The Fugitive Son

by Adell Harvey

  He decided to give reason one more try. Riding into the center of the mob, he held up his hands. “Listen, fellas, harvest is near, and it looks to me like the good Lord has blessed us with a bountiful crop. We can afford to sell some of it to these hungry folks. They have plenty of money to pay cash, and who doesn’t need cash these days? You’re going to have to sell some of the crop somewhere. Why not sell it to these people who need to get on through Deseret and into California?”

  A few of the men began to listen, apparently giving serious thought to Andy’s suggestion. Suddenly, Pa rode into the crowd. ““But nobody who obeys the prophet is going to sell their crops to the enemy!” he thundered, again raising the crowd to fever pitch.

  Amidst the yells of “Yeah!” and “I’d rather burn ‘em first,” Andy protested. “But these are innocent people! Mothers and tiny babies, toddlers! Little children just like yours!”

  “Innocent, my eye! You heard all the stuff they’ve done!” The man who seemed to be the main spokesman for the group took charge. “No way are we going to aid our enemies!”

  “But doesn’t the Good Book say we should love our enemies and do good to those who would harm us?” Andy argued.

  “Don’t rightly know what the Good Book says about it, but I’m right sure the Book of Mormon don’t preach no nonsense like that! I say, let’s get on with it!” the spokesman thundered.

  Realizing he couldn’t accomplish anything here, Andy swung his horse around and told Pa, “I’m going back up to Aunt Hettie’s. Are you coming?”

  Pa shook his head. “No, you go on along. I think I’ll spend the night down here with the brethren. We’ve got business to take care of. Give the kiddies my love.”

  Andy rode like ghosts were chasing him, making the fifteen-mile ride in short order. Some distance to the west, he saw the wagon train lumbering through the high grasses of the well-watered meadow, obviously avoiding the trail to bypass problems. He hurried on toward Aunt Hettie’s, fervently praying that the train would be successful in keeping clear of trouble.

  Coming close to Aunt Hettie’s cabin, he was shocked to see several horses already hitched in her yard. Indian horses. Chief Kanosh stepped out of the cabin just then, greeting him warmly. “Hello, friend. We stopped by to tell Hettie you safe. And get bread and jam for warriors.” He grinned widely, holding up a large hunk of fresh-baked bread slathered in raspberry jam.

  Andy shook his hand. “Chief Kanosh,” he acknowledged. “I’m glad to see you. We need to talk about something.”

  “So talk…”

  As best he could, Andy tried to tell Kanosh about the peril of the whites and how he thought the settlers were setting a trap for them, appealing to Kanosh’s conscience not to help in any harassment.

  Kanosh asked a few questions, then told Andy, “Indians not kill. Prophet say we can have the cattle and horses. At first we tell him, ‘But you say to Indians not to steal.’”

  Andy asked, “What did he say to that?”

  “He say not stealing. Just helping Mormons get back what belongs to them. It’s big reward for our help.”

  So that’s what the big meeting with the prophet was all about. He must have been securing the help of the Indians in whatever plot he was conceiving. Andy tried once more to make Kanosh see that he shouldn’t take part, even insisting that the wagon train was well guarded with sharpshooters, and any attack on them would most certainly result in carnage to the Indians.

  Kanosh shrugged. “Indians from all over already on their way. Many down in the meadow now. Can’t let them down. Our people hungry; cows give beef and milk for our babies. Must go, but promise no killing!”

  Andy quickly fed and watered his horse, letting the argument rest while he went in to greet Aunt Hettie and his half-siblings. He quickly explained that he had to ride to Mountain Meadow immediately. He rode off with the speed of Paul Revere, hoping to warn the wagon train before the attack. There would be no sleep or rest for him this night.

  New Mexico Territory

  Lawson Reed, the wagonmaster of the southbound wagon train, called the wagons to a halt. “This looks like as good a place as any to set up camp for the night. Let’s circle up and get some vittles ready for supper.”

  Elsie looked around at the wild, barren desert, destitute of anything but a few straggly cactus plants and wild sage. It had been several weary weeks since the train had split in the grassy prairies of Kansas. There had been little but desert since. A wave of homesickness swept over her. Back home in Kentucky, sage and mint would be scenting the air. Colorful hollyhocks would be waiting for little girls to make their beautiful blooms into dolls. The grass would be rich and green. The new owners of River Bend Plantation would be harvesting the beans, peas, squash, sweet corn and cucumbers she had so lovingly planted.

  She heaved a deep, agonizing sigh. She was no longer a protected, delicate Southern belle growing up in privilege on a Kentucky plantation. Her future, whatever it mght bring, lay to the West. Squaring her shoulders, she joined the other women picking up dried cattle dung and whatever fuel they could find for their campfires. She would meet the frontier on her own terms, she decided, facing her uncertain future head-on.

  Kentucky, with its life of ease, lay behind her. The Great Plains, which had seemed so frightening in their awesomeness, were no longer alien to her; she had conquered them. Now, just over the snow-capped purple mountains, was a new life as a mercantile owner in Santa Fe. Instead of viewing New Mexico Territory through the backward lens of her life in Kentucky, she determined she would accept it for its own beauty.

  She stared hard toward the west, the land of the setting sun, the land of her future. The sky was ablaze with a magnificent sunset, stretching across the horizon in a riot of colors. The desert itself seemed to reflect the colors, painting the cliffs and buttes an array of purples, pinks, and scarlet. How many more of these spectacular sunsets would she enjoy before setting foot in Santa Fe?

  Elsie’s melancholy stayed with her throughout the busy supper preparations and cleanup. Unwilling to call it a day and crawl into her featherbed, she sat on the rear stoop of her wagon and watched the fading sunset darken into a velvet blue sky. One by one, the diamond stars made their entrance onto the scene. Lit by the biggest full moon she had ever seen, the buttes in the distance seemed to loom larger than they had in the daylight, towering over the desert like dark monoliths.

  “May we join you?”

  Elsie startled when the voice shattered the silence of the night. Looking up, she scooted over on the stoop to make room for her visitors, the Morton sisters, Cindy and Sara.

  “It’s way too pretty tonight to go inside,” Cindy said. “We’re just walking along jawing about what the future holds for us.”

  Elsie grinned. “Don’t you mean who the future holds for you? You two are always going on about how you’re going to have to find a man in Texas, because every eligible male on this part of the wagon train is related to you!”

  “We should have accepted one of those proposals before the train split and took all the available men to California,” Sara said with a sigh. “Sally was smart to marry Marion Tackitt, even if it did mean leaving her family.”

  At the mention of her friend, Elsie grew pensive. “That had to be hard for her. She was so close to her mother and sisters.” She looked up at the golden orb rising above the earth. “I wonder if she and Marion are somewhere looking at this same moon?”

  “As moonie-eyed as they were, I doubt if they’d pass up a chance to sit and spoon on a night like this!” Cindy laughed. “Which brings us back to our original question. Where are we going to find a fella to watch the moon with?”

  Sara poked Elsie lightly. “You never talk about finding a man. With all your dreams of managing your own mercantile, you probably figure you won’t need a man.”

  “You may find it hard to believe,” Elsie answered, “but growing up on a plantation in Kentucky, a young lady is prepared for one big role in life – mar
riage. I learned how to charm a man, how to talk to him, how to cook his favorite meals. I know how to run a home, supervise servants, and make myself alluring and submissive, all of which will no doubt be wasted in Santa Fe where the only males will be my brothers, the Mexicans, or the freight drivers.”

  “Don’t forget all the soldiers in forts around there who will be coming to town to look for a pretty lass,” Sara teased.

  “I may be set on marriage, but I’m not a foolish romantic,” Cindy chimed in. “Whomever we finally catch, one thing’s for sure – we’ll have to learn to keep our rosebud lips shut tightly when necessary and never express an opinion that contradicts the lord of the castle!”

  The girls broke into giggles at Cindy’s sarcastic tone. “On second thought,” Sara said, “maybe I shouldn’t be in such an all-fired hurry to get a man!”

  They laughed so loud, the people in the next wagon chided them, “Will you girls keep it quiet so a body can get some sleep?”

  “Sorry,” Elsie muttered. Whispering to her friends, she continued the conversation. “In addition to learning to be agreeable, I also was taught to play the piano, recite poetry in French, and do needlepoint. How will any of that be useful out here in the wild West?”

  The sisters agreed Elsie’s background wasn’t conducive to a life in New Mexico. “We’re a bit more prepared for our new life,” Cindy said. “We both can milk a cow, shovel manure, plow a straight row, ride a horse, plant corn. You name it, we’ve done it!”

  “We’ve done those chores all our lives. And we’ve still been taught to be ladies. Yep! We’ll make some lucky Texas farmers great wives,” Sara added.

  “But will they be the kind of husbands we want?” Cindy asked ruefully.

  The commotion of an arriving wagon interrupted their whispered discussion. “Who on earth?” Elsie slid off the wagon stoop and peeked around the front of her wagon. A freight wagon had pulled up, and its driver was talking to Captain Reed. Recognizing the voice, she approached the men.

  “Trip!” She exclaimed, surprised to see her rescuer this far back on the trail already. “Goodness gracious!” she declared. “Never thought I’d see you again!”

  Trip laughed. “Was hoping I’d catch up to you. After I left you in Kansas, I moseyed on into Kansas City, picked up a load of freight, then high-tailed it back along the trail, thinking maybe I’d catch up to you. My freight wagon makes a heap of a lot better time than your huge train could have with all its stock.”

  “Well, I’m mighty happy to see you.” Elsie stepped back and glanced at his wagon. “But isn’t that a new wagon? I thought you drove for Ben Holladay?”

  Bursting with pride, Trip pointed to the new sign on his wagon, clearly visible in the bright moonlight, “Triple A Freighters.”

  “Yep! Truth be told, I got tired of ole’Holladay’s shenanigans, so I up and bought my own wagon and went into business for myself. Like it?”

  Elsie nodded. “I surely do! So you’re going all the way into Santa Fe?”

  “That I am. I knew that the Fancher train was splitting in western Kansas with the main group heading north. I thought I might be able to catch up to this part of it and escort you the rest of the way. Didn’t want you stuck alone along the Cimarron Trail… there’s no telling what might happen to you.”

  Captain Reed joined in the conversation. “We wouldn’t have left her alone, but I’m mighty glad you came along just now. We’ve got a long way to go to get settled on our Pecos land before winter sets in, and every day counts. Yes sir, we’re mighty grateful to you, Trip. This way we can head straight there instead of having to go on to Santa Fe and then backtrack.”

  Elsie was grateful, too, but she didn’t like the idea that she would have been a burden to her new friends. She didn’t like being a burden to anyone. While it wouldn’t have been fun, she could have managed the rest of the trail on her own. She hoped that once she got to Santa Fe, her brothers wouldn’t think she needed taking care of. She could pull her own weight.

  She sighed once again. This being a woman had its ups and downs. Sometimes it was nice to sit in the wagon and let a man do the driving and loading. But having people think she was some helpless creature not capable of taking care of herself could be annoying. Which way did she want it?

  Trip looked around. “Say, did Isaac ever show up?”

  Elsie shook her head sadly. “No, we asked everyone we met, but no one has seen him.”

  “I got a bit of news back at the last fort. It seems some bounty hunters had stopped at the fort on their way back toward Kansas City, empty-handed. Said they’d caught a runaway, a giant of a man who somehow managed to escape from them. They finally decided to quit looking for him and head back.”

  Elsie smiled. “If that was Isaac, at least he got free and won’t be sold back into slavery. But where would he go?”

  “Probably up into the mountains to lay low for a while. Could he survive in the wilds?” Trip asked.

  “He could make it almost anywhere,” Elsie asserted confidently. “I’ve never seen anybody as self-reliant and capable as Isaac. But I hope he gets out of the mountains before winter sets in. I’ve heard the winters out here can be brutal.”

  “I daresay if he’s as smart as you say he is, your Isaac will no doubt meet up with us in Santa Fe one of these days.”

  Elsie went to sleep that night with Trip’s assurance on her heart. Her prayers were still for Isaac’s safety, but she was able to pray with much more detailed specifics now that she had some idea of where he might be. And thank you, Lord, for sending Trip back in time to escort me safely into Santa Fe, she added. You knew how I was dreading that trip, and now I’m actually looking forward to it. You’re such a loving, caring Father!

  She fell asleep more peacefully than than she had in quite some time.

  Chapter 12

  September 1857

  Mountain Meadows, Utah Territory

  ANDY ARRIVED at Mountain Meadows just as the sun was rising over the eastern hills. The Fancher Party had evidently come into the meadow in the dark, and the immigrants were too tired to set up a formal camp. From his lookout above the valley, he noted the wagons were parked close to each other, but not in any sort of organized system and certainly not in a defensive position. They must not be expecting any trouble, he mused.

  Surveying the peaceful scene below, Andy guessed there were between 120 and 140 people camped there. He could hear children already up and playing, mothers preparing breakfast over open campfires, and men taking care of their numerous stock. Looking more closely, he noticed there were a few wagons that hadn’t been in the group previously. Perhaps they were wagons of apostate Mormons trying to escape Deseret or possibly gentiles who wanted out of Utah. There were plenty of both kinds of people in the land of the Saints these days, apparently.

  It looked like between 400 and 600 head of cattle were wandering near the camp. Andy figured the rest of the herd was up in the hills. The scene was a bucolic one; cowboys tended the stock, while other workers fed the horses and oxen that had pulled the wagons. Andy decided he might have time to ride down and warn the campers before the Indians or the Mormon Legion showed up to harass them. But just as he spurred his horse into position to rush down the hillside, a shot rang out.

  The first shot struck and killed a little boy who had just started to eat breakfast. Another deadly barrage came from a nearby ravine, striking down several more of the party. Guards rushed out of the wagons, carrying the wounded and dead into relative safety. Andy hoped against hope that this initial assault would be the only one. Maybe it was intended to scare the travelers.

  He watched helplessly, mesmerized by the awful scene. The hardy immigrants quickly fired back from behind their wagons. As he got a better view, Andy realized the attackers were apparently Paiutes, who were clearly losing the battle. He saw at least one warrior and two chiefs fall, demoralizing the Indians, who quickly fled northwest into the mountains. Either they lacked the manpower or the
will to finish the battle. Maybe if the Indians managed to steal a few horses and the cattle that were still up in the hills, they’d give up and leave. Hadn’t Kanosh assured him they didn’t intend to kill anyone? Did the other tribes have the same restrictions?

  During the lull in the battle, the surprised immigrants quickly reinforced their position, creating a circular fortification with their wagons and digging a trench for cover. Andy watched as another barrage of bullets came from the rocks at the base of the nearest hills. The attackers continued sniping as the immigrants fired back. But who were the snipers? Andy had watched Kanosh and his braves leave the area. Were the Saints reverting to their old trick of disguising themselves as Indians?

  The battle continued sporadically, but neither side was gaining any ground. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the shooting stopped. Inside the camp, adults were busy tending to the wounded and reinforcing their position, but the children were clearly terrified. Fifty or more children ran terrified throughout the camp, some wounded and bleeding. Mothers and fathers screamed at the children to get back inside the wagon fortress. Dead animals littered the meadow surrounding the wagons.

  Andy was bewildered. Who was behind this slaughter? And what could he do to stop it? As the day wore on, the initial ambush became a siege, with both sides trading sniper fire all day. Apparently desperate for water, the guards made several attempts to reach the ravine a short distance from the encampment. Each time the men were shot down in cold blood. Finally, the immigrants sent two young girls, dressed in white and carrying a white flag. They, too, were struck down by gunfire, bright red blood staining their little dresses. As night fell, the gunfire stopped and all was quiet.

  Never having felt so helpless in his life, Andy prayed and pondered. Was there nothing he could do? If he rode down into the besieged camp, they would instantly recognize him as a Mormon and probably shoot him on sight. Would it do any good to ride into Parowan or Cedar City to get help? Or were all the brethren in on the plot? Some of the Fanchers had been through this way before, so surely they suspected this was not an Indian raid. They would be familiar enough with the Indians in the area to know that, while they were prone to stealing cattle and horses, they were not generally cold-blooded killers, nor would they slaughter cattle just for sport. And the angry mobs that had met them as they passed through town after town, with their threats and refusals to sell them supplies, must have given them some indication that this siege could be Mormon-driven.