Three Days In LONE PINE, An Untold Tale of The High Sierra

by Mark Stephen Taylor

  “Well, I climbed down out of the loft, went out back and grabbed hold of the plow. I tied a rope around the anvil and lashed it to the plow, then pulled the anvil off what was left of the box and on out into the cornfield, dragging it behind that plow. I never worked so hard in all my life. My legs and arms were worn out. Well, beat up as I was, I knew that Don would be home soon, so I drug the plow back to the barn, grabbed a shovel and a broom and covered up all the tracks I’d made. I don’t know what got into me—we sometimes do things that we don’t understand, even if we know that we shouldn’t be doing them?”

  She paused and took a drink of her iced tea. “Anyway, after that I pushed and pulled on that old rotten tree until it fell on top of that smashed box of rocks. Thank god it was a windy day! I let things be after that, and a couple days later Don saw that old tree lying on top of what was left of his box of rocks—splinters and dust. I told him there was a big wind out there a couple days before, and I said I thought I heard some creaking and banging and a big thud, but never went out there to see what it was. Well, he said the tree must have blown over and crushed his rock box—I left it at that.”

  She then looked at Don. “I’ve felt guilty for a long time. I guess that’s why I’m always nagging at you that people aren’t going to buy any rocks. Maybe they will—it’s just that every time I look at your collection, and see you working so hard with it, I feel guilty as sin. I’m so sorry I lied—and I’m so sorry that it was my fault that all those crystals got broken,” she sobbed.

  Don leaned over and embraced her. “There, there, Margaret. It’s okay.” He leaned back into his seat again. “I always wondered how that blasted anvil got out there in the cornfield. You forgot and left the rope around it. But I hadn’t seen it around for years and thought one of the horses might have drug it on over there. But, you did a good job of covering things up, Margaret, ’cause I couldn’t find any horse tracks, and I sure wasn’t lookin for the trail of a hand plow,” he laughed.

  “But, there’s something I believe that I lied to you about as well. There weren’t really any crystals in that old box. You know me; I always wanted to strike it big in rock collecting. I have some great pieces now, but back then I was just a dreamer. I told you there were crystal, and if you recall, I asked you not to look into that box, because the reflection of the sunlight on the crystal might blind you—remember? I guess I don’t know what got into me either? We both lied to one another, and it’s done its work on our hearts over the years, I reckon. Funny how a little mold can eat away at a fine loaf of bread.”

  He then looked at the others. “Sin is sin, folk’s. But, I’ve never lied to Margaret since, and I know she’s never lied to me. And now that we’ve both confessed to one another, and confessed it in front of you folk’s, I for one feel a burden lifted, and I see that look in Margaret’s eyes as well. I really am glad we all sat down here to share a darker side of our lives. Who’s next?” he smiled, wiping a tear from his eye.

  Margaret exhaled deeply as she wiped the tears from her eyes, and then reached over and patted her husband on the knee. Don smiled and leaned in toward her, his lips brushing gently against her cheek.

  Sheriff Johnson glanced around at the others and scratched a bit at whisker stubble. There was a little sigh after that.

  “I’ll go next. I been a lawman a while—started back in Dodge City—a long time ago, now. I was just a young marshal at the time, but figured I knew it all. I was fair with a gun—practiced since I was a kid. My pa was a good teacher. Anyway, there was a lot of shoot-outs back in Dodge in them days. It got so bad that for a time, I would shoot at a man I felt was a threat and ask questions later.”

  The sheriff lowered his head, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “It could be that this fella’ I’d become closed his ears for a time. And it could be that this fella’ didn’t always feel things out or hear them out before he pulled iron. I was out in the brush one day, squatted down and lookin’ at some tracks, when a gun went off behind me. I drew iron and turned around real fast and shot my deputy in the chest. Killed him. Then I saw a rattlesnake a few feet behind me that the man had shot.”

  Ben was quiet for a moment. “His family had a hard time puttin’ it behind ’em. I turned in my badge a short time later and rode west. Had some rough years after that; lived in some tough towns, busted brush for a couple years chasin’ wild cattle, did some gold huntin’, became a drunk for a spell…”

  He suddenly lifted his head and looked around at the others. “I was livin’ down in San Bernardino when I heard that a little fart of a town called Lone Pine needed a sheriff. Nobody knew me here, it seemed to be a fine place, folk’s accepted me, and here I reside—a man who just about every night shares a bunk with remorse. But, life goes on.”

  “You’re a good man, Ben,” the judge responded. “There are no perfect lawmen, my friend—only perfect intentions. I sent an innocent man to prison in Reno some years back. He wasn’t a very strong person to begin with, and was at a loss for words at his defense. I was young on the bench, and I told myself there was nothing I could do about it. The District Attorney was quite the talker, and a jury convicted the man.”

  The judge sipped on his iced tea. “To make a long story short, the man hung himself in prison. The actual perpetrator of the crime was caught a short time later, after he had stabbed a woman in a house of ill repute. It was learned at his trial that he had killed several women. I was quite pleased to give the order to hang that man, but I continue to bear the scars on my heart regarding the innocence of the former. There are nightmares now and then, and I am at a loss in establishing a final resting place for it all.”

  Lovella sighed. “There is no rest for some things, Jim.”

  She then looked at the others. “What you all have done don’t hold a candle to what I did. But the cryin’ and frettin’ is over for me now. That’s because I’m either too old to care, or I have so much guilt inside of me that I’ve turned into stone.”

  She picked up her iced tea and took quick gulp, setting the empty cup back on the table. “I grew up in Arizona. A band of Indians raided the homestead one day, and pa had herded us all into an underground shelter that he had dug for storin’ potatoes—and told us to be quiet. I had my baby sister in my arms. We could hear them Indians outside, hootin’ and hollerin’—they was almost on top of us. My little sister started cryin’.” Lovella’s lower lip began to twitch ever so slightly.

  “I covered her mouth with my hand. It was dark down there—couldn’t see anything. She fought at me a little and cried all the more. I pushed down hard on her mouth with the palm of my hand. Pretty soon she got real quiet. She had actually stopped breathing and I didn’t know it. I just figured her cryin’ spell was over. In a little while it got quiet outside. Pa waited a bit and then opened the door to the shelter. When the light come in all of a sudden, there was my baby sister—dead in my arms.

  “My ma had died giving birth to that child, and my pa never forgave me. He took me to my grandma’s farm, and I never saw him or my brothers again. Don’t know if they’re alive or dead now. When grandma died I was in my late teens. I lit out and shinned for the road. Lived here and there for a while—big towns, small towns. I’ve been here in Lone Pine now goin’ on twelve years—longest I’ve ever stayed in one place.”

  Her lip had stopped quivering. She reached over and grabbed Maggie’s cigarette box from the table, removed one out of that metal container and placed it between her lips. Maggie struck a match and lit it for her.

  “I’ve done well here,” she continued, “and I’m comfortable. I guess that’s why I’ve stayed on. You all said it felt good to tell your story. I’ll have to think about that a while. It’s been so long ago that I don’t know what to feel—and I ain’t sure no more if I know how to feel anything.”

  At that moment the sound of leather boot heels against wood, accompanied by the rhythmic jingle of spurs with each step, could be heard along the outside walkway. Those inside
turned abruptly to face the front door. The familiar sounds grew louder as someone climbed up the short stairway at the front of the restaurant, and a moment later appeared in the open doorway. Michael then tipped his hat, his eyes visible just beneath its wide brim.

  “Nice to see you folk’s all sittin’ here.” He glanced at Ben Johnson. “I’m obliged, sheriff.” He eyed all the others as well. “If you folk’s don’t mind I’ll be sittin’ with you a bit.” It was more a statement of fact than a question.

  The man then walked toward them, eyed Lovella, and suddenly stopped dead where he was and reached down to remove his spurs. She responded with a smile on her face, which seemed to relieve a bit of gloom the woman was dwelling in after telling her story to the others.

  He soon walked in close and set the spurs on the table in front of her. He then smiled, reached back and pulled a chair from another table, sliding it over into a position just across from Sheriff Johnson. The man then sat down and removed his hat.

  To Michael’s right were Margaret and Don Warner. On around the table were Judge Dawson, Sheriff Johnson, Maggie, Misty, and then Lovella; just to his left. He looked around at everyone.

  “Cozy little group, huh?” he smiled, trying to allow each of them the opportunity to relax in his presence.

  “Misty, I would appreciate it if you would go refill that pitcher with some of your iced tea, and we can all have a fresh cup together,” he said.

  She nodded at him and stood up immediately, then made her way into the kitchen. She returned in a short time, refilled everyone’s cup, and then poured a cup for Michael and sat it just in front of him on the table. You could have heard a pin drop in the room from the time she went to fetch that tea, until she had completed serving everyone and had sat back down with them. Michael was aware of their continued uneasiness in his presence and once again spoke to the group.

  “I am who John Replogle told you I am.”

  Immediately everyone seated with him was taken aback with shock, his or her eyes and facial expressions generating that attitude in one way or another. Judge Dawson nearly fell off his chair. Michael was sensitive to the tense emotions that had permeated the room.

  “I want you folk’s to try and relax. Look here at me, if you will. I’m not the boogieman. I’m not here to chide you about the things you’ve talked over this afternoon. You were destined to talk on those things this very day, and I’m actually in this restaurant right now on my own accord. I was sent here to Lone Pine to attend to another chore, but I’ve asked to be allowed to tell you some things that most folk’s spend their whole lives wantin’ to hear.” Everyone seated at that table had his full attention.

  “Most folk’s don’t know how God feels about ’em, so they don’t ask Him. And when and if they do, they seem to be unable to hear just what He has to say. So, I’m gonna’ tell you just how He feels, so the rest of your lives here on earth can be fruitful, so to speak, and full of hope. Folk’s remain blind to who God is and how He feels, because of the deceitfulness of His enemies. They’re the ones that blind your hearts and minds to the truth. Their leader is the father of deception—that serpent of old.

  “Misty—you’re first. That woman who accused you of sleepin’ with her husband was sleepin’ with every man in town at the time. Most folk’s never look at themselves before accusin’ others. She was shot and killed by a jealous woman, who was the wife of that New York restaurant owner that booted you out. He was an adulterer, and died of a heart attack in a local brothel. Your confession here today has set you free from any guilt or punishment in that matter.

  “Punishment is not even an option. Fact is you’ve always been the Lord’s own. Your future’s with Him. Just continue to guard your heart and you’ll be fine. Stay here and work among these folk’s. You have quite a bit of time left before you’ll be called home, and I mean quite a bit—too many folk’s around here enjoy your cookin’,” he smiled.

  “And, when you go home today, you’ll find that Digger hasn’t dug anymore deep holes in the yard. In fact, he’s filled up all the one’s he has dug. All he wants to do now is spend time with you. You can bring him here to work with you and he’ll lay right in there on the floor of the kitchen—with Lovella’s permission, of course. And you keep in mind, Lovella, that Digger will be the best watchdog you ever heard tell of. You won’t need to tote that piece around anymore in your britches.”

  “Maggie—that fella you shot just outside of Tucson; that was his fate. That was destined a long time before it ever happened. You got away with it because that’s the way the Lord wanted it. Though your revenge was a bad choice on your part, it served to fulfill that man’s destiny. You’ve paid for that bad choice; by the guilt and anguish you’ve had to deal with all your life since then.

  “But you’ve been forgiven, Maggie, and that’s all wrapped up now and tied with a bow because of your confession here today. The Lord loves a broken spirit and a contrite heart. He loves folk’s to share their hurts and failures with one another. That’s what brings healin’. That’s one of His promises, and the promises of God are what you need to center your life on. Never trust your own feelin’s—in any matter. So, you go ahead and live the rest of your life accordingly. You have quite a bit of time left as well,” he nodded, then turned his attention to Margaret.

  “Margaret—why you did what you did and then lied about what really happened is sometimes unavoidable. The dark side of the Force works against the human heart at all times, so that you can’t always do what you would or should. Once you understand that the powers of darkness are always workin’ against you, and workin’ relentlessly, it gives you an awareness that helps you to defend yourself—gives you a little more power in your resistance to those many things that war against you—fear, evil thoughts, insecurities and so on.

  “And like the others here today, your acknowledgment of a dark time in your past has opened the door to your freedom from it. But don’t ever plan on bein’ perfect, Margaret—not as long as you’re on the earth where the spirits of darkness make their abode. Your perfection will come, as it will for the rest of the folk’s in this room, but not until the Lord comes to take you all home at the end of this age. In the meantime, the things you and Don are workin’ at in this town will grow like a field of flowers. You’re both strong in spirit, and we honor that up yonder-way. You have a lot of time remainin’ yet to be with one another as well.

  “Don—your respect and honor for the stones and rocks that you gather from the earth have earned you much favor in the courts of the Most High. By workin’ with ’em and displayin’ ’em and talkin’ about ’em as you do, you give honor to the One who formed them—but you need to work a little harder about tellin’ folk’s that side of it. It weren’t no millions of years in time that formed those rocks. The earth’s just a bit over 6000 years old right now. Yet, there’s lots of nice rocks out there, huh, Don?

  “If you climb up one of these mountains around here one of these days, and get a good look down on the aftermath of the Great Flood—the flood plain that’s all through this area, then you might be able to spot a few special places—little furrows and gullies and such, where the force of receding water planted quite an array of your precious rocks.” He then leaned back in his chair.

  “We still call it Noah’s Flood where I come from. And by the way, your words here today have freed you from those little white lies about havin’ crystals that you didn’t have at the time,” he smiled. “You'll find more crystals in the future—some mighty rare ones too. But you give the glory to the one who formed them—and verbally—do you understand? And you and Margaret remain truthful to one another at all times, you hear?”

  Chapter Ten

  Michael paused to take a drink of Misty’s iced tea blend. “That’s a fine tea, Misty. You might try some sassafras roots next time you fix up a batch. There’s a couple old stumps out at John’s place, where the roots go down twenty feet or more under ground. Ol’ Buck Grace has a few stump
s too, and several trees still alive and in bloom. But I believe he’s a bit further from town than John.”

  Michael then addressed the sheriff. “Ben—you’ve learned things the hard way, but you have learned. Some folk’s never do—just go right on makin’ the same choices and same mistakes over and over again. But, your responsibility as a lawman is like no other. You’re like a knight in shining armor, so to speak, if you live to serve the spirit of the law and not the letter. The letter kills, but the spirit gives life.

  “Always look for the best in folk’s, Ben. Serve the people. Treat the lawbreakers fairly and justly. If a man steals from his neighbor because he’s poor, and he goes to jail for twenty years, the spirit of the law is not served. You need to be concerned about that man’s case—help him out. Get all the facts before you present your case to the judge. Talk in depth with everybody involved. Learn where their hearts lay and what they’re made of. That’s servin’ the sprit of the law, which is what was intended in the beginning when law had to be established.

  “And, Ben—that fella you shot accidentally forgave you a long time ago. And when his wife died and went to be with him, he explained it all to her about what happened—how the sun was in your eyes when you fired that shot. It could have been anyone gunnin’ for you, Ben. Forgive yourself, because you have been forgiven. You got some good years of sheriffin’ left,” he smiled, then turned abruptly and faced the judge.

  “Judge—you know that justice is sometimes blind. But that man that hung himself, he did have some problems of his own. He was innocent of the crimes against those women, that’s true, but his outlook on life was one of despair and loneliness. You couldn’t have known that because the man was unable to verbalize it. He also never looked at anything with the idea that God made it, and so he never learned anything about himself. He didn’t know a flower from a walnut.