by Lee Clinton
Henry appealed. ‘I’m only asking for one more day.’
Gus was about to strike out again and say, For what purpose, for what possible reason? but he held his tongue. Instead, he said, ‘One more day, Henry, that’s all. Just one more day. We will search together till last light, spend the night here, then depart early tomorrow morning, before dawn, to attend the service.’
Henry slowly nodded his agreement.
Have I compromised too much, thought Gus, or did one more fruitless day in the grand scheme of things really matter? Henry wanted no stone left unturned. Could he deny such a request? At least it would be time with his son and right now, that was more precious to Sheriff August Ward than anything else in this world.
CHAPTER 11
ONE LAST SEARCH
A Signal Shot
Gus asked Henry to go through his field notebook and explain to him the extent of the search. Each page contained comprehensive notes, written small, in a clear hand. Towards the back, on a double page, Henry had produced a map of fine detail that showed the areas covered, along with dates.
Henry’s proposal was that they ride to the furthest western point of the search and start from there. Gus knew that they had less than ten hours of daylight left, so he raised the concern that a lot of time would be used up travelling to and from that point, without contributing to the search.
Henry was insistent. ‘We could search right up to dark and stay out there overnight.’
Gus’s concern was that if they did overnight further west, it would lengthen the journey back to Laramie the following morning, making it almost impossible to be back in time for the church service. ‘Let’s just look for something a little closer, first,’ he said, not wanting to upset his son. But it was difficult to see where, since most of the map was marked as searched.
When two coyotes called to each other from the ravine, Gus looked up instinctively, then back at Henry’s notebook. He pointed to a spot on the page just above where Camp Harmony was marked. ‘Has this ravine been searched?’
Henry glanced at his notebook then looked up along the creek to where the waters disappeared past some large smooth rocks as big as a barn. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We couldn’t get the horses up there.’
‘Still needs to be searched,’ said Gus, trying not to sound too enthusiastic, but it was perfect; the search could start immediately, be done in the time available, and add not a yard in distance for the journey back to Laramie.
‘It will have to be done on foot,’ cautioned Henry, ‘and I think there might be more than one ravine.’
‘Fine,’ said Gus. ‘We don’t have to search the same ravine together, we can take one each as we go. We can travel light, we don’t need to carry water, we have the creek. Just need to take a rifle should we need to signal each other, in case of a fall. It could be quite rugged once we get up there a little.’ Then he remembered to add, ‘Or if one of us finds something.’
Henry was mulling over the proposal.
Gus needed to break the silence. He wished he hadn’t said, find something. Find what? Human remains fed upon by animals? ‘It has to be searched, Henry,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Henry, almost reluctantly as he looked at his notebook, ‘it has to be searched.’
The climb along the river was a little tougher than first expected. The only semblance of a trail to follow was a narrow animal track. Footing had to be carefully chosen as a misstep could easily end in a tumble down between the large rocks that crowded the ravine, which at times obscured the creek. But the sound of the running water could still be heard, and it was this source that gave life to this enclosed world. It fed the creeping mahonia, the silver wormwoods and the cliff-bush, as well as the roots of the fir trees.
As predicted, and about two hundred yards up, the ravine split into two separate ravines that seemed to run parallel to each other. Henry took the ravine to the left, while Gus the one to the right.
Both of these gorges were similar in size and separated by a narrow ridge, which in time would be completely eroded by melting winter snows to become just one larger wide ravine, similar to the one they had just climbed through. Gus slowly squeezed his way between and over the rocks while searching for any sign. Animal tracks were plentiful, mostly coyote, who had made this their home, and he could appreciate why. It was difficult terrain for any of their predators, man or beast.
Henry too, had to step carefully, as his path was not just over broken ground and large boulders, but a number of fallen fir trees that lay directly across the bottom of the ravine. Green needles were still visible on the upper branches of the largest tree as it clung to life, its roots exposed to the elements with just a precious few still in the soil.
By mid-morning both Henry and Gus were about four hundred yards further up each ravine. Henry had spied some small caves off to his left. He was considering if they warranted inspection when his eye caught sight of a small white strip. It seemed to be not unlike the cloth ribbons used to mark the search trail. He immediately wondered if someone from the camp might have already conducted a search. After all, Harmony Camp was always occupied with at least one other man besides the cook, to help out where necessary, and not all the chores would occupy a full day.
When Henry picked up the strip of fabric he was unsure if it had been one of theirs after all. Certainly, it looked out of place, so how did it get here, he thought? Was it taken by a bird, plucked from a brush by a meadowlark, then discarded in flight? Or had it been placed here on purpose? He turned the cloth over in his hand and inspected it closely. It was free of any print or dye, a common bleached calico, plain-woven and used for so many purposes around the home, yet it felt soft. He rubbed it between his finger and thumb, as if caressing and urging the fabric to communicate.
A coyote called just a little further up and snapped him out of his ponderings as he placed the strip in his top pocket and pushed on.
Around midday Gus stopped at a small waterfall to drink and catch a breath. He stood his Winchester upright against a flat rock, took off his hat and fanned his face with the brim. From his shirt, he took some dried beef and began to chew.
The shot from Henry’s rifle echoed up from his ravine, taking Gus by surprise. It was either a signal for help or something important had been found.
Gus picked up his rifle and pulled down on the lever, loaded a round and fired into the air to advise Henry that he’d heard his signal and was on his way. He didn’t re-cock his rifle, but left the spent cartridge in the chamber. Gus seldom carried a rifle with a live round in the breech. There was no need unless he was hunting, be it an animal or a felon. He’d seen too many men maimed from the accidental discharge of a loaded firearm.
He looked up the near sheer slope of the ravine for the easiest way to get out. It was at least sixty feet in height and would require dexterity to traverse, but it was the quickest way to get to Henry and this was the route he now chose. With deliberate steps, he began his climb, rifle in hand as he moved from rock to rock.
About halfway up and having difficulty with his footing, Gus heard the second shot. He was in no position to signal back, so he pressed on, wondering what Henry had got himself into? Or maybe Henry hadn’t heard Gus’s shot and was trying to get a response? Or had Henry found—
His foot slipped.
Gus nearly lost his grip on his rifle as one leg swung out into space some thirty feet above some disturbingly sharp broken rocks. He gripped tight at his handhold and took in a deep breath. ‘Easy, just one step at a time,’ he said quietly to himself. ‘Just one step at a time.’
For the next agonisingly slow ten minutes, Gus carefully inched his way up to where he could now reach over the top edge of the ravine and laid his rifle down. This finally gave him two free hands to heave himself up. He was just about there when the shale under his fingers started to give way. Gus was now in great danger of tumbling backwards into the open ravine and onto the rocks below. With all the effort he could muster, he b
egan to pump his legs and paddle his arms. He was now a scrambling man trying to run up a vertical wall sideways, but somehow it worked. He was just able to claw his way to safety. When Gus rolled on to his back to catch his breath, it was not lost on him what might have easily happened and he thanked the Almighty for his deliverance, just when the third shot was fired.
Quickly he got to his feet, still out of breath, and started to jog back along the narrow ridge towards the sound of the signal. After about one hundred and fifty paces, he caught sight of Henry, some fifty feet below in the next ravine with his rifle to his shoulder ready to shoot.
Gus followed the line of sight of Henry’s rifle, tracking it to the other side of the creek, and there, some fifty yards away, was the figure of a girl in a torn calico nightshirt standing on a large flat rock, surrounded by a pack of coyotes.
CHAPTER 12
BODY AND SOUL
Home
The words, ‘Good God,’ spilt from Gus’s lips. There, in the clear light of day, was a figure, below him but not more than eighty yards from where he was standing, and it had to be Chrissy Mayfield. She looked unkempt and dirty in a tattered nightdress, but it was more than her appearance that gave this view from Gus’s elevated position a dreamlike quality. She was perfectly still, frozen, with a pale arm held up as if to stop Henry from firing a shot, and all around her, very close, were coyotes.
Gus glanced at Henry below him with his rifle held to his shoulder. Instinctively Gus raised his Winchester so that he too could protect Chrissy from the prairie wolves. But the dogs also seemed frozen in place. Gus counted seven of them, all alert, standing or sitting and facing Henry, and none were paying any attention to Chrissy.
Another shot cracked through the still air, to echo up the ravine towards the mountains. Gus could see that Henry was trying to scare off the wolves, but his shot just caused the dogs to edge a little closer as if to protect her. It was an incredible sight, and all the while Chrissy held up her palm to Henry.
‘Don’t shoot,’ yelled Gus. ‘They are too close to Chrissy.’
Henry glanced up.
Gus lowered his rifle and waved back.
‘I’ve called her to come to me,’ shouted Henry,’ but she won’t.’
‘Then you’ll have to go to Chrissy. Just do it slow and careful and I’ll cover you from here.’
Gus went down on one knee, rifle to the shoulder as he watched Henry advance towards Chrissy. His son stepped cautiously as he edged his way towards the creek, and all the while Chrissy and the coyotes watched intently. The only sound to break the silence was the odd stone that slipped to clatter from beneath Henry’s foot.
When he had crossed the stream and was within twenty paces of Chrissy, Henry placed his rifle gently upon the ground, and with both arms out, tried to entice her to come to him, but she wouldn’t move. Slowly, he stepped forward, speaking quietly, ‘It’s me, Chrissy, Henry. Remember? Henry. You know me.’
When he was just ten paces away, the dogs began to move, each slowly circling around Chrissy to almost brush against her legs, before calmly walking on up a narrow trail that wove its way alongside the creek. As the last dog passed, with the sunlight shining upon the flawless brown and grey coat, Chrissy lowered her hand and touched its head, all the while looking at Henry. As if to say goodbye, the mountain coyote nuzzled her hand for a second then departed.
Henry launched himself forward and embraced Chrissy in his arms, hugging her tight.
Gus watched and should have felt relief but he knew immediately something was wrong. Chrissy made no response whatsoever. She just stood, arms by her sides, head turned and looking to where the coyotes had disappeared.
The walk back down the ravine to Camp Harmony now alarmed Gus as Chrissy did not answer one of their questions. In fact, she hadn’t uttered a single word. Henry held her hand to guide her, but each time he let it go, it fell limp by her side, and he had to reach down to take the hand back. But it was the look in Chrissy’s eyes that worried Gus the most. It was as if she was asleep, but with her eyes open. It was unsettling.
By the time they arrived back at the campsite, it was too late to depart for Laramie. Gus got the fire going and prepared a hot meal, while Henry sat close to Chrissy.
When handed a plate of beans she seemed disinterested and while she looked slim in her nightshirt, she didn’t look undernourished. And all the while, not a word passed Chrissy Mayfield’s lips. She neither asked for food or water, nor offered a response when so provided.
A bed was made close to the fire, between Henry and Gus, as the evening was showing a chill. Around midnight, Gus woke to the howl of coyotes up the ravine, only to see Chrissy sitting up and listening, and for just a moment, he was worried that she was going to get up and head off towards their calls. So, he got up, placed his jacket over her shoulders, stoked up the fire and remained on watch.
They departed just before first light, leaving behind the last of the provisions in order to travel as light as possible. Henry said he would take Chrissy on his mount for the first part of the journey home and she seemed to draw comfort from the horses, touching both gently on the nose before Gus gave her a hoist. He could feel the hardness of the skin on the sole of her foot as she mounted behind Henry to sit on his bedroll. Gus had to take each of her arms and pull them around Henry’s waist to get her to hold on. Finally, she gripped her hands together and lay her head against his son’s back. Gus remained concerned, but he did concede that at least she looked comfortable and warm in his bulky jacket.
When they passed the Mayfield property, Chrissy showed no response. Her face was turned in the direction of the ruins, but her unblinking stare seemed not to recognize where she was. Gus offered to take Chrissy, but Henry now saw no reason to make the change as they were travelling slowly, for both the comfort of Chrissy and the horses.
When they arrived in Laramie it had the eerie presence of a ghost town. The community had turned out in full for the church service for the Mayfield family and to thank those who had assisted in the search. Gus didn’t want to take Chrissy near the church in her current state, concerned that she might take fright at the sight of the crowd and any unwanted attention, but there was little choice. He had to get Chrissy to the doctor and Doc Larkin would be at the service, as would Martha, the other most important person he could think of to attend to the waif now in his and his son’s care. Gus told Henry that they should ride across to the church where he would quietly slip inside, unnoticed, and get the doctor and Martha. In hindsight, it was a foolish plan, which became clear not long after they had crossed into Ivinson Street. The crowd was so large that it couldn’t be accommodated inside the church and now spilt out of the front doors and into a large pool of people. All were there, regardless of faith, joined as one to remember fellow settlers who had been wickedly slain, a missing daughter, and those who had searched for her.
It was the young Curtis boy who was standing on a buckboard so that he could see, who rang the bell on Gus, Henry and Chrissy. He saw the horses approaching, squinted for a moment, recognized the sheriff and the deputy, then just as Henry turned his mount towards the church, Lenny Curtis got a clear view of Christine Mayfield. From the buckboard vantage point he yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Look, they found her and it’s Chrissy. They’ve got the missing one and it’s Chrissy, not Grace.’
The initial reaction from those closest to the buckboard was to give young Lenny a harsh look as he was known to pull a prank or two. But when their eyes shifted to the approaching riders where they could clearly see Chrissy, a giant roar erupted from the crowd. This, in turn, caused those packed into the church to spill out to see exactly what all the commotion was about.
Gus immediately realized that a calamity was now unfolding as people started to swarm in their direction. He quickly told Henry to head for home and that he would bring the doctor and his mother straight away. ‘I won’t be long,’ he called. Henry turned his horse, while one hand clutched Chrissy’
s wrist, and made for home.
Gus was about to dismount when he realized that he would be swamped, so he walked his horse through the crowd and dismounted directly on to the buckboard. ‘Doc Larkin,’ he shouted, ‘has anyone seen Doc Larkin?’
‘Where did you find her, sheriff?’ came a shout.
Gus kept searching the sea of surging faces, desperately looking for Doc Larkin.
‘Is she hurt?’ came another call from the crowd.
‘Doc Larkin, has anyone seen Doc Larkin?’ he called again.
Finally, Gus saw a waving hat. It was the doctor doing his best to get to Gus.
‘My wife? Has anybody seen my wife?
‘Over here, sheriff.’
It was Noah Fillmore pointing just off to his left. Gus caught sight of Martha’s green bonnet. He pointed and mouthed the word home, and she responded by waving her hand and immediately made off in that direction.
When Doc Larkin arrived at the tray of the buckboard, Gus knelt and said above the noise of the crowd, ‘Henry has taken Chrissy Mayfield back to our house. Could you attend to her?’
‘Of course, of course,’ shouted the doctor above the noisy crowd as he tapped Gus on the side of the arm to confirm that he understood.
As soon as the doctor was clear of the gathering, Gus called for quiet and obediently the crowd silenced. ‘Can you hear me?’ he shouted. Hands waved in reply from the back. ‘Henry found Chrissy Mayfield yesterday afternoon,’ he continued to shout, ‘not far from Harmony Camp. Seems she may have been hiding in a cave further up the ravine.’
‘Is she OK, Sheriff?’ came a yell.
‘She still seems to be in fright, but—’
