpeckers had started tapping & some chickadees were conversing & the early morning sunbeams were slanting through pine boughs. It was a frosty morning but digging warmed me up so much that I took off my velvet sacque. When I finished I got cold so I put it on again.
I went back to the cave and looked down at Pa’s body.
‘I am sorry I let you down, Pa,’ I said. ‘I will try to be a good detective. If you are looking down from heaven, I will make you proud of me.’
I drug his stiff & spiritless corpse out of the cave until it was lying next to the grave. I was about to roll him into his last resting place when it occurred to me that he might have some personal effects on his body. Such objects might help me remember him when I was older. I patted him down.
In the right hand pocket of his trowsers, I found his Smith & Wesson No. 2 & also his wife’s handkerchief with CP embroidered on the corner.
In the left-hand pocket of his trowsers were some paper dollars, some Lucifers, a pouch of Lucy Hinton & his Lion-face Meerschaum pipe. I took out the pipe and looked at it. The lion’s chalky face, which had looked fierce before, now appeared stricken by grief.
I thought, ‘I will have to take all these things to Chicago and give them to his grown up sons who are my half-brothers.’
Then I found the Letters.
That was when I realized I had made the biggest mistake of my life.
Read on...
Two grizzly bears were shambling across the moonlit clearing.
They were heading for me and my dying pa.
When I saw them. My hair lifted up like a porcupine’s quills & my heart started pounding like a war drum & all the juices in my body were screaming ‘RUN!’
As everybody knows, the surest way of getting a bear to chase you is to skedaddle. Nobody can outrun a bear, especially when wearing girly-girl button-up boots. Also, I could not abandon my dying pa to their hungry jaws.
I took a deep breath & mustered up my courage & stood up slowly.
When the bears saw me rise, they stopped & stood up, too. That scared the bejeezus out of me. I had never been this close to a bear that was not a tame bear.
My Indian ma once told me that if I should ever find myself face to face with a bear, not to run nor look him in the eye, but to sing him a special Lakota bear song. This tells the bear three things:
No. 1 – Where you are.
No. 2 – That you are not afraid.
No. 3 – That you are not a threat.
I used to know the Bear Song, but I am not as good at remembering things I hear as I am at remembering things I see. Also, I had not sung the Bear Song a long time. It had flown plumb out of my head.
So I sang the only song I could think of.
It was the song whose lyrics had once helped me find a poor fugitive girl named Martha.
It was the song that played day and night in Virginia City.
You might say it was the state anthem of Nevada Territory.
‘De Camptown ladies sing dis song,’ I began. My voice kind of cracked so I cleared my throat, ‘Doo-dah! doo-dah!’
At that, both bears slumped back down onto all fours. The smaller one tested the air with his nose. The bigger one turned his head a little, like maybe he wanted to hear better.
‘P.K.?’ came my pa’s feeble voice from the ground. ‘Why are you singing?’
I did not want him to worry, so I told a lie. ‘I thought a song might cheer you.’
I sang a little louder. ‘De Camptown race-track five miles long, Oh, doo-dah day!’
‘So kind…’ murmured my pa. But I did not pay him any mind. I was thinking about how to vanquish those grizzlies.
My pa and I both had pistols, but their .32 caliber balls would have no more effect than a mosquito bite against a couple of grizzlies. (My friend Stonewall killed a grizzly in December and he said it took thirteen .44 caliber rifle balls to bring him down. And that was not even a full grown bear.)
‘I come down dah wid my hat caved in, Doo-dah! doo-dah!’
I had Kepi’s big Remington New Model Army Six-shooter stuck in my belt. But it only had a single .44 caliber ball as he had not reloaded.
‘I go back home wid a pocket full of tin,’ I sang. ‘Oh, doo-dah day!’
The Henry Rifle I had taken from the Reb Road Agents also takes .44 caliber balls. But it was about ten paces behind me, in the cave.
‘Gwine to run all night! Gwine to run all day!’ I sang. (But I was thinking, ‘No, no, no. I must not run!’)
The bears started to move towards me again.
There was only one thing to do. I pulled out the Remington & cocked it & fired its last remaining ball into the air.
BANG!
‘P.K.?’ came my pa’s feeble voice. ‘Why are you shooting?’
‘To attract help,’ I lied.
But my real reason for firing was to frighten off the bears.
And it worked! The bears had vamoosed.
My knees were so shaky that I had to sit down for a spell.
Sitting by pa, I could see his face looked deathly white in the moonlight. I feared he was dying.
‘Do you want me to pray with you, Pa?’ I asked.
‘Yes!’ he whimpered. ‘Pray that God will forgive me my sins.’
‘Heavenly Father,’ I prayed. ‘Please forgive my pa for all his sins. And please may he not die. Amen.’
‘Will you forgive me too?’ he said in his feeble voice.
‘I ain’t got nothing to forgive you for.’
He kind of groaned.
I said, ‘Can you tolerate me dragging you back into that cave?’
‘I reckon.’ His voice was barely a whisper.
I got hold of his ankles and dragged him towards the dark mouth of the cave, going as slow as I dared so I would not hurt him.
My reasoning was this: if we were in a cave those bears could not perform a ‘flanking manoeuver’ & come up on us from behind.
Pa groaned again, so I finished off the song to distract him from the pain.
‘I’ll bet my money on de bob-tail nag, Somebody bet on de bay.’
Once I had got Pa safely inside the cave, I grabbed the Henry Rifle that was leaning against the opening. That made me feel better until the moonlight showed me the little brass follower underneath the barrel. It was right up near the stock of the rifle, which meant there was only 1 bullet left in the magazine.
Dang those Reb Road Agents! They had not reloaded. Everybody knows you should reload once you have fired.
My pa was trying to say something so I brought my ear to his mouth.
‘Whiskey,’ he murmured. ‘Is there any whiskey for the pain?’
‘I will look, Pa,’ I said.
I leaned the rifle back against the wall of the cave.
Before I searched for whiskey, I needed to find more cartridges for the Henry or balls for the Remington. And before I searched for more ammunition, I needed to make a fire. Fire would light the cave. Also, bears do not like fires. It might keep them at bay when they returned.
For I was sure they would return.
I went and got some firewood from the stack near the cave.
Using a Lucifer match from my medicine bag, I quickly kindled a fire just outside the mouth of the cave.
When the fire was going good, I breathed a sigh of relief. It would make a useful barrier between us and the bears.
Also, it lit up the inside of the cave. Its flickering light showed me two rolled up blankets in a low, dark niche of the cave. There were also some other things, viz: two greasy decks of cards, a cribbage board, a Ledger Book, a box of Lucifers, two pencils & a small Bible.
Joy! There was a box of .44 caliber balls for a Remington revolver!
Despair! There was no powder. Too late, I remember Slouch had worn a powder horn on his belt. Now all his big Remington pistol was good for was clubbing those bears.
Nor did I find any cartridges for the Henry Rifle.
However, in another niche I found 1 frying pan & 1 coffee pot & 2 tin mugs. There was water in the coffee pot but no ground coffee nor any other provisions to fry in the frying pan.
‘P.K.?’ asked Pa. ‘Did you find anything to drink?’
‘No whiskey, Pa,’ I said. ‘But I did find a little water.’
‘Yes, please,’ he murmured.
I poured water from the coffee pot into one of those tin mugs & knelt by Pa & helped him drink. Then I eased his head down one of the rolled up blankets and covered him with the other. He winced and kind of groaned.
‘Does it hurt, Pa?’
‘Yeah. It hurts real bad,’ he said in a voice so faint I could barely hear him. Then he said, ‘P.K.?’
‘Yes, Pa?’
His lips moved. I brought my ear real close. He was saying something about his murdering pard, Tempest. Then he said something that might have been ‘Blizzard’s a coming.’
‘Don’t worry, pa,’ I said. ‘There ain’t no blizzard coming and you will see the sun once more.’
But he shook his head no & the firelight showed me tears dribbling from the corners of his wide-open eyes.
Then I quoted Malachi chapter 4 verse 3 over him, viz: The sun of righteousness will arise with healing in his wings, and after that I said a prayer of my own devising. His eyes were now closed and he slept.
I took the Ledger book out from under the cribbage board. When I opened it, I found it was a Wells Fargo & Co. Ledger Book, with only a few pages full of legitimate numbers. The Dead Reb Road Agents had filled the next few pages with scoring for their cribbage games. I saw for the first time that their names were Johnny and Jimmy.
Most of the other pages were blank, so I took that as a Sign from God that I should write an account of how I came to be here.
I sat down Indian fashion & started writing this account.
That was about four hours ago. I have been using the Squiggly Worm shorthand that I learned last November in Carson City. I have used up two and a half pencils and am now on the last page of the book.
The moon sank behind the trees a couple of hours ago and all I have is the light of this little fire, but I am almost out of wood & although the bears have stopped growling I can still smell them so I know they are lurking nearby.
Like I said before: all I have for protection against them is this small fire and ––
I just had to shoot the last bullet from my Henry Rifle in the air to frighten off those bears.
They will probably get me at dawn but it does not matter.
Nothing matters any more.
Pa is dead.
Read on...
I pulled the Henry rifle out of its loop & dismounted & cautiously moved forward into the clearing. I did not see any bears but as I got closer to the cave that rank smell of them got stronger.
‘What’s wrong with the horses?’ called my pa from further back on the trail. ‘I almost lost control of them.’
‘They are spooked by the smell of bear!’ I yelled back.
‘Bear?’ called Pa from the edge of the clearing. ‘There are bears hereabouts?’
‘Grizzlies, I’d wager,’ I hollered, ‘Probably why they call it Grizzly Gulch.’
Pa cursed.
I cocked the Henry & I went cautiously to the cave mouth.
‘I can smell bear around here,’ I called over my shoulder, ‘but I do not think they have been here for a while. That is probably why the stage horses are spooked, but not my mare. She is used to the smell but they are not. I reckon this is their shebang all right,’ I added in a carrying voice.
‘You mean those danged Reb Road Agents set up camp outside a bear cave?’ yelled Pa, still astride his horse.
‘By the looks of things, they set up camp inside it. But I think it is safe.’
Pa dismounted & tethered the horses & came across the moonlit clearing to join me at the black mouth of the den.
‘Anybody in there?’ he asked. ‘Or anything?’
I sniffed. ‘Nope,’ I said. ‘But bears have been here. Look.’ I kicked at a dark pellet near the mouth of the cave. ‘See that turd? That is a hibernation plug.’
‘What?’
‘It is a turd that plugs the bears up all winter,’ I explained. ‘Like a bung on a barrel. When they come out of hibernation they pop it out of their rear ends. My Indian ma taught me that.’
Pa cussed under his breath. ‘Those dang fool idiots.’
‘Maybe they were not so foolish,’ I said. I had just spotted something inside the cave entrance on the left. Seeping moonlight showed me a box-shaped object. It was one of those iron reinforced wooden strong boxes favored by Wells Fargo & Co.
‘Most people would not look for a Wells Fargo strongbox inside a grizzly bear cave,’ I observed.
There was enough light in there to let me see that its lock was smashed to smithereens. I leaned my Henry Rifle against the damp cave wall & knelt down & opened the lid of the strong box & whistled through my teeth.
‘This box is full of gold,’ I said. ‘That must be the “booty” they were talking about.’
Pa almost knocked me over in his haste to get to the strongbox.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ he said. Then, ‘Help me drag it out of here.’
I helped him drag it out of there & into the moonlit clearing where we could see it was full of gold coins.
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Pa. ‘There must be hundreds of twenty-dollar gold pieces in here. They never said, the rascals!’
‘Who never said?’ I asked.
He looked up at me from his crouched position over the box. The silvery moonlight showed confusion on his otter face, as if he could not remember who I was. Then something shifted and he became Pa again. ‘Wells Fargo & Co,’ he said. ‘They never said it was gold they lost.’ He stood up. ‘This will make us rich.’
‘No,’ said a voice behind us. ‘It will make me rich.’
We both turned to see a man with an Army pistol in his hand.
The moonlight showed us his bushy black mustache & muttonchop sideburns & long coat & bandana around his neck.
But he was bareheaded, for I was wearing his hat.
Yes, it was Ray G. Tempest, the other Pinkerton Detective. He had not broke his neck but had survived.
Without any more warning, he cocked his Army revolver & fired.
BANG!
Pa slumped to the ground.
‘Pa!’ I cried.
Then Ray turned his piece on me. Before my head knew what to do, my feet jumped me to one side and then sped me to the nearest shelter: the cave.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG! My hat flew off!
BANG! CRASH!
‘Ugh!’ I could not help crying out for I had crashed into the rear of the cave and fallen back. As I lay there on the bear-smelling dirt floor half stunned, I wondered if I had been shot. I thought not. I felt in my sacque pocket & pulled out my four-shooter. It was a pathetic weapon against a Colt’s Army, but it was about all I had.
I cocked it & was about to roll over on my stomach & shoot back when I realized that Ray had stopped firing. He was probably re-loading as he had fired five shots.
I decided to play possum & wait for him to come near to see if I was dead. I lay on my back, death-still, with my eyes half closed & my little four shooter cocked but out of sight down by my side.
This was my plan: as soon as his upside down face loomed above me, I would jerk up my arm & shoot him!
My foster ma Evangeline had made me promise never to kill a man nor exact revenge, but Ray G. Tempest had shot and killed my pa!
My heart was pounding so hard that I could not hear anything but the blood whooshing in my ears.
But he never came.
I reckon he heard me grunt & saw me fall back on the cave floor & lie still.
I reckoned he thought he had killed me.
I waited and waited.
By and by my heart stopped being so noisy and I heard sounds from outside the cave, viz: the clink of metal and horses snuffling. I reckon he was adding gold coins to the silver ingots in the mail bags on the backs of the six stage-coach horses.
After about 9 minutes of this, I heard the sound of heavy-laden horses being led back out of the clearing towards the main road.
I lay quiet in case it was a trick.
After about six more minutes I uncocked my little pistol & rolled over on my stomach & I wormed my way cautiously forward to the mouth of the dark cave.
The moon was on its way down and was almost touching the tops of the pines. But it was still high enough to show me that Ray & the horses were gone. The only thing left in the moon-washed clearing apart from the empty strongbox was my pa, lying hatless & awful still. I ran to him & looked down.
His white shirt was soaked with blood. I tore it open and found the bullet hole about half an inch below where his ribs ended.
I knelt down & I rested my head against his bare chest. The skin was still warm & I could hear his faintly beating heart. In the moonlight his face was pale as milk.
‘Pa?’ I said. ‘Pa, are you conscious?’
‘He took my hat,’ said Pa in a faint voice. ‘Ray took my new beaver-felt brown hat that you bought me.’
‘Probably because I have his,’ I said.
‘I am gut shot,’ said Pa in a whisper. ‘I am a goner.’
‘Don’t say that!’ I cried. ‘I will go and get you help.’
‘No,’ he said, lifting his head a little. ‘Don’t go. I don’t want to die alone.’
‘All right then, Pa,’ I said. ‘I will stay with you.’
He let his head sink back onto the ground & closed his eyes.
‘Please do not die,’ I said. ‘Everybody dies on me. I could not bear it if you did too.’
He did not reply.
Lying there on in the soft dirt of the clearing with his eyes closed and his face relaxed, he looked almost as young as Kepi.
My vision got blurry. I blinked & it got clearer. Suddenly something made me look to my left.
I saw two dark bushes at the edge of the clearing by the dark pines.
In the eerie moonlight they almost looked like bears.
Then one of them moved.
They were bears.
Read on...
I was outnumbered and outgunned. There were two Reb Road Agents & only one me. They each had a big revolver and at least one rifle. I only had a Muff Deringer.
But I had the advantage of not being dead like they probably thought I was.
And I had my Indian skills. Using these skills, I scanned the camp and spotted the Henry rifle leaning against the trunk of a pine tree not too far from the fire. Dizzy’s double-barrelled shotgun was there, too. Ray must have left it inside the coach when he climbed up to help me.
I put my little four-shooter back in the inner pocket of my sacque & made my way carefully back into the darkness of the pine forest & circled round real stealthy & slow, so as not to alarm the horses.
When I came up behind the leaning gun pine, I reached my hand around kind of groping-like & took first the Henry & then the double-barrelled shotgun. Tucking both guns under my arm, I melted back into the darkness of the forest and returned to my first vantage point.
By now the Rebs were tipping letters out of the leather sacks and filling the empty bags with silver ingots. There were letters scattered everywhere but at least they had stopped burning them.
I was about to step forward & throw down on them, when I remembered I was wearing a velvet sacque and a wig of swinging ringlets beneath a lighthouse bonnet. I would not make a very imposing figure thus attired. At least I could take of the danged wig & silly bonnet.
I took off the danged wig & silly bonnet.
As I was about to toss away those two hated objects, I saw something that made my blood run cold as snowmelt.
There was a bullet hole in the sticking-up part of the bonnet! A hole made by a .44 caliber ball, I reckoned. I remembered how something had knocked my bonnet forward when they had been shooting at us.
‘Dang!’ I said to myself. ‘They were shooting to kill.’
They were pretty drunk by now. I could tell because they were weaving around as they lugged leathern sacks full of silver bricks over to the horses. I reckoned I might as well wait until they finished loading the silver on the horses. Otherwise I would have to do a lot of heavy lifting myself.
The moon was high now and I judged it to be around 10 pm. My stomach was growling but my last few pieces of jerky were in my yellow velvet purse which I had left hanging on the front rail of the stagecoach. I peered at the ruined coach and thought I saw something yellow in the moonlight.
While they were busy loading the last of the silver onto the stage horses, I snuck over to the wrecked body of the stagecoach & got my yellow velvet bag and fished out a piece of jerky. Then I looked inside the coach. I saw Ray’s flat brimmed gray hat lying on top of a letter-sack that was half spilling out its letters. There were also some lengths of whang leather that had bound the mouths of the mail sacks.
I lowered myself down through the open window of the door & I put on Ray’s hat. It was a mite too big so I stuffed a few loose letters in the crown to make it fit. But what to do about my puffy sacque with its bell-like outline?
Then I had another idea. I took one of those strips of whang leather & tied it around my waist over the sacque. In the darkness they might take me for a short man in a belted coat. I also tied my yellow velvet purse to the belt of whang leather, but I made sure it was hanging down behind me.
Quiet as a bug on burlap, I climbed out of the ruined stagecoach & lowered myself onto the moon-dappled ground & melted back into the inky shadows of the pines.
Over by the horses, Kepi stretched & yawned. ‘Toting those silver ingots has tuckered me out,’ he said to his pard. ‘Can’t we take a little kip?’
‘Nope,’ said Slouch. ‘We gotta put some distance between us and the wreck while the moon is still up. If Chauncy or Jonas find us slacking there will be h-ll to pay.’
‘They ain’t the boss of us,’ said Kepi.
‘No, but they promised us a good piece of the pie for our help,’ said Slouch.
‘H-ll,’ said Kepi. ‘We got about seventy-five pieces of silver pie right here on these horses. We ought to keep the booty and skedaddle to Frisco. Or we could lay low in Angel’s Camp.’
‘Better not,’ said Slouch. ‘They would hunt us down and kill us dead if we betrayed ’em.’
‘Aw,’ said Kepi. ‘I could take ’em easy.’
‘You could maybe take Chauncy,’ said Slouch. ‘But not Jonas. He is as cold-blooded as a rattler.’
‘He is most likely dead of a busted neck,’ said Kepi.
‘Maybe,’ said Slouch. ‘Maybe not. You willing to take that chance?’
‘Nah,’ said Kepi, ‘I reckon not. Where was we supposed to meet em?’
‘Grizzly Gulch,’ said Slouch. ‘Where we stashed the booty. We can make it back to our shebang easy before the moon sets. I reckon it is less than a mile.’
‘Better mount up, then,’ said Kepi, starting towards their horses.
My heart was pounding in my chest. It was now or never. I could not show any fear or they might throw down on me.
I picked up the double-barrelled shotgun & checked it was capped & loaded.
It was.
I took a deep breath & stepped out into the firelight.
‘You ain’t going nowhere,’ I said, making my voice as deep as I could. ‘Throw down your sidearms and reach for the sky.’
Read on...
I must have passed out because everything went black for a time.
When I came to, I found myself still falling through the night.
Yes! I was still falling.
But I did not splat.
This confused me.
Then I had a notion of what was happening.
I was suspended between Glory and the Fiery Place!
I had tried to be a Good Methodist but now all my sins came rushing back into my memory, viz: I had killed a man & told lies & played poker & tried whiskey once & a Pousse Lamour cocktail another time & ignored every single one of my foster ma’s dying wishes. Also I had pranked the people of Virginia City for over nine months, making them believe I was a boy not a gal.
That might have been the worst sin of all, for they were my friends.
I reckon I was in a place called Limbo.
Methodists do not believe in that place, but Mr. Hazard O’Toole at the Shamrock Saloon across from my office is Catholic. He told me all about it.
He told me that Limbo is where you go to wait while the angels plead your case and the imps of the Fiery Place accuse you.
Gradually, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I perceived that I was not in Limbo. I was still in the high Sierras, surrounded by the looming black shapes of whispering pines. Why had I not splatted onto the ground?
Was I dreaming?
My arms were hanging limp. I moved my right hand over to pinch my left.
I pinched hard.
It hurt.
That meant I was not dreaming.
Then I realized that I was kind of tipped forward. I could feel something tugging my underarms & the seams of my coat sleeves straining tight. Someone was holding me up.
Someone… or something!
I knew there were bears in these mountains. Was it a man-eating grizzly bear holding me aloft?
If a prey animal is in trouble, he does one of three things.
No. 1 – He fights
No. 2 – He runs away
No. 3 – He freezes, so that he will not be seen or so that his enemy will think he is dead.
I could not fight. And I could not run away. So decided to use method No. 3 and ‘play possum’. Maybe the grizzly bear holding me up thought I was dead. Maybe he was not hungry enough to devour me in my velvet sacque & yellow-straw lighthouse bonnet with its silk flowers & ribbon & ruffles.
I must have been dazed with terror to imagine such a foolish thing. By and by I realized it could not be a grizzly bear holding me so still. Or even a person.
It was one of them whispering pines.
Yes, I was caught by tree.
My velvet and fur-trimmed sacque must have puffed out as I fell through the air and got caught on a branch.
There was no sound except the wind in the pines and further off the jingling and snorting of horses.
The horses! Had they survived? What about Ray, who had been up on the driver’s box with me?
If only I could see!
I reached my arms up over my head and after some groping I clasped on to the branch holding me. I could feel it through the satin-lined velvet fabric of the sacque which was straining under my weight.
It felt brittle and prickly, like an old branch. A dead branch.
Crack!
That was the sound I heard as I found myself tipped forward a little more. My efforts to free myself had caused the branch that was holding me to bounce up and down a little. It was going to break and send me hurtling to the rocky gorge three thousand feet below!
I considered yelling for help but then I reasoned that the only other people for miles around were two Road Agents and one Pinkerton detective, viz: Mr. Ray G. Tempest. The road agents might be nearby. And the Pinkerton detective was probably dead.
So instead of yelling, I sent up an arrow prayer to the Lord.
‘Dear Lord,’ I prayed, ‘please forgive me for pranking my friends and help me to be a good girly-girl, if that is your desire. Only save me in my moment of need! Amen.’
As if in answer to my prayer, some pearly white rays poked up through the inky black branches of a pine tree below me. Those rays were like the halo of a saint, all fanned out. A moment later a light shone in my face. It was the moon, rising in the east and shining up through the gulch.
That blessed moonlight showed me that it was indeed the branch of a fir tree holding me.
I looked down.
Hallelujah! I was only about six feet off the ground.
(But I still might have broke my neck if that branch had not caught me.)
The next question was: how to get down?
Crack!
I could use the weakness of the branch.
I flapped my arms to make the branch bob up and down.
CRACK!
My plan worked. I fell the six feet but landed awkwardly on account of I was wearing those button-up boots and not my usual moccasins. The ground was padded with pine needles, which cushioned my fall, but it also sloped gently down so I rolled a few times. The prickly savior branch dug into my back but thankfully it did not pierce the daffodil-yellow frock nor break my skin.
I got up on my hands & knees and straightened my wig & bonnet & pulled the branch out from under my sacque.
Hallelujah! My little 4-shot Muff Deringer was still firmly in the hidden pocket. I took it out & cocked it & crept down towards the sound I had heard earlier, viz: the sound of horses snorting & voices in the pines.
I am used to sneaking in the dark & when I put my mind to it I can go over crispy leaves & crunchy pine needles without making a sound. I crept forward, as silent as a cat on a velvet cushion.
Presently I came to where I could see the flickering yellow light of a fire.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
Here is the picture the golden firelight & the silvery moonlight showed me:
One papier maché torso wearing a pink shawl & a flower-bedecked sunhat on her watermelon head & balanced on the ground as if sitting before the fire with her back to me.
Two Reb Road Agents sitting at the fire facing the dummy & also me & reading letters.
Three wheels scattered in various places around them.
Some pieces of a busted up old Concord Stage & a tangle of reins & a whippletree & some other tackle lying between me and the Reb Road Agents.
Seven letter-sacks sitting near them.
Eight horses standing whole and unharmed, loosely tethered a pine.
Seventy-eight gleaming bricks of silver piled up beside the fire.
This is what that picture told me:
The stagecoach had crashed but the whippletree had broke loose from the singletree & all the horses had survived. I could see the drop was not as steep as I had feared, though it was still enough to cause the coach to roll over a couple of times and break up, probably on account of the heavy silver bars inside. The Reb Road Agents had obviously come upon the site of the wreck as they pursued us. They had seized all the silver bars and were now relaxing.
I could see no sign of Ray.
I reckoned he was dead.
The decoy stage full of guards and also my pa riding behind were probably ten miles further along the road. Maybe more.
I was on my own.
I focused all my attention on the Reb Road Agents. The one with the slouch hat was older. He was smoking a pipe & reading a letter. The one with the kepi was younger. He was swigging from a bottle of champagne & reading a letter. I noticed they had an open letter-sack beside them.
I wormed forward to the trunk of the tree closest to their fire.
I was close enough to hear them talking.
‘Hey, darlin,’ said Kepi to the dressmaker’s dummy. ‘Listen to this: Dear Ma, It is Bonanza here on the Comstock. They struck it rich in the front ledge in Gold Hill the other day. Tell little Pete and Edward they must come and join me. I have got a job working for the Yellow Jacket mine. It is hot and tiring but I get four dollars a day and I have feet. Give Betty my love and tell her she will not have to wait much longer.’ He took a swig of champagne & then he tossed the letter into the flames.
‘Hey!’ I got a good one, said Slouch. ‘It is a love letter from a gal to her betrothed: Oh Roderick I count the hours until I see you again.’ He was making his voice all high like a lady’s. ‘I have not heard from you in three weeks and I fear you have stopped caring for your sweet Elspeth. Are the girls prettier in Frisco? Please write to me, dear one!’
He also tossed his letter in the fire.
I was outraged. They were burning letters from sons to their mothers & lonely gals to their sweethearts!
Silver could be replaced, but not letters.
I had to stop them!
But how?
Read on!
I had been looking over the edge but now I turned to look ahead. Sure enough, there in the gloaming were two men standing either side of the road.
‘Halt!’ they cried, and both put up their hands, palms forward, in the universal gesture that means stop. They wore butternut-colored uniforms which meant they were Confederate soldiers, AKA Rebs.
I swore under my breath, using language unfit for publication.
Pa’s Plan had failed.
‘Don’t cuss!’ said Dizzy out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Remember, you are supposed to be a helpless little girl. It is our only chance.’
He was right! If I played a convincing girly-girl, they might take pity on us & let us go & we could get the silver to safety. Then we could alert Pa and the guards in the other stage of their whereabouts.
The team slowed and stopped. I noticed Dizzy did not push the footbrake forward.
‘Good evening, y’all,’ drawled one of the men. He held a Henry rifle and wore a small, round, slope-top hat with a visor. I think folk call it a ‘kepi’.
Kepi said, ‘I am gonna have to ask you not to make any sudden-like moves.’ His rifle was pointing at Dizzy.
‘Heck, you don’t want to bother with us.’ Dizzy’s voice cracked a little. ‘It is only me and my little girl here and some children back from a picnic. You can see their sleeping schoolmarm there in the window. Surely you will let us pass?’
The reins in his left hand were trembling but I felt strangely calm. Maybe it was because I could not see the Road Agents clearly. Or maybe it was because they sounded so polite.
I reckoned I should play the part of a little girly-girl.
‘Grandpa?’ I said in my high girly voice. ‘Are those men going to rob us?’
‘Not if you cow operate,’ said the other man. He wore a slouch hat & his voice was deeper than Kepi’s.
He cocked his piece and said, ‘My pard is just gonna have a little peek inside your coach while I cover you. Y’all seem to be riding pretty low, like you are maybe carrying a lot of silver.’
‘We ain’t got nothing of value,’ said Dizzy. ‘Just them kiddies, like I said.’
While they were talking, I had started to sneak my gloved right hand inside the secret pocket of my sacque to get at my Muff Deringer.
‘Hands where we can see them, Missy,’ said Kepi politely.
I froze. Then I took my (empty) hands out of my sacque.
‘Raise ’em high,’ said Slouch.
I could not believe this was happening. Did I not look girly enough?
I had to convince them! But how?
I reckoned a girly-girl would whimper.
‘Oh, grandpa,’ I quavered. ‘They are going to kill us!’
‘Cheese it, brat!’ growled Slouch Hat. He pointed his big revolver at me.
So much for the Reb Road Agents having a soft spot for little girls!
The one with the Kepi was about three paces from the stagecoach when Dizzy grabbed his black leather whip & yelled, ‘Hi-yi!’
Three things happened real quick.
No. 1 – With a report like that of a gun being fired, Dizzy’s whip knocked the Henry rifle right out of Kepi’s hands.
No. 2. – Our team of horses started moving.
No. 3. – The man wearing the Slouch Hat shot Dizzy with his big Army revolver.
BANG!
Dizzy did not make a noise. He only slumped against me. The reins started to slide through his gloved fingers.
Quick as a streak of chalk, I grabbed the reins. ‘Hi-yi!’ I cried, and gave them a flick. ‘G’lang! G’lang, you sons of blanks!’
By the side of the road, Kepi looked up from where he was scrabbling to recover his rifle. He rolled out of the way just in time to avoid getting trampled.
The horses had to strain to get the heavy coach moving. They seemed to be wading through winter molasses.
‘Come on, you sons of blanks!’ I bellowed again. I was leaning way over to the left on account of Dizzy was slumped against my right side.
We had just passed the road agents when something batted my bonnet forward & Dizzy jerked against me & at the same time I heard three more loud reports.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
They had shot him again!
I flicked the reins & yelled, ‘Git!’
I forgot to say ‘G’lang!’ and ‘Hi-yi!’ but the horses were moving faster now. I reckon the shots had spooked them as much as my hollering and cussing. We finally crested the hump in the road and were heading downhill. Now the six steeds were running at top speed. It was almost dark and the tall black pine trees either side blotted out the purple sky. I have eyes about as sharp as a telescope but even a telescope cannot see at night. I could hardly make out the road ahead.
I had to trust the horses, like Dizzy had told me.
I kept hold of the ribbons but let them go slack.
Yes, I gave those horses free rein.
The team curved left, following the road, and the curve made Dizzy slump against me even more.
I could hardly breath & I was in danger of being crushed by his bulk so I gave him a little shove. But I must have pushed too hard for now he was slumped way over to the right, leaning over the side and in danger of tumbling out!
I held the reins in my left hand and grabbed at Dizzy’s sleeve with my right.
I caught the cuff of his jacket sleeve just in time!
I knew if his jacket cuff slipped out of my grasp he would tumble over the side of the stage and off the mountain!
I needed help.
‘Ray!’ I cried. ‘Help!’
No answer.
I used all my lungs to holler, ‘RAY!’
‘Wha?’ came his slurred voice from down below. ‘Wha’s happening?’
‘The Reb Road Agents struck! They shot Dizzy. I think he might be dead.’
The horses were going fast now.
Too fast.
I reckon they were spooked.
There was a bend coming up with a three thousand foot drop on the right-hand side.
‘Help!’ I cried. ‘Ray! PA!’
(I do not know why I shouted for Pa as he was about an hour ahead of us.)
As we took the bend, the coach listed to the right. I reckon if we had not been carrying a ton of silver we would have been driving on two wheels.
Out of the corner of my right eye, I saw Dizzy twitch. Then his sleeve was jerked from my fingers.
He flew out of the driver’s box & went sailing into the thin air above that three thousand foot drop.
Then he was gone.
A moment later, Ray’s head appeared beside the coach! He was hatless and his red bandana was pulled down around his neck. He was clinging to the slender iron railing around the roof!
‘What happened to Dizzy?’ I cried.
‘Dead weight,’ he shouted back. ‘Thought it was better to ditch him.’
‘He might of still been alive!’
‘Whoa!’ cried Ray. ‘Slow her down!’
He was still hanging off the side of the coach. Even with all those silver bars as ballast I was pretty sure I felt the two left wheels lift off the ground for a moment!
‘Get up on top!’ I hollered. ‘You are throwing the stage off balance. It will fall over and we will be kilt!’
‘Stop the coach!’ he cried. ‘We cannot outrun them.’
He gave himself a heave & was suddenly up in the box beside me.
He tried to pull the reins from my hands but I held on tight.
‘Don’t!’ I cried. ‘They are spooked but they know this road.’
‘Let go, you d-mn blank!’ He called me a bad word and I was so astonished that I let him take the reins. But he was not expecting me to let go and he jerked them violently to the right.
Too violently.
I saw the horses thundering straight off the edge of the road towards a three thousand foot chasm.
It was my stagecoach-going-over-a-precipice nightmare coming true.
But this was no dream.
This was really happening.
Suddenly we were in the air & my stomach & lungs were all up in my throat & time slowed down & we were falling, falling, falling.
Then everything went darker than the inside of a black bear on a moonless night.
Read on...
