Comstock Cross Fire

by Gary Franklin

  Fiona listened to their captive snore for a few minutes, and then she pulled their blanket over them and one by one began to unbutton buttons.

  “Oh, Joe!” she moaned a short time later. “You are feeling ever so much better!”

  Joe grunted, and his long body convulsed with pleasure as he emptied his seed into his sweet wife.

  22

  THEY WERE LEAVING the Paiutes as friends, and Joe had even given the young warrior he’d shot in the arm a good, two-bladed pocketknife that he’d taken off the man who’d been killed by the sow grizzly bear.

  “We may soon pass this way again,” Joe told the Paiutes in sign language and broken English. “In one moon, we will bring our daughter, Jessica, to show you.”

  The old medicine man had prepared more poultices, and had shown Joe and Fiona how to take his medicines out of a pouch and then boil and apply them as hot as Joe could stand.

  “I’ll do ’er,” Joe promised. “Your strong medicine has probably saved my feet and our lives. I will forever be a friend of your Ruby Mountains Paiute clan.”

  Joe and Fiona were ready to travel, and the Paiute pointed them toward the Humboldt River. And before leaving, the headman of the Paiutes gave Joe an eagle feather tied to a small but intricately carved red ceremonial stick and let him know that, if they were confronted by other Paiutes, they had only to show them this sign and Joe and Fiona would be protected and allowed to pass unharmed.

  And so, on a cool, windy day, they said their final good-bye and Joe helped Fiona onto her new Indian pony. The mare was small, thin, and unshod like all Indian ponies and nothing much to look at, but Joe had been assured by the Paiutes that the pony was sound and safe for anyone to ride with only a blanket and a rope through its mouth. Joe had packed their little burro, and now he wrapped the burro’s lead rope around his saddle horn and mounted the strawberry roan.

  “I sure hate to leave these cool mountains,” Fiona said.

  “Me, too,” Joe agreed. “But there’s no choice.”

  So off they rode down into the desert again, and the day grew warmer. There was no trail, but Joe Moss was a man accustomed to making his own trails, so they kept a straight line to where the Paiutes had pointed. According to the Paiutes, they should be able to reach the Humboldt River by nightfall.

  “Fiona,” Joe said later that afternoon with the sun beating down on their heads, “how’s that little Indian pony treating you?”

  “I liked the strawberry roan you’re riding a lot better, and a real saddle sure is nicer than this Indian blanket.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Joe said, grinning. “But the pony is just too small to carry me and a heavy saddle. And anyway, look way out yonder there and you’ll see what appears to be a silver ribbon.”

  “Is that the Humboldt River?”

  “It is,” Joe told her.

  “Is it a real river, Joe? I mean like the Arkansas or the Colorado?”

  “Afraid not. The Humboldt runs year-round, but it’s shallow and you have to watch for quicksand. There used to be trees linin’ its banks for a hundred miles across this desert, but the pilgrims all cut ’em down for axles and firewood. Used to be some beaver there, too, but we trapped ’em all out.”

  “What’s left?”

  “Just marshes and lots of birds that follow the river across this desert. Plenty of foxes and muskrats and frogs and such.”

  “Did you say frogs?”

  “Yep.”>

  “I love frog legs.”

  “Then you’ll have ’em most every night,” Joe promised. “We might even get lucky enough to hook up with a wagon train. If we do, we’ll just tag along to be fed in exchange for chores.”

  “I would like the company of women,” Fiona said wistfully. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been around them. But . . .”

  Joe saw the dark clouds of worry pass across his wife’s eyes. “But what? Speak out what’s botherin’ ya.”

  Tears began to stream down Fiona’s face. “Joe,” she said, riding closer, “you must know what Jedediah Charles and Ike did to me at that dugout.”

  “Yeah, I know. But that’s in the past and we won’t ever talk about it again.”

  “But I have to talk about it!” Fiona slipped off her Indian pony and fell to her knees, sobbing.

  Joe jumped off the strawberry roan, ignoring the pain in his mending feet, and knelt by her side in the sand and sagebrush. “Fiona, you can’t let things that happened to you in the past destroy your future. Our future. Just put it plain out of your mind.”

  She looked up at him. “You’re so strong, Joe. But I’m not you. I can’t just put it out of my mind. It preys on my mind!”

  Joe enclosed her in his strong arms. “Darlin’, if I let some of the things that I’ve done to other men or they did to me prey on my mind, why, I’d most likely go mad. So when them bad thoughts come around, I just push ’em back and think of good things. Like that stream we camped beside in the Ruby Mountains, or maybe a big elk bull that I saw standin’ on a mountaintop and buglin’ to the world that he was the lord of all his timberland. Or a big fish jumpin’ high in the fadin’ sunlight, shiny as quicksilver. Or snow geese honkin’ in the sky just joyous to be headin’ south for the winter. Trees turning gold in autumn. Ice on a streambed and cold, clean air swelling in your lungs. You know, good things, and when I think of them, well, all the bad things in my mind just go away.”

  Fiona nodded. “I’m not sure that I’ve seen all those beautiful things that you’ve just described and can use them.”

  Joe winked. “Then think of our beautiful girl and how we might just have added another Moss to the family two nights ago. Do think of Jessica! She needs us both to be there for her to be strong of mind, body, and spirit. She ain’t never had us both there for her, but soon she will.”

  Joe swallowed hard. “Darlin’, if you can’t think of the things I described in nature, just think of our Jessica and your mind will come around to be right.”

  “Joe, I will.”

  “You started cryin’ when you talked about meetin’ and bein’ around other women, so you musta been thinkin’ that maybe you don’t deserve to be with ’em given all the grief you’ve been handed in your life. Is that it?”

  “It is.”

  “Don’t give ’er another thought, darlin’. You’re ever’ bit as good, decent, and strong as any woman, and none in this world has the right to look down on your pretty head. Not a single one!”

  “But what if they learn about all the unspeakable outrages that were committed against my body?”

  “They won’t. The men that did that to you are dead, and I scalped ’em alive. Dead men don’t tell no tales, and they’re howlin’ in Hell right now. What happened is done, just like seasons gone. You’re startin’ all over new with me and our girl. We got a fresh start as soon as we get her back from the Catholic nuns. A fresh start. I gave away my ’hawk, partly because I don’t intend to do any more scalpin’, and I’ll only kill those who try to kill or harm us and our young’uns.”

  “Do you really think we can get our daughter and live out our lives in peace and happiness? Do you, Joe?”

  “I believe we can,” he said with conviction. “Soon as this business with Peabody is done. And there’s Ransom Holt and Eli and that half-breed Johnny Redman out there somewhere that I may have yet to kill. But after those bloody sonofabitches, I think we’ll find our lasting peace on this earth. I really do, Fiona.”

  “I sure hope so,” she said, voice shaking with emotion. “We’ve both seen so much of the bad in this world, so much blood and death and hurting, that I sometimes wonder where the good went and if it’ll ever come back to bless our lives.”

  “It went away when I was banned from that wagon train where I met you years ago. It happened exactly when they caught us together makin’ love and drove me from their midst and then we got lost from one another for so long. But we came back together, Fiona. And this time we’re not ever again
goin’ to be torn apart. Not ever!”

  “I believe you, Joe.”

  “Then let me hoist you back on that ugly Paiute pony and let’s get to the river and I’ll see if I can gig some bull-frogs. Frog legs is startin’ to sound mighty tasty to me, woman.”

  “You gig ’em and I’ll fry ’em up fine for us, Joe!”

  He helped her up on her pony, and then painfully climbed up into the saddle. Fiona was smiling again and that, as far as Joe was concerned, was all the sunshine he’d ever need in this mortal world.

  From a high lookout on a mountaintop, the half-breed Johnny Redman saw the Moss pair ride out of the Ruby Mountains, and he turned to Ransom Holt. “Just like we figured.”

  Holt nodded and smiled. “When you look at Joe and Fiona Moss, think of money. Lots and lots of money and all that it will buy. Land, women, liquor. Whatever is your pleasure. Why, breed, you can go back to your people and be the headman! You can buy as many squaws as you please and live like a tipi king!”

  Holt thought that amusing, and laughed. But Johnny Redman saw no humor in those words, and deep in his heart he knew that the road to the Comstock Lode was going to be filled with bloodshed and treachery. It was only a matter of who killed who first.

  “Tipi king?” Johnny asked. “That what you said?”

  “Yeah,” Holt crowed. “That’s what I said.”

  Johnny Redman watched the Moss pair as they traveled along. He wondered where Fiona had gotten the little black Indian pony. Had the pair run into Paiutes and traded with them somewhere between here and Salt Lake City? Most likely they had, which told Redman that Joe Moss was a friend of the Paiutes. That was worth remembering.

  “I’ve been thinking about where we’ll take ’em,” Holt said. “And how we’ll do it. Joe Moss is probably armed, and he and his woman won’t go down without a fight to the death.”

  “But we can’t let that happen,” Redman said. “Because they’re far more valuable to Peabody alive.”

  “Exactly. So we have to try to take them both alive.”

  “How?”

  “I’m thinking on it, breed. I’m thinking on it. And you know what?”

  “What?”

  “There’s no reason for us to take ’em down for a week or two. I mean, we know their destination is Virginia City to collect their daughter. So instead of us catching Joe and his wife right away and then having all the headache of watching over them constantly, we can just tag along a few miles behind and wait until they’ve crossed the desert.”

  “Makes sense,” Redman said. “Unless they’re attacked and killed by the Paiutes.”

  “I’d bet money that Joe has cut some kind of deal for safe passage across this desert,” Holt said. “He speaks Injun and he can do sign language. So my gut tells me that they’ll do just fine along the Humboldt.”

  “So,” Redman said, “when we do decide to take them, how will we do it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Holt said. “But seein’ as how we’ve got a week or two to decide, I’ll be making us a plan for the capture.”

  “You do that,” Redman told the giant. “And by the way, you never did tell me what happened to Eli.”

  “Aw,” Holt said, “he lost his nerve and decided to go back to whatever hole he climbed out of.”

  “He just up and left, not caring about the Comstock reward anymore?”

  “That’s right,” Holt said. “After he lost his brother, he wasn’t the same man that I’d hired, so I was glad to have him quit. It just makes the bounty all the larger for you and me to split.”

  “Yeah,” Redman said, watching the Moss couple as they reached the Humboldt and then disappeared down a cut-back toward the water, where they would most likely spend this first night by the river.

  “You’re quiet a lot of the time,” Holt said. “I like that fine. Eli and Dalton were always jabbering and that got on my nerves.”

  Redman had no comment.

  “But you know something, breed? There are times like right now when I’d really like to know your thoughts.”

  “I was thinking about how Joe Moss and his wife got hold of that black Indian pony and wondering what kind of rifle and pistols he has and how much ammunition.”

  “Yeah, I was wondering about the Indian pony myself. Joe probably stole the little bastard.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ve seen you shoot that pistol and use your knife,” Holt was saying, “but I’m wondering how good a rifle shot you are.”

  “I can hit what I aim for,” Redman said without elaborating.

  “Can you shoot well enough to maybe crease Joe Moss in the head and knock him out cold?”

  Redman turned to look at the giant as if he were insane. “No.”

  “Hmmm, too bad. That would sure make things easier.”

  “Taking Joe Moss isn’t going to be easy,” Redman replied. “And it might get one or both of us killed.”

  “Not if we use our heads and do things right,” Holt argued. “If it was Moss all by himself, then I’d be a bit worried. But the key to taking him alive is his wife. Joe has shown us that he’ll do most anything to save that skinny red-haired woman.”

  “Yeah,” Redman said, “he has.”

  “So if we could sneak up into his camp after a week or so . . . you know, at night when the frogs and crickets are loud and block out all sounds of our comin’, then we could grab Fiona and we’d have Joe right where we want him again . . . which is in shackles and chains.”

  When Johnny Redman didn’t show any enthusiasm for this plan, Holt grew irritated. “Well, dammit, what do you think of that for a plan?”

  Johnny didn’t dare tell the giant what he really thought about him . . . or his plan to capture the Moss woman. But in time he would tell Ransom Holt a whole lot of things, none of which the giant would like to hear.

  “Breed, I’m talking to you!”

  “It’s a plan that might work,” Redman said.

  “Well, it had better. And you bein’ a half-breed, I expect that you could sneak up on them about any time you wanted some dark night. Couldn’t you?”

  “If everything was right I could,” Redman said.

  “Well, when the night comes when you think that everything is right, you damn sure tell me so.”

  “I will.”

  “Any other thoughts?” Holt asked, his irritation still rankling him.

  “Nope.”

  “Then let’s ride on down to the river and make our own damn camp about two miles from Moss and his woman.”

  Johnny Redman let the giant lead off. It was amusing how the big man wanted to know his inner thoughts. What a fool! And wouldn’t he be surprised to learn that it was in Johnny Redman’s mind to kill Ransom Holt so that he could collect all the Comstock bounty money for himself and his half-starved reservation people.

  23

  “HIS IS THE longest, most stinky and ugly river I have ever seen!” Fiona told Joe after they had been following the Humboldt for over a week. “How much farther does it go?”

  “We’re almost to where this river peters out and just sinks into the sand,” Joe replied. “After the river dies, what is next is called the Humboldt Sink, and it’s where a lot of good people traveling west with wagons got their hearts broken and lost everything they owned. When we get to the sink, you’re going to see a lot of heartbreak.”

  Fiona shook her head. “To have come this far in a wagon . . . probably from St. Louis or even farther . . . and then to have to throw out everything because your animals were too weak to pull your wagons across a bad stretch of deep sand . . . that is heartbreaking.”

  “Yeah,” Joe agreed. “As near as I remember, it’s about forty miles of hell and its sands are littered with abandoned wagons, the bones of animals, and just about everything else you can imagine. When I went across five years ago, I saw pianos, beds, fine maple dressers, tools, everything and anything they could toss to lighten the load for their wagon teams.”

  Fiona sh
ook her head. “I’m not looking forward to seeing all that heartache lyin’ in the sand.”

  “And there are plenty of graves, too,” Joe told her. “A lot of the folks just got sick and tired of the sand and hardship, so they gave up and died in that stretch between us and Lake Crossin’.”

  “But we’ll be fine, won’t we?”

  “Yep,” Joe said. “It’s the cooler time of the year and we’ll water up these horses and fill our canteens one last time with this stinkin’ bad water before we make the crossin’. And once we get to Reno, as they’re startin’ to call ’er, we’ll almost be to the Comstock Lode.”

  Twice, even with all of Joe’s experience, they had gotten bogged down in quicksand, and once they’d had to rope and pull the black mare out or she would have floundered and sunk. As a result, the Paiute pony was hurt and lamed, so they set her free to forage along the grassy bed of the river. Paiutes or pilgrims would capture her sooner or later. Since that time, they had been riding the strawberry roan double, or else Fiona was walking because Joe’s feet still weren’t completely healed.

  Now they were almost to the end of the Humboldt, and suddenly, Fiona was afraid again. They had not hooked up with any wagon trains, and Fiona was thinking about how they would soon be in Reno among other women.

  “Joe,” she said, “I know you want me to stay in Reno, but I just don’t think I can do that when you ride up to Virginia City.”

  “It’d sure be for the best,” Joe said. “I’m gonna have to face Peabody and either have a meeting of the minds or else kill him. After that, I figure to grab Jessica out of that Catholic church and then come back down to Reno to get you. It could all happen sorta sudden, Fiona. It might not work as good if you come up to the Comstock Lode with me. After all, you’re wanted for murder in Virginia City and your face is better known up there than mine.”

  “I know. I know!” Fiona took a deep breath and expelled it in frustration. “But what if things go wrong for you in Virginia City? What if . . . God forbid . . . Mr. Peabody and his men kill or arrest you?”