Demon's Pass (10 page)

“Someone who has seen it for sure? Or someone who is just talkin' about it?”

“He's not only seen it, he's come through it.”

“And he says we should try it?”

Parker looked over toward Clay to see how he would answer the question.

Clay cleared his throat. “Uh, no,” he finally said. “In fact, he advised us against taking it.”

“What is Demon's Pass, anyway?” Jason asked.

“It's a southern pass through the Rockies. If we use it, we don't have to go all the way up to Denver before crossing. It will also cut off three hundred miles from the total distance to Salt Lake City,” Marcus answered.

The others whistled. “Three hundred miles?” Pecorino said. “You mean this shortcut saves three hundred miles, and here we are just sittin' around here talking about it? Of
course
we should take it.”

“It's supposed to be a very arduous route,” Clay said.

“How hard can it be?” Tobin asked. “I mean, so maybe it's a little steeper, or narrower or something. Three hundred miles is three hundred miles.”

“I want to be honest with you,” Clay said. “I'll tell you how hard it can be. Nobody ever takes it, even though folks have known about it for years.”

“I'm sure there have been some who have used it,” Marcus said.

“‘And died trying,” Clay replied.

“Wait a minute, now are you for it, or agin it?” Marcus asked.

“I confess that I do want to take it,” Clay said. “But I also want you to know the truth about it.”

“If you decide you want to take this cutoff, I'll be right there with you,” Marcus said. “And you won't hear another word out of me.”

“If you're willing to take it, you must think we can get through it. Is the trail really that hard?” Tobin asked.

“Well, there is no doubt that it is hard for the larger wagon trains,” Clay answered. “But if you think about it, they were trying to take dozens of wagons through. And, they had men, women, and children, as well as old people with them. Now, look at us. We have only three wagons, we're using mules rather than oxen, and we have no women, children, or old people with us.”

“Except Marcus. He's pretty old,” Jason joked, to the laughter of the others.

“Don't worry none 'bout me. I say take it,” Marcus said.

“Me too. Hell, I'm for anything that will save three hundred miles,” Tobin joined in.

“Count me in as well, Gibson added.

“I appreciate that,” Clay said. “But, Marcus, I never figured you for anything different. And, Tobin, you and Gibson are on horseback.” Clay turned toward Jason and Pecorino. “But you two boys are driving wagons. It's going to be a lot harder for you. So whether or not we try the cutoff depends on what you say.”

“I say let's do it,” Jason said, quickly. “Sounds like great fun to me.”

“Fun?” Pecorino asked. “You think it will be fun?”

“Like I said, it beats mucking out stables,” Jason said.

The others guffawed.

“It's up to you, Frank,” Clay said. “What's your vote?”

“What about Parker here?” Pecorino asked. “I'd like to know what you think about this?”

“I'm for trying it,” Parker said. “And I've been for it from the beginning. But, like Clay said, I'm on horseback. It's you wagon drivers who will have it the hardest.”

“And that leaves you, Frank,” Jason said. “Are you for it, or against it?”

“I'm not at all for it,” Pecorino said. “On the other hand, I don't intend to be the one to stop it. So, I'll go along with the rest of you. You want to take the cutoff, I'll be there with you.”

“Thanks, men,” Clay said. “I appreciate all of you sticking together on this.”

 

The next day warmed quickly, and with the heat came the clouds. Parker watched them build up into towering mountains of cream, growing higher and higher and turning darker and darker, until the sky in the west was nearly black as night. The air stopped stirring, and it became very hushed, with only the sound of rhythmically clopping hooves, rolling wheels, and the occasional bang of a hanging pan or kettle interrupting the quiet.

There was a strange, heavy feeling in the air, and the men kept a nervous eye on the sky before them. Even the animals seemed to sense that something was about to happen, and were acting skittish.

Parker was riding alongside Marcus. “Marcus, look at the mules. Why are they shaking their heads like that?” he asked.

“They can smell the sulphur, boy.”

“Smell the sulphur? What does that mean?”

“That means that the very gates of hell are about to open.”

They could see the lightning first, rose-colored flashes buried deep in the clouds, followed several seconds later by distant thunder, low and rumbling. Then the lightning broke out of the clouds. No longer luminous flashes, the lightning now came as great, jagged streaks on the distant horizon, stretching from the clouds to the ground. The electric streaks were soon followed by booming thunder that made the hairs stand up on the men's arms.

Then the winds came. At first it was no more than a gentle freshening, still hot and dry, laden with the dust of the prairie. But the wind's speed soon increased, and Parker could feel a dampness on its breath.

The intensity of the lightning also increased. Instead of one or two flashes, there were ten or fifteen, and from each major spear there came half a dozen more forking off from it. The thunder which followed was hard and sharp, and it came right on the heels of the lightning. After each flash, the thunder rolled over their heads with a long, deep-throated roar.

“Here it comes!” someone shouted.

The deluge came then, sweeping down on them from the west, moving toward them like a giant gray wall. The raindrops slammed into the wagons, hitting hard and heavy, as if the wagons were being pelted by great clods.

The rain was falling so hard that Parker, who was now riding at the rear, could not even see the front wagon only yards ahead. All about him lightning streaked and thunder crashed, and water cascaded down on him with as much ferocity as if he had been standing under a waterfall. He was wearing a hat and an oiled canvas poncho, but that did very little to protect him. He was drenched clear through to the bone.

Suddenly one of the canvas cargo covers on Jason's wagon caught in the wind and tore loose from its fastenings and came flying back toward Pecorino's wagon. Pecorino's team, already frightened by the thunder and lightning, saw something big and white flapping toward them, and they whirled around and jerked the wagon into a tight turn. Pecorino wasn't expecting it and was tossed from his seat. The mules broke into a gallop.

“Whoa!” Pecorino shouted, chasing after them on foot. “Come back here!”

Parker knew that Pecorino's shouts would have no effect on the runaway team, so, slapping his legs against the side of his horse, he bolted after them.

At first, Parker thought it might be best just to let the mules run until they could run no more. Then he could just ride up to them and lead them back to the group. But as he looked ahead he saw that the mules were making a mad dash for the edge of a fairly deep ravine. The gulley was little more than a rift in the prairie, perhaps cut by some ancient torrential rain like the one they were now experiencing. Nevertheless, it was several feet deep, certainly deep enough to inflict serious, probably fatal injury to any animal that might run into it at full speed.

Parker leaned over the withers of his horse, urging it to greater and greater speed. He drew even with the galloping team, then slowly began to move to the front. The space between the lead animals and the edge of the ravine was rapidly narrowing.

Finally Parker was far enough ahead of the runaway team to put his horse between them and the gulley. He did so and, taking off his poncho, waved it at the team. He was assisted in this effort by a crashing thunderbolt which stuck so close that Parker could feel the electricity crackle in the air around him.

The mules, originally frightened by the specter of a flying canvas, were completely terrified anew. They wheeled away from the ravine edge and started galloping out across the open prairie. Parker chased after them again.

The mules ran for at least three miles before exhaustion overtook them. They slowed, then finally, they stopped. Parker, who had kept pace with them, slowed his horse to a walk, then came up quietly beside them. By now the downpour had eased somewhat, and the thunder-heads had passed through, flashing and rumbling now far to the east. Parker rode to the head of the team, talking to them in a quiet and soothing voice, and soon they stood quietly. He tied off his horse on the back of the wagon, then climbed into the wagon to drive them back.

By the time Parker brought the runaway wagon back to the others, the rain had come to a stop. Both men and cargo were soaking wet. After some discussion it was decided that, with the sun now beginning to peek through the gloom, they would stop long enough to allow things to be dried out.

Chapter 7

 

Elizabeth was glad that Moon Cow Woman had placed herself in the position of being her friend and defender. Because Moon Cow Woman was the first wife of Two Ponies, she was respected within the village, and most of the women, out of deference to Moon Cow Woman, had accepted Elizabeth.

Not so Willow Branch and Morning Flower. As Moon Cow Woman started out to help Elizabeth build her teepee, the other two wives of Two Ponies mocked her. Of course, not understanding their language, Elizabeth had no idea what they were saying, though she could tell from the tone and texture of the conversation that their words were far from friendly.

Moon Cow Woman had gathered several poles together and she indicated to Elizabeth that she should pick up a rather large bundle. As Elizabeth leaned over to pick up the bundle, Willow Branch spit on her.

Elizabeth's reaction was instantaneous. She lashed out at Willow Branch, bringing her hand up and around in a backhanded slap, mustering all the strength of which she was capable. The result was a blow which not only startled Willow Branch by its suddenness, but also by its strength, and the Indian woman was knocked flat on her backside. She lay on the ground with her ears ringing and her head spinning, surprised that a woman who appeared to be so small and weak could hit with such stunning force.

“Return her blow, my sister!” Morning Flower urged.

“Aiee,” Willow Branch said, sitting up and rubbing her eye gingerly. “The white woman has the strength of a horse.”

Elizabeth picked up the bundle, determined not to let anyone see how heavy it was. Laughing, Moon Cow Woman began shouting to others nearby.

“I have told them how you bested Willow Branch,” Moon Cow Woman explained.

Moon Cow Woman walked for quite a ways through the village and Elizabeth followed, tiring, but determined to bear the load without complaint. Finally, Moon Cow Woman stopped and looked around.

“Have you found no place you like?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is to be your teepee,” Moon Cow Woman explained. “It is for you to choose the place.”

“How about right here?” Elizabeth asked, dropping the heavy load at her feet. If she had known that, she would have pitched the teepee right where she had picked up the bundle in the first place.

“Yes, this is a good spot,” Moon Cow Woman agreed. “You are near the water, yet far from where the horses are kept. The ground is flat where the teepee will be, but it is higher than the water so you will not get wet during the big rains. You have chosen a good spot.”

Elizabeth realized then that by stopping where she had, Moon Cow Woman had actually chosen this spot. But she had done so in such a way as to make it look as if Elizabeth had chosen it herself.

Moon Cow woman began undoing the bundles Elizabeth had carried, and Elizabeth watched carefully, trying to figure out how the thing went together. In addition to the poles, the bundles also held a teepee cover made of buffalo hides, stitched with the same type of sinew that held Elizabeth's dress together.

Quickly and deftly, Moon Cow Woman tied the poles together, using the same cord that had bound the bundle. She tied them at one end, and raised the poles with the tied end up, then she spread the bottoms out so that they formed a tripod. The remaining poles, which were as tall but not as big around, were leaned against the tripod until they formed a cone. Next, Moon Cow Woman put the teepee cover in place by tying it to a stout lifting pole and hoisting it into position. After that, the cover was unfolded around the poles, pegged to the ground along the bottom, then closed at the seam with wooden pins. Finally, two poles were attached to the smoke flaps at the top, and Moon Cow Woman showed Elizabeth how to adjust the poles to vary the size and angle of the opening. The entire operation had taken only a few minutes, and Elizabeth was amazed at how sturdy the finished product was.

“Take it down,” Moon Cow Woman instructed.

“What? Why? I think it is good,” Elizabeth replied.

“It is good,” Moon Cow Woman said. “But you must do it yourself. Take it down, then put it up.”

Elizabeth sighed, but she appreciated what Moon Cow Woman was doing for her, so she disassembled the teepee, then started to put it back up.

“No,” Moon Cow Woman said. “First you must prepare to move. Then you put it back up.”

Elizabeth tried to remember how the bundle had been originally wrapped and how the pegs and poles were arranged, and finally she was able to get it into condition so that it could be moved. Moon Cow Woman inspected everything with a critical eye. Finally, with a grunt, she gave her approval.