The Fugitive Son

by Adell Harvey

  “You’re quite an interesting bundle of ideas.” Trip sounded bemused.

  “Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?”

  “I’m serious. You’re unlike any woman I’ve met before. You fascinate me.”

  Was he flirting with her? Or simply being truthful? Suddenly Elsie felt out of her depth. Should she flirt back? Or would that encourage something she might not want? Trip was good-looking, but he hadn’t told her anything of his personal life. Was he hiding something?

  She decided to go with honest sharing rather than flirtatious banter. “Why haven’t you ever married?” she asked boldly.

  Trip studied her for a moment. “And who says I haven’t?”

  “Are you? Married, I mean.”

  He considered her question for a long pause, making her feel guilty that she had pried into his personal life. A lady simply didn’t ask such questions.

  “Not really,” he answered.

  That left her with even more questions. What did “not really” mean? Was he just being evasive? Was he betrothed? Or had he been married before? Dozens of questions, no answers.

  Trip doused the remaining embers of the campfire and headed toward his wagon. “Guess we’d better turn in if we want to get an early morning start.”

  The first gray streaks of dawn were rising over the distant bluffs when Elsie smelled the scents of breakfast wafting over their campsite. “Ummmmm, coffee,” she murmured, stepping up close to the fire Trip had already started. “You weren’t joking about an early morning start, were you?” she said, yawning sleepily.

  Trip pointed to a ridge in the distance. “That’s Wagon Mound over there,” he said. “It’s one of the major landmarks on the Santa Fe Trail. Folks know they’re getting within a few days of the end of the trail when they see that.”

  Elsie looked toward where he pointed. “You said ‘Wagon Mound?’ It does sort of resemble the top of a covered wagon, doesn’t it? Is that where it gets its name?”

  “Yep.” He bent over, picked up a stick and began drawing a map of sorts in the sandy dirt. “I take it you don’t know much about the trail, so I’ll show you what we’ve got coming up.” He drew a long line, showing the trail from its stretch across western Kansas to where they had said goodbye to the Fanchers.

  “And here,” he pointed to another intersection where he had drawn in a line heading north again, “is the settlement of Watrous where the Old Santa Fe Trail joins back in with the Cimarron Cutoff, which we’re on.”

  “A village? You mean there’s actually civilization this far out?” she asked, excited to think they might actually meet more people.

  “Not much of one. But before we reach it, we’ll stop at Fort Union, so you’ll get to meet some officers – if they haven’t left to join Johnston’s army to fight the Mormons.” As if replying to his own suggestion, he added, “I doubt if any of them will be assigned to the Mormon War. Their duty is to protect travelers along the trail and prevent Indian raids on the few settlements and ranches around the area.”

  He went back to his map. “After we stop at the fort to drop off some of the supplies I’ve brought, our next stop will be a little place called Las Vegas, another trading center I’m supplying, then on to Pecos Pueblo. It’s not a trading center anymore – been abandoned for years – but it makes a great campsite. Wouldn’t be surprised if a few wagon trains are pulled off there before the last big push into Santa Fe.”

  “So we’ll get to Pecos by nightfall?”

  “Nope. By time I stop and make my deliveries, it will probably be a couple more nights before we make it to Pecos, then one more day into Santa Fe.”

  Elsie looked at her sore, red hands. All the ointment she had rubbed into them last night hadn’t seemed to help much. Trip saw her hands before she could hide them in her skirt. “Good grief, woman!” he sputtered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He rushed into his wagon and pulled out a medical kit of sorts. He tenderly wrapped clean white bandages around her hands after slathering them in a soothing salve. “Now put these gloves on,” he insisted. “We don’t want your hands getting infected.”

  Elsie thanked him profusely, feeling somewhat shamed that she had needed his help. “You certainly are my guardian angel,” she confessed, “taking care of every problem that comes my way.”

  He simply grunted in reply and began picking up, washing up their few breakfast utensils so she wouldn’t get her hands wet in the dishwater.

  “Time to head out,” he said, stalking off toward his wagon.

  Chapter 14

  Parowan, Utah Territory

  ANDY WAS surprised to find Aunt Hettie sitting outside her cabin when he pulled into her yard. “What are you doing up so late?” he asked.

  “Waiting for you.” Matter-of-fact as ever, she put her fingers to her lips in a shushing sound. “Kids are all asleep in there, and I don’t want them waking up. The less they know about what’s going on, the safer they’ll be.”

  Remembering Pa’s warning not to mention the day’s events to anyone, Andy wondered how Hettie already knew something bad had happened.

  As if in answer to his unspoken question, she said, “Already heard all about the goings on down in the meadow. My place has been a regular hospital all afternoon. Chief Kanosh and his warriors came by early on, some of them pretty shot up. They left the battle early, so they didn’t know the full story, but they’re bound to get blamed for whatever happened, so they were hurrying back to their village.”

  Andy considered her comment. His initial assumption had been correct – Kanosh and his men were the ones he saw leaving the meadow after shooting a few cattle. He was relieved to know the Indian chief had kept his word not to do any killing.

  “Then that young friend of yours, Jim Pierce, dropped in. His face was shot up pretty bad.” She shook her head in disbelief. “How a man can try to shoot his own son in the back is beyond me! Just ain’t natural.”

  “Jim Pierce came by here? How bad were his wounds?”

  “Let’s just say it’s a good thing his old man is such a bad shot. Jim said he was trying to get away from the horrible scene and managed to get some distance between himself and his father before he was discovered running away. Jim Senior plugged him but missed the back of his head when he ducked. He’ll have an ugly scar on his face, but he’s gonna live.”

  Andy breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. “So where is he headed?”

  Hettie studied him, as if to figure out how far she could trust him.

  “It’s okay,” he assured her. “I’m leaving myself, just as soon as I can get packed up. Pa won’t be here until morning, and I want to be long gone before then. Just let him think I headed back up north.”

  “I was hoping that’s what you planned, especially after young Jim was here. I’m convinced your pa would try to shoot you out of the saddle, too, if he thought you’d breathe a word about what happened today,” she admitted. “So I’ve already got you all packed up, got you a fresh horse ready, and your saddle bags full of food to sustain you for a few days.”

  “Bless you,” Andy said, giving her a grateful hug. “Pa sure doesn’t know what a treasure he has in you. But will this get you in trouble for helping me?”

  “Nah, I’ll just let him think you slipped out in the middle of the night without telling me you were leaving.”

  All the time they were talking, Hettie kept busy loading up his vittles and bedroll, which she had had the foresight to set outside as soon as the children had gone to sleep. “Jim is heading north toward Oregon,” she offered. “But I expect you’re going east?”

  “My life isn’t worth a tinker’s damn anywhere in Deseret, so the quickest route out will be best. Think I’ll head straight east from here, then south toward New Mexico Territory. Back when I was scouting over in the Green River area, some friendly Indians gave me a crude map of the way south. Hopefully, I can make it look like I’m heading north to report to the prophet, then circle around to
the east without leaving a trail.”

  Andy had little appetite after the days’ horror, but Hettie insisted on giving him a bowl of fresh stew and an apple cobbler. “Take these and eat them on the way. You’d best get moving.” She hugged him tightly. “And God go with you and keep you safe,” she added, a tear rolling down her wrinkled cheek.

  “If I make it out alive and get settled safely somewhere, I’ll send for you and the kids,” he promised. “I hate to think of your kids growing up in this horrible place.”

  She grinned, a big gap-toothed smile. “Maybe we’ll get together again some day. Now get moving!”

  Andy rode off across the valley, first making a clear trail northward for what he figured was ten miles or so. Then he rode his horse in several directions, as though he were lost. He entered the stream he and Kanosh had stopped at the previous week, cantered through it downstream, then finally exited to the east, riding quickly to make up for the time he had lost.

  A nearly full moon spread its golden glow across the great expanse of the Parowan Valley as he rode into the Castle Rocks, up and over the mountains. As he journeyed deeper into the mountains, the moon played hide and seek with drifting clouds, plunging him alternately into darkness and bold spotlight.

  As if in rhythm with the moon, Andy’s emotions plummeted and rose as well. When the earth was plunged into total darkness, he felt fearful, despairing for his life. When moonlight once again bathed the earth in its soft glow, his spirits lifted. He knew the area was riddled with steep cliffs, deep canyons, and sharp drop-offs, any of which would be fatal to a horse and rider who couldn’t see where they were going in the darkness.

  He began taking advantage of the dark times to rest his horse, knowing if someone were following him they couldn’t see to get a good shot, and stopping just made sense instead of riding off a cliff in the darkness. Resting the horse periodically made sense, too, because they had a long, weary way to go to get safely into New Mexico Territory, and there wasn’t much hope of finding a fresh mount anywhere.

  Finally the moon got clear of the dissipating clouds and he could see a flat-topped line of hills fringed with ironwood trees in the distance. A scripture from the Bible Major Crawford had given him popped across his mind: I am the light of the world; he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life.

  The light of life? What was that? Other verses came to mind, verses he hadn’t realized he knew. Major Crawford had written dozens of verses in the back of the Bible under headings like “Verses for when you’re fearful; verses for when you need guidance; verses for when you’re downhearted…” It seemed he had copied scripture verses for just about every occasion. But most surprising to Andy was that somehow those verses he had pored over when he was hiding out in the Green River wilderness had stuck with him and were now flooding his mind with promise after promise.

  Lo, I am with you always; I will never leave you nor forsake you; Perfect love casteth out fear.” The promises took on a personal meaning in the darkness of the night, especially the one verse that never ceased to comfort him – ”I know the plans I have for you, plans for good and not for evil. Could it be true that God had a plan for his life? A plan that didn’t include killing innocent people or following a false prophet?

  Andy halted his horse and knelt down on the alkali-coated trail. “God, I want to follow your plan for my life, not the plan of my father or Brigham Young, but yours. Please show me the way and be my guide.”

  As a deep peace settled in his soul, Andy decided it was safe to hole up for the remainder of the night. The moon had softened to a pale wisp in the sky when he reached the flat grassland. The terrain grew rocky beyond the low hills of sagebrush and scrub timber, and he figured it would be better to wait until daylight before running any more risks. He pulled aside some foliage to reveal a small shelter under an outcropping of rocks. He laid out his bedroll, intending to rest just for a short time.

  The low whine of the wind combined with the dry rustle of sand blowing against his sheltering rock made a curtain of sound, a pleasing musical background that lulled him to sleep.

  Andy woke to the sun in his eyes, startled that he had slept so long. He washed up in the trickle of water flowing from a cluster of rocks across the ravine, then took his horse over to drink. He heard a mule snort and thought he detected movement in the solid shadows. He quickly started to mount when he heard the sound of riders appearing from the direction of the road, three of them following his tracks. They rode with rifles across their saddles.

  Andy drew in his breath. Pa? Two men he recognized from Parowan, one younger and the other pot-bellied and older. A strong gust of wind parted the bushes, leaving Andy in plain view of the riders on the road. They caught sight of him before he could duck behind the bushes, and the youngest one let out a yell.

  Pa jerked his horse to a stop, whipped his rifle up, and squeezed out a shot. Fortunately, he was not a good rifleman. Andy grabbed his rifle off the sorrel’s saddle, and crouching low, darted for the scant cover of the rocks and brush by the spring. Gunshots crashed and slugs whined close. Hoofs drummed. Angry voices yelled. Andy reached cover, making himself small behind a boulder. He fired a shot that missed but slowed the on-coming trio.

  All three riders came on warily, grimly determined. Andy broke out in a clammy sweat. They had him boxed in. Pa began shooting again, sending slugs ripping through the bushes. The shots thudded against the rocks, ricocheting wildly. One of the riders had crossed the ravine and began shooting with his saddle gun. Andy recognized him as one of the leaders of the Parowan militia. Obviously, they were hell bent on silencing him for good – he had seen too much.

  Andy crouched lower behind the rock, waiting until the flurry of shots let up. Then he fired in the direction of the latest round of bullets, intentionally aiming high, shooting badly to make certain he didn’t kill his attackers. He just wanted to scare them off, not wanting to kill anyone, especially his own father.

  Pa dropped flat in a shallow gully and was patiently waiting, his gun focused on Andy’s hiding spot. Andy sensed the other two men coming on the rock wall, working their way along the base of the slope.

  Two fast shots rang out. Andy flattened himself to the ground. He couldn’t afford to waste any more shots. He had little ammunition left. And even less hope! Pa was intent on redeeming his wayward soul before he could escape Deseret and be damned forever. In his own warped way, Pa loved him and would do anything to keep him from apostatizing. I guess I should take comfort in that, Andy reasoned to himself.

  He turned suddenly when he heard a boot scuff on rock just beyond the spring. The young assailant stood in plain view not fifty feet from him. Andy aimed and wrapped his finger around the trigger, then lowered the gun. He couldn’t do it. Even in self-defense, he couldn’t shoot a man in cold blood. Was he a yellow-bellied coward like Pa thought?

  In the tense silence, Andy heard an arrow whiz across the ravine, followed by the young man’s startled yelp. Then he saw the man fall face first into the brush.

  “Good God!” Pa swore loudly. “There’s Indians up there in that timber! We’ve got to get out of here!” The words were barely out of his mouth when a volley of flaming arrows whistling through the air. Pa swore again as he and the other man began to run toward their horses.

  As he scurried back to the road, Pa called out, “Just leave him to the Redskins. They’re the battle axe of the Lord, so they can finish him off. But you can’t say I didn’t try to save him from apostasy. I gave it my best!”

  Andy looked after his retreating assailants, then glanced in the direction the arrows had come from. He tossed out his gun in surrender.

  Chief Kanosh, grinning widely, emerged from the timber, accompanied by several of the warriors who had escorted Andy to Salt Lake City just twelve days earlier.

  “Good thing Miss Hettie tell us to watch you,” Kanosh said, another huge grin splitting his face. “You almost become vulture food!”
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br />   Santa Fe Trail

  New Mexico Territory

  “All set?” Trip asked. “Got your gloves on?”

  Elsie held up her glove-covered fingers and wiggled them at him. “Yes, I’m all ready to go. My hands feel much better this morning, thanks to you.”

  “After another full day of reining in those mules, your hands will be another sorry mess, so go easy on ‘em,” he cautioned.

  He really was a caring gentleman, despite his rugged look. Elsie only wished he weren’t so reticent, that she could learn more about who he was. “Do you live in Santa Fe?” she asked.

  “Close by.”

  Clearly a man of few words, she decided. “My brothers have been there for several years now. Surely you’ve met them? They’re running a ranch, raising horses for the government.”

  Trip busied himself hitching up the animals, checking the reins, and tightening up his load. “May have heard of them,” he mumbled.

  Elsie persisted. “The Condit brothers. Santa Fe isn’t that large, is it? Can’t imagine that you haven’t run into them.”

  “I travel a lot, so I don’t socialize much.” He quickly changed the subject to their plans for the day. “You’ll be able to see clearly when we get close to Fort Union. I’ll signal when I’m ready to turn off.”

  The morning’s trip was a duplicate of the day before. Boring and dusty, very little to look at except cacti, scrub sage, and bare rock outcroppings in the distance. Elsie spent her time reflecting on her new friends, the Fanchers, Cynthia Tackitt, Sally Poteet. How much more pleasant the journey had been in their company. She prayed they were having a pleasant, safe trip. She smiled warmly, thinking of Eliza Fancher’s little ones. Would she ever have a close-knit family like that, with well-behaved children and a loving, God-fearing husband?

  She giggled to herself as her thoughts once again turned toward men. Yes, she wanted to be independent and have a successful mercantile. But at the same time, she hoped to have a home and family. Was that such a contradiction? And would marriage even be possible for her in Santa Fe?