The Doc smiled. “You figure he’ll want to take a shot at me? Most folk’s I know would like to shoot at a dentist at least once in their life.”
The cattlemen then laughed out loud. “He’s a forgiving man, Doc,” Woodson responded. “He was in a lot of pain for several days on the trail. I figure he’s a mite glad that part’s over with.”
Charlie McCloud looked up at that moment as the tall stranger entered the restaurant. He was dressed in black, but was presently not wearing his hat or the gun belt. His dark brown hair was combed back neatly and curled up slightly at the neckline. The man was now clean-shaven. He was quite rugged in appearance, yet a handsome man with high cheekbones and clean, distinct features.
He saw McCloud looking at him and nodded in return with a smile when their eyes first met. About that time most everyone in the restaurant looked toward him as well. The leather heels of his boots made a distinct sound against the flooring as he walked in. Misty approached him almost immediately. His eyes then met with hers.
“You can sit anywhere you like, sir. What would you like to drink?”
The man smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. A sarsaparilla would be good. I believe that empty table by the window over there will suit me just fine.”
The empty table was next to where Charlie McCloud and the Doc were seated. After the man walked over and sat down he immediately looked out the window toward the mountain. He sat with his hands in his lap, and didn’t turn his head from the window until Misty arrived with his refreshment.
“Lovella will bring your dinner shortly, sir. How many pork chops would you like? They’re fairly thick.”
“Two would do, ma’am.”
“Gravy on your potatoes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
At that time John Replogle and Claude Davis entered the restaurant. Replogle’s eyes met those of the stranger’s right away. He was immediately drawn to him—there was a warmth of spirit that radiated from the stranger’s eyes and John could sense it. There was something that seemed familiar about him as well.
He soon had to look away. He didn’t want the stranger to feel that he was perhaps staring at him. He was drawn—almost compelled to look back intermittently as he and Claude made their way to a table across the room.
The stranger then looked at Misty. “Before you go, ma’am; those fella’s that just walked in; the man wearing the printed shirt; would his name happen to be John?”
“Yes, sir, it is. John Replogle. He’s the town’s veterinarian. A gifted man.”
The stranger smiled. “Speaking of vets, there’s a big dog out there in the street—looks like he’s frothing at the mouth.”
Misty looked out the window. “Oh—that mangy red-bone hound—he’s a stray. That dog comes into town on occasion to hunt for food. No one can get near him—not even John. The sheriff usually has to fire a shot over its head to make it run away. He won’t shoot the animal—says he feels sorry for it. It will bite, though.”
The stranger then stood up from the table, “You can go ahead and prepare my vittles, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”
He then walked to the front of the restaurant and on out the door. He started across the dusty street and moved at a slow but steady gate toward the hound. The animal growled at him, but did not move. Misty watched from the window, as did both the Doc and Charlie McCloud.
“What’s that man think he’s gonna’ do?” Charlie muttered.
The stranger outside then raised a hand toward the animal, palm open, and slowly approached it, looking steadily into the creature’s eyes. The dog suddenly stopped its growling.
“Good boy,” the stranger uttered. “Tough out here in the world, huh? Hard to find a meal, or a friend.” The stranger knelt down in front of the animal, then reached out and gently stroked the top of its head. The animal whined slightly, its spirit then apparently quite calm.
Inside the restaurant Misty called out over her shoulder. “John—you’d better come look at this!”
John Replogle soon joined her at the window. Claude Davis came and stood beside them. Lovella noticed the gathering and quickly approached the others. They all had their eyes on the stranger, who was still kneeling near to the animal.
“That’s impossible,” Charlie McCloud blurted. “No one’s ever got near that dog without gettin’ bit.”
“No, by-golly,” Claude muttered. “No one!”
The stranger was at that time cuddling the animal’s head with both hands. “Now, my friend,” he spoke softly, “go to the Indian village. A young girl will welcome you there. She will be your friend, and you will run and play with her. She will love you, and you will go hungry no longer. You in turn must protect this girl from the mountain lion she’s gonna’ meet tomorrow, when she climbs through the rocks. You will save her life, and for a long time to come you’ll be with her.”
The stranger then stroked the back of the animal. The man soon put his face in close and kissed him on the upper part of the snout. He then removed a bandana from his rear trouser pocket and wiped the frothing from the animal’s jaws and lower portion of its mouth. The animal in turn licked him on the cheek. The stranger remained close to the animal’s face for a few moments, then stood to his feet and pointed northward toward the hills, speaking to the dog once again.
“Go in peace, my friend. Drink some water from the creek. This frothing will be no more. You’ve been made whole again.”
The animal then turned about and walked away toward the north. It stopped momentarily at one point, turned its head and looked at the stranger, and then continued on its journey, now at a trot.
Still watching from the window, Charlie McCloud rubbed at his whisker stubble. “I’ll be damned—do tell!”
The Doc shook his head in agreement. The others standing in the window remarked quietly about the unbelievable event they had just witnessed. John Replogle however was silent.
Out in the street the stranger turned and started back toward the restaurant. His eyes met those of John’s once again, who was still gazing at him through the window. The man nodded his head lightly at John, a slight grin on his face.
John responded with a nod as well, and lipped words silently yet distinctly—“Thank you.” The stranger read his lips while he maintained his walk toward the restaurant.
John spoke at the others who were near the window as he continued to watch the stranger’s approach. “This man is very special, my friends. Take heed. What you’ve witnessed out there today is only the beginning, I’m sure.”
Misty then spoke up. “This man knew your first name, John. He asked me, out of the blue I might add, if your name was John. Do you know him?”
John looked at her. “I’ve never seen him before. At the moment I have no idea how he knows my name.”
“His name is Michael,” Lovella responded.
John was suddenly taken aback. He looked at the others but said nothing. They saw what appeared to be a look of surprise on his face. He then turned away and walked back to his table. Claude shrugged his shoulders at the others, he himself unable to understand the look on John’s face a moment before.
Shortly thereafter the stranger entered the restaurant. Misty and Lovella then suddenly left the window and returned to the kitchen. The stranger seated himself once again at his table, and Lovella returned a few minutes later with his food. She was eager to ask the stranger just how on earth he had done what she had seen him do. She set the plate in front of him, and he looked up at her at that same moment—looked directly into her eyes.
“Marvel not at what you’ve seen, woman. Just be glad the animal is free from its torment. Look into your heart and find a place of rest for the uncertainty you have about the man you’re starrin’ at as well. I’m here for a reason, that for now you would not understand nor comprehend. Let’s leave it at that for the time bein' and just be friends.”
Lovella could not resist, but chose her words carefully. “How do you know John?”
The
stranger was silent, yet continued to look into her eyes. She suddenly felt a warmth within—her anxiety regarding this stranger had diminished as quickly as it had formed. The answers to the many questions swirling about within her mind somehow seemed unimportant at that moment.
She soon backed away from the table, still locked into his eyes. She blinked, then began to relax even a little more. She blinked a second time, now feeling able to walk away and go about her business. She was compelled suddenly to speak once again at the stranger.
“You’re a kind man. We’re happy to serve you here.”
He smiled at her. “It’s a pleasure to serve you as well, ma’am.”
He then began to eat while she turned about and walked back toward the kitchen. One of the cattlemen asked her if they could pay her for the meal as she passed by their table.
“You fella’s can pay on your way out—except for the foreman. Don Warner has taken care of his bill. The rest of you can just ring the bell at the counter. You’re welcome to sit here as long as you’d like—lunch is over and we won’t be serving dinner for a few hours yet,” she said.
“I might add that there's a round of beers waitin’ down at the saloon for all of you—again, courtesy of Don Warner. Just go see Maggie. By the way, thanks for removing those spurs,” she grinned. “You all saved yourselves from a powerful good whack on the backside of the head.”
Another half-hour passed, by which time most everyone had cleared the restaurant. John and Claude remained still at table. The Doc had returned to his office to attend to Floyd Thomas, but Charlie McCloud still sat at that table. The stranger remained as well. Lovella and Misty were busy in the kitchen. The stranger was looking out the window when John Replogle got up and walked over to his table. The man continued to look out the window, but spoke to John.
“You can sit down if you’d like. There’s a nice view here of the mountain.”
“It is captivating,” John responded as he sat down. He had brought a cup of hot tea along with him, and sipped on it. The stranger continued to look out the window toward the mountain. John then spoke at him again.
“That was a wonderful thing that you did out there. I’ve always felt that poor animal’s pain, but I could never get near him. He just wouldn’t allow it. I tried for over a year—I guess at one time I just gave up. I suppose I shouldn’t have, but sometimes a man can only do so much. I’m limited.”
“You underestimate yourself, John,” the stranger replied, his eyes still on the mountain.
“How do you know me?” John questioned.
The stranger then turned his eyes toward him. “You’re well known where I come from, John. There’s not a day that goes by that someone doesn’t speak of you, or have you in his or her thoughts. That’s just the way it is.”
John sipped again at his tea, somewhat confused and even a bit startled over the man’s words. “Stranger—I feel that I know you, but I don’t recall having ever seen you before.”
“All in good time, John. If you’ll excuse me, I have to be on my way for a bit. I’ll see you around, huh?”
“Where are you going? I’d sure like to talk with you—I need to talk with you.”
“I’ll be ridin’ out into the hills. I’ll be back sometime after sunset. Perhaps we’ll see each other tomorrow. I may be here for breakfast in the mornin’.”
John smiled. “I usually eat breakfast here as well, when I’m in town. I ride shotgun for the stage line three days a week, and also have to tend to folk’s animals now and again, but I should be here tomorrow. Hope to see you.”
The stranger nodded at John, then got up from the table and walked into the hotel. He climbed the stairway to his room. Lovella was standing behind the front desk and engaged in her work when the man came back down the stairs. His broad-brimmed hat was tilted down just above his eyes, and he was wearing the gun belt. He carried the Sharps carbine in his left hand. He walked toward the door, his spurs jingling slightly against the wood flooring, and stepped on outside.
He looked up at the mountain for a few moments, then climbed down the steps off the front porch and started toward the livery. The man walked tall and straight, taking in his surroundings as he moved along. A slight gust of wind suddenly whipped its way down the street as he crossed over, the dust and sand swirling up against his boots.
Chapter Four
The stranger walked on into the livery and spoke to Sam Waters. “I’ll be needin’ my horse.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam replied. “Fine animal. Brushed him down real good. He wasn’t skittish at all—seems right friendly. Will you be comin’ back?”
“I reckon so,” the stranger grunted, as he lifted the saddle up and placed it on his mount. “Got some work to do here a’ bouts. By the way, your hayloft, in the back room there—take notice that the third rung up the ladder is split along its center. You’d best be careful when you climb up in there next time.” The stranger cinched up his rig and stuffed the Sharps down into the saddle boot.
“Huh?” was Sam’s response. “You sure? When did you spot that, mister? I was up in the loft just yesterday and…” He immediately stepped back from the horse, which had moved abruptly as the man climbed into the saddle.
“Just lettin’ you know,” the stranger responded. He then tipped his hat at Sam and rode on out of the livery. He reined the gray toward the north and rode slowly up the street and on out of town.
Sam Waters went immediately into the back room and began to check the handrails upward toward the loft. Sure enough—the third rail from the bottom was split across its face. Any weight on it would most likely cause it to break. It creaked a little the last time he had climbed into the loft, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. He now grabbed hold of it and gave it a good tug. It split apart in his hands, his backward momentum at that instant carrying him down onto the floor.
He got up slowly and brushed himself off. He then ran quickly into the other room and on out the front door, where he came to a halt and looked up the street for the stranger. The man was now out of sight. Sam scratched at his head in thought; ‘How in thunder did that fella’ know about that rail?’
He then spotted Don Warner on the front porch of the general store. He walked down the street toward the place. Don was sweeping off the porch and spotted Sam headed his way. He noticed right away the look of concern on his face.
“Something wrong, Sam?”
Sam stepped up onto the porch. “I believe that stranger just saved me from breakin’ my fool neck. He told me about a ladder rung on the loft that was near split in two, and sure enough it was. I’m tryin’ to figure out just how he knew that? I keep the door to that back room locked up when I’m not about. I know the man’s never been in there.”
Don then stopped his sweeping and leaned on the broom handle. “John Replogle said the man cured that red-bone hound today, right out in front of your livery. I guess he also warned Lovella about a faulty hammer on that pistol she totes around. She said he never laid eyes on the gun before that—keeps it under her shirt in back of her britches. John says he’s a special person. I’m not sure what he meant by that?”
At that moment Floyd Thomas came out of the Doc’s office. Don saw him out of the corner of his eye and hollered at him from across the street.
“C’mon over here, Floyd—unless you’re down with the flu,” he smiled.
Floyd shook his head. “No flu—just a little stomach ailment.” He then approached the others and stepped up onto the porch to join them. He greeted both the men. Don Warner soon spoke with him.
“Say, Floyd—Margaret and I bought a dozen head of beef from that cattleman, Ed Winter. We were going to ask your help around butchering time, but Margaret has it in her head now that she wants to breed them and sell the new stock off next year to those buyers up in Bishop. We got a bull with the lot. However, we do need to select about a half-dozen of the cows to butcher up for the winter beef sales for the townsfolk. If I pick them out, I was wonde
ring if we could drive them over to your place for the butchering? Margaret doesn’t want to do it here this year—feels guilty about it. She wants to keep them all, actually, but we’ve sorta’ come to an agreement.”
“I’ll take six of them cows,” Floyd nodded, “but I’ll only butcher as you need ’em, Don. Someone wants beef, they can pay you and pick up their order from me the next day. How’s that sound? You supply their feed, and we can settle up on the butcherin’ fees come spring.”
“That’s kind of you, Floyd. You’re a good man—respecting my wife’s feelings like you do.”
Floyd smiled. “Well, maybe no one will want any beef this year anyway. Lots of folk’s are gettin’ bread goods, grain and produce from those Mexican farmers that own the groves over yonder. They’re cannin’ and dryin’ fruit—stockin’ up for winter right now. Margaret just might get all her cattle back!”
“You seen the stranger, Floyd?” Sam asked.
“I’ve heard. Doc Mucci told me about the dog. Sounds like a gifted man—you know; like John. Where’s he from?”
“No one knows,” Don responded. “The fella’ says he knows John, but John doesn’t recollect ever seeing the man before. A mite peculiar, it is.”
Down the street at the saloon, Maggie MacDonald walked out from behind the bar and gathered up the empty beer bottles from the cattlemen’s table.
“That round, gentlemen, was on Donald Warner, from the Lone Pine General Store. You men want more, it’s on you next round.”
Maggie was an attractive woman—blondish brown hair that fell well below her shoulders, blue eyes and a warm smile—had a healthy set of teeth; straight and pretty. She always dressed in a flannel shirt, jeans, and wore deerskin boots, laced up from the toe and turned down at the top, just below the knee. She was a widowed mother who had raised a fine son. Jayson was presently back east, working as an artist in Chicago.
Maggie was born in Lone Pine, but her parents had passed on, leaving her both a fine house and the saloon. She didn’t drink—she was a smart businesswoman who maintained the saloon as a way of life. It was a good one—money always crossed the counter, day or night, which allowed her a comfortable lifestyle. But, she was the type of person who worked most of the time, and the fruit of her labors went right into the bank. Her hope was that she might retire one day and do some extensive traveling.
Three Days In LONE PINE, An Untold Tale of The High Sierra Page 5
