The Sirens of Oak Creek

by Robert Louis DeMayo

  The soft crooning of a mourning dove woke Howard the next morning. The bear lay against him, dead. Howard slid himself out from under it and examined his own body.

  His left arm was caked in blood, and later when he washed it, he would realize it needed stitches.

  His knife he found buried in the bear´s heart. Lucky, he thought.

  It took him a few days to gather enough energy to clean his arm and, stitch it using some coarse black thread and a heavy needle.

  And then another day to butcher the bear and pack the meat into town.

  The miners he encountered on the path back to the camp gave him a wide berth. He hadn’t thought about his appearance, but the eyes of those he passed were wary. Had he been more alert he would have seen their hands were close to their guns.

  He wouldn’t have recognized himself if he’d glanced into a square of mirror. His face was smeared with dirt and dried blood—he didn’t know if it was his or the bear´s. His hair was clotted with mud and had grown into an unmanageable mess. His clothes were damp and dirty and hung off his emaciated frame loosely.

  He didn’t care. All he wanted now was to return to the woods.

  Without Willie, he had no desire to dig for gold. But he simply couldn’t focus his thoughts enough to leave.

  Consequently, he hunted, at times venturing quite far from the mining camp, but always returning. He came across very little game, but he was so persistent that he never returned empty-handed.

  Any time he came across an active bear den, he would use it as a base, and sleep there at night, waiting. Sometimes he would drift through the woods during the day, but always at night he slept in a den.

  Over the coming weeks the miners and purveyors in the food tents began to talk about the tall, mud-covered hunter who dragged himself out of the woods from time to time, always returning with a pack full of meat, always looking like death—both someone who brought death, and someone who was near it.

  One day Howard twisted his ankle on his way back to the mining camp. He had a pack full of meat and made slow progress. He found a stout staff and hobbled along with its help, but it took him three days to cover five miles.

  Still, he refused to leave the meat behind. It was all he had.

  His time in the wilderness had left him skinny and sickly. His eyes had sunk into dark sockets, and his skin was crisscrossed with infected scrapes and cuts.

  Within sight of one of the food tents, he collapsed in the mud.

  He lost consciousness and didn’t know how long he lay there.

  Later he would discover someone had stolen his meat.

  He woke in a wooden-floored wall tent, laying on a cot. A young woman tended to him. She seemed about sixteen, and wore her soft, blond hair pulled back in a bun. Her dress was blue, like her eyes, and flowed around her legs as she moved.

  “Oh, you’re awake!” she said when she saw his eyes darting about.

  Howard hadn’t seen a woman in months..

  When he tried to speak, all that came out was a scratchy rasp. The young woman chuckled and offered him some water.

  “Drink this,” she said.

  He choked down the water, and wanted to ask the woman who she was, but his exhaustion caught up with him and he passed out.

  He woke to the smell of beef stew floating through the tent. His hunger gave him the wherewithal to sit up. The bowl had been left by his head, on a wooden crate, with a spoon laid out beside it.

  He finished the stew in minutes, and each bite helped restore his senses. It seemed he’d come back from a far-away place. He was just wiping his mouth when the woman returned.

  “I can’t pay for this,” said Howard, guiltily.

  She laughed. “My dad runs a food tent, and he said he did business with your partner before he got killed.”

  “You knew Willie?” asked Howard.

  She nodded. “My Pa did, and that’s why he thought we should help you.”

  Howard was not used to generosity. He’d seen none since arriving in the gold fields. “That seems overly kind,” he said.

  “Not at all,” she said. “It was the only Christian thing to do.”

  Now Howard blushed. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a church-goer.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, “I don’t need you to go to church, but I could use a favor.”

  He stared at her for a minute until he realized she was waiting for him to reply. “Anything,” he said.

  She exhaled. “Good, ´cause you smell pretty terrible, and I’d really like you to get out of those clothes.”

  He felt his face flush red again. The young woman seemed so clean, pure and innocent, that he felt guilty exposing her to his horribly unclean body.

  “Here are some clothes you can wear while I wash yours,” she said as she set down a shirt and pants.

  Then she placed a basin filled with hot water on the wooden crate and said, “And why don’t you wash up a little, too.”

  He nodded an agreement, but after she left he found he was so week he could barely get undressed. He sat naked on the chair, and for about thirty minutes he struggled to wash himself.

  The mud flowed off him, and through the cracks of the rough-cut timber they’d used to floor the wall tent. Some scabs and scrapes managed to still cling to him, but he washed off most of the blood. There was something about removing the filth and grime that made him feel human again.

  Eventually he crawled into the pants and lay back down on the cot. He was in the sweetest slumber when he heard someone bump the chair next to him.

  He sat up on his elbow and asked, “Better?”

  The woman gave a weak half-smile, but then nodded at his head. “Well, I suppose you’re as clean as soap and comb can make it, but you still need a shave and a haircut,” she said.

  He found it impossible to resist any request she made.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  The young woman surveyed his crazy mess of black hair, and then lifted a large pair of scissors.

  “I’m gonna start with the big shears,” she laughed, “until I’m sure you’re in there somewhere.”

  Howard surprised himself with a giggle and tilted his head back, so the hair could fall on the floor.

  She cut off his hair a few inches from the scalp and took most of his beard with several well-placed cuts. Then she switched to a small pair of scissors and kept hacking away.

  “You know how to work one of those?” asked Howard as he watched her sharpening a straight-edged blade.

  She nodded. “Used to shave my Pa all the time.”

  He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the sharp razor gliding over his skin.

  Suddenly, it dawned on him that he didn’t even know the young woman’s name.

  “Nancy,” she said demurely.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” he said.

  “You just get better,” said Nancy.

  And over the coming days he did heal up under her care.

  “I think I’m done hunting for a while,” Howard said to her one afternoon.

  “Well, I’m done with this horrible gold rush,” said Nancy. “I’m only here to help my dad, and except for tending to you, he almost never lets me leave the tent.”

  In the end they left together. They were married that spring and were soon settled down on his ranch.

  Howard’s dream continued, flowing through the years. Years filled at first with joy, and happiness, and new babies.

  But then the dream turned darker. Nancy got sick and soon passed, and they took his kids away. He floundered through memories of mucking for gold again, desperate and hungry, and then found himself reliving a moment of the Mexican-American war, a charge against Santa Anna’s men.

  He was scrambling over a hill, chasing a man.

  When he rounded the top, he discovered the guy had dropped and turned and was now aiming his gun at him.

  There was no time to swing his gun around and get a shot off, and being as big as he
was, he wasn´t all too quick in his movements.

  He turned, and the slug hit him in the back.

  He fell to the ground, rolled, and raised his gun to fire…

  Howard opened his eyes and saw the man, not twenty feet away. The late afternoon sun framed him with a bright halo. Howard squinted and could just barely make out the barrel of the man´s rifle which he was slowly raising.

  Groggily, he gripped his own gun and fired at the man.

  The repercussion pulled him completely from his sleep.

  He looked up to see a brown-skinned sheepherder standing before him, gasping, and gaping at a red spot on his chest.

  Before the man could utter a word, he collapsed, and within a minute he was dead. By his side was a walking stick that Howard had mistaken for a gun.

  * * *

  Thompson tied his mule to a post at the United Verde Copper Company supply store in Jerome. The mines were booming, and there were men everywhere, many covered with soot. His saddlebags were filled with trout, and the mule was also carrying some firewood he’d collected when passing by Page Springs.

  The clerk stepped out and shook his hand.

  “I’ll take that firewood,” he said. “But I hope you have more fish—the last batch got bought up right away.”

  “Sure do,” said Thompson, patting the saddlebags.

  The clerk helped him empty the panniers and bring in the fish, then Thompson untied the wood and stacked it.

  Inside the store, the clerk counted the fish, figured in a little extra for the wood, and wrote a receipt.

  “This gonna be cash or credit?” he asked.

  “Little of both,” said Thompson, “I need more ammo for my Colt, and I’ve got a few improvements to my place in mind.”

  “I’d’a thought you’d be done with your cabin by now,” the clerk said. “You’ve been there a few years now.”

  Thompson grinned. “Four years,” he said, “and it’s fine for me, but next month I’m getting’ hitched—and I gotta spruce it up for my wife.”

  “Good for you,” said the clerk. “Must be lonely up there in that canyon by yourself.”

  Thompson nodded. “I guess I can handle lonely, but there’s a lot of work that really needs four hands.”

  The clerk nodded at a notice board with various letters and messages tacked to it. “Put up a note,” he said. “Who knows, you might find someone who’s lookin’ for work.”

  Thompson borrowed a pencil, scribbled a message on a scrap of paper and tacked it up.

  Then he turned back to the clerk. “Now how ‘bout you set me up with some nails, and a few small panes of glass.”

  Thompson eyed some blue ribbon. “And a few yards of that ribbon as well.”

  “Right on it,” said the clerk with a smile.

  Jim escorted my family from Page Springs to Oak Creek Canyon when father was ready for the spring move. Father had two sturdy horses pulling a wagon, and Jim had brought along his horse and mule.

  The wagon was piled high, with father working the reigns and mother sitting next to him. My eleven-year-old brother, David, sat on the back, sneaking a ride.

  Jim walked along next to me. I felt radiant with a blue ribbon in my hair. His mule, which was tethered behind the wagon, was loaded high with all my possessions.

  We proceeded very slowly, mother and I marveling at the wildflowers while the men scanned the cliffs around us.

  My older brother James asked to use Jim’s horse to scout ahead. I could tell Jim was worried that James might injure himself—or the horse—but he took a chance and let him because he wanted to please me.

  The red rocks loomed closer, and at one point we passed a short mesa on our right, and a ragged mountain on the left.

  “I reckon that there mountain looks like a crouching bear,” said father in his proclamation voice. “I name thee Bear Mountain.”

  Jim smiled at me and raised an eyebrow.

  At the mouth of Oak Creek Canyon, father again surveyed the vermillion cliffs. “And that one up there,” he said pointing to a limestone-rimmed formation, “that’s Steamboat Rock—see, it’s even got a railing running along the top.”

  Jim grinned at his soon-to-be father-in-law, amused by his penchant for naming things. “Works for me,” he said.

  That night we stayed at Indian Gardens—as Jim had decided to name his little homestead. Jim let my folks sleep in his bed for the night, and he bunked in a newly erected shed. He set me up in a back room and put my brothers in the barn loft.

  The next day, we were married in a sweet ceremony by the gurgling creek. My father performed the ritual, and my family and countless butterflies and birds bore witness.

  By mid-day the James Family—minus me—were on their way up the creek, heading to Munds Park on the plateau. I was content to remain with my husband, where thoughts of my own future family danced in my head.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Mattie approached the jail slowly, riding Shadow. She was eight months pregnant, and her once lithe body was now cumbersome. The building was set on the edge of town, besides a small, gurgling brook. It had been recently made, from rough-cut timber, and smelled of pine. A dozen uncut boards still leaned against the wall.

  It took some effort for her to slide out of the saddle.

  She retrieved an apple pie from her saddlebag and entered the small structure, and a young deputy stood up and faced her.

  “Can I help you, ma’am,” he said.

  Across the room, Howard lay on a cot in the only cell.

  “I’m here to see my Pa,” she said.

  The deputy glanced at Howard. “I can let you in, but I have to lock the cell door behind you.”

  “That’s fine,” she shrugged.

  Howard stood and put on his hat.

  The deputy glanced at the pie. “I’m not supposed to let anyone give him anything.”

  Mattie’s face flushed red. “Why? You think there’s a file in it? Do I look like someone come to bust him out?”

  Now it was the deputy’s turn to blush. “No ma’am, I guess you don’t.”

  “Good,” she nodded. “Then let me in. I need to talk to him alone. You can lock us in there together, but I’d like some privacy.”

  Reluctantly, the young man unlocked the jail cell, let Mattie in, and then bolted the door behind her. Then he grabbed his hat and went outside to sit by the brook.

  In the cell, Mattie embraced Howard, who appeared old and beaten. “I’m here to break you out, Pa,” she said in a whisper.

  “Break me out?” asked Howard, trying to suppress a chuckle.

  His daughter glared at him. “Yes, Pa, I won’t let you do time. I know you didn’t mean to kill that man, and you’re too old to be locked away.”

  He scratched his head. “Where would I go?”

  She smiled. “Back to that little canyon you’re always talkin’ ‘bout.”

  He paused, seriously considering her words.

  “It’s tempting,” he said, “but how would I do that?”

  She handed him the pie. “There actually is a file on the bottom of the pie—use it to cut the bars.”

  Howard looked at the solid steel bars of his cell. They would take many hours to cut through.

  “They’re taking me away in the morning, there’s no time.”

  She sighed. “Maybe I could get the jump on him,” she said.

  He laughed at the suggestion, which made Mattie’s temper flare. “I may be big, but I can do it.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t want you caught up in this.”

  Her eyes hardened.

  “Deputy!” she called out. “Get me out of here.”

  The young man returned and opened the cell door. When she was out, he locked it again.

  Mattie stormed outside and sat by the brook and cried. Her father had always been a bit wild, but he tried to steer clear of breaking the law when he could. She knew he wouldn’t use the file.

  She walked to a couple of
boards leaning against the building, pushed them over and screamed.

  The deputy came running to the door with a worried look.

  As soon as he stepped outside there was a “thud”.

  Soon Mattie returned to Howard´s cell with the keys in her hand.

  “What did you do?” asked Howard nervously.

  “I did what had to be done,” she said flatly.

  She unlocked the cell door and he hurried outside to find the deputy unconscious with a swelling welt on his forehead.

  “I didn’t kill him, Pa,” she said. “He’ll be alright.”

  Howard looked at her nervously. “Sure, until he wakes up.”

  “Well, I’ll take care of that—you get outta here,” she whispered urgently. “Besides, I can’t go with you in this condition—and even if I could, I’m not leaving my husband and baby behind.”

  Howard’s eyes softened as he watched her.

  “I can’t let you take the blame for this,” he said.

  Mattie thought for a moment. “I’ll say that he forgot to lock the cell when I left, and you came out and clubbed him. He’s not gonna want to admit that a pregnant lady knocked him out.”

  Mattie pushed him toward her horse. “You take Shadow and get out of here.”

  While he reluctantly climbed into the saddle, Mattie ran back inside and grabbed the pie which she managed to somehow fit in the saddle bag. Howard stared down at her unhappily.

  “And when will I see you again?” he asked, tearing up.

  “Don’t you worry, Pa,” she said, “when things settle down, we’ll join you.”

  He nodded. She slapped Shadow’s rump and the horse started forward. “I love you, Pa,” she said.

  “I love you, too,” he replied. “You just make sure this all falls on me!”

  He headed east at a fast pace, with his head down and his collar pulled up high.

  * * *

  “My goodness, Jim,” I exclaimed when I woke and saw the picnic basket next to me, “aren’t you full of surprises!”

  I peeked under the lid to see bread, jam, cheese and fruit, all packaged neatly. He had prepared it all while I slept.