Beneath a Dakota Cross

by Stephen A. Bly

  Grass Edwards turned his horse to the north. “And what if we run across a stream with gold jist waitin’ to be plucked?”

  Yapper Jim let out a big laugh. “Why, shoot, boys, then we’ll jist pitch a tent and camp for the winter!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Of all the memories of the past that come like a summer breeze …” Quiet Jim’s soft tenor voice and perfect pitch seemed to float on the chill September air as he continued the familiar refrain, concluding with the words, “the good-bye at the door.”

  “Dadgum it, Quiet Jim, you keep singing that song and you’ll turn us all melancholy,” Yapper Jim hollered. He rode second in line, behind Big River Frank.

  “We are all melancholy already,” Grass Edwards insisted. He was just ahead of Brazos, who rode at the rear of the procession. “It’s been over a month since the army rounded up the miners, and we are still in these hills. We haven’t found any more gold, nor Hook Reed’s Dakota cross. Shoot, we cain’t even find a safe trail out of here.”

  Big River Frank leaned back on his horse but continued to lead the plodding procession. “Make you feel like the last rats on a sinkin’ ship, don’t it? What do you think, Brazos? Is it time for us to make a run and try to save our scalps?”

  “It’s dangerous to stay, dangerous to leave.” Brazos said. “The Sioux know we’re up here. They’re not waitin’ for us to give ’em an easier target.”

  “Maybe we ought to all go get some jobs in town,” Grass suggested.

  “What town?” Yapper Jim challenged.

  “I was thinkin’ of Cheyenne, myself,” Grass replied.

  “Ain’t no jobs in Cheyenne,” Yapper insisted. “Why there’s ten bummers hangin’ around ever’ street corner for one honest job as it is.”

  “Well, maybe we could pass through Cheyenne on our way somewheres. I surely would like to meet my sweet Jamie Sue,” Grass pined.

  “No offense, but I’m gettin’ a little tired of starin’ at the same four dirty faces ever’day, myself,” Quiet Jim added.

  “Well, boys,” Brazos laughed, “the situation is desperate when Quiet Jim is willin’ to admit he misses the ladies.”

  “Not just ladies in general,” Quiet Jim added. “One special lady.”

  “Whoa!” Yapper hollered so loud every horse instantly pulled up. “Do you mean to tell me Quiet Jim has a special lady on the side that none of us knows about? This is a momentous day!”

  Quiet Jim tugged off his dirty felt hat and ran his hands through his light brown hair, thin enough on top to foreshadow a bald spot. “I didn’t say I had a special one lined up,” he mumbled.

  “You most certainly did,” Yapper boomed.

  “What I meant was, I know the Lord has a special one for me. I guess what I mean is, I’m not interested in just any dance hall girl.”

  “Good,” Yapper shouted, “that’ll leave two for me!”

  “Three, I reckon,” Grass mused. “The ol’ man here is still a grievin’ widower.”

  “You ever think about gettin’ remarried, Brazos?” Yapper Jim asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Never?”

  “Nope.”

  “You reckon you ever will start to think about gettin’ remarried?”

  “Nope.”

  Yapper Jim’s unshaven beard now covered up his previously neatly trimmed sideburns and goatee. “How about you, Big River?” he called. “Are you the marryin’ type?”

  “Well, I do have a fondness for Mexican señoritas … but I don’t reckon I’d make much of a husband. Don’t seem fair to stick some lady with the likes of me.”

  “Why, I don’t know, Big River,” Grass Edwards chuckled. “You seem like a mighty fine catch to me. Providin’ the woman was short. What do you think, Brazos, does Big River have marryin’ qualities?”

  “Yep. Hardworkin’, loyal, truthful …”

  “’Course, if that’s all she wanted she could jist get herself a dog!” Yapper hooted.

  Quiet Jim began to sing, and Brazos leaned forward to hear his soft voice.

  Grass Edwards’s voice cut through the melody. “I hear down in Colorado they have this hundred-foot cross up in the mountains that forms ever’ spring melt. The snow just stays in them rock crevices in the shape of a gigantic cross. I wonder if this here Dakota cross is somethin’ like that?”

  Quiet Jim continued to sing.

  “Trees cover most ever’one of these hills. Them that is bare is worn smooth. If you want a marker in these mountains you’d have to carve ’em, yourself,” Big River Frank called out.

  “The whole thing about a cross could have been made up by some down-and-out gambler in Tucson who wanted a stake for a game,” Brazos added.

  Quiet Jim stopped singing. “Maybe we ought to rest the horses in this little meadow. It’s more grass than we’ve seen in two days.”

  “It ain’t no ordinary grass,” Edwards insisted. “This here red one is Agrostis stolonifera, and that one that looks like wild wheat is Agropyron smithii.”

  Yapper Jim turned his horse around and rode back to Brazos, but he talked loud enough for all of them to hear. “You know, if Edwards would have got snowed in that winter with a mining engineer instead of some fool botanist, we’d all be rich by now.”

  Quiet Jim glanced up with his normal, expressionless face. “If that had happened, we’d probably have to call him Mother Lode Edwards.”

  Brazos watched the others dismount.

  “You ain’t gettin’ down?” Big River inquired.

  “I’m going to ride on up over that next ridge, just to see what’s on the other side.”

  “You thinkin’ about mamma … or daughter?”

  “Both, I suppose,” Brazos said.

  “Let’s get out of these mountains and go back to Texas.”

  “I’ve thought about it.” Brazos nodded toward the ridge. “If I’m not back after you take a rest, follow my tracks up the hill.”

  The loose limestone shale on the steep hillside made every step a gamble. Brazos continually spurred Coco to convince him to keep climbing. The downed trees, caught in the fairly thick stand of pine, acted as a random corral wall and prevented any semblance of a straight trail. As Brazos picked his way up the steep incline, he gave up his seat on the saddle and hiked, tugging his reluctant dark sorrel gelding.

  Well, Lord, the only good thing about this country is that no one in their right mind would work this hard to follow us.

  Brazos struggled to make it ten steps up the steep hillside, then stopped to rest.

  Lord, I can’t bring a family into these gulches. I can’t even bring a horse in here. Wherever it is you’re leadin’, I think I made a wrong turn someplace. Hook’s Dakota cross got me sidetracked.

  Brazos hiked up ten more steps. His calf muscles cramped up, and he stopped to rest.

  I don’t reckon many men ever hiked this hill. Maybe I’m the first, ever.

  I suppose the old-time trappers worked this land. But not this mountaintop. They would’ve stayed to the creeks and basins.

  He glanced back down the steep hillside at his tracks, still evident in the loose rock and dirt below him.

  Maybe I’m the first one to ever set foot here. From the time you created it, Lord, until this moment, it’s just been sittin’ here … growin’, livin’, dyin’, snowin’, and growin’ some more. Maybe you made this whole mountainside just for me to see!

  Brazos tugged the horse another dozen steps up the loose shale, then leaned over and rested his hands on his knees. “Coco, I’m too old for this.” He could feel a cramp coming on his right side. His long-john shirt was holding cold sweat against his chest under his heavy canvas coat.

  It’s like Adam and Eve in the garden lookin’ at things for the very first time.

  Well, it’s like Adam lookin’ at things …

  In my case, there is no Eve.

  Only fifty feet from the tree-covered crest, Brazos split the difference and pushed himself to the halfway p
oint. Sliding downhill, he jammed his boot against a pine tree with a six-inch trunk.

  Sarah Ruth, what would you say about this land?

  No place to raise children?

  Well, the boys are raised.

  And Dacee June? That girl would follow her daddy anywhere. But I can’t bring her in here. Can I?

  Brazos glanced down the steep hillside.

  His words interrupted the rustle of a slight breeze about the pine top. “Dacee June, can you hike up this hill?”

  Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the crisp, clear voice of a twelve-year-old. Yes, Daddy, I can make it! Just watch me!

  “Well, come on, girl,” he mumbled to the wind. “Let’s see what’s up there.”

  When he reached the top, he found it to be a razorback ridge no more than six feet across. Lightning-burned pines were scattered along the northern slope, so thick they prevented any view of the next gulch. After a small swell to the east, the ridge seemed to ascend to an outcropping of white limestone rock about a half-mile away.

  “Time for a little break, Coco,” he explained as he tied the horse to a pine. “I’ll hike this on my own.” He pulled the Sharps carbine out of the scabbard.

  When he finally reached the rock outcropping, it was forty to fifty feet still higher than the ridge. He searched for a path to the top, but realized it would be a hand-over-fist ascent.

  Brazos carefully shoved the carbine down his back, between his shirt and his coat, hooking the barrel on his belt. He yanked off his spurs and dangled them from his suspenders. His calloused fingers clutched the cold, rough rock as he pulled himself up, one step at a time.

  Brazos, you’re a fool for doin’ this. An old fool. It’ll be four times tougher climbin’ back down. I surely hope there’s somethin’ worth seein’ up here.

  The top of the huge rock he was climbing was not the crest of the mountain, but merely a platform on which to catch his breath. He continued the ascent on another rock that jutted up and out to the north.

  He took a swig from his canteen, adjusted the carbine at his back, and continued the climb. Cresting the final limestone boulder, he found a swell in the rock the size of a small bench. From the highest point he could look out over the Black Hills to the badlands to the east. There was one more tall ridge to the north, then it, too, looked as if it sloped down to the plains.

  Brazos pulled off his sweat-drenched spectacles and gazed to the south and west. In both directions, there was nothing but wave after wave of steep, pine-covered ridges. The wind whipped across from west to east, turning the sweat into ice water. He yanked his carbine from his coat, then hunkered down on the limestone bench. The boulders blocked some of the breeze.

  Brazos hunted for a dry spot on his shirttail to try to wipe his spectacle lens clean. Carefully placing the gold wire frames back on his broad, bent nose, he folded his arms across his chest and began to survey the gulch in front of him.

  Movement in the creekbed far below him to the north caused him to leap to his feet, barely able to catch the carbine before it tumbled off the rocks.

  “Men? Tents? Miners?” The words knifed through the breeze like a woodpecker on a dead tree. There are prospectors down there workin’ that stream! Who are they? Where did they come from? Why didn’t they leave with the others? Are they havin’ any luck? Are there any more claims left?

  For half an hour Brazos perched on the limestone peak and studied the proceedings below. He was too far away to count men, or even distinguish claims. But he could trail the creek from the east up to a fork where the gulch split into two smaller ones. There was hardly any room on the south side of the creek. The mountain seemed to drop straight down into the brush and deadwood along the creekbank. The north side was wide enough for a cabin or two, then swooped up a pine-scattered ridge almost as tall as the one he was on. To the west, he spotted scattered, dark clouds that seemed to be tethered to the horizon.

  Goose bumps formed on his chest and arms as the cool breeze continued to swirl around the peak. He took one more studied 360-degree survey, then started down. The descent proved as treacherous as he had thought, but the excitement that raced through his heart and mind kept him moving down the rocks at a steady pace. Twice he slipped and crashed into some boulders, scraping and leaving a welt on his temple.

  He was trotting down the razorback when he realized the other four were standing next to their horses at the pine where Coco was tethered.

  Big River Frank hiked towards him, his ’73 Winchester in his hand. “Brazos, you get hurt?”

  “No, no … just a scratch.”

  “There’s blood all over your—”

  “There’s a couple dozen men a few miles north of here, workin’ the next gulch!” Brazos interrupted.

  “Which gulch?” Yapper Jim hollered.

  “Follow this razorback around to the east, then you drop down into a little creek,” Brazos reported as he tightened the girth and climbed into the saddle. “I tell you, boys, they’re workin’ it like they found gold!”

  “Don’t that beat all! For over a month we’ve figured we’re the only ones in the entire Black Hills, and they’ve been up here beatin’ us to pay dirt,” Grass Edwards complained. “How come the army didn’t round them up?”

  “The same reason they didn’t corral us,” Brazos replied. “I think there’s even a cabin or two.”

  “How do we get off this ridge?” Big River Frank queried.

  “Not up that way. It drops straight off on the other side of those white rocks. Let’s slant down off this razorback to the east, pick up the south creek, and—”

  “There’s two creeks?” Big River probed.

  “They fork down there near where they’re working,” Brazos explained.

  Yapper Jim spurred his horse to catch up with the others. “If there’s two creeks, there’s bound to be a claim left.”

  “We don’t want just any claim.” Quiet Jim’s voice was just above a whisper. “We want one with gold on it.”

  It was noon the next day before they hacked their way through the brush and rode up to three startled prospectors with gold pans working a placer claim on the south fork of the creek. Within minutes an impromptu meeting was called at a cabin about half the size of Sidwell’s. Two dozen men huddled to explain to Brazos and the others the mining laws and point out what claims were still available. They were given five days to prospect any one claim in.

  Within two days they paid their two-dollar recording fee for each of five claims. No. 14 Below Discovery and No. 18 and No. 19 Below Discovery on Whitewood Creek showed the most promise of placer gold. No. 20 and 21 Above Discovery on Deadwood Creek showed some possibility at bedrock depth or deeper.

  Huddled around the evening campfire, Big River Frank yanked the coffeepot off the hook, then replaced it without pouring any in his cup. “I’ve drank spring water that’s had more taste than this coffee.”

  “We can make tea out of the Ceanothus herbaceus,” Grass Edwards reported.

  “I ain’t drinkin’ no weed tea,” Yapper Jim protested.

  “I reckon if we get desperate enough we’ll be steeping pine nuts,” Big River Frank said.

  Quiet Jim nodded agreement.

  “That ain’t the only supplies runnin’ low,” Big River added.

  Grass Edwards tried to bite off a chunk of jerky, but it was so tough he just shoved the entire wad in his mouth and mumbled, “We can buy a few supplies from Frank Bryant and that gang.”

  “Word has it that by November the creeks is froze and all placer work is finished until spring,” Yapper Jim informed.

  “The ones that has hit bedrock are plannin’ on diggin’ underground during the winter,” Big River said.

  Brazos poked at the flames with a short stick. “The army could show up any day and move us out of here, too.”

  Yapper swizzled his coffee around in his cup and stared at the grounds. “Or the Sioux could just ride up the gulch and scalp us all.”

 
; “I think they’re too smart to come to these hills in the winter.” Brazos could feel the flame lap at his face. “The ol’ boys on No. 15 Above have a two-man saw in camp and no one who’s ever bucked one. They said it’s so dull they can’t cut kindlin’. They’ll trade it to us, if we cut some boards for them. Quiet Jim’s a sawyer, and any of us can get down in the pit and buck the other end. You’ve got a file on ya, don’t you, Jim?”

  Like a bass note feather in a soft breeze, Quiet Jim’s “Yep” floated across the fire.

  “You sayin’ we should go into the timber business instead of findin’ gold?” Yapper Jim protested.

  Brazos scooted back on a stump. “I’m sayin’ with two of us workin’ timber and three in the creek, we can have a little poke of gold and a decent cabin within three weeks. Maybe we can trade wood for supplies.” He tried to rub the stiffness out of his wrists.” We aren’t going to buy many supplies with gold. These boys have gold by the sacks. They can’t get out to spend it. What they’re worried about, right now, is keepin’ these claims through the winter.”

  Yapper Jim poured the contents of his coffee cup into the dirt next to the fire. “The very first thing we are tradin’ for is some coffee.”

  The Texas Company cabin was twenty-four feet by twelve, the biggest structure in Whitewood Gulch. It contained two identical rooms, with rock fireplaces at both ends. The fire in the bedroom end barely glowed, but the one in the other end blazed.

  Brazos Fortune entered the cabin with a stack of firewood balanced in his left arm, the Sharps carbine in his right. He pulled off his boots inside the door; his denim trousers were water-soaked from the knees down. He could feel the stiff material rub raw on his legs. “Did you boys hear the tally on the vote to name this burg?” he asked.

  “If they decide to call it Muckleville, I’m leavin’,” Yapper Jim piped up.

  “Deadwood City.”

  “Well, that got my vote, but it isn’t much of a city,” Big River Frank reported. “Shoot, it don’t even have one store. It didn’t even have three cabins before Quiet Jim opened the saw pit.”

  Quiet Jim waited for a break in the conversation. “Did you see Albien and Verpont about salt?” he asked.