Part Two
CALIFORNIA
Chapter 25
The boy said he had a horse hidden in a nearby cluster of timber, and asked if he could ride along with us to the California border. Charlie was against it but I could not see the harm and told the boy he had five minutes to gather his effects. He left and returned with his horse, a small and sickly thing with no saddle or accoutrements, and with patches of its hair fallen away, exposing raw flesh and rib bones. In response to our concerned expressions the boy replied, ‘I know he doesn’t look like much, but Lucky Paul can climb these steep hills like a spider climbs a wall.’
Charlie asked me, ‘Will you speak to him, or shall I?’
I said that I would and Charlie stepped away. I was not sure where to begin but decided to address the problem from the practical standpoint.
‘Where is your saddle, boy?’
‘I have a blanket, and my own personal padding.’ He tapped his backside.
‘No bit? No reins?’
‘Uncle Jimmy took those with him. Who knows why. But it doesn’t matter. Lucky Paul knows which way to go.’
‘We will not wait for you,’ I told him.
He was feeding the horse a biscuit. ‘You do not understand, but you will. He is fed and rested and ready to cover some ground.’
His confidence was true, and I had a hope Lucky Paul was just the type of runner the boy claimed him to be, but this was not the case, and we lost them instantaneously. The horse had no interest in climbing the long pass; looking back I saw the boy pummeling him about his skull and neck. Charlie nearly fell off Nimble from laughing, and neither was the humor of the episode lost on me, but this diversion quickly lost its appeal and we settled into some serious riding, so that we hit the snowy summit in a matter of four hours. Despite Tub’s eye wound he never so much as stumbled, and I felt for the first time that we knew and understood each other; I sensed in him a desire to improve himself, which perhaps was whimsy or wishful thinking on my part, but such are the musings of the traveling man.
The far side of the pass presented us with more favorable terrain, and by dusk we had crossed beneath the snow line, where we set up for the night. In the morning we slept late and rode at a moderate pace into California. We entered a dense and tall forest of pines late in the afternoon and happened on a small, winding stream, the sight of which gave us pause. Here before us was the very thing that had induced thousands of previously intelligent men and women to abandon their families and homes forever. The both of us stared at it, saying nothing. Finally Charlie could not help himself; he dismounted and squatted beside the stream, pulling up a handful of wet sand and rooting through it with his finger.
I spied a tent on the far side of the water, a quarter mile to the north. A lone face, bearded and extremely dirty, peered out from behind it. I held up my hand in greeting and the face darted back. ‘I believe we have us a real live prospector,’ I said.
‘Pretty far out to be working, don’t you think?’
‘For all we know. Shall we pay him a visit and see how he is doing?’
Charlie threw the sand back. ‘There is nothing in this river, brother.’
‘But you’re not curious to know?’
‘If you want to check in with him, you go ahead while I make my toilet. But I cannot invest my own time with every curiosity.’
He walked into the forest and I rode Tub upstream, calling my greeting from across the water, but there was no sign of the bearded man. I saw a pair of boots in front of his tent and a small fire in a pit; there was a saddle on the ground, but no horse that I could see. I called out once again, and again I heard nothing. Had the man run barefoot into the woods rather than share news of unknown riches? But no, the sight of the blighted camp told me the prospector was not having any successes. Here was a man greedy for gold but not hearty enough to brave the wasps’ nest that was California proper. He would find nothing, he would starve, he would rave and expire—I could see his naked body picked over by blackbirds. ‘One of these cold mornings,’ I said.
There came the sound of a rifle being cocked behind me. ‘Cold mornings what?’ said a voice. I raised my hands and the prospector began laughing, relishing his position.
‘Tunnel under the river,’ he said. ‘Weren’t thinking of that, were you?’ He jabbed my thigh painfully with his gun muzzle and I began to turn. ‘Look at me, I’ll shoot your face off, bastard,’ he hissed.
‘There’s no need for this,’ I said. ‘I don’t mean you any harm.’
He jabbed my leg again. ‘Maybe I do you, think of that?’ His laughter was high pitched and wistful and I thought he had likely gone crazy or was going crazy. I realized with annoyance that Charlie had been correct to leave the man alone. ‘You’re a hunter, that it?’ he asked. ‘You looking for the red-haired she-bear?’
‘I don’t know about a red-haired she-bear,’ I said.
‘There’s a red-haired she-bear near here. Mayfield put the price of a hundred dollars on her and now the hunters are going mad for the pelt. I saw her two miles north of camp yesterday morning. Took a shot but couldn’t get in close enough.’
‘I’m not interested in it one way or the other, and I don’t know anyone called Mayfield.’
He jabbed my leg again. ‘Wasn’t you just with him, you son of a bitch? And him checking the sand in my riverbed?’
‘You’re talking about my brother, Charlie. We’re heading south from Oregon Territory. We’ve never been through this way and don’t know anyone in these parts.’
‘Mayfield’s big boss around here. Sends men over to upset my camp when I’m in town fetching supplies. Sure that wasn’t him a minute ago? I thought I saw his stupid, laughing face.’
‘That’s only Charlie. He’s ducked into the woods to make his toilet. We’re on our way south to work the rivers.’
I heard him step around to Tub’s far side, and then back. ‘Where’s your gear?’ he asked. ‘You say you’re going to work the rivers but you got no gear?’
‘We will buy our gear in Sacramento.’
‘Right off the top then, you’re losing money. Only a fool buys his gear in town.’
I had nothing to say to this. He jabbed my thigh and said, ‘I’m talking to you.’ I said nothing and he jabbed me.
‘Stop jabbing me like that.’
He jabbed me. ‘Don’t like it, do you?’ He jabbed me.
‘I want you to stop.’
‘Think I care what you want!’ He jabbed me and held the gun against my smarting leg. A twig snapped in the distance and I felt the gun go slack as the prospector turned to look. I grabbed the rifle barrel and yanked it away. The prospector lit out for the woods and I turned and pulled the trigger but the rifle was not loaded. I was reaching for my pistol when Charlie stepped from behind a tree and casually shot the prospector as he ran past. It was a head shot, which took the back off his skull like a cap in the wind. I dismounted and limped over to the twitching body. My leg was stinging terribly and I was possessed with a rage. The man’s brain was painted in purple blood, bubbling foam emerging from its folds; I raised up my boot and dropped my heel into the hole with all my weight behind it, caving in what was left of the skull and flattening it in general so that it was no longer recognizable as the head of a man. When I removed my boot it was as though I were pulling it from wet mud. Now I walked away from the body, without purpose and for no reason besides needing to escape my own anger. Charlie called my name but did not pursue me, knowing to leave me alone when I am like this. I walked a half mile and sat beneath a broad pine, tensing and untensing my body with my knees against my chest. I thought I would break my own jaw from clenching, and stuck my knife’s leather sheath between my teeth.