HisBootsUnderHerBed (6 page)

Dismounting, Garth led Boots behind a large boulder. He pulled a small telescope out of his saddlebag, then grabbed his rifle out of the saddle holster and scaled the boulder, stretched out on it, and waited.

Soon he spied a distant movement and brought the spyglass to his eye. From a distance he had thought it was a wolf that had been trailing him for the past few miles, but as it drew nearer he saw that the animal was a shaggy dog.

Within minutes the dog had come close enough for Garth to see that despite the tongue hanging from its mouth, the animal showed no sign of being rabid. He wasn’t going to take any careless chances, though; he cocked the rifle. A wild dog could be as deadly as a wolf, and this dog was following either his or Boots’s scent.

On the other hand, the poor dog could just be thirsty and hungry. There was a good way to find out. Garth uncocked his rifle and climbed down.

He pulled a piece of jerky out of a saddlebag and put it on the ground, then poured some water from his canteen onto a tin plate and set it beside the jerky. Garth climbed back on Boots and rode a short distance away, but remained in plain sight.

When the animal appeared, Garth saw that it was limping. The dog halted about thirty yards away from him and neither growled nor snarled, but just stared.

After a long moment, it moved closer. There was nothing threatening about the move, no indication it intended to attack, so Garth cautiously lowered his rifle.

The dog limped to the food and lapped up the water, then devoured the jerky. Returning the rifle to its sling, Garth grabbed the canteen and climbed down. Still cautious, he kept his right hand on the Colt at his hip, and went over to the animal and poured some more water onto the plate. Although the dog didn’t make a sound, its gaze remained on Garth’s every move. As soon as he stepped back, the dog gulped down the liquid.

Garth had been around domesticated animals his whole life and recognized that this dog was used to being around humans. In all probability, the animal was lost or its owner had perished.

“You lost, fella?” he asked in a gentle tone, and began to stroke him. “And thirsty, aren’t you?” He poured a little more water on the plate. “Not too fast, fella,” he warned, when the dog quickly lapped it up.

Garth broke off another piece of jerky and the dog immediately chewed it up. When it finished eating, the dog stretched out with its head on its paws and
stared
at him.

Garth fed him another piece of jerky, this time from his hand. “How about letting me take a look at that rear paw, fella?” he asked. When he started to reach for the injured paw, the dog issued a low growl, so Garth got up and walked away to make camp for the night. There was no way he would abandon the injured dog; he could push on to Hope tomorrow.

After unsaddling Boots and feeding him some oats and water, Garth built a fire and filled a small coffeepot, then sat down to wait for it to brew. Rather than use any more of the scarce water preparing a meal, he settled for some hardtack and jerky, which he shared with the dog.

Before bedding down for the night, he decided to try again to examine the dog’s paw. This time the injured dog lay quietly and allowed him to do so.

Blood had caked around a splinter embedded deeply in the pad of the paw. There was no end he could grip to try and pull it out; he would have to dig it out.

“You’re not going to like this, fella,” he warned as he heated his knife. After several attempts he succeeded in removing the splinter; then he poured iodine on the wound and bound it with a bandage.

Throughout the ordeal the dog had twitched at times, but never uttered a whimper or growl. “You did good, fella,” Garth said, patting the dog. “It should feel a lot better by tomorrow.”

After finishing off the remaining coffee, Garth bedded down for the night.

He awoke at dawn the next morning to discover the dog cuddled against him.

G
arth had been traveling for a good seven hours when he finally reached his destination. He halted at the outskirts of the town encompassed within the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Although the word
Hope
was written on the battered sign, the sheriff in Sonora had assured him it would be the town he was looking for, Tierra de Esperanza.

It was the hottest time of the day, and his shirt clung to him in patches of perspiration. He should have had the good sense to have gotten out of the sun; instead he’d kept pushing on, expecting to reach the town over every rise he’d come to.

This trip recalled the tiring trek to California the previous year when he, Clay, and Becky had crossed another part of this mountain range. It had been the same then: blazing hot during the day and cool at night.

This search had reversed part of that journey. Following the route of the map, upon leaving Sacramento he had traveled through dense forests to the junction of the Sacramento and Joaquin rivers, and from there the Tuolumme River over boulder canyons to Sonora.

Garth untied the bandanna from around his neck and wiped away the sweat, then took off his hat and did the same to his brow. With another swipe of the bandanna around the inside band, he plopped the hat back on his head and then raised himself in the saddle enough to look back at the trail. In the distance he caught sight of the dog, still following behind in a steady trot.

“Maybe its home is here, Boots,” he murmured, and rode into the town.

Like so many of the scattered little towns he’d ridden through, this one was in an extreme state of decline. There wasn’t a smidgen of shade or a horse trough the whole length of the dusty main street, and being siesta time, it was deserted as well. Garth stopped in front of the general store, one of the few businesses that appeared to still be in operation. Dismounting, he tethered Boots.

A bell tinkled overhead when he entered the store, and the dozing proprietor awoke and got to his feet.

“Howdy,” he said.

“Hello,” Garth said cordially. “Hot out there, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Folks don’t try to move around too much this time of day. Best to stay still. You a stranger in these parts?”

“Yes, I am,” Garth said.

“Huh. Third stranger to pass through in as many days.”

His words struck a chord with Garth. “Is that so? Were they two men?”

The storekeeper eyed him warily. “You a lawman?”

“No. Why, do I look like one? Name’s Garth Fraser.”

“Can’t say you do, Mr. Fraser. But you don’t look like no trail bum passing through, either.” He extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fraser. Name’s John Hastings.” Hastings gave him a quizzical look. “Say, you wouldn’t be related to Henry Fraser, would you? He had an accent that sounded like yours.”

“I did have an Uncle Henry who lived in these parts before he died.”

“Yep, lived right here in this town,” Hastings said. “Bought all his supplies from me. Henry was a good man. I felt real bad when he passed on. You here on business, Mr. Fraser, or just passing through?”

“Actually I’m looking for the Misión de La Dueña de Esperanza, Mr. Hastings. Can you tell me where it’s located?”

“Right up at the end of the road. You can’t miss it. It’s got a pink wall around it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Real pleasure talking to you, Mr. Fraser,” Hastings called out as Garth left the store. “Any friend of Henry’s is a friend of mine.”

The dog had caught up to him and was stretched out next to the hitching post.

“So you made it, fella.” He gave the dog’s head a pat, then mounted and headed for the mission at the other end of the town.

The dog rose to its feet and once again followed them.

The gates of the mission were open, and Garth entered the courtyard. Unlike the floral gardens characteristic of most of the Spanish patios he had seen, this one had nothing more than several benches under four trees that offered some shade. The rest of the courtyard could boast only a vegetable garden and, at the moment, the most important thing—a well. A building that appeared to be the church was connected to the larger one by a roofed passageway.

A priest rose from the shade of a bench and approached him. “Greetings, my friend. I’m Father Chavez. How may I help you?”

“Hello, Father.” Garth dismounted and removed his hat. “My name is Garth Fraser, and I’ve been told this is where to come to find out about previous mine claims.”

The priest stared at him with an intensity that seemed to go beyond mere curiosity. Garth shifted uneasily and wondered if he’d become a face on a wanted poster.

“How strange that after all these years, you are the third person who has come this very week with such an inquiry, Señor Fraser. Come inside, and we’ll see if I can be of any service to you.”

“Do you mind if I water my horse first, Father?”

“Of course not. And your dog as well,” the priest said, leading them over to the well.

“Actually the dog is not mine,” Garth said, as he poured the bucket of well water into his hat. He held it up to Boots’s mouth. “He’s been following me since yesterday. I was hoping he belonged to someone here in town.”

“He does not look familiar. I see he is favoring a paw.”

“Yes, there was a splinter in the pad, so I did the best that I could for him.”

“Bless you, my son, for we are all God’s creatures.” Then Father Chavez’s dark eyes lit with merriment. “And I think you have made a friend of this four-legged one for life, señor.” The priest ladled water into a bowl and placed it on the ground in front of the dog.

Garth loosened the cinch on Boots, led him over to the shade, and tethered him to a tree. The dog followed and stretched out on the ground.

“Now you must come inside where it is cooler. There you, too, can refresh yourself, Señor Fraser,” Father Chavez said. “Then we will get to the business you seek.”

The priest was right about the inside being cooler, and Garth sat down and relaxed. As worn as the sofa was, it was a reminder of how long it had been since he had sat and leaned back on something other than a hard chair or armless bench. For a fleeting instant, he felt a heavy sensation of homesickness pressing on his heart at the thought of the home he was raised in and the people he loved and missed.

A woman brought in a pitcher and glasses, and once again Garth felt uncomfortable under her intense stare.

“Where is your home, Señor Fraser?” the priest asked as they drank the refreshing glasses of lemonade.

“Virginia, Father.”

“Do you intend to return there?”

“Sometime, sir. I have no definite date in mind, but certainly not before I accomplish what I came to California to do.”

“And is that what has brought you to Tierra de Esperanza?”

“Yes, sir.”

Father Chavez rose to his feet. “Then what is it you wish to know from me, Señor?”

Garth reached into his pocket and pulled out the new map he had drawn. The priest spread it out on the table and gave it a slight glance. “This is the same map I looked at just days ago.”

Damn it!
Buckman had gotten here ahead of him.

“Did you get this from the man and woman who filed the claim?” the priest asked.

“Man and woman!” Garth exclaimed, perplexed. “What were their names?”

Father Chavez opened the huge ledger, its pages yellowed from age. “The claim was filed by Patrick Michael and Rorleen Catherine O’Grady. How did you get this map, Señor Fraser? Did you steal it from them?”

“Just the opposite, Father; they stole it from me. That is, they stole the one that I had drawn from memory. I redrew it when I discovered the theft of the first one. The original is still in Virginia. Uncle Henry, my father’s younger brother, sent it to us before he died.”

The priest nodded. “And your uncle was Henry Fraser.”

“Yes. So he did file a claim on his mine?”

“Not to my knowledge. And since your uncle came here often to attend mass, Señor Fraser, I doubt he would have gone elsewhere to file the claim.”

“Mass? You mean he converted to Catholicism?”

“Oh, yes. Henry died right here at the mission.”

“I didn’t know that. Uncle Henry never mentioned his conversion in any of his letters. And a doctor was the one who informed us of his death.”

“Yes, Dr. Estaban. The good doctor was leaving for Sacramento and offered to inform you of the sad news. I’m glad to hear he took the time to do so.”

He took his time, all right—three years, to be exact.
“The doctor said nothing about the mission, so we assumed Uncle Henry died in Sacramento. Did he suffer very long, Father Chavez?”

“I can’t speak for the length of his suffering, but he remained with us for about a month before he passed on into the hands of our Blessed Lord.”

Still stunned, Garth said, “I can’t believe I’ve actually met someone who was with him at the end. I worshiped my Uncle Henry, and I’m glad to hear that he was with someone who cared when he died.”

“We all cared greatly for Henry Fraser, my son. And he spoke often, and with abounding love and pride, of his nephews.” The priest’s eyes appeared to twinkle with enjoyment. “You were his favorite, you know.”

Garth grinned with pleasure. “Really? I had no idea. Sure wish I could have spent more time with him.”

“You have an opportunity to do so now, my son, and to say a final good-bye. Your uncle is buried in the cemetery behind the church.”

“If you don’t mind, I would like to do that, Father, then come back and finish our business.”

“I will be glad to. I must leave now and hear confessions; just go out that door at the rear. You will see the cemetery.”

As Garth reached the iron fence that enclosed the small cemetery, the dark-haired woman who had served their drinks came hurrying out. Garth tipped his hat and stepped aside. She lowered her head and nodded, then rushed away.

It did not take long to find his uncle’s grave. A freshly watered small pine tree stood behind the simple cross carved with the inscription
HENRY FRASER
, 1811–1847.

“I’ve thought about you so often, Uncle Henry,” Garth said softly. “We didn’t get the letter you wrote us until three years after you died. I’m glad I finally found you. You have a peaceful resting place in this quiet spot, with a view of the mountains in the distance. And I make this oath, Uncle Henry: I’ll let no one cheat the family of your legacy. I’ll get your mine back,” Garth vowed.

He spent a short time passing among the grave markers, looking at the dates that reflected almost two centuries of Spanish colonization.

At dusk, when a setting sun had dimmed the light into blue shadows, Garth went for a walk in the town—not that there was much to see.

To Garth, who took an optimistic approach about most things, there was something sad about the dying town. He couldn’t help thinking about the people who had once lived there. What had become of the dreams they had brought with them?

A town didn’t suddenly appear from nowhere; it had to have begun with people—their hopes, their optimism, their faith. Had they all been for naught? Trampled into dust? Or had some seen their hopes and dreams come to fruition?

And was it truly gold that had lured his uncle to this place, or was it destiny that had drawn Henry Fraser? And now him, as well?

His gaze swung to the nearest mountain peak towering above the town. In the fading light of day it appeared shadowy, ominous.

A sudden burst of wind swept across the rocky specter, leaving in its wake an echo that sounded like the wail of a dying animal. A shiver rippled Garth’s spine, and he hurried back to the mission.

Father Chavez was waiting for him when he returned to the rectory.

“Sir, I have been thinking about my uncle’s claim. If the O’Gradys are now the legal owners of the mine, it appears I’ll have to pursue a different tack. Do you have a detailed plat of the area bordering the claim?”

The priest riffled through a mass of musty-smelling maps and pulled out the one he sought. “This is the quadrant where the mine can be found,” Father Chavez said as they leaned over the table. “The horizontal lines represent the latitude and the vertical lines the longitude. These contour lines indicate the altitude. And this,” he said, pointing to a marking on the map, “is the exact location of the O’Grady claim.”

“You mean my uncle’s claim,” Garth corrected.

“I can only identify it as what has been legally claimed, Señor Fraser.”

“Father, please call me Garth.”

“If that is your desire.” Father Chavez opened the thick ledger he had showed Garth earlier, and traced the registration.

“The site with the coordinates nearest to the O’Grady one was claimed by a Herbert Forsen fifteen years ago.” Deep in recollection, Father Chavez nodded. “Ah, yes, I remember the man. Señor Forsen left here to return to his claim and was never seen or heard from since then.”

“Maybe he’s still working the claim,” Garth suggested.

“I think not. The need for food and supplies would have made him return.”

Father Chavez went back to checking coordinates on the quadrant against the registration ledger. “As you can see by the markings, there have been several other claims filed in the area, but they did not yield any gold and have long been abandoned.”

“What about here?” Garth asked, pointing to the area on the map directly beyond his uncle’s claim.

“No claims have been filed on the rest of the area above it. If anyone attempted to mine there, they have either disappeared or left empty-handed. Señor Forsen was the last one to show any interest in that area.”

“Well, I’m not going to let Mr. O’Grady and his daughter get away with stealing my uncle’s mine. I intend to follow them.”

Father Chavez frowned. “I pray you do not intend to harm them, Garth.”

“I’m not a violent man, Father. But I will not step aside and let them get away with this.”

“You have no way of knowing if Henry was right. That mine could be worthless.”

“Then I’ll have to find that out for myself.”

Father Chavez shook his head. “Is the desire for gold so great that you people are willing to die for it? The mountain has claimed many before you.”