Fire and the mountain

‘Fire’! my mother screamed. ‘Wake up son, wake up’! Confused but soon alert I cried ‘Pa’! seein’ him slumped over with two arrows puncturing his body and the reigns dangling by his side. ‘Jump’ she said, ‘you must survive, someone givin’ evidence that we were here and that our lives mattered’. She pushed me to the back of the wagon and then over, sayin’ ‘run and hide’. She screamed out her last living words that reached my ears, ‘I love you son. Avenge us’! as an arrow pierced her breast. Rolling in the dust I was aware of Indian pony hoofs running over my body and then the embrace of darkness and the stillness that reigns after innocent lives have been slain. Sometime the next morning I awoke unable to see with an arrow through my heavy coat. I grimaced feeling the wound in my side and panicked thinking I was blind. Unable to hold back the tears now streaming down my face I wiped my eyes and the gooey grip of dried blood mixed with tears began to loosen its hold. Eyelids fluttering my eyes popped open. With a sigh of relief, I then examined my side. It was only superficial but burned like fire.

After killing my parents and mutilating their bodies the Indians scavenged for what they wanted and came back to find me. Having found a couple bottles of Pa’s whiskey, inebriated and yelping they shot an errant arrow into me but mostly into the bulky coat I was wearing. Screaming epitaphs and spitting on my motionless bloody body they rode away laughing consuming more amber high on their shallow cowardly victory. Head wounds tend to bleed badly and I appeared quite dead saving me from being graveyard dead.

I made my way to the river only five minutes away and dunked my face in the water doing my best to cleanse my wounds. I started walking west the direction the wagons were going, careful to remain unobserved. By the end of the day I found our wagon or what was left. The mules were killed in their harnesses, and what could be retrieved from the wagon was strewn around on the ground for display. I saw little evidence of my Ma and Pa, scavengers having carried off the pieces of their mutilated remains. Lowering myself to the ground I could not imagine life without them. I cried until the well spring was spent. I tried to pray like Pa takin’ comfort in his faith and memory.

Returning to the river and some protection I searched for berries and anything to eat, finding a hollow in a tree, a place to retreat. Morning came and I was starvin’. So, I fashioned a spear from a tree limb and my knife and finding a tranquil eddy along the river was finally able to impale a trout. Gutting and cleaning the innards I had my first taste of sushi and my stomach rebelled. After several tries I kept some of it down and along with some berries took the outer edge off my appetite.

‘Come on in and sit the fire son, I ain’t gunna hurt ya’ a voice spoke. It was early evening just before sunset as I cautiously approached the campsite attracted by the smell of smoke. For seven days I walked the river thinkin’ surely someone from the wagon train will come back and check on Pa, Ma, and me, my only hope. If they did I never saw or heard anyone. Starvin’, exhausted, and feverish from infection I stumbled as the voice said, ‘how in blazes did you get’ then stopped, jumpin’ up to catch me as my knees buckled and I passed out headed for the ground. Sweeping me up he laid me on a blanket and began to examine me. Findin’ my wounds he cleansed and dressed them applying a poultice the Indians had made.

My eyes opened late on the second day of my long sleep. Blinking and trying to recall how I got there I turned and looked across the fire at a mountain, a mountain of a man that is. Shakin’ my head to get the cobwebs out I looked again. There was a beard with a lot of hair under a coon skin cap. Smilin’ he said, ‘welcome back lad, it appears you’ve got quite a story to tell’. Raisin’ up on one elbow I asked for water. ‘Hungry’ Mountain asked, ‘starvin’ was my reply. ‘Well good’! he said, ‘I’ve got a hearty stew waitin’ your tastin’. When he stood his enormity was overwhelmin’. Standin’ 6’10” and weighin’ in at 300 lbs. I could only stare. ‘Make quite an impression don’t I’ he said smilin’. I could only nod my head. Shaking his necklace of nails he said, ‘they call me Bearclaw. What’s your handle son’? Struggling to sit erect and pushing out my chest I said, ‘my name is Greyson McCallum and I am nine, well almost nine years old. I am strong and smart’.

Next morning after breakfast and feelin’ better I shared about my Ma and Pa with tears flowin’, chokin’ on my words. ‘With help we got the wagon off the ground so we could replace a broken wheel. Seemed simple enough. But after the train left us Pa ran into problems with a bad hub and all. Ma and I would trade off keepin’ lookout while the other helped Pa anyway we could. It was close to evenin’ when we finally got on our way. Thinkin’ to drive through the night, now a full day behind the rest of the wagon train we were attacked by Indians. Alone we had no chance’. I pulled out of my pocket the broken end of the arrow the Indians shot at me and handed it to Mr. Mountain hoping he would recognize the markins’. Intently lookin’ at the arrow and twistin’ it in his paw he said, ‘it’s Sioux son. Karuck my Pawnee friend will have to narrow it down to the particular band of Sioux’. Seein’ me blanch at the speakin’ of an Indian he said, ‘Indians is jest like white folk, there’s goodin’s and badin’s . Karuck is a good friend. Saved my hide a time or two’.

That morning when I awoke Karuck was sitting by the fire. ‘Come here son and bring the shaft of your arrow so’s Karuck can identify it’ Mountain said. ‘No need to be shy. A man needs to know who’s got his back and who his enemies are. Karucks got my back and he’ll have yers too if you let him’. Hearing those words I felt emboldened and standin’ straight I walked over and presented the arrow to Karuck for examination. ‘As soon as I am ready’ I said, ‘I aim to avenge my folks, and honor my Ma’s last request’. He simply grunted. Studying the shaft he said, ‘this belongs to Mad Dog a renegade Lakota Sioux, rejected by his own people and hated by everyone. Only when you are ready must you face him. He is very cunning and cruel. Be patient. You have much to learn’.

Gathering wood for the fire and quietly returning I overheard Mr. Mountain say, ‘I surely don’t know what to do with the boy. If I take him to the fort, what then? Maybe a family on a passing wagon train need a boy’. ‘Do you like him’? Karuck asked. ‘I sure do’ Mountain said. ‘He’s strong, willing, and wants to learn. Besides he’s good company. Ain’t no trouble’. ‘Maybe you should keep him’ Karuck said. ‘Ah’ Mountain grimaced, ‘what do I know about raising a boy’? ‘You were once a boy and his size too, that’s all you need to know’ Karuck said. ‘I will teach him the way of the warrior. Together we will help him become a man and fulfill his life’s plan’. Mountain sat quietly shaking his head. ‘He found you and I think you need him as much as he needs you’ Karuck added.

I waited until the next day before I went up to Mr. Mountain. Tugging at his buckskins and looking up with big round pleading soulful tear-filled eyes I said, ‘I want to stay with you. Will you keep me? I will be a good son to you’. Looking down with moist eyes and a broad smile he said, ‘Well, alright son’ and then picked me up and gave me a ‘bear hug’ while I did my best to wrap my arms around him. ‘I ain’t never been a Pa before so we be learnin’ together’. Drawing back and lookin’ him right in the eye I asked, ‘can I call you Pa’? ‘I reckon seein’s I am already callin’ you son’. Letting me down I walked straight over to Karuck and ignoring his hand out for a shake I gave him a hug. Patting my back he looked over at Bearclaw with a wink and a smile.

It was the year 1848 and we were camped along the Sweetwater River west of Devils Gate near the south end of the Wind River Range in present day Wyoming. The last Rocky Mountain Rendezvous for the fur trappers was in 1840 now only a fond memory. With a falling market, reduced demand, and the introduction of the silk trade, together with over trapping the fur trade was essentially over. It started in the late 1500’s in North America as one of the first global enterprises, intrepid French and Englishman leading the way, along with Indians and early Americans. After the Lewis and Clark expedition in 1804 many European Americans were inspired to head out west to the Rocky Mountains largely responsible for opening trails and trade to the West. For nearly 250 years the fur trade thrived mostly for beaver satisfying the need for hats. Though it still exists today it is only a shadow of its former self.

Men like Bearclaw had to adjust. There were opportunities to act as guides and scouts for the army and to hunt and scout for wagon trains as the westward migration was progressing in earnest. Wagon trains were first used in the Bronze Age around 3,000 BC by the Egyptians. The first wagon train to leave Missouri for California was in 1841 led by John Fremont, preceded by a train to the nation’s heartland in 1775 credited to Daniel Boone, a small train in 1822 to Santa Fe led by William Becknell and in 1832 a train led by Bonneville over the South Pass. Though nearly a mile and a half high the pass was the lowest point for travel over the continental divide and a natural crossing point over the Rockies and the routes for the Oregon, California, and Mormon Trails.

Approximately 500,000 dauntless souls made this westward trek often on foot walking beside their wagons seeking their fortune in gold, freedom, and fertile land for the taking. One account recorded in a personal diary is by a woman driving a team of mules and her wagon over the Blue Mountains of Oregon, rugged, raw, and remote. Her husband along with the other men had gone before them blazing a trail, falling trees and removing boulders and other obstacles for a safe crossing while she got down and walking into the forest squatted and birthed her fifth child. With assistance the babe was swaddled and she hoisted herself up into the wagon and takin’ the reigns continued the journey, a marvelous example of the indefatigable spirit of the emigrants in the westward migration.

From the moment I was adopted by these men I grew in stature, knowledge, character, and courage, taught by men more intelligent than any other I would ever know. Not the intelligence of learned men in their own specialities, doctors, lawyers, teachers, politicians and preachers. Theirs was greater than all the aforementioned men could surmise. Not disguised as worldly wisdom. These men knew about life and stayin’ alive in this wild wonderful wilderness. They knew what other men were thinkin’ before they acted. They knew about animals and their differing traits, the seasons and the land, and what was respectable between a woman and a man. And most importantly they upheld moral codes that separate a man from mere trash living as good men in a corrupt world, made rich by trust and honor.

My education in the wilds never ended, and not to the neglect of my three ‘R’s’. Bearclaw was adament about my formal educatin’ sayin ‘no son of his would ever be called ignert’. Often we would stop along the Green River at LeMat’s trading post. He had a daughter my age named Sophie. We watched each other grow up. By the age of fourteen I was over six feet tall finally topping out at 6’ 4” and 230 lbs and all muscle. At some point our relationship became awkward both of us realizing the attraction between a man and a woman and ours to each other. Going into the trading post I was greeted with a ‘howdy tree topper. How’s the air up there’? It was given with a radiant smile and eyes as blue as an alpine mountain lake. Always made me blush but I would recover and respond saying, ‘the air is rare’ and locking with her eyes, ‘but the view is better’.

One day I walked in and she was being harassed by three drunk filthy smelling outriders. They began to grab her while she fought them off saying all they wanted was a little fun, make her feel like a real woman. The altercation was so intense no one noticed me until I walked up to the nearest skunk dropping him immediately with a blow from the stock of my rifle. He fell hard to the floor like he’d been pole-axed. ‘Hey’ the other two responded, ‘what the hell! This ain’t your mix. We’re just wantin’ a little fun with the lady’. ‘Well boys’, barely keeping my composure, ‘two wrongs don’t make a right. First, you were entertainin’ my girl and I surely don’t kin to that. and second you never treat a woman that away. And so’s you don’t forget I’m gunna leave you a reminder’ as I swung a killer right hand that collided with the second polecats nose and teeth breaking cartlidge sending incisors flyin’ and blood a spewin’ him droppin’ like a barn in a tornader. The third one letting go of Sophie and lookin’ down at his compatriots took a defiant defensive position and with a sneer said, ‘let’s see what you got big boy’. I feigned a left and he reflexively opened up and I kicked hard into his crotch and he grabbed hisself bowin’ over with pain. I then swung from my heels an delivered an uppercut that broke his jaw and left him wishin’ he had let his horse do the thinkin’. He would be sippin’ soup for a season of Sundays.

Sophie ran into my arms cryin’ and angered. Thankin’ me she said, ‘am I really your girl’? Liftin’ her head and lookin’ full into her eyes I said, ‘for all time and eternity’. Then I kissed her for the first time and she kissed me back hard not wantin’ to stop. It was then that we were embarrassed by applause as we looked to see her father, Bearclaw, and Karuck just a clappin’ and grinnin’ at us. ‘Could have told me you was a standin’ thar just a watchin’ our private moment’ I growled. ‘And spoil your first spoonin’. ‘Never’! Bearclaw said. Laughter ensued by all and them we proceeded to pour water on the three varmits while we drug their carcasses together to face us. With heads pounding and an attempt to focus one of them slurred ‘who are you’? ‘We are ‘The Three Amigos’ Bearclaw said with a devilish grin. Their eyes almost spilt onto their cheeks when they realized the enormity of this man. I was a force on his right side and a fearsome lookin’ Karuck playing with a 10” knife on the other.

LeMat stepped forward and carried a sawed off double barreled ‘12 gauge holding it just above their heads. All the life seemed to go out of them as they trembled turning ashen gray. Tryin’ to speak he yelled ‘shut yer pie hole. Maybe I won’t kill you now and then again maybe I will. I know what you had in mind with my daughter’. ‘Mister we weren’t’ and then Karuck stepped forward brandishing his knife lookin’ like Lucifer hisself. Slowly he spoke, ‘we have eyes everywhere as he waved his arms. If we ever hear you threatened a young lady again we will find you. You will suffer a long and agonizing death the kind only an Indian can inflict. We will hang you upside down over a slow burning fire and I will strip the skin off your body with this knife starting with your cojones, grabbin’ hisself’. Sniflin’ and tremblin’ their water works darkened their jeans. ‘Now, if you yellar belly crawlin’ snakes have ambushin’ or backshootin’ on your mind’ Bearclaw spoke, ‘you’ll find yer rifles will need a little smithin’ before they’ll ever fire again’.

Havin’ removed their handguns and doin’ a thorough search for other weapons we stood them up as they tottered tryin’ to stand. ‘I reckon you owe this lady an apology’ I said. Simultany they heartily garbled out an apology. Then we led them out to their horses and carefully helped them get on as a couple of them had filled their drawers as well. ‘We need a doctor and guns to protect ourselves’ one spoke. ‘Ft. Laramie is only a two day ride, so’s you better hed out. You are surely gunna have to acquire new needins’, Bearclaw said with a chuckle. We watched them slowly ride away and returned inside and began to laugh till our bellies hurt and tears ran down our faces.

Before I left I formally asked Sophie’s father if I could court his daughter. With a stern look that turned into a full faced grin he said ‘I reckon. When Sophie sets her mind to sumthin’ it’s as good as dun. It was always you’ LeMat spoke, ‘Sophie’s choice’. So, with an understandin’ between us I said a heart swellin’ goodbye to Sophie.

We, The Three Amigo’s had agreed to travel with a train takin’ the southern route to California, meetin’ them in southwestern Kansas along the Santa Fe Trail and from there through the Great Desert to the ocean. The trip was made in the late fall and winter minimizin’ the affect of the scorchin’ heat and barren landscape, desolate and uninhabitable a purgatory to be crossed. Described by correspondent Bayard Taylor as ‘scorching and sterile, a country of burning salt plains and shifting hills of sand whose only signs of human visitation are the bones of animals and humans scattered along the trails that cross it’. Yet it epitomized the West with Mountain steeples that reached to the sky, vast plains rarely interrupted with habitants, deserts that knew no conclusions, and what inspired us till journeys end—-the ocean. We believed but could not conceive the immense vastness of water with an endless horizon beyond our seein’. Along the way we scouted, provided meat, and protection from Comanches and Comancheros. Upon arrivin’ north out of San Diego we sat saddle on a bluff overlookin’ the Ocean. No one could speak. With absolute awe we humbly breathed in the majesty of it all.

We spent three days walkin’ in the sand letting the tide chase us and bathin’ in a warm saltwater delight. As evenin’ approached we would build a small fire and watch the sun dip over the edge leavin’ brilliant rainbow colored skies with shafts of radiant light. My thoughts returned to my folks and the commitment I made to avenge them. ‘Vengeance is mine’ sayeth the Lord. I now understand God often uses men to exact His vengeance. It is an honor given to those he has prepared to execute the judgment written. Evil and evil doers abound because no man stands against them. Karuck taught me the best way to avenge sayin,’ ‘hate and revenge are the things worth least in this life. The things of value in life and taken with you in death are love, work well done, and a heart free from bitterness. Be a friend to all unless challenged, then a formidable foe’. Bearclaw added, ‘take all that you know and protect the weak and innocent, provide for the widows and fatherless, and show no mercy to evil. Face your fears and stay calm in the midst of any threat’.

I never was able to honor my mother’s last request. Mad Dog and his pack of rabid hate filled canines were wiped out by one of their neighboring Sioux within a year of my incident. I knew she understood and was proud I protected other families from similar acts of cruelty. Before returnin’ to Green River and Sophie we three, now inseparable in life traveled north to present day Santa Barbara. Senior Don Raphael Francisco Ortega escorted us to property he owned on a rise overlookin’ the ocean. He was one of the richest landowners in California and offered to sell this handsome portion of land at quite a reasonable price in exchange for our expertise in protecting his vast land holdings. ‘With the money I saved from trapping’ Bearclaw spoke ‘and what we all set back from scoutin’ for the army and wagons west we could afford to build Spanish style homes, one for Karuck and I, and one for Greyson, Sophie, and my grand youngin’s, with an attached dwelling for LeMat, all under one roof. Heck, Karuck and I need to slow down a little, and these old bones are surely enjoyin’ the salt air and mild temperatures. Ain’t this sum view’ he spoke beamin’. I looked at Karuck and he simply nodded in agreement. And was that a slight smile curlin’ about his lips? Without hesitation I let out a ‘whoopi! Let’s go get them grand youngin’s, Sophie and her Pa’, and we did.

All three older men, Papa, Daana, and Papi loved those grandbabies, all five of them. They taught them all manner of skills each suited to their own aptitudes, along with a wealth of knowledge from personal experiences and always those dorsties (stories). Often Sophie had to find and kidnap her own children to get them back in the roll of being a mother. Evenin’ meals around the big table, with help of Juanita our live-in maid, were always a delight with the children interspersed among the men, always with laughter and lively conversation. Nights were spent on the porch with rockers and a view of the ocean and sunset accompanied with some fine California wine, some from our own vineyards, and a bond among men a chord twisted together strong and unbroken. They would always have each other’s back The Three Amigos or as Frenchie called them, The Three Moosecateers.

les fin ne te tueront pas (the ending won’t end you)

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