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

by Mark Stephen Taylor

  Ed Winter spoke to his foreman, somewhat distraught in his tone. “Slim—did we lose anybody?”

  “Everyone is accounted for as far as I know, Ed,” Woodson responded. “A few lost their mounts but then made it to them trees over yonder. Bruce Smith got a head count and say’s we’re all still here,” he smiled.

  Ed breathed a sigh of relief. “You and Bruce get down there to that shallow end and see if you can coax some of those animals up out of the water. There’s a cattle trail about a quarter mile yonder that will take you down onto the bank. You got quite a bit of flat area in there to bring the cattle up on. Let ’em rest before you push ’em on up the hill.

  “Crawford—you come with me. We’ll ride back to camp and fetch some more ropes and grab a few of the boys. I hope we can save some of these critters. I never seen a stampede like that in my whole life, and I been cowboy’n a long time. That was a powerful wind that spooked that herd. Thank goodness more than half of ’em were up in that little valley to the north. I ’spect I should of sent ’em all up there to begin with.” He then looked at his foreman.

  “Slim—we’ll be back as soon as we can.” He and Donnie Crawford then rode back toward their camp, while Woodson and Smith headed down along the lower bank.

  High on the mountain, looking down over the very edge of its bold face stood the black wolf. He had witnessed the event, and mourned for the cattle, a tear from his eye caught up in the fur along his snout. He soon took a deep, sighing breath and turned away. A huge mountain lion stood suddenly before him, there on the very summit of the mountain. The lion paced back and forth slowly atop the rocks, its head and eyes fixed threateningly in the direction of the wolf

  The wolf snarled a bit, then spoke at the animal. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, but some of them cattle that were caught up in the rush will make it out alive. I see you’ve changed your form, Lucifer. Your servants are gone. They won’t be comin’ back. You plan on stickin’ around here by yourself?”

  The lion roared, then spoke without remorse. “No—I was never up here that often anyway. You know me—it is in fact written of me. ‘I’m like a roaring lion, prowling about and seeking whom I may devour.’”

  The wolf nodded. “You do know your Scripture—above the knowledge of any human, but you twist it in their minds to your own advantage. That’s very sad, from my point of view, seein’ how the Almighty’s word is life at its fullest. You can leave now. I’m all done here—unless you’ve got somethin’ else you might like to say?”

  The lion then growled. “Your work here has done nothing to harm my reign over this land. The loss of one little stronghold will not make any difference. My servants will rise again—in another place. Your lord’s mercy is my stronghold. I’m still in control—that is written as well—‘the kingdoms of the world have been given to me; all of their authority and splendor, and I, Lucifer, can give them to whomever I want.’”

  “For a while,” the wolf agreed. “But this mountain will shine anew, and folk’s will climb it and see the wonders created by the Most High all around ’em. They’ll share that inspiration with others—a great victory in the Force. Good people will influence the town of Lone Pine for a long time to come. Belief in the truth will then become strong. I’m hopin’ that all this influence from the mountain and the folk’s around it will jerk a knot in your tail.”

  “Perhaps,” the lion responded. “But humans will need to remain on their guard just the same. My power is strong here in what they call the ‘land of the free.’ I make slaves of whomever I will. The dark side of the Force will always remain here—from ocean to ocean and beyond. I now bid you farewell—for a time.”

  The great lion disappeared in a rush of wind. The storm clouds over the mountain then began to slowly drift toward the west. Even with the full moon many stars were soon visible in the night sky. Michael stared at them from atop the mountain for some time, and at one point during those quiet moments howled out loudly toward the moon—the call of the wolf.

  He soon turned away from the highest point on the mountain and started back down, the bright moonlight revealing his shadow atop a glistening layer of frozen snow as he tread with much vigor toward the plateau below, where Spirit Rider waited in earnest for his return.

  Far below on the outskirts of the Indian village, a clear, star filled sky now visible above them, Bear Claw spoke with his son and granddaughter.

  “A voice within me has spoken. It was the voice of the archangel. He has thanked us for holding onto the blue stone. His work is finished, and tomorrow the early sun will radiate on the face of the mountain, greeting a cloudless sky. There is now much peace in my heart. A great future for our land begins tomorrow with the rising of the sun.”

  “Tomorrow morning I will guide the fishermen up the mountain to the high meadow,” Stalking Moon responded. “I will be heading out very early. They will be allowed their glory. Perhaps I will see the great bear when I get up there.”

  “Can we go back to the camp now, father?” Little Swan asked. “I am so tired I can no longer stay awake. It is very late.”

  “Yes, my child,” the man responded. “Give your grandfather a hug, and you may go from us.”

  The young girl smiled and then hugged her grandfather. She turned and hugged her father as well. “I will tell mother you will not be long?”

  “We will not be long,” Bear Claw responded. “I have only a few more words to speak to your father.”

  The young girl soon returned to the village, the two men watching until she entered the camp. Bear Claw then spoke once again to his son.

  “My birthday celebration continues tomorrow, my son. I will not see the gray rider again, but I am told that you will. Tell him that I know he thinks of me with each day that passes, and I am most honored among red men. Today has been a good day!”

  Stalking Moon nodded in agreement. “A long awaited day for you, my father. I am indeed most honored to be your son at such a time as this.”

  Ed Winter and several of his drovers joined the others at the great lake, but Ed didn’t stay among them for very long. Those along the lower bank of the waters had been working to save as many of the cattle as they could. It was approaching 11pm and the moon was directly overhead, which aided them in their ongoing efforts. The majority of the outfit worked a little longer, until they had done about all they could.

  Slim Woodson soon sent Donnie Crawford back to camp to talk with Ed Winter. Ed wasn’t in the best of moods—it was difficult for him to look at all those dead cattle, so he’d ridden on back to the chuck wagon to help the cook round up some coffee and biscuits for everyone. He wanted the food fresh and hot when the boys returned from their roundup. Donnie soon rode up into the main camp and located Ed.

  “Mr. Woodson sent me over here, sir. He says we’ve rounded up near to four hundred head or more. He said he figured you lost maybe close to four thousand. He’s sendin’ three of the boys on up to that little valley with what remains of the herd. He said he’s real sorry about what happened. And he wanted me to tell you that in no time at all that herd will grow back to what it was. Him and some of the boys will be along for coffee directly.”

  “Okay, Donnie,” Ed responded. “Cookie is makin’ some biscuits here. You pack most of ’em up and take some coffee to those boys headed up to the valley.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ed then smiled—a little difficult for him to do that at such a time. “You want to stay workin’ at that livery, or come ride with me and my cowpunchers?”

  “Well—I—I figure Sam Waters really needs me right now, sir. He’s got a bad back and he’s got that stage line to keep runnin’. I’m not sure if…”

  “That’s all right, son,” Ed interrupted. “You’re a good man. I’ll be openin’ a spread in that little valley up yonder. Gonna’ raise beef right around here, now. We’ll be seein’ one another. Now, you go on and get them biscuits and coffee delivered pronto,” he smiled.

&nbs
p; Donnie nodded at the man. “Thank you, sir—I’ll do that.”

  Most of the folk’s who had earlier gathered at the restaurant were still there—sitting on the front porch of the hotel, on the steps of the restaurant and along the front sidewalk, each of them looking up toward the mountain, the bright moonlight revealing its bold face. Lovella had offered a dining room chair to any that desired one, but most of the folk’s seemed content where they were, for the time being.

  There had been some conversation among all of them as the events had unfolded on the mountain, and some tense moments among the gathering as well. But shortly before 11pm things got fairly quiet. Most everyone felt that Michael’s quest was a successful one. But, then again, no one really new for sure—no one except John Replogle.

  Judge Dawson, Buck Grace, John Replogle and Sheriff Johnson were seated together alongside one another on the upper plank of the restaurant’s front steps. Lovella, Misty, Maggie, Margaret and Don Warner, along with Ed and Michelle Spencer were seated along the sidewalk, their feet hanging out over its edge into the street. Doc Mucci, Sam Waters, Claude Davis, Floyd Thomas and Charlie McCloud sat on the hotel porch—the only ones among the gathering who were seated in chairs.

  Charlie McCloud removed that hat with its turned up brim and scratched at the top of his head, speaking at Sam Waters. “I sure am wonderin’ about that light we saw up there—you know, after it got real quiet? Then when that light went out, that old black cloud come off the mountain and whisked to the south of us, and then that’s when the ground started shakin’!”

  He then spoke a bit louder, directing his words at others not so close by. “What was all that ground shakin’? You think that might have been an earthquake?”

  Some of the folk’s there responded that they believed it was an earthquake. After all, they had experienced a large quake, just less than two years before, back in ’72. But no one knew for certain, once again, with the exception of John Replogle.

  John was tired and soon stood up to head for home. Buck Grace said that he would ride along with him, his ranch just a bit east of John’s. They started toward the livery to saddle up their horses, when John suddenly stopped and turned toward all the folk’s seated along the front of the hotel building. He figured he’d better let them know what was going on. After all, folk’s should know the truth, and he somehow felt that Michael had entrusted that duty to him.

  “Listen up here, folk’s. That wasn’t an earthquake. And that dark cloud was more than likely the evil spirits that were cast off the mountain. They were allowed an escape, if you will. God is the one who determines the fate of evil spirits, and sometimes he spares certain ones of them until the great judgment, allowing them to roam free.”

  John then paused a moment and looked at Buck. “Let’s go over and sit back down again for a bit. This may take a while.”

  The men then moved out of the street and sat once again in their former seats on the steps at the front of the restaurant. The folk’s around them were attentive to John’s words. Lovella knew her Bible too, and those words would be strength to her. Others in that crowd read the Good Book as well, so they weren’t really about to hear anything new—they would just see it brought to life—perhaps for the first time. And ol’ Sam Waters? He would be writing it all down in that diary.

  “Anyway,” John began, “those spirits that were cast off the mountain went into that herd of cattle south of town. Naturally they’re gonna’ stampede. I don’t know how many spirits there were, but I’m sure they ended up in a good part of that herd. That earthquake you felt was the stampede—I believe that Winter fella’ had over four thousand head of beef down there. That’s a lot of pounding against the ground. We’d feel the shaking up here in town, that’s for sure.

  “They most likely ran toward the cliffs down on the Owens Lake and dove off the edge. The same thing is spoken of in the Bible, and happened during the time that Jesus was here on the earth. There was a man that had a few thousand evil spirits residing within him—called themselves ‘Legion,’ which can mean ‘many’—anywhere from two to six thousand, according to Roman history.

  “When Jesus confronted the man, the evil spirits inside of him were scared to death, and asked Jesus not to torture them, which wasn’t his plan to begin with. They asked permission to enter a large herd of swine, feeding on the hillside, and he permitted them to do so. They entered the pigs, and the whole herd stampeded over a high embankment and were all drowned in a lake. The local folk’s were overcome with fear, and asked Jesus to leave their town, and so he did.

  “Some folk’s believe the spirits went somewhere else after that, and some believe that they were all drowned; because they were inside the pigs that drowned. I tend to believe they went somewhere else, but I don’t really know. But what I do know is that they never came back and reentered the man that they were cast out from. That man changed his ways after that.

  “The bottom line I believe is that the evil spirits atop our mountain are gone. Things are gonna’ change around here. Now, I don’t know if we’ll see Michael again, but I do know that we need to go over to the Indian village and get to know those people. Their legends turned out to be true. And they have a lot of knowledge about the earth and the animals and such things that we don’t—most of us.

  “Michele Spencer there said it herself—regarding the difference between the medicines that we use and the ones the Indians use. They can teach us a lot. The Mexican folk’s have no problem associating with the Indians, and neither should we. I see some good days ahead for all of us. And I see a future for the mountain, and the town of Lone Pine. If you all have any more questions, I’d be glad to answer them for you—best I can, anyway.”

  Up on the mountain the wolf had climbed down to the high plateau and stepped agilely across the rocks and then out into the meadow where Spirit Rider stood waiting. He was just a few feet from the horse when his appearance suddenly changed back into that of a man.

  “Whoa,” he muttered, standing there naked. “I’d best get some clothes on.”

  The horse nickered, and then spoke to the man. “Good to see you, my Master. Do we return to the town? The food is good in the stable—sweet stock is mixed in with the hay.”

  Michael buttoned his trousers and slipped into his shirt. “No, my friend. We’ll spend the night here. I have to be here in this meadow just after sunrise anyway. After that we’ll head on down and make a couple stops just south of town. And shortly after that we’ll be headin’ home. But, there’s a bit of sweet stock in those saddlebags there—atop that rock. I try to stay ahead of your thinkin’. Let me go on and fetch you some.”

  THE NEXT MORNING…

  Chapter Fifteen

  The first rays of the sun from the east painted the high peak of the mountain early in the morning. It was a radiant display, bright orange in color and extended across the upward face of the entire Sierra Crest. Just below those early rays Stalking Moon and the three fishermen had climbed into the high meadow below the summit block.

  Stalking Moon stood in the lush green of the meadow, the fishermen along side him, and pointed to the northwestern edge of the plateau.

  “There is the chute that will lead you to the top. It will continue across the north face, and I believe you will find your way to the top from the western slope beyond. This meadow is as high as I have ever been. Go in peace and conquer the mountain. You will be remembered you for your quest.””

  The men thanked Stalking Moon and then started across the meadow. In a short time they entered the boulder-strewn chute, out of his field of vision. He stood alone in the center of the meadow. All was quiet about him. The sky above the summit block was a royal blue, and to his east the sun now shone upon him. The early orange glow on the mountain increased in height as the rising sunlight moved down along its granite face.

  A lone hawk appeared above him. It was a red hawk, and circled the high meadow in a wide ark. The great bird suddenly cried out—three times, its
voice echoing among the high crags. The Indian then heard movement in the foliage behind him, and taking his eyes off the bird turned about at that moment to face his bear—the large grizzly that he had met as a boy.

  The animal was perhaps thirty feet away and moving toward him. He steadied himself, his fingers on the bone handle of a knife that hung in a leather sheath at his waist. He tried to show no fear, but even in the chill of the morning a bead of sweat had quickly formed along his brow. He remained motionless, save for the tapping of his fingers against the antler bone.

  The bear suddenly rose up on its hind legs not ten feet away from him. The animal stood close to eight feet tall, its font paws reaching upward just above its head, the claws erect. On the right paw two claws were missing—only stumps just above the pad remained. The bear seemed to be moving the remaining three, slowly back and forth—almost at a wiggle. It was as if he was reminding Stalking Moon of his loss.

  At that moment the animal let out with a fierce growl, its snout pointing skyward. The huge bear then dropped back onto all fours with a thud. It then snorted and swiped at the ground with that disfigured right paw. Stalking moon started to withdraw the knife, but then abruptly dropped his hand and spoke to the bear, its head lowered for the charge and its eyes now fixed upon him—looking right into the man’s eyes.

  “Forgive me, great bear. I am but flesh, and only fought to protect myself, as a young boy would do. I now believe that you were trying to protect me from the evil on the mountain. Let us now become one in spirit—for the evil is on the mountain no longer!”

  He panted as he spoke to the animal, somewhat fearful of this immense creature, yet he stood his ground. He would not run away—no matter what the bear chose to do. This he had determined within his heart many years ago.

  The bear then moved in closer, its eyes still upon the man. It looked at his face—at the scars along his neck. It gazed at those wounds for several moments, and then looked directly into the eyes of the man once again.