When the day came for his first out of town load of dimensional lumber, Gopher was more than ready. His assignment was simple: deliver the goods and return with the empty wagon. The customer and his family had rented the wagon and would accompany their goods all the way to their homestead plot. Their land was near the settlement of Chimayo, north of Santa Fe. It would be an easy day trip between towns with a one-night layover, then return the following day with the empty wagon.
“Now mind the team and don’t be a-whippin’ them into a frenzy on yer way back.”
Able provided his son with the usual grub box containing water, dried jerky and a loaf of fresh bread.
The trip was a bit questionable due to a bank of dark clouds gathering on the horizon. But Olson and his customer both thought they could make the trip before the storm came. If his driver got soaked on the way back, at least the boy would be earning his wages. The old man had no time or patience for slackers.
The two wagons left just before dawn. It was bitterly cold that particular morning and Gopher wished he had worn a heavier coat.
The family in the other wagon was well prepared for the weather. The father and mother wore heavy, dark greatcoats made from thick wool. Their two daughters were only bundled tightly in heavy blankets. But the girls appeared to be warm enough. The eldest girl he estimated to be a little older than he, but he also knew girls matured differently than boys, so he truly had no idea her true age. The little girl was probably no more than three or four years old was into everything. Her father had to scold her a number of times not to fiddle with the barrel lids or any of the boxes.
As the sun began to warm the travelers, the little girl climbed all over the goods in their wagon, prompting her father to stop and admonish her behavior more than once.
Gopher thought it must be a terribly awkward age to be unable to walk beside the wagon because her legs were too short, yet unable to sit still for more than brief periods.
Around mid-day, the father, who introduced himself as Abraham Friedman, decided a flat, green meadow was a good place for to rest the animals and enjoy a bite of lunch.
It didn’t take Gopher long to tighten up the ropes on his load and finish his lunch. But the Friedmans were taking their sweet time and enjoying every little bite. Apparently, they were in no hurry to reach their destination.
The little girl, Heidi, was everywhere. She gleefully examined one flower after another and inspected the contents of each bush and every rock she came across.
Suddenly, there came a piercing scream from behind a low hill just a few feet from where the family had spread their picnic blanket. Immediately, the parents jumped up and ran in that direction.
Gopher followed along, more out of curiosity than concern. The little brat was uncontrollable and had probable fallen down and scraped a knee. But when he reached the scene, he was shocked at what he saw.
Already the little girl’s lower leg was swollen and turning red. The huge rattlesnake was now coiled up and defending itself against these invasive new attackers.
Mister Friedman grabbed his tiny daughter and jerked her away from the angry snake. He held her and tried to console her while Missus Friedman inspected the girl’s leg.
Gopher could clearly see the fang marks. Two black holes in a ghastly white leg that was turning dark before their eyes. Soon the leg would turn a deathly black and the little girl would succumb to the venom rushing through her veins.
Gopher knew of only one thing to do. He picked up a large rock and brought it down on the tightly coiled snake.
The rock merely angered the large animal, causing it to strike at Gopher again and again. This was a truly big snake. Gopher wished he had his Mother’s gun. But he had nothing more than what the land offered as a weapon. Sand wouldn’t do any good and there were no trees with which to make a suitable snake stick, so rocks were the only choice.
While Gopher was busy attending to the destruction of the rattler, he failed to notice Mister Friedman loading his stricken little girl onto his wagon. Before Gopher could react, the wagon turned and set off at full gallop.
It took a great number of rocks to dispatch the snake. Most of the stones were simply too small to do more than irritate the thick bodied animal. But with some effort by going farther afield and racing back to the snake, Gopher eventually managed to kill it.
When he looked around for the Friedman wagon, it was nowhere in sight. But the wheels had dug shallow ruts into the meadow grass. The odd thing was, the wagon was not following the established trail back to Santa Fe. Either Friedman was lost or thought he could make better time by cutting through the rocky country.
Gopher was undecided as to what he should do. He sat down and thought about his options. It was clear the little girl needed immediate medical help and the closest doctor was in Santa Fe; that much he knew. What he didn’t know was what he should do with a wagon full of consigned lumber.
There were but two options. He could continue to the homestead, assuming he could find it and unload the lumber by himself; or he could turn the rig around and go back to Santa Fe. After some careful thought he chose the latter, but the route still confused him. If he followed the Friedman wagon overland, his load would surely be compromised, perhaps lost entirely—then where would he be.
On the other hand, if he took the established trail back to Santa Fe he may not know if Friedman made it or not. Getting lost by venturing off the trail was one of the warnings issued by old man Olson. It was a tough decision for such a young man on his first big job. It seemed no matter what he did he was doomed to fail.
There was nothing more important than that little girl, so he followed the new tracks into the distance, hoping to overtake the speeding wagon. But if he pushed the horses too much, Olson would come down on him hard and the load may not survive the rough ride.
In the end, he decided to follow but at a pace that kept the precious lumber secured to the wagon.
While the cross-country route was surely quicker, few people tried it because of the unavoidable rocky section that snapped axles, shattered spokes and ripped at wheel rims. Then there was the creek that had to be crossed. Normally crossing it was no problem but with heavy rains in the high country, that little creek could swell and flood in minutes. The only safe crossing was on the main trail where a makeshift stone crossing had been erected.
Gopher decided to push the horses at every level spot he encountered. He was carefully surveying the ground for the best route when he spotted the Friedman wagon up ahead.
Something was wrong. The wagon was leaning heavily to the right, as if a wheel had come off. When Gopher got closer he could see that the problem was even worse than a loose wheel. The entire iron rim was torn off, allowing the sharp rocks to shatter all the spokes. That wagon was going nowhere.
The Friedman clan was nowhere to be seen. Gopher called out for them.
When he received no answer, he climbed down from his seat and began looking for footprints. If they were walking all the way to Santa Fe it was important to find them—and soon. They would need his wagon to make town before dark.
By following the Friedman’s footsteps a short way, he spotted the family in a small arroyo. They were kneeling. Beside Mister Friedman was a shovel. In front of him was a small mound of dirt with makeshift grave marker, fashioned from dead sage limbs
Mister Friedman looked up at Gopher with tears in his eyes. “You are too late. Little Heidi is gone with God.”
Gopher removed his hat but he didn’t say a prayer. He wasn’t particularly good at such things, even though he was dragged off to church almost every Sunday.
All Gopher could think to say was, “The snake is dead. It won’t hurt anyone ever again.”
Without saying a word, the remaining three Friedman members began loading their personal belongings into the lumber wagon. When everything was tied off, Mister Friedman said, “Please, take us back to Santa Fe.”
Mister Olson was incensed that the load
failed to be delivered as promised. “Now what am I going to do? Who is going to buy this lumber?”
But Mister Friedman said he would be by in a day or two to make new arrangements. “Even though my little Heidi is gone, the rest of us must live on. Do not be too harsh on your assistant. He acted like a man during this ordeal. You should be proud of him.”
So Gopher kept his job at the sawmill but Mister Olson never quite believed his young worker had nothing to do with the accident.
When Friedman returned, he affirmed the original order saying, “We still need to build our home. But now that our plans have changed, I would like to amend the order to include enough additional lumber to build a proper henhouse. That was to be Heidi’s task one day, tending to the chickens and gathering the eggs. She wasn’t quite old enough, but now that she’s gone, we will ask our Grenda to do the things her little sister cannot.
Mister Olson did some figuring and came up with a list of materials for good-sized chicken coop. “The additional lumber will not fit in the loaded wagon. You will need a second one. For a fee I can provide another wagon but the driver will be a problem. I only have young Gilbert here, and I cannot go, for I have other orders to fill.”
“I can drive the second wagon to our land, if that’s all right with you.”
“Ya, it’s fine with me but how do you plan to return it? Gilbert cannot drive two wagons.”
Friedman considered his Grenda. She had taken the reins of the smaller family rig many times but had never driven a heavy freight wagon before, not even an empty one.
Gopher spoke up. “Sir, if we stay to the established trail and take it slow, there should be no reason why a girl can’t manage it.”
Immediately, Grenda shot Gopher a disapproving look.
Olson reluctantly agreed. After all, he didn’t want to turn down an additional sale. “I can have your new order and another wagon by tomorrow noon. That storm still might come this way but if the weather holds, you should be able to make the trip without problems. That will put you out in the open for a night, if that’s all right with you. Otherwise, you can leave at first light the following morning. Either way, it won’t be what you want.”
Friedman wanted to get moving. Hanging around didn’t set well with him and his wife clearly wanted to be rid of Santa Fe and its big city ways. “We’ll by here by noon tomorrow, and thank you for getting this additional order out right away.”
Gopher wanted to go home and tell his parents all about the little girl and the snake. He wanted to tell them that it was too bad his namesake dog hadn’t been there because sure as shootin’ old Gopher would have taught that snake a thing or two.
But Olson had other plans. “Gilbert, lad; I want you to get to cleanin’ out them bins and get that fodder down to the burn area. I’m gonna need a big head of steam to get this new order finished. Then when you’re done with that, go down to the livery and tell Jason that I need another freight wagon in the mornin’. Now git to work, I ain’t got all day.”
Gopher was later for dinner. The restaurant had closed hours before. But Guadalupe saved some enchiladas for her favorite boy. There was no need to share the day’s episode with her; she didn’t speak English all that well and he was too excited to talk slowly, so he remained quiet and ate like he had been starving.
When he returned home his father politely inquired as to how his day went.
After hearing the entire story, Able congratulated his son on doing a very manly thing by following the wagon tracks and helping the Friedmans. “But tomorrow you will go armed. I should have insisted earlier but that route is traveled so frequently that nothing ever happens.”
After half a day of school, Gopher was ready to go on another adventure. When he got to Olson’s mill he was surprised to see his father had already made arrangements for Guadalupe to fill the grub box with enough food and water for the four of them for several days. In addition to the overflowing grub box was his father’s shotgun and a box of shells.
Mister Olson said, “Your papa must trust you to give you such a fine gun. You take care with it and don’t be doin’ any target practice, not with my horses at your hand.”
When the Friedmans arrived, he and his wife secured their belongings in the second wagon and mounted the narrow seat, leaving Grenda with a decision to make. She could try to ride in the wagon bed like her little sister had done or sit up with Gopher and ride like a lady. She climbed up to sit next to Gopher; still a bit miffed at the “girly” insult he had shot her way the day before.
LOVE AT FIRST LIGHT
Since the Friedmans knew the way to their allotted plot of land they assumed the lead, content to let Hans Olson’s young driver follow in their dust. From time to time, Mister Friedman craned his neck and looked over his shoulder to see if the second wagon was still there.
The same meadow where they had eaten lunch a few days before became their overnight resting place. By the time Gopher gathered dry sage branches and got a good, warm fire going, it was too dark to visit little Heidi’s gravesite. If anyone wanted to say their condolences it would have to be in the morning before they headed out to finish the last half of the journey.
At the first rays of sunlight Gopher was awake but not yet willing to leave the warmth of his bedroll. He noticed Grenda hurrying to get her covers off and head for a nearby bush. He had to go too, but forced himself to hold his water until he warmed a bit.
When he next looked in Grenda’s direction, she was squatting down with the flap of her long johns pulled forward. He could clearly see the twin mounds of her lily-white buttocks.
Gopher Piddington had not thought much about girls. Oh, there were a few times when he and a few other boys sneaked to the top of Cottonwood hill to see if any of the girls were skinny-dipping, but it was too far away to see much of anything except brief flashes of pink. So, like most boys his age, Gopher was ignorant of the human female form.
Grenda was not ignorant of her shape. When she caught a glimpse of him peeking through his blanket at her, she silently vowed to tease him and maybe teach the boy a lesson in manners.
There would be no warming fire this cold morning, as Mister Friedman was eager to hit the trail. He didn’t even take the time to visit Heidi’s final resting place. With any luck they would arrive at the homestead well before nightfall. But the gathering thunderheads in the distance painted a foreboding picture. The storm had been building for several days but had yet to dump much rain. What did fall from the sky had evaporated before it hit the ground.
Gopher had lived in New Mexico long enough to know that big storms often took many days to build up intensity but when they let finally loose, anyone on lower ground best be prepared.
Two or three hours later, when the sun rose high enough to warm the travelers, the Friedman’s demeanor began to warm also. Perhaps it was the fact that they were nearing their chosen homelands or maybe they were merely pleased the rains had not yet come. Either way, it was a very pleasant afternoon and the troop made good progress. Even the horses seemed a bit more perky, probably because the Santa Cruz River could be seen winding through the lush valley and they could smell the grasses.
When Mister Friedman announced they had arrived, Gopher was surprised to see what the family of four had been living in. It was nothing more than a lean-to soddy, built from thin trees set at an angle and covered with mud and matted grasses.
There was no question that a proper house was needed and the two wagons had the raw materials to assemble a pretty good one—small but a good one, nonetheless.
Gopher was ordered to begin unloading his timbers near their temporary hut. Then he was told to put the small kegs of nails inside the soddy so they wouldn’t suffer moisture damage.
When both wagons were empty, Gopher and Grenda started a fire in the rock-lined pit. While Gopher scoured the area for larger chunks of dead wood, Grenda picked up the kindling. Gopher couldn’t help but notice her bodice fell slightly open when she bent over to gather
sticks. Now he had seen the white bulges of breasts and a portion of her round bottom.
It occurred to Gopher that he was an extremely lucky fellow, as none of his friends had witnessed that much of a girl’s body. Oh sure, some claimed otherwise but the truth be known, those liars probably hadn’t seen much more than the occasional ankle.
Once both wagons were emptied and swept clean, Gopher questioned how both of them were to be returned to Santa Fe. It was clear Mister Friedman wanted to stay and begin construction. Missus Friedman had remained mostly mute and in shock ever since her little girl had died, so she certainly wouldn’t be driving one rig back. That left Grenda to drive it back, but how was she to get back to their homestead was the question now. He doubted old man Olson would give him another day or two to return for the second wagon.
When Gopher brought it up, Mister Friedman barked, “That’s your problem—and that shyster, Olson. You figure it out, you’re his hired hand.”
“Well, Grenda could drive one rig while I take the other.”
“And how do you propose she return? I’m not leaving her alone in Santa Fe, especially with you. I seen you a starin’ at her from time to time.”
Gopher hadn’t thought that far ahead. His mind was still spinning from the brief peep shows Grenda had flashed.
“You don’t expect my daughter to walk back here do you?”
“Why no, I just haven’t thought it all out as yet.”
“When you do figure it all out, you be sure to let me know. In the meantime, give me a hand rolling these big rocks into the trench.”
Now Gopher was wondering if he was going to be stuck building the foundation for the Friedman house. That certainly wasn’t in the plans.
Things were suddenly very complicated. The situation was quite confusing and uncomfortable. Gopher didn’t know what to do. If he hightailed it back to Santa Fe on his own, he would be leaving the rental wagon behind and old man Olson would skin him alive. If he left the Olson wagon behind and returned the rental, he would still get into trouble.
The Adventures of Gopher Piddington Page 6
