A Bad Place To Be

by John Hansen

  Lester, and now Rufus who had come down from the cabin, started up the path. They’d gone only a short distance into where the trees got thicker and the path curved away from the creek and went about thirty yards up a side drainage. The entrance to the icehouse appeared to be more like a mine shaft that extended into the side hill for about six feet. At this point there was a heavy log door hung on big metal hinges from a large upright log beam. The door was secured by a crossbar that extended across it and rested in supports on either side. However, what was not visible or perhaps expected by a person on the outside was this same locking device was on the inside of the door. The intent being that a person could take refuge in the icehouse if need be. Lester lifted the crossbar from the door and opened it. He stepped inside and lit a match, which he put to a candle that rested on a stool in the corner. “Shut the door, if you don’t mind,” he said to Sarah. “Need to keep the cold in.” Sarah did as Lester asked. The silence was eerie and the images illuminated by the candle were, for her, a close second. The room, which was about six feet wide and eight feet deep and just tall enough for Lester to stand upright in, had the front and hind quarters of a deer suspended from meat hooks in the log ceiling. The rib cage was also hanging there, as Lester didn’t like to waste any of the deer. All around the room were blocks of ice stacked about chest high. Lester had cut these from a beaver pond a short ways upstream from his cabin last winter and hauled them on a makeshift sled that his mules towed to the icehouse.

  “This is impressive, Lester,” said Sarah, somewhat in awe. “You’ve put in a lot of work here.”

  Lester nodded in acknowledgement. “Yeah, me an’ Rufus and the mules. Not much else a fellar can do in the winter when ever’ thing is froze up, but come summertime it sure pays off.”

  “I suppose so,” said Sarah, who was beginning to visibly shiver. She could see that Lester was aware that she was uncomfortably cold, but it was also apparent that he was hesitant to leave just yet.

  Lester turned to face the wall behind him and Sarah. Coming out of winter, there had been six tiers of ice blocks stacked against the wall; there were now four. Lester turned and looked at Sarah. It was one of those looks that was pensive yet foretelling of a change in the course of the conversation. “Sarah,” he began, “I think I’m a fair judge of character and I think that I can trust you and Josh.” Lester paused. A slight look of apprehension came over Sarah’s face. She had no idea what he was leading up to. Lester extended the candle towards her. “Hold this, will you?” Sarah nodded and took the candle. Lester stepped next to the ice wall, near the center, and grasped the top ice block on the back side and slid it towards him so that it fell to the ground. He then pushed it to the side and repeated the process for the rest of the blocks until he had removed them all. There, hidden behind the ice wall at ground level, was another small door about two feet by two feet. It was also hung on heavy hinges, but it had a hasp with a small iron rod to prevent the door from being opened from the other side. Lester removed the rod and opened the small door. There was more darkness, but Sarah could see well enough in the candlelight that it was the entrance to a tunnel. “This,” said Lester solemnly, “is my go-to-hell place.”

  “Your go-to-hell place?” repeated Sarah naively.

  Lester smiled shrewdly. “I don’t have to tell you, Sarah, that there’s lots ah bad folks in these parts. I figure it’s only a matter a time ‘fore they get around to try and take what little I got here, and when that day comes I aim to put up a fight. But if things go to hell on me, I figure my best chance of survivin’ is to get to the icehouse, lock them out, and then escape out this here tunnel.”

  Sarah peered into the darkness. It looked scary to her. “Where does it come out?” she asked.

  Lester tilted his head to the left, even though beyond the penetration of the candlelight, the darkness was as thick as molasses and there was no reference for direction. “Thataway ‘bout a hundert feet. Comes up in the next little draw just behind some alder bushes. Got a flat piece ah shale rock over it.”

  Sarah knelt down at the entrance and extended the candle into the tunnel. It was small; a person would have to be on their hands and knees to move through it, and unlike the icehouse its sides were not lined with logs—it was just bare dirt, rock, and roots. To say that it was foreboding would be an understatement, as just looking in it seized Sarah with claustrophobia to the point that she felt panicky. She needed to leave, but as she carefully withdrew the candle from the tunnel, a long piece of canvas lying on the floor of the tunnel caught her eye. She paused with the light to get a better look.

  Anticipating her question, Lester said: “That’s my emergency gun. Double-barrel 12-gauge shotgun.” He paused briefly. It was fortunate that the light conditions were poor, as the reservations that he had about saying anything more were undoubtedly written on his face. A flurry of mental debate ensued within him. He was no spring chicken and besides, these were rough times. It’d be akin to a last will and testament, except not on paper. He reasoned he could be buckin’ for dumbass of the year, but he doubted it. And so he said: “I keep my gold in here too. You’re the only person I ever told about this tunnel or my gold.”

  Sarah was not only taken aback by Lester’s confession, she was flattered. “Your secret is safe with me, Lester,” she said sincerely.

  Lester looked into Sarah’s face. “I know,” he said simply. Deep down, he knew that she was good people. It flashed through his mind that if he’d ever married and had kids that he would’ve wanted a daughter like her. Whatever the reason, he trusted her.

  “We best be gittin’ back,” said Lester as he reached past Sarah and pulled the small door shut and latched it.

  “Yeah, I imagine Josh’ll be wonderin’ what happened to his breakfast,” replied Sarah as she petted Rufus’ head. And then to Rufus, she cooed: “Good dog, Rufus. What a good boy you are.”

  Sarah stood and held the candle while Lester restacked the blocks of ice. Once things were back in place, they left the icehouse and headed back down the trail. As they neared the cabin Rufus ran ahead alerting Josh, who now stepped into the doorway with coffee cup in hand. “Thought maybe a bear got you two,” he said jokingly.

  “Naw, bears ‘round here are smarter than that,” replied Lester with a sly grin. “They’d wait ‘til after breakfast. Git more for their trouble that way.”

  Josh laughed politely. “Speakin’ ah breakfast, do ya’ll need some help?” he asked as he stepped out of the doorway to allow Lester to pass.

  “No, sir,” replied Lester. “Believe I got it handled. Why don’t you and Sarah just take a load off. Have another cup of coffee. Vittles’ll be ready in just a bit.”

  Josh looked at Sarah. He could tell by her demeanor that she would not be the one initiating any conversation between the two of them. He didn’t blame her after the way their early morning discussion had gone. He was on edge over going after Seth’s killer and he’d taken it out on her. But even more, as he stood outside Lester’s cabin and looked around at what Lester had made for himself amidst the peace and tranquility of this little canyon, he felt guilty for having brought the ugliness of his problem into Lester’s life. It didn’t seem right.

  Sarah glanced at Josh as she walked past him. They made eye contact. It was brief and not inviting. “I think I’m gonna take Lester up on his coffee,” she said, and then she disappeared into the cabin.

  Josh was torn. At that moment he’d wanted to talk to her—about what, he wasn’t even certain. He couldn’t explain it; he just felt a need to be near her and to talk. Yet only a short while ago, their conversation had ended abruptly because of him. He could feel himself knotting up inside. Damned women, he said to himself. He took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. And then it came to him: None of this would be happening if Seth woulda just came straight to the ranch over on the Salmon River, but he always had that wanderlust in his eye. Maybe he wouldn’t have been happy being a simple rancher. His mind was spinning an
d not in a good way. To hell with breakfast, he said to himself. Maybe it’s best if I just get underway. Just frustratin’ myself here. And with that Josh set his coffee cup on a stump by the cabin door and headed down to the pasture by the creek to fetch Thunder.

  He had just finished saddling Thunder when he sensed someone behind him. “Breakfast is ready,” said Sarah.

  Josh pretended to be busy adjusting the cinch on his saddle and he didn’t turn to face Sarah. “I think I’m gonna pass on breakfast,” he said stoically. He’d made a decision, or at least he thought he had, and talking to her could possibly undo that. He just needed to tend to business. “I figure it’d be best if I visit them two hombres on Seth’s claim the first rattle outa the box,” he added in a casual, businesslike tone.

  “Lester will be disappointed if you don’t stay for breakfast,” replied Sarah in a friendly but mockingly pleading voice. And then she added: “So will I.”

  Josh turned to face Sarah. Her last words had touched his inner core; it was an instant good feeling that immediately gave way to the prospect of delaying his departure and having breakfast. But then he stopped himself. “I need to tend to business. It could be a messy affair, and the sooner I put it behind me the sooner I can get back to my life.”

  There was a look of concern on Sarah’s face. “I know you don’t want to hear it and I know you cared a lot about Seth, but he’s gone. And quite honestly, I don’t see this bein’ your fight. Nothing is going to bring him back.”

  The image of the Comanche warrior kneeling over him preparing to take his scalp flooded Josh’s mind. If it hadn’t been for Seth, that brave would’ve added Josh’s scalp to his collection. He couldn’t turn his back on that fact.

  “It’s a man thing, Sarah,” interjected Lester, who had quietly walked up from the side.

  “It must be ‘cause I don’t understand it,” she said as she raised both her hands in an exasperated gesture while looking at Josh.

  Josh looked at Sarah and paused briefly to select just the right words so as to hopefully not totally offend her, as both she and her dead husband had chosen, albeit out of desperation, to not travel the moral high road. “Aside from the fact that I owe my life to Seth, there just comes a point when decent, law-abiding folks have got to stand up to those who ain’t,” said Josh in as much of a nonjudgmental voice as he could muster.

  Josh’s words had struck a raw nerve within Sarah. “Sometimes people do things just to survive,” she said somewhat defensively. “But don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying killing is right.”

  “Maybe we just need to take this pot outa the fire ‘fore it boils over,” said Lester. “Ain’t no good end gonna come of this arguin’.” Lester paused and then looked at Josh. “You’re welcome to set to breakfast, but if you feel the need to head out now I take no offense. I know you already said no but my offer to go with you still stands.”

  “Appreciate it, Lester, but this is my fight and no one else’s.”

  Lester stepped closer to Josh and extended his hand. “Besta luck to ya,” he said warmly as he and Josh shook hands.

  “Thanks, Lester,” replied Josh. “I appreciate your hospitality. You’re a good man.”

  Sensing that Josh and Sarah might want a minute alone, Lester extended his right hand towards Rufus and snapped his fingers. “C’mon, Rufus. Let’s go to the house and get you some breakfast.”

  For a moment Josh and Sarah watched Lester and Rufus walk towards the cabin, and then they turned their attention to one another. It was awkward, neither of them certain about where they stood with the other—or for that matter certain of where they wanted to be. So much had happened in the past two days. The events of that night in the Gold Strike Saloon replayed themselves endlessly in Josh’s mind. They were like the blades of a windmill on a West Texas prairie—tirelessly spinning, bringing more water to the trough, except Josh’s trough was overflowing. Sarah’s eyes were moist. “I bet you regret buying me that drink at the Gold Strike,” she said with a hopeful smile.

  “Sometimes,” said Josh truthfully, “and sometimes not.”

  Sarah’s eyes were nervous. They searched Josh’s face for an expression of anything more, but it was not forthcoming. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but she didn’t know how it would be received, so instead she gathered her hands in front of her to steady them. “Please be careful,” she said.

  “You can count on that,” replied Josh airily. And then he added with a laugh: “I’m still mendin’ from where the Swede winged me. I can’t afford any more bullet holes.”

  Josh is like a poker player, thought Sarah. He’s not going to tip his hand when it comes to his feelings, at least not for a whore anyway. The life went out of her face as this thought resonated in her mind. “Well, I reckon I’ll just see you when you get back,” she said flatly.

  “I reckon so,” said Josh as he gathered Thunder’s reins and swung up into the saddle. “By then I’ll probably be wishin’ I’d ate breakfast,” he added, continuing the façade of casual indifference towards the task at hand and his feelings for Sarah. And with that Josh started up the ridge away from Lester’s cabin.

  Sarah stood in front of the cabin and watched Josh’s departure until he and Thunder disappeared in a patch of ponderosa not far from the top of the ridge. She hoped with all her being that he would return. But why? After all, she reasoned, I’ve only known him for two days.

  Chapter Nine

  Bullwhacker Creek was situated about ten miles northwest of Bear Creek in a relatively short but deep canyon whose bottom was thick with quaking aspen and willows. The side of the canyon that faced north had a dense stand of Douglas fir trees, which made for good escape cover for critters that had come to drink at the creek or folks up to no good on Sheriff Hollis’ mining claim. Those folks were in the form of Buster Kregg and his gang. Buster had made a nuisance of himself in the California goldfields around Placerville to the point that he’d been invited to a necktie party by a lynch mob. Ironically, the local sheriff had intervened to save him so that a judge and jury could hang him legally. Unfortunately, Kregg was sprung from jail and the good citizens of Placerville were denied justice as Kregg and his men vacated the area in search of new opportunities. That quest landed them in Bear Creek, Idaho Territory. In addition to Kregg, there was Sean O’Fallon, a mean-spirited half-breed of Irish and Bannock Indian blood who was no stranger to killing folks. He was a quiet type that people didn’t mess with. And then there were the Menagher brothers, Billy and Jethro, who just straight up didn’t like working for a living, for as they were fond of saying, “It didn’t make any sense for a fellar to bust his ass all day when he could just take it from someone else who had.” And then they laughed as only the Menagher boys could with that cavalier indifference to other people’s loss. These were the occupants of Sheriff Hollis’ mining claim.

  It was about a three-hour ride from Bear Creek to the claim. The summer sun seemed particularly unmerciful today as it bore down on the sheriff, and to make matters worse, there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky to intercept its wrath. Large sweat stains on the underarms of the sheriff’s shirt provided proof of its intensity. And so it was when he started on the game trail that weaved amongst the quaking aspen trees in the bottom of Bullwhacker Creek, he was appreciative of their shade and bitched only a little when the branches raked him in the face. It was close to midafternoon when he reached the edge of the clearing where the cabin on his claim was located. Past experience had taught him that it was a wise man who exercised caution when entering situations unannounced. This could be good advice when it came to Kregg’s bunch, especially if they’d been drinking. Hollis leaned slightly forward, resting his forearms on the pommel of his saddle, and surveyed the clearing. There was no one in sight, and all was quiet save for the babbling waters of Bullwhacker Creek and the raven’s harsh cawing that had just spied his presence. The cabin door was open, probably to allow access to whatever breeze that might come up in the s
tifling heat. The corral beyond the cabin and closer to the creek was empty; its gate stood wide open. Saddles, however, straddled the top rail on the corral. “These lazy idiots are asleep,” whispered Hollis aloud. He sighed angrily. Hollis nudged the sides of his horse and rode slowly into the clearing. There was movement in the trees beyond the cabin. A horse nickered in a contented tone. Hollis stopped. It was one of the gang’s horses; it had been hobbled to reduce its potential to roam very far. Nonetheless, it was the only horse in sight. Hollis was about to ride on when he caught movement out of the corner of his left eye. The door to the privy, which was located behind the cabin in a small opening in the trees, swung open. Billy Menagher, oblivious to the sheriff’s presence, stepped out still pulling up his pants. Hollis said nothing but instead stared in disbelief as Billy ambled back towards the cabin, yawning as he went. “What a dimwit,” mumbled Hollis to himself. And then, finally, Billy saw the sheriff. His head did a double take and instinctively he started to run. He’d taken maybe four or five steps when it clicked who he was looking at and he stopped. He watched as the sheriff rode slowly towards him. He could tell by the look on Hollis’ face that he wasn’t particularly happy. Billy knew that if it had been a situation where it had been someone other than Hollis that was wise to them, they could’ve all been either dead or in handcuffs.

  “Afternoon,” said Billy as Hollis drew near him.

  “It damned sure is,” replied Hollis coldly. “And pretty soon it’ll be nighttime and then it’ll eventually be daytime again and I’d be willin’ to bet that sluice box down by the creek will still be in the same place as it is right now. In fact, I’m pretty certain that it ain’t moved since the last time I was out here.”