Chapter 30
The Sierras
Ray had loved living in Wisconsin; he’d thought there was no other place more beautiful until he reached the Sierras. The mountains rose above him with such power and divine presence. The green vistas rolled up the sides to a rocky crest, which pushed its way to the top. He would have loved to have seen the tops of the mountains covered with snow, like in some of the photographs Ma had shown him, but for the sake of survival he was glad to see them dry. To add to the grandeur of this sanctuary was the fresh mountain air that filled his lungs so fully. The fragrances in the high country stimulated every portion of his mind. The views and smells must have been inspiring others in the caravan as well; he could hear Florence and Sis singing gospel songs with their new convert.
“Boys, it’s time we put a little distance between us and the wagons to make sure we have a place ready for tonight’s camp.” Horse was more than ready to gallop through the meadows ahead. The fresh air and cooler temperature seemed to have the same effect on the horses as well.
They were happy to cross several wide but shallow streams, each carrying enough water to quench all the stock’s thirst. They turned to join the Humboldt River and began the trek across the dangerous but majestic Sierra Madras.
It wasn’t long before they began to taste the flurry of changes in the higher elevations. The warm sunny day quickly changed as a thunderhead rolled in over a nearby ridge. The smell of moisture filled the air as they stopped their mounts and examined the sky for a chance of rain.
“I think it would be a very good idea if we moved out of this open meadow and into those trees over there,” Ray said. “I’d hate to see one of you old boys lit up by a bolt of lightnin’. Besides, we should get back to the wagons. If it’s going to storm the wagon train is going to need our help.”
Within half an hour they were soaked to the skin. The rain was coming down so heavily they could hardly see the trail ahead of them, or rather what was left of it. As they came upon their wagon train it was obvious the rain was having an adverse effect on their forward progress. Wagon wheels were bogging down in the mud and oxen bellowed at the added drag they had to endure as they tried to pull the wagons into a circle of sorts. The trail ran between tall canyon walls, making it impossible for the wagon to circle completely. They each pulled up close behind the wagon ahead and began to disconnect the beasts from their burdens. Large tarps were dragged out from under the wagons. The same tarp that once carried the buffalo chips for the nightly fires was now stretched out above the ground to create a dry space for the cooking fires.
With dry clothes on, a cup of coffee in his hand, and all the wagons at rest for the night, Ray joined his friends by the fire.
Staring out from under the tarp Ray could see that the rain was building up and running fast down the trail next to them, causing large ruts.
Quincy walked up beside him and looked out at the rain falling through the setting sun. “Well, we sure as hell didn’t need this,” sighed Quincy.
“Is this going to put us in a bind?” Ray asked.
“Only if it doesn’t let up soon. The ground along most of the trail will dry out pretty fast in the direct sun, but I’m concerned about the shaded canyons. If we hit mud we’ll have to stop and wait it out. Starting tomorrow you’ll need to try and keep us out of the mud but not too far off the trail.”
“Alright. Do you think we’ll hit the trail tomorrow?”
“Ray, I don’t know. I’ve seen it rain like this for an hour and blow off. Then again I’ve seen it rain for what seemed like weeks. Let’s just hope that old Lady Luck is still with us,” answered Quincy as he walked away.
“Ray, is everything okay?” asked Morgan as she walked up to him with a plate of food.
“Yes, we’re okay. No sense in worryin’ about somethin’ that hasn’t happened yet. Come on, let’s join the others by the fire,” Ray said as he placed his hand on the small of Morgan’s back and guided her towards the warm fire.
Above the wagon camp, alone in a quickly built lean-to, sat the hunter. Soaked to the bone and unable to light a fire for warmth for fear it would give away his presence, Lane stared down from his aerie at the campfires burning below. The rain had all but washed his patience away. He could not wait any longer. If he could just make out Ray’s image in the glow of the fire he would attempt a shot. But in the darkness and pouring rain he knew that was impossible. "Tomorrow," he thought, "it has to wait until tomorrow."
The next morning the rain had let up some. The wagons would not be moving until the trail had some time to dry. On horseback, Larry, John and Ray found it difficult for the horses to climb the steep trail. Their hooves were either sinking into the mud or slipping on the mud-covered rocks. When they reached the top of the rise they found themselves looking out onto a long high altitude valley with mountains running its length. The valley had to be at least a half-mile wide with the trail running down the right side. Taking the trail they headed across the valley. Even after the heavy rains last night and the light rain now, the trail seemed to drain well and was not difficult to travel. They decided to ride the trail as far as it stayed dry, short of exceeding a day’s journey for the wagons. The dryness of the trail really lifted their spirits. They knew what it meant to be bogged down in the Sierras with winter coming.
After riding about ten miles up the trail they realized that even though it was still passable on horseback, that even in good weather the wagons would not be able to exceed this spot. They turned around and headed back for the wagons.
Riding side by side their thoughts were broken by the crack of a rifle shot. Ray felt an impact to his left shoulder as Larry was thrown out of his saddle. It took a few seconds to realize what had just happened. “Take cover boys someone’s shooting at us!” Ray shouted as he hit the ground and rolled to the side of the trail.
Just then another rifle shot rang out, throwing up muddy dirt into Ray’s face as he laid as flat as he could in a small depression.
“Anyone see where he is?” called John from behind a small rock on the other side of the trail.
“Yeah, I saw smoke from up on that ridge to your right, Ray,” pointed Larry.
Another round fired and fragments from the rock that was protecting John sprayed back, peppering the right side of his face.
“Shit, that hurts,” cried John.
“You hit John?” Ray called.
“Just some pieces of rock. I’m okay?” answered John. “You guys okay?”
“I think I got nicked in the shoulder because it hurts like hell, but I can’t move to check it. He has me pinned down, but I’m still good, Larry, how about you?”
“I think I’m hit pretty solid in the arm. I was bleedin’ really bad but I tied my handkerchief around it, I’ll live,” said Larry, positioning his rifle where he had grabbed as he was falling from his saddle.
“Well boys,” John was interrupted by another shot. “Any ideas? We can’t sit here forever.”
“At the count of three we beat it over to those rocks at the base of the ridge. John, you go to the far left, Larry to the far right and I’ll go for the center, from there, we’ll have to try and work our way up and around him. It’s our only chance, or he’ll just take his time and pick us off one by one.”
“Okay, Ray, count it off!” said Larry.
“One, two, THREE!” Ray jumped to his feet and at that moment the air filled with lead flying all around him. Trying not to think about the tugs he felt on his body, he kept the rocks as his goal. Finally reaching cover Ray fell in behind its protection. There he was able to check his body for bullet wounds. He had a deep gouge in his left shoulder, bullet burn on his left hip, a couple holes in his shirt, but no solid hits.
“Everybody okay?” Ray called out.
“I’m as good as can be expected,” responded Larry, out of breath.
“I second that,” answered John. “Now can we get that son-of-a-bitch?”
“Let�
�s do it! Larry, go wide to the right and John, you go to the left. I’m going up the middle, again. If you get a clear shot, by all means, take it.”
While Larry and John worked their way up the sides under little fire, each time Ray stuck his head out and headed for the next rock he received a hail of bullets. It became pretty obvious that Ray was the bushwhacker’s target and that he didn’t care much about the others. An hour of desperate climbing found them in position for the final assault.
“Can you see him, Larry?” called John from the opposite side.
“He’s not there. I can see where he was hunkered down but he ain’t there no more. I’m goin’ in,” said Larry as he crawled forward. After a few moments, “Come on in boys, he’s gone.”
Ray rose and slipped up to the top and dropped into the bushwhacker’s abandoned nest.
“See that, small pile of smoked cigarettes and a dozen or more spent shells, Ray? He was sitting here waiting for us for some time,” concluded John
“Well, let’s get back to the wagons and get Larry’s arm looked after,” said Ray.
The ride back down that slippery hillside tugged at every wound each time the horses’ hooves slid off the soft mud. Ray couldn’t let them see him cringe with each burn, since he figured Larry was hurt the worst and wasn’t complaining. Damn it, he wished Larry would cry out so he could join him.
After a quick inspection it was determined that Larry’s arm was going to be fine. Laurie had cleaned it up and found that the bullet had passed clear through the arm. Morgan was having fun adding more than usual the amount of alcohol to Ray’s wound. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to add insurance against infection or adding pain because she was mad that he had gotten himself shot.
“I’m just asking, Why anyone would want to shoot at you?” Morgan asked with an angry scowl on her face.
“No idea,” Ray lied. “I think it was a Paiute that was interested in one of our horses.”
“Well, maybe,” thought Morgan out loud. “But you really must be more careful!”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Ray said with a reassuring smile.
Morgan threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close. Over his shoulder he could hear her begin to cry. She pulled back quickly, wiping the tears from her eyes and pulling her emotions back into check.
“It’s okay to cry, Morgan,” said Laurie as she placed her hand on her shoulder.
“A Western woman needs to be stronger than that. I’ll save my crying until there is absolutely nothing else left to do,” spoke Morgan as she strained to calm her tears.
After the dinner fires had drifted to just ambers, Ray headed for his bedroll. Morgan and the rest had already bedded down for the night. Richard still slept outside of Laurie’s wagon on the cold ground with Larry, John, and Ray not far off. Since spending so many nights on the trail, Ray had grown accustomed to sleeping under the stars. But tonight, instead of stars over-head it would have to be a tarp. It was still raining! The sound of thunder echoed through the canyons as the lightening lit the black sky. Ray finally drifted off to sleep, listening to an owl hooting into the night and the tapping of the raindrops falling from the pines onto the tarps.
Lane stood at the edge of the camp. He watched as each of them had headed off to their nightspots. The light left from the fires was low enough that the man on watch would be able to see a man walking through camp was not an Indian, but not light enough to allow identification.
Lane stepped out of the brush and slowly strolled across the camp, touching the handle of his blade to assure himself it was there and ready to be used. "But not yet," he thought to himself. "I must get closer." Lane was trying to walk like someone who had just returned from a night visit to the bushes. The falling rain on the wagon canvas and the stretched tarps successfully muffled the sound of his approach. Stopping over Ray’s form, Lane looked down at him with a confident smile. He then looked around the camp to make sure no one was watching.
Lane slowly slid the long, wide blade from its protective sheath. Lowering himself down quietly, placing his knees into the soft ground next to Ray’s body. He raised the knife over his head, preparing to drive the blade deep into Ray’s chest. At the exact same time, lightening lit the night sky, reflecting the shadow of Richard approaching Lane from behind. Lane moved quickly. He rose, turned and drove his blade up into Richard’s ribs. The blade set fast, making it hard for Lane to pull it out and strike again. Richard stepped back a half step and looked down at the handle sticking out of his chest. His head rose and in his rage filled eyes bore into Lane’s face. Lane stood in awe. Never had he seen anyone take his blade to the hilt and still remain standing. Richard slapped both his hands to the sides of Lane’s head and lifted his entire body up off the ground. Lane had to do something and do something now. He reached for the butt of his .44, drew it from its holster, pushed the barrel into Richard’s stomach and pulled the trigger. Smoke from the shot rose between them as the sound of cracking filled the night air. Richard’s strong grasp on Lane’s limp body released and he fell outside the covering of the tarp and into the mud and falling rain. Lane was dead the moment Richard had crushed his skull. Ray was on his feet and at Richard’s side as he began to fall, trying to guide him down to dry ground. By this time many of the wagons in the area had emptied and occupants began to circle around the bloody scene.
Tearing Richard’s shirt open Ray could see the point in which the blade had entered his chest. The bullet hole was just a little lower. He grabbed hold of the knife handle and pulled it free. Richard did not move or respond to his actions as he had already blacked out.
“Richard!” screamed Laurie as she pushed through the wall of people.
She fell to her knees next to Richard and began to survey the damage to his body, working fast and hard through tear filled eyes. Richard’s breathing became quite shallow. He was coughing but no foam was seen on his lips, indicating that the bullet or knife had not compromised the lungs. Laurie pressed her hand into the open pocket of flesh created by the knife and was able to plug the flow of blood. She then ordered them to roll Richard over so she could check the exit wound. All she found was a bluing color developing on Richard’s back. She placed her fingers against the bluing and around the immediate area, as she demanded someone to provide her with a small knife. Within the growing crowd someone extended a hand with a small pocketknife, which she grabbed.
“Take and put the blade in the fire, then bring it back to me, and hurry,” said Laurie.
Ray jumped up with the knife and ran to the ambers. Kicking them around and adding a little wood he soon had a good hot flame to place the knife blade in. After about a minute Ray returned to Laurie’s side. Grabbing the knife from his hand, she placed the point of the knife to the blue area growing on Richard’s back. With an index finger searching for its quarry, the knife blade waited to do its work. When her finger found what she was searching for she pushed the side of the knife along her finger until the point sliced into Richard’s flesh. With a couple hard twists, forcing the blade in deeper, she finally rose with a bloody knife, fingers, and bullet. Morgan, standing above Laurie, reached down and tore a large piece of material from her single petticoat. She handed it to Laurie, who immediately forced it into the open wound on Richard’s back.
“Okay that should hold him for the moment, we need to get him into the wagon,” said Laurie.
“What wagon do you want him in, Laurie?” asked John, who had arrived late.
“In my wagon, of course,” demanded Laurie.
“You heard her boys, let’s all get him up and into her wagon,” Ray said as he directed several of the men so that Richard was lifted safely.
Ray helped Laurie and Morgan get him undressed. Then the women went about cleaning out the wounds with whiskey and applied bandages. Richard regained consciousness just long enough for Laurie to dump the rest of the whiskey down his throat.
With nothing more that could be done but wait, Morgan climbed
out of the back of the wagon and stood for a moment, allowing the cool rain to splash down onto her face. She then moved in under the tarp where she wrapped her arm around Ray’s waist and leaned against him.
“How does he look?” Ray asked
“Not good. He’s a big man, and strong. Hopefully that will help him to pull through.
“With plenty of sleep and a lot of luck we may get our friend back,” sighed Morgan.
“He saved my life. If he hadn’t come along just then, I’d be laying there with that knife in me instead of in him. I owe that man. I want to do anything I can to help.”
“Well all anyone can do now is pray,” said Morgan. “Now, tell me about that man lying over there, the one you told me was a Paiute.”
Revenge Requires Two Graves Page 30
