Pioneer by Nicholas Woods

Pioneer by Nicholas Woods

“There is a land where the mountains are nameless and the rivers all run God knows where; there are lives that are erring and aimless, and deaths that just hang by a hair…”

          1851. Oregon Territory.

          The road was hard, but beautiful. The plains that surrounded him nearly brought Henry Hill to tears. He sat on the edge of his one-horse wagon, his eyes scanning the lush trees that framed expansive amber fields. He looked ahead where a woman with long brown hair rode confidently. She wore no hat, letting the wind hit her face. Henry watched Clara for a long time. His wife was getting stronger. At least, her body was. Her wounds were fading to scars. He knew her skin itched while she slept as the healing scabs pulled and tugged. Her body was healing. But her spirit was still crumpled in the heap of blood he had found her in. It was the worst day of his life.

          He was out checking traps, Clara home with their three children. The woman was a wonder, and every day she seemed to amaze him more. She managed a baby, their Grace who was nearing her first birthday. She also tended to their son Benjamin and their daughter Margaret. Benjamin had just reached his seventh year and was finally able to aid her around the cabin. Even still, there was always much to do. They barely got by as it was.

          The way Clara had described it, the morning before, her and Benjamin found tracks in the snow that had just started falling in the Idaho Territory in which their home was situated. One larger set of tracks indicating a mother and two smaller ones for her hungry youths. They had been stealing chickens, the third to go missing that winter. It would be tough to lose a chicken during summer, but winter… a few more and it would be a death sentence. Henry had set out traps for the beasts but managed to only wrangle a couple foxes and a deer.

          Clara told him that the morning of the attack she was with Grace out by the chicken pen, repairing the thin wire that had grown damaged. Grace was in a small basket filled with blankets wrapped warmly and near the baby Clara kept their loaded repeater rifle. Benjamin and Margaret had just finished their chores and begged to be released to play in the snow. Clara had agreed as long as they stayed close. In the quiet morning Clara hummed, and she noticed Grace was smiling.

          “You like mamma’s humming sweet girl?”

          For a moment, peace and love filled the area. Then, darkness crept in.  

          A squawking from one of the chickens turned her head. There, not ten feet away from her, was the mother mountain lion. It prowled toward her; its body poised low to the ground. The thing was skinny. It looked hungry. It moved right for Grace, but Clara was fast. She jumped over the chicken wire and grabbed the rifle pointing it at the wild cat. It growled but came no closer.

          Clara yelled to her other children. “Benjamin, Margaret!”

          She peered over her shoulder and could see in the forest stalked the two offspring of the mountain lion who moved right toward her children. Clara reached with a hand and produced her pistol, firing a shot in the air. The children gasped turning to the sound, also turning them toward the predators that moved upon them. Benjamin grabbed his sister and ran inside. To Clara’s relief the smaller mountain lions didn’t pursue the children but they did circle back joining their mother. The larger wildcat ventured a step closer to Clara, but Clara aimed her rifle back its direction. She faced the whole pack down without a moment’s hesitation. One rifle shot, four in her pistol. She held her weapons tight and prayed to god to save her and her baby. 

          God was not listening that day.

          Henry rode his horse Sool, a fine brown Appaloosa mare, back from checking traps. The horse’s hooves plodded through heavy sheets of fresh snow. When they approached the cabin Sool bristled. He smelled it, and Henry could smell it too. Blood. It was thick in the air. Henry looked toward the cabin where in the window he saw Benjamin waving his arms. The boy was yelling something, pointing to the chicken coop. Henry hopped off of Sool and grabbed his own rifle. He looked toward the chicken pen and saw Clara on the ground in a heap. Henry ran toward her seeing trickles of blood in the snow as he approached. He moved to Clara, her back bleeding from several deep slashes.          

          She was holding something. A basket full of blankets, but there was nothing inside. Grace. Their baby was gone. Henry looked quickly out toward the open area where he saw a smaller mountain lion youth lay dead.

          A child for a child. So had that day gone.

          Henry shook his head, clearing his mind from that day. He called to Clara.

          “Clara! Let’s make camp.” He looked behind him where Benjamin and Margaret sat in the open wagon looking tired but mostly bored.

          They had saved Clara that day. All three of them. Henry needed his children’s help to clean and patch their mother’s wounds, and the two moved diligently without fear or doubt. He was proud of them. So proud it brought tears to his eyes just remembering. Their small hands soaking bloody rags in warm water. After Clara was patched and sleeping, when no one was sure if she would live through the night, Henry grabbed his hat and gun. He told the children to stay near their mother. That he would be back. He told them he needed to see if Grace was gone for good. Of course, Henry knew she was. He didn’t leave the cabin that night to go save his baby girl. She was with God now. No, he left that night to kill some wild cats. And that night he did just that.

          From there they decided to give up their independent dream of owning a ranch and living off the land. In that, Henry had failed. They had received a letter from Henry’s brother, Victor Hill, that he had potentially discovered gold and was gathering investments to open a mine. He begged for Henry to come join him. After that night, it was decided. They would ride for Oregon. A new start. A place where family could join together. That’s all Henry wanted for his loved ones. To have means and shelter. Clara and Henry both dreamed of that for their family. That one day they would find somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet.

ACCOUNT FROM THE ACCUSED.

JOSEPH FLETCHER. AGE 27.

          We was brought onto the job late in spring. The sun wasn’t as brutal as it could have been, and me and the other fellas were grateful. I’d done mining before. Coal mining usually, up in North Dakota. Came West a year ago, doing work of any nature. But I was glad of the opportunity to be working in a gold mine, because the pay was double what you’d make in coal. And you usually don’t have to dig as deep to find value. No, we didn’t dig for long.

          I was in the hole the morning of the incident. It seems so strange to speak of it now, because looking back I don’t know where my mind had gone. It had just left. Like a haze one goes into after half a bottle of whiskey. But I was dead sober. Don’t want the boss to find out you’d been drinking on the job. You’d be whipped bloody if you were caught doing that. The foreman of the job, Whit Locklier, was a fair sort. But he was harsh if he thought you were putting other men in danger. Usually he didn’t have to step in, as you were ought to be pounded pretty heavily by the other boys if they caught you screwin’ around on the job.

          But that morning my mind was clear. We were in the dark, hacking away, driving our picks into rock. A large piece fell away, and I thought I heard a sound. Like the ringing of a bell but soft. So soft I wasn’t sure if it was in my head, but the man next to me, he heard the same thing. We brought out a lamp and looked at the piece we took away. There, shining back at us, was a large sliver of gold. A deep vein that ran right through the rock. We couldn’t believe our eyes. We called to the others. Five of us took turns, two days of pounding and whacking. Eventually, we got a large piece out, and I was the man who swung the strike that loosened it. Just me and a fella named Jason who were working, the others were outside on a break. I pulled the golden piece free, both my hands around it. Then. My mind went away. All I could remember was feeling a surge. A bubbling feeling of all my strongest emotions. Anger that I stored deep from years with my cruel father, I felt it. Desire at every beautiful woman that wasn’t a whore who turned me away. Need for more than just the simple items in my sack. I felt it all. And suddenly, Jason didn’t look like Jason no more. He looked small. Like a bug that you squished just to see the parts ooze. Before I knew it, I had swung my pick so deep into Jason’s skull that barely any blood came out. He dropped like a stone. I held the gold in my hand. It was mine, and no one would take it from me. I had found it, I had pulled it from the earth.

          I stood in the light of the mine. Others outside could see the shape of me, hands held over their eyes from the glare of the sun. Whit called out from the light, “Miner. Come out and show us what you’ve found.” I moved outside holding the gold. I handed it right to Whit, his eyes glittering with pride as he smiled. My shovel split his face in two. He was dead so fast the smile never left his face. I went to strike another, but suddenly a man was on top of me. Then another, miners one after another were striking me and holding me down. I didn’t feel it. Not for days until I woke in a cell. I remember what happened, I just can’t recall why I did what I did. Something swept over me. Something I can’t explain. Not just greed. Not just anger and desire. I wish I had the words to tell you, but I don’t know if I’ll find them before they hang me. I only pray to the lord I do. Just an answer, before I go.

          Henry and Clara made the trip in three months. The Oregon plains were stunning. Wide rivers that threatened to consume all who dared attempt tame them. But they managed, and finally after a long road they arrived in Oregon Territory. It took them a long time to find where Victor was set up, but eventually they found his tent. Several canvas canopies erected to serve as home until a more permeant settlement could be established.

          “Brother! I can barely believe my own eyes.” Victor strode across the area making his way toward their near decrepit wagon. Victor wasn’t as tall as Henry. He was leaner with a long mustache finely waxed. He wore a beautifully sewn vest over his plain working shirt. His black leather boots went almost to his knees.

          Henry hopped off the wagon and embraced his brother. They were welcomed by Victor’s wife, Felicity. She wore a fine dress that seemed out of place in the bare natural environment, only a few tents to shelter her from nature’s wild turns. Victor’s son Homer was not able to receive as he was out working. Although the mine was not officially to be opened until the end of the week there was still some construction to see to, and Homer was looking after it.

          Felicity prepared a few dishes, simple food but it was hot. They had an attendant of theirs even cook a whole chicken. Henry tried to protest, thinking of the cost, but Victor demanded the family shake every last discomfort from the road. They sat at a wooden table near the tents, Victor pouring a bottle of wine into everyone’s cup.

          “Henry, I’m glad you’re here. This territory needs a man like you, now more than ever,” Victor said taking a deep sip from his cup.

          “Oh yeah. How so?” Henry was more relaxed than he had been in weeks. The feeling didn’t last long. Victor and Felicity seemed to grow eerily quiet.

          Victor spoke after a long pause. “Well, you see. It’s an interesting time here. The last couple of weeks. There has been a few… incidents.”

          “Incidents?” Clara asked.

          Felicity threw her hands up dramatically. “It’s all so terrible, really the timing.”

          “Nothing to worry about,” Victor cut in. “A couple murders around the area, albeit odd ones, but the Sheriff of the area is hot on the case.”

          Murders? It was a violent time in the country. There were outlaws, bandits. Men of dark morale fortitude were found everywhere. But it wasn’t what Henry hoped to hear upon arriving. Later that afternoon Henry and Clara unloaded their wagon to set up their tent. Clara was more than worried. She feared for the children and their safety. Henry could hear the terror in her voice. She was once so strong, so fearless. The Idaho mountain took more from her than her child.

          “Well what do you suggest? We up and leave again? And go where? The world the way it is right now, ain’t nowhere safe. Whatever evil’s out there, we’ll make a stand, here. As a family.”

          Henry knew his words didn’t convince her. He had something for her, something he hopped to give her on her birthday which would arrive in a few months. But Henry decided there was no better time.

          “I got something for you. I had it commissioned, weeks before we left,” Henry said digging through one of his packs. Clara looked at him confused as he handed over a small gift wrapped in cloth. Clara folded the sides away to reveal a locket. The chain was mostly silver, but it had a small strand of gold woven through. Henry paid a fine price for that chain, the seller claiming it came straight from a metal worker who had received it from a Californian mine. Clara took the locket and opened it to see on one side a fine drawing of Benjamin and Margaret, the other side a drawing of Grace. The artist did a hell of a job, Henry thought. The drawing looked as close to a photograph as he’d ever seen.

          Clara looked up at him, and he knew he’d done well. But then she turned, hiding the tears she couldn’t hold back. “Thank you, for this Henry,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m going to take a minute to myself, if you’ll allow.”

          “Of course, my love.”

          Clara left moving to the surrounding forests, the trees more sparsely compact than the woods they knew in Idaho. Victor moved up behind Henry and clapped him on the shoulder. He wanted to show Henry something, so Henry followed him across the field in which they were camped to an empty area about a half-mile away. Victor told him that is where they would build Henry’s house, once the money came in. Right next to his.

          “You really think you’ve found something?”

          “I do. You’ll see tomorrow. Tomorrow, we dig.”

          Oregon Territory. June, 1852.

          Clara stood outside the mouth of Victor’s mine, dozens of workers moving about. Victor stood at the front with his other business partners as they ceremoniously cut the ribbon two others held across the mine. Then, the miners went inside to dig. Later that afternoon Victor took the family into Oregon town for an early dinner. The town was a small stretch of dirt, the thoroughfare leading not more than a mile. The town consisted of a whorehouse, a saloon which was also a whorehouse, a hotel, to bring expensive whores, and a jail. But that was larger a town than Clara had been in for over a decade. They entered the saloon, the Brass Palace, and found a small table in the corner.

          The palace was quiet and not very lively. Clara looked at the faces of those inside. Some businessmen, some workers, some dirt streaked miners. Each person had a downcast look. A troubled dark air about them. It was like all the happiness in the world was being drowned by a look of brooding desire. Everything about the area and the people who had moved there had seemed fast to Clara. Everyone spoke of the future, and no one lived in the moment. Everyone wanted something, whether it was fortune and success for the future, or demands of the body.

          The group settled into a somewhat clean table in the corner. Victor pulled out of his vest a shining pocket-watch. It gleamed gold. He checked the time, then set the piece on the table between he and Felicity. The food was brought, and Clara couldn’t believe how much was consumed. Victor drank beer after beer, Felicity seeming to order everything on the menu.

          “Ever since we dug into that mine I’ve been filled with this sense. This elating purpose. I can’t explain it,” Victor said in between gulps.

          Felicity smiled, chocolate cake in her teeth. “I fear I caught the bug too. I’m insatiable as of late.”

          “Any word from the Sheriff on suspects of the murders you described? I have a mind to go speak with him myself,” Henry asked.

          Clara nodded, appreciative Henry was as adamant about their safety as she was.

          Victor shook his head. “Ain’t our concern. Army will handle the Natives. The Klamath, the Coquille, the Coos. Every last one.”

          “You think it’s Natives who are responsible for these attacks?” Clara asked.

          “Who else?”

          Henry sat back in his chair. “I seen men make greater violence of their crimes so it looks like Natives”

          “Well, whatever it is we don’t have to worry about it. Tensions everywhere, and tensions cool.” Victor raised his glass. “What impeccably violent times we’re living in, eh?”

          Clara watched the man down his glass, his eyes going foggy as he reached into his pocket for his watch. His eyes changed as he realized it was already on the table. Victor stuck out a finger and stroked it. Felicity was looking at it too. Suddenly, she turned to the barkeep calling out.

           “Sir! Another round. Of everything.”

ACCOUNT FROM THE ACCUSED.

ENOCH HAYES. AGE 17.

          I sat at a campfire alone. All the boys had gone into town to the local brothel. The Fine Feline it was called. I heard it was a pretty swell place to be, if you had the coin. Unfortunately, I hadn’t worked enough to claim my wages yet, so my pockets were as empty as my stomach. To make matters worse I cut my hand that afternoon on a spade. I sat at the campfire wrapping it in cloth, hoping the water I’d sprinkled on it would keep it clean. I heard footsteps approach my campfire, but I wasn’t alarmed when I heard the voice. It was one of the fellow miners I’d come to know, a man named Arthur McMurphy. He noticed my wounded hand and offered to help. I told him why I wasn’t with the other boys, and he seemed to feel pity for me. I looked down and noticed the fella had gotten my blood on him.

          “No trouble,” Arthur said. “Want to know a secret?”

          I nodded, curious. But then the man licked the blood off his hand and looked me square in the eye. “You taste pretty good.” I didn’t know if he was joking with me, or what. He was a strange character, and I didn’t know him very well. He had a look in his eye. Eyes so clear like he knew everything in the world. How it worked, how to make it work for him.

          “I used to be like you. Until I started working in the mines, and I saw the truth.”

          “What’s that?” I asked him.

          “That in this life, you have to take what you want, or die alone in an empty bed, with empty pockets,” Arthur spoke the last in a serious voice.

          I nodded to that. I sure was tired of being so poor. So lonely. He smiled a toothy smile, and that’s when I noticed the gold tooth lodged in the back of his mouth. It glittered in the firelight. He asked me if I was tired of being so empty, and I told him I was.

          What happened next still shames me to my core. I don’t know what happened, what came over me. I just remember looking at the man’s gold tooth and feeling a need. He took me three miles over a hill to a small plane where a German family had made their encampment. Three wagons, two tents.  Arthur carried a pistol, walking through the dark as if he was the most powerful man in the world. He walked with such an ease it would have cowed the Devil himself. I could barely see in the dark, I just followed the slow easy sounds from his boots as they moved through the blackness. A German fellow was standing by the fire. He didn’t have time to turn before Arthur’s bullet ripped through his back.

          The rest was a haze like no other I’ve ever felt. Perhaps it was the adrenaline. But it wouldn’t be right to blame it on that. Something else took hold of me. A sound that echoes through the night like a soft thrum. The sound a drum makes but longer like ripples over a still lake. I fired my pistol, my bullet ripped through the neck of a woman who ran out of her tent. Another German man came running out, but the man could barely point the rifle in his hand before a bullet took him in the belly. Another one went right through his head and he crashed right into the campfire. I thought it would douse the flames, but slowly the old German’s body became a spitfire of kindling. His clothes burned, then his flesh.

          There was commotion from one of the tents. Sounds of people taking shelter. Arthur moved toward the tent and entered. There was a scream that pierced through the night as he stepped through the entryway. All I could see from there were the flashes of his pistol. Three quick bangs. The women and the children inside no longer cried. And I felt nothing. Now to speak of it makes me sick beyond measure, but then. I felt a dark thrill that threatened to tear me apart from the insides.

          Arthur emerged from the tent. He moved toward me, something in his hand. He opened his blood streaked palms to reveal a gold necklace. Both our faces were bloody and smeared with soot, but in that moment, I felt a king anointed. I bowed my head, and Arthur placed the necklace around me. The gold necklace wrapped so nicely around my neck. I’d never felt comfort like that my whole life. Not even my mother’s arms around me as a boy gave me such a feeling. In that moment, I was whole.

          Never to feel empty again.

          Clara woke in the night clutching at her chest, her breathing rapid. She looked at Henry, but he hadn’t awoken. He snored softly, the stench of whiskey stale on his breath. Clara felt in that moment she was going to vomit. She moved from the tent, out into the cold fresh air, her hands on her hips as she tried to push her thoughts past the nausea. She hadn’t bled in weeks. She knew what it meant, and the thought terrified her. She moved away from the tents thinking she was going to scream. She felt a rage in her, as well as weakness. She didn’t even have the strength to cry out to the lord and demand an answer as to why so much ill had befallen her.

          She moved to the edge of the property, near a small garden that was fenced in by white posts. Clara was sure Felicity was not the one who carefully carved out the area for produce to bloom. The work had most likely been hired out. Clara laid a careful arm on the white post clutching at her chest that seemed to only tighten further. The moon was bright and the air was cold and crisp for summer as it breezed through the pines. But a storm welled inside Clara’s chest. She could hear it like a war-drum beating softly down her spine. Suddenly, she reached into her pocket and produced the locket with the gold and silver chain. She opened it. She looked at her children, her finger tracing the drawn image of Grace.

          Clara looked up to the sky. “Oh God, please. Take this pain before I drown in it.”

          In a moment, she knew what she needed to do. She got down on her knees and dug a small hole into the ground at the edge of a particular post. She took the locket in her hand, and before she cast it into the hole she starred at it. She could almost hear a sound emanating from it. Like a pulse. In that instant she didn’t want to part with it at all. It was beautiful, it was hers. It could be the strength she needed to have everything and anything she wanted in the world. But the moment passed, and she felt a hollowness take over. She shoved the locket into the hole and buried it deep. She cried suddenly, her grief exploding within her. She wept soundlessly, but hard, on her knees at the edge of the garden. She cried so deeply that she didn’t even notice the pair of eyes watching her from the tents, or the little boy that worried for his mother.

          The next morning Clara woke late. She moved from the tents in a rush only to find Benjamin and Margret sitting with Felicity and another woman she hadn’t met yet. Clara moved to the woman and extended a hand.

          “I’m sorry, I haven’t put myself together yet today. I had a… hard night. Clara Hill.”

          The hand that met Clara’s was the color of dark coffee. “Adah Nelson. A pleasure.”

          Felicity turned to Clara. “Adah has been helping me with my garden. The woman is an expert on local herbs, and my thumb is as far from green as it could be.”

          Clara looked around. “Where are the men?”

          Felicity’s eyes flicked to the children warily. She spoke in a low tone as if they couldn’t hear. “There was trouble last night. A German family camped beyond the hills. They were attacked. The Sheriff is meeting them at the mine trying to rally a group together to fight the natives.”

          Clara looked beyond the trees to the south, toward the mine. She hoped in her heart that Henry would stay out of trouble. But she knew he wouldn’t. His strength flowed through him, stronger than ever. Hers may have abandoned her. But Henry would keep them safe. It was all she could hope for now.

          Henry and Victor stood at the edge of the mine while workers continued to mill in and out. The foreman was keeping the boys working, despite the commotion in the night. The Sheriff had just arrived with his two deputies, all dismounting.

          Victor leaned in whispering to Henry. “This ain’t good for business.”

          “Two men and their wives. In the night. Could happen to anyone.” Henry’s eyes went hard as steel.

          Victor nodded. “Another Klamath killing, I suspect.”

          Sheriff Jim Kelly dismounted his horse and moved to all those who gathered. “This was most likely another Klamath killing.”

          Victor’s lips held a small smile. “I should be a fuckin’ detective.”

          The Sheriff moved around the mine. “Now we don’t know exactly who

killed the Van Muller family, but by the nature of the murder we can suspect it was the Klamath. Now suspecting’s all we’ll be doing until an investigation’s done, but as you all know I’m putting together an outfit to fight the Natives of these parts, and we need not suspect nor even ponder a moment the danger they’ve been posing. Any man here who joins will be paid double what they’re making here.”

          Victor’s eyes went wide. He assumed a friendly smile, but his stride was serious as he moved to stand opposite the Sheriff. He addressed the miners around.

          “And what a handsome offer the generous Sheriff is making. Goodness what a gift. But I think it’s only fair to stipulate the dangers of such work.”

          The Sheriff eyed Victor. “Dangers in mining.”

          “I’ll take a rock to the head than a savage’s scalping blade any day, ey fellas?”

          The Sheriff continued. “We all live in this territory. Now, we’ve heard of some odd trouble at the Burnt River mine. I need some men to ride with me and investigate. Will anyone help? Is it not all of our problem to deal with? Each of us neighbors?”

          Those words struck a chord deep within Henry Hill. He had neighbors in Idaho. Neighbors he’d called upon when he was met with a mountain lion problem, but none came to his aid. The mountain he’d formally resided on followed a ‘tend to your own’ type of mentality. If his neighbors had been a bit more neighborly, if someone had lent him even a single hand of help, perhaps his baby girl would still be alive.

          “I’ll ride with you,” Henry called out. Victor turned to him, clearly angry. It took Henry the better part of the afternoon to convince Victor why it was good for business for them two to go and inspect the mine and make sure all was well. After much convincing, Henry and Victor saddled up and rode out to meet the Sheriff where he and his two deputies were gathering with other men.

          Henry rode up on Sool, Victor behind him. The Sheriff waited in an open field near an abandoned pen. There with him were his two deputies, brothers Morgan and Sydney Young. They had a dangerous look about them. The younger one, Sydney, especially. His eyes glittered with excitement, his horse teetering as if it could sense its rider’s bloodlust. An older man in his 50’s, Simeon Green, also sat atop a horse, a long rifle across his saddle. The Sheriff made quick introductions, but said they were waiting on one more.

          At that moment, a black man dressed in fine riding gear rode up on a brown horse. His name was Julius. Sydney Young questioned his Sheriff for inviting the man, but apparently Julius spoke native Modoc. The man was a skilled fur trapper but had a bad reputation in town for trading with the Natives. The Sheriff quieted down his man and looked at the group.

          “Thank you all for being here. Keep your eyes open and your pistols close, alright? I don’t know what we’ll find, but the way things been around here, one thing I can guarantee is we’re gonna see something we don’t want to. Let’s head out.”

          And with that the posse kicked and rode out across the amber fields south toward Burnt River.

          They arrived in the late afternoon. A thick fog had settled onto the area and the men had to slow their horses to a trot as they approached the mine. Sool smelled it first, but the scent hit Henry not long after. He’d smelled it before, on that fateful day.

          “Blood in the air,” Julius warned.

          The men passed by a tent and could see streaks of red splattering the canvas. Victor clutched at the buttons on his vest.

          “No bodies. Christ, what happened here?”

          Suddenly, the men’s attention turned back down the road that lead to the mine. There, standing in the path, was a figure. It stood still as stone. Fog floated by in thick clouds, but through the patches the posse could glimpse a man.

          The Sheriff called out. “You there. Don’t move.”

          But the figure darted off the road fast as a rabbit, disappearing from sight. The men each removed their weapons holding them close. The horses stepped a few more feet down the road until the men were at the foot of the Burnt River Mine.

          Sheriff Kelly called out once more.

          “Miners. Anyone in there?”

          Nothing called back. All of the men were quiet, each gripped with the eerie presence that surrounded them. The mine was dark. An expansive void of space where no light could penetrate. Deputy Morgan Young dismounted his horse and hoisted his rifle. He peered into the mine.

          “Seems like something’s moving around in there,” Morgan whispered.

          Henry dismounted Sool, and others followed suit on their horses. Each man gripped his weapon looking into the mine for a sign of movement. Henry looked to his right, a noise catching his attention. He bent down. Underneath a wagon, a distance away, were two Klamath men, one younger and one older. Both were dressed in a mix of native garments and colonial pieces they must have traded for.

          Morgan Young could see Henry looking off the trail, and his eyes eventually found the two Klamath men. Morgan pointed his rifle at them, calling for the two to come out of their hiding spot. They listened to the deputy. Each of the Native men looked terrified. Whether it was from the Deputies rifle that pointed at them, or from something else, Henry wasn’t sure.

          Julius told the Deputy to lower his weapon, but the man did not listen. Julius spoke to the two natives in their language, and Sheriff Kelly waved a hand for the Deputy to allow the man the ability to converse with the two suspects. When Julius finished his conversation, he looked at the Sheriff.

          “He says the miners attacked each other. There was fighting here,” Julius said. “He seems to be telling the truth.”

          The Sheriff went quiet. He looked back toward the mine. There was something moving in there. The Sheriff asked Deputy Sydney to go in and take a look. The man protested, but after some harsh words from the Sheriff the man stepped toward the mine. Everyone stood by watching, fear crawling within each of the grown armed men. Something wasn’t right about the situation they were in, Henry was sure of it. He watched as Sydney stepped closer to the mine, then eventually under the lip of it into darkness.

          While they waited on word from Deputy Sydney, the younger Klamath man started speaking to Julius in a furious whisper. Henry looked at Julius and asked him what the Klamath was saying.

          “He says we should blow up the mine. Before the darkness escapes.”

          Henry’s head turned as Deputy Sydney Morgan came running from the mine as if he was being chased by a bear.

          “The bodies. They’re in there. They’re all in there. Piled up! Someone else is in there with them!”

          Everyone aimed their weapons, waiting. After a moment shots rang out from the deep dark of the mine. Flashes from gunpowder blasted from within firing bullets back outside at the waiting men. Panic took over. Each of the men took cover finding positions to fire back. Bullets were cast back and forth as they fired their weapons into the darkness, unsure of what they were hitting.           Henry pulled at Victor keeping the man well hidden behind a turned over trough. Henry fired his rifle, then his pistol. For a moment, he could see golden eyes glowing from within the black of the mine. Then, he felt a tugging at his shirt. He looked and saw the younger Klamath.

          The native pulled Henry and Julius away from the fighting to the back of a wagon. In the back seat was a large box with a sheet over it. The native removed the sheet and opened the box to reveal a dozen sticks of dynamite. Henry knew what he needed to do with it. He hoisted the box and moved carefully with it back toward the battle.

          Julius spoke something to the two Klamath men, pointing in the distance. The only word Henry understood was the frantic yelling of “Go!”. The two finally listened and took off into the forests. Henry stashed the box of dynamite closer to the fight, but out of shot from any bullets. Henry moved over to Sheriff Kelly who was shooting his gun as well as tending to Simeon Green who seemed to have taken a bullet in the gut. The man bled like a stuck pig, sure to die.

          The Sheriff looked at Henry. “I’m counting 8 different weapons in there.”

          Henry told Sheriff Kelly about the box of dynamite. The man considered, then nodded as he told Henry to place it. The Sheriff turned toward the mine and yelled out.

          “This is Sheriff Jim Kelly of this territory. Cease your fire, now, or…”

          The Sheriff’s hat was shot off his head. The man cursed, then waved to Henry to blow the thing to hell. Henry moved to the side of the mine. He tossed the box into the mouth but held back one of the sticks of dynamite. He lit one end, then tossed it in with the others. Henry ran back as fast as he’d ever run to the men who had pulled the horses as far as they could go. Henry dove behind a wagon where Victor was hiding.

          “Cover your ears!” Henry yelled to Victor, but before the words even escaped his mouth the explosion rang through the air. Red fire blazed through the fog. For a moment the area looked like they had actually descended directly into hell. Rock and rubble fell to the ground but after that, silence crept in. The Sheriff lifted his head from the dirt where he took cover.

           “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

          Clara sat at the table near the tents sipping tea with Felicity and Adah. The children played nearby, and Clara watched Adah look at them fondly more than once. She wondered about Adah, in the silences of the quiet afternoon. The woman had also lost a child, many years before. They had a bond there. Two mothers whose nests held an empty corner. When Clara told Adah about how she lost Grace the woman was quiet for a moment.

          Adah gave Clara a look of sincere empathy. “Be careful. It ain’t just gold that can cause someone to want. Grief can grow into its own desire.”

          “A desire for what?”

          “Revenge,” Adah said seriously.

          Clara gave a small shrug. “Was a mountain lion that took from me. No one alive to seek anything from. My husband saw to that.”

          “Sometimes any pain will do. From any one.”

          Clara knew Adah sensed the danger that was present in the area. Clara asked Adah why she stayed when violence seemed to be around every corner. The woman’s answer was simple.

          “The child I lost. He’s buried there off under the mountains. I just…  can’t bring myself to leave him… all alone here.”

          Clara nodded, understanding. “There must be somewhere that people can go on without fear, and just live. Somewhere without bloodshed and strife and war. Somewhere quiet.”

          The two sat sipping tea. Felicity was meticulously cleaning her nails with a metal file. Adah set her cup down onto the porcelain saucer, her eyes going wide. She looked at Clara and spoke very seriously.

          “Tell your sister to bring the children inside the tent. Calmly, with a casual speaking voice.”

          Clara didn’t understand. “Why?”

          Adah kept her posture still as she leaned in. “Don’t turn. There are men in the trees. Masked men. They’re sneaking up on us. They don’t know I’ve spotted them. Calmly, call to her.”

          Clara froze as if her blood turned to ice. She could hear it, a faint rustling in the distance. Although fear coursed through her veins, she mustered her voice, pushing past the lump in her throat. “Felicity, could you please bring the children into the tent. They’re tired.”

          Adah looked at Clara. “Do you have a pistol?”

          Clara felt tears sting her eyes. “In the tent.”

          Adah nodded. “We’ll have about thirty seconds until they are on us. When I say, we run. Are you ready?” Clara’s eyes said she was.

          “Run.” Adah said and the women sprang from the table and moved toward the tent. Behind them stood three figures each wearing burlap sacks with eye holes cut out. In their hands were pistols.

          Clara and Adah made it to the tent. Clara quickly informed Felicity of the situation and told her to stay back with the children. Clara grabbed her pistol, her hands shaking as she moved out of the tent once more. Standing just ten feet ahead of her was one of the masked figures.

          “Move any closer and I’ll fire.” Clara only wished she could control her shaking hands. In that moment she prayed. She prayed to God to give her strength so she could protect the children that remained to her. God responded.  

          SMACK. Clara was struck on the side of the head by something. When she hit the ground she could see another masked figure standing above her holding the butt of his pistol out. The third masked man appeared moving inside the tent. Clara could see through the flap as Felicity screamed holding onto the children. Adah was with them. Adah grabbed a knife off a table and stuck it into the man’s side. But the man didn’t flinch. He just removed the knife, and let it fall to the floor. He struck Adah in the face, then roughly grabbed Felicity, pulling her by the leg out onto the dirt.

          The third man hauled Felicity to her feet then bent her over the table, their teacups rattling as Felicity was forced onto the wood. Felicity fought as the man tried to unbuckle his belt with one hand and keep his other on her neck.

          Clara watched as the masked man who struck her stepped over, looking down on her. He removed his mask. The man had dirty strawberry blonde hair and a thick mustache. He looked to his partner who removed his mask as well. The second man had a bald head and small mean eyes. The bald man asked when his turn would be, and the mustached man replied, “after Evan”. Clara could only assume that the hulking man with Felicity was Evan. He kept his mask on, still struggling with his trousers.

          “Please, don’t hurt my children,” Clara begged.

          The men laughed. Their heads turned at the sounds of Evan who cried out in pain. Felicity had struck him in the groin and made a move to escape but Evan grabbed onto her. Clara used the moment as a distraction. She rolled over toward the firepit where an iron poker sat idle. She grabbed it and went to a knee lunging upward to strike the mustached man in the head. He wailed. He turned and lunged at Clara. They both rolled in the dirt. Clara scratched at him with all her might, clawing at his face, kicking at him endlessly. The mustached man managed to get on top of her and wrapped his hands around her neck. He squeezed and squeezed. Clara tried to push his hands away, but couldn’t. Instead, she gave up, but before darkness and death took her she reached her hand onto the mustached man’s belt. There she found his pistol. She pulled it from the man’s holster, turned it to his side, and fired. The bullet ripped right through his torso.

          The mustached man let out an other-worldly scream. He fell to the ground, writhing like a snake with its head cut off. Clara’s eyes went wide watching him. He didn’t just bleed. No, the man seemed to cinder and smoke from within. It looked like when one blew out a piece of parchment that was aflame, but though the fire was gone little red embers continued to burn the paper away. The man continued to disintegrate from the place where the hot bullet struck him. Clara kept expecting the man to burst into flame, but instead he just crumbled into black ash, slowly up his body until his eyes burned out of his skull.

          The bald man watched in horror. Clara looked and saw Felicity grab at a teapot, turn and swing it into Evan’s head. The man stumbled, his pants now fully down caused him to trip over his feet. Clara lifted her pistol and fired two bullets into the man. The same thing happened to him. Where the bullets struck him, he began to burn like paper until black ash spread over his entire body.

          Adah appeared from the tent and stuck the remaining man with a knife. He didn’t flinch. He turned and grabbed Adah by the throat, but the bald man’s eyes went wide as he screamed a sound no human could produce. Through his belly appeared the white-hot iron poker, Clara on the other side of the man driving it deeper into his back.  The man cried out, a gold tooth in his mouth shining to the sun. When he cindered into black ash he disappeared completely. Clara looked at the pile of ash he left behind. She reached into it and removed… his gold tooth.

          Clara looked at Adah, then they both went to Felicity. The three held one another, too frightened to rejoice. Clara moved into the tent to find her children and reassured them they were safe. Bad men had come, and they had won. But the battle wasn’t over. Clara knew this for sure. It wouldn’t be over until they left the place for good. Something terrible had befallen Oregon Town. A dark evil. And now, they needed to escape.

          Later that evening Henry, Victor, and a man named Julius arrived back at camp. Julius seemed surprised to see Adah there, the two obviously acquainted with one another. Henry was drunk. Something had happened that day, but Henry wouldn’t speak of it. When Clara tried to tell them about the attack the men listened, but they didn’t seem to take the danger as immediate as she and Felicity did. The two could barely stand they were so inebriated.

          “These are violent times! There’s nothing ordinary about it. Those in the east call the west wild, and they aren’t wrong,” Victor shouted at Felicity though the woman was on the verge of tears. “Violence and evil have always resided in the hearts of men. I don’t know what happened here, but there are no bodies, so what am I to believe!”

          After what they had been through the women were furious. They sent the two away and told them to come back when they were sober. They didn’t need them around. They couldn’t protect anyone, in the state they were in.

          Clara knew, if she was going to save her family, she needed to do it on her own.

          Adah and Julius stayed in their tents that night. They put the children to sleep and made a plan. Something was happening in town, and it was clear it had to do with the gold. The only thing left of the men that were killed were products of gold. They got rid of Felicity’s earrings. That was the only gold left in the encampment. They remembered Victor’s pocket watch, and Henry’s flask. Clara made a promise that the following day they would find the men, rid them of their gold, and be away with the town. They sat in the tent a long time, the four adults, each of them terrified on what they had witnessed that day. When Julius spoke about what happened at the Burnt River Mine both Clara and Felicity felt guilty for sending the men away. Clara made a plan to leave at first light, if the men hadn’t returned.

          Henry and Victor rode away from their tent encampment at a slow pace. Henry titled his flask to his lips draining it of the remaining whiskey.

          “How dare they! Curse us for being drunk. Of course we’re drunk. For what we witnessed, I may be drunk until the new year.”

          The men made their way to the only place they knew to go. Toward town, and the Brass Palace saloon. They hitched their horses outside and moved up the wooden steps. Henry was surprised to hear such commotion coming from inside. It sounded like a New York party was booming from within. As they pushed past the double swinging doors the men were thrown right into a lively gathering. The place did not look like it did the days before when they had lunched at the quiet creaking saloon. Now, the Brass Palace was alive.

          Victor noticed Walker Mitchell in the middle of the room. He waved Victor over and showed him a hefty piece of gold that the mine had produced. “And there’s so much more, Victor. We did it. We really did it.”

          Tears were in Victor’s eyes. He was a success. Everything he dreamt about had come true. Victor flipped a coin to the three armed guards who stood around Walker and the massive gold ore, shook congratulatory hands with the man, then led Henry over to the bar. Henry couldn’t believe what lively excitement flowed from every corner. Henry watched as one man placed a gold necklace around a woman’s neck, then ripped her shirt open only to burry his face in her chest.     

          Henry turned away from that display to see whiskey had arrived. The two brothers clinked glasses and threw the warm liquor into their mouths. After a few fingers full Victor turned to Henry, his eyes glossy with emotion.

          “You know. Henry, I… I never got to say how sorry I… well how sorry I was about your daughter. Grace. I’m sorry I never got to meet her.”

          Henry was taken back a moment, then looked his brother in the eyes and nodded his sincere gratitude. They drank more whiskey, but Henry felt his head start to buzz. He stood claiming he didn’t feel right. Victor said he hadn’t felt more alive in his entire life. Henry excused himself to get fresh air, moving outside, past the men and women who had nearly turned the saloon into an open brothel. As Henry reached the door he looked back and saw Victor speaking to a young woman. She took his hand and Victor let her lead him to a back room on the second floor. Henry’s eyes narrowed in judgment at his brother.

          Outside Henry took a deep breath, but it was cut short when two men raced by on horses shooting at one another. Henry ducked down, then looked inside the saloon for someone to call the Sheriff. No one responded. No one seemed to be bothered by the fighting. Henry moved down the steps to head to the jail and find Jim Kelly, but Henry tripped and fell down the stairs hitting his head. He sat up, his vision blurry. Someone was there to aid him. Some kind whore who helped him to his feet and even brought him to a quiet place in the saloon to heal his cut.

          The woman tried to unbuckle Henry’s belt, but Henry stopped her. When he looked at the woman he nearly jumped from the bed. He saw dark eyes and an evil presence where once a woman sat. Henry fell to the floor, crawling away, terrified. He found his pistol and pointed it. When he looked at the woman again, she was fine. Just a simple comely girl no more than twenty. She was scared by Henry’s pointed pistol and went to the adjacent room calling for the Deputy. Through blurry eyes Henry watched as Morgan Young entered the room. When the man saw Henry he cursed, then smiled saying it would be worth pausing his time with his own whore to throw Henry in jail. Henry tried to crawl from the room, unable to stand. His vision was blurry, and his head still swam. There was something in the air. The whole place didn’t feel right. Henry could hear a thrum, and it shook him to his core, threatening all his senses.

          When Henry finally crawled from the room, Morgan Young and the two whores laughing while they watched him, he barely made it to the stairs. But when he did all four were surprised what they saw downstairs.

          The entire saloon had gone quiet. Half-naked men and women were all gathered around the gold ore, standing still and silent, watching it.

          “What the fuck is happening down there?” Morgan Young asked. But when Henry tried to stand, the man produced his pistol and struck Henry in the head with it. Henry went limp and darkness finally found him.

          Clara waited up all night for Henry and Victor to arrive home, but they never did. She packed their things, all the valuables she could hold as well as water skins and wrapped food. She did this all in the dark. Soon, the sun rose, and she was left with a decision. Leave her children with Felicity, Adah, and Julius to make an attempt into town to find Henry and Victor. Or escape with them all right then and there. But Clara knew in her heart she couldn’t leave Henry. So, she dawned her coat, loaded her pistol, and made out at first light toward town.

          Clara walked the three miles on foot moving with purpose through the trees. The men had taken the horses, so her own two legs would have to do. She made it just outside of town when she stopped in the middle of the road. She looked behind her and saw a man on horseback racing toward her. She tried to run, but the man was too fast. As he rode closer Clara saw he was one of the native Klamath. The man slowed down and dismounted. He seemed to be warning Clara not to enter the town. His English was broken, but Clara understood what he was trying to tell her. It was what she already knew. She told the man she knew what she was up against.

ACCOUNT FROM THE ACCUSED.

P’laikni Age: unknown.

Translation from a captured Klamath man.

          It came from the sky. The evil. It was not born here, in these lands.

          It came from the stars.

          The gold. It came from the darkness beyond the night. Men dig, and men unearth         that which should have stayed in the ground.  

          Cast it into the fire. Only fire can destroy the dark. Cast it into the fire, the gold…

          And those consumed.

The man was hung later that day. He spoke no other words.

          Victor woke suddenly. He didn’t know the time, but the light that came through the window told him it was early morning. He looked in the bed next to him. A young girl was turned over, still sleeping. Victor felt a small pang of regret but shook it off quickly. His head pounded from the night’s whiskey. He felt at his coat which lay strewn on the bedside table. Everything seemed to be there, except for his pocket watch. Where had he put his gold pocket watch? He moved from the bed to a chair where his trousers sat. He checked the pockets. It wasn’t there. He turned back to the whore. He moved to accuse her, he yelled in the room for her to give it back. When he pulled at the girl to wake her up she turned over, a pool of blood underneath her. She was dead, bled from a wound on her neck. Whether the cut was from a blade, or a bite, Victor could not tell. He panicked. He wasn’t sure what had happened. He moved to find his clothing, he ran to escape the room and the saloon all together. But then he stopped. He saw something shining in his boot. His gold pocket watch. He removed it, staring at it, and suddenly he felt no more regret. He felt nothing, and everything. Victor looked up at the shadow and darkness that stood before him. A being from night and shadow, seven feet tall and standing where his gold watch was just a moment ago. Victor looked at the black form and bowed to it. The figure didn’t move. The darkness was still in the morning light that shone through the window. Victor bent on his knees, worshiping the figure that stood before him. He thanked it and promised his life to it. He prayed and for a moment Victor knew for certain he would never feel alone again.

          He was finally complete.

          Clara moved into Oregon Town, her pistol in her hand. A fog had settled onto the ground so thick that the entire area seemed to fall into shadow. She could barely see two feet in front of her. She heard fighting and commotion somewhere in the distance. Then she heard a scream and turned as a woman emerged from the fog baring a knife. Clara shoved the woman away before her blade could reach her. Clara aimed, but didn’t fire. She yelled at the woman who disappeared into the fog to stay back or Clara would kill her. For a moment, things went quiet. Clara moved down the dirt road again through town. She found the Brass Palace, and slowly crept up the stairs. When she looked inside, the place was empty, but there were blood stains all over the saloon.

          Clara called inside. “Henry! Henry Hill!”

          A dark silence responded. She heard nothing. Then, she heard a frantic scratching. A clawing at the walls. Then suddenly, someone appeared out of a back room. The barkeep. But he had blood all down his mouth and body. He held in his hand a butcher’s ax. He gripped it, running toward Clara in a scream. Clara told the man to stay where he was, but the man didn’t listen. Clara ran outside, pistol pointed, waiting for the barkeep to emerge. But he didn’t. Nothing came out. Clara didn’t wait for something to arrive. She turned and moved back down the road.

          Clara moved through the thick fog once more. She heard a noise and spun, but she couldn’t see two feet in front of her. She heard a wicked scream echo through the air. She didn’t know where it was coming from. She turned, but she ran right into the body of a horse. The animal bristled, and Clara knew the nag immediately to be Sool. She hugged the beast, and even asked it where Henry was, of course expecting no response. Clara patted Sool reassuringly, then pulled his reigns as she moved back down the thoroughfare. She decided not to peer into the quiet brothel that was the Fine Feline, and instead moved to the jail where maybe she could find help.

          Clara tied Sool to a post and crept up the wooden steps of the jail. She didn’t knock but called out as she entered. No one responded. When she opened the door fully she saw the place was empty. Except for the jail cell. Someone was crumpled in a pool of blood behind the bars. Clara looked once more to see the person there was Henry. She cried out to him, but the man didn’t wake. She looked for keys but couldn’t find them.

          Clara turned at the sound of gunshots outside. Then suddenly, the door swung open and a man entered. Sheriff Jim Kelly. The man was bleeding from the shoulder, but otherwise seemed okay. Clara spoke with him, and he confirmed that chaos had found the town, and people were killing in the streets. The Sheriff moved to a back safe where he produced the jail cell keys, as well as a cigar. He lit the cigar and told Clara to hold out her arm. Clara wasn’t sure why, but the man made it clear he wasn’t going to hand over the keys until she did. Jim Kelly said it was a test to make sure she was really her. Clara held out her arm and quickly realized what the man meant to do. He took his cigar and held the hot end to her forearm. She cried out, Jim Kelly’s hand on his pistol waiting for something that didn’t come.

          The Sheriff explained that fire was the only way to kill whatever had consumed his townsfolk. If they were too far gone, if the gold had seeped into their minds and souls, then fire was the only way. The Sheriff unlocked the jail cell and Clara went to Henry. The man was starting to come to, but he was very injured and bleeding greatly from his head. They got him to his feet, moved to the front door, ready to make their escape. Sheriff Jim Kelly opened the front door, but did not expect a pistol to be waiting level with his jugular. The bullet ripped through his throat, and the Sheriff of Oregon Town fell backward suffocating on his own blood. Clara looked to see the man who wielded the gun was Victor.

          “Victor! What are you doing?”

          “Take my miners from me, will you Sheriff?”

          Victor turned his gun toward Clara, the look in his eyes void of anything that resembled the man she had come to know. Clara rushed the man, striking him hard in the groin. Victor punched her in the face, but Clara threw her body into him then turned and hit him hard with her pistol. The man touched his face, laughing. He gave Clara a menacing look from where he stood, but Clara had managed to back him up into the open jail. As fast as she could Clara pushed the door to the jail closed and turned the key. Victor growled as he realized he had been trapped. Clara moved to Henry again who had slumped to the floor and went to lift him up. Victor screamed at her to let him go, yelled out all the things he would do to her when he was free. Clara left him there, hauling Henry outside, Victor Hill screaming plans of murder from within.

          She moved Henry over to Sool. She loaded her husband onto the horse with much effort. There was fighting around, but the fog was still heavy and made the combatants impossible to locate. Clara looked at Henry who seemed near death. She made his hands grab Sool’s reigns, and she pushed the horse in a direction West away from town. It was the only thing she could do. She watched as Henry bobbed on the horse, half-dead, moving through the fog.

          Clara had done what she could. She gathered herself and made an attempt to escape town and find her children. She moved through the fog on foot and left town the way she had come, the sounds behind her driving her onward. Clara arrived back at the tents to find what she had feared. People had arrived, consumed. Their tent encampment was in the midst of a terrible fight. Felicity sat on the ground, Homer in her lap, the man had a fatal wound in his chest. The boy was pale and had died in her arms. Adah held onto the children, as Julius fended off two large men with pistols. Julius could barely stand, the man holding his bleeding side where he must have taken a bullet.

          Clara looked at her own pistol. Her hand was shaking. She looked up to the sky. For a moment, she could hear humming and a baby’s laughter. She didn’t know why, but somehow she felt Grace’s presence. It gave her strength. Her hand was no longer shaking, and Clara knew what she must do. Clara emerged onto the fight, wielding her pistol, and fired a shot at one of the men. It took him in the shoulder, and he screeched an other-worldly scream as his arm began to cinder away. The men turned their pistols onto Clara, but she was fast and ducked behind the wagon. She dove to the ground firing her pistol again at the same man, this time striking him in the chest. The man wailed and fell to the ground as his body burnt to black ash.

          Bullets struck the ground near Clara, and she stood quickly running fast behind one of the tents. Clara moved from the other side of the canvas, emerging into the open area firing a bullet at the man. It hit him in the chest. She charged him and fired, but she was out of bullets. The man raised his gun to shoot her, but Clara reached him and pushed his arm into the air while he fired. The man fell on top of Clara, pointed teeth and dark eyes screaming as the man tried to bite at her. But his wound eventually caught up with him, cindering his entire body to black ash that scattered over Clara’s screaming face. The man was gone, and Clara got to her feet. Her children ran to her, and she embraced them.

          Clara helped Felicity to her feet, telling her the awful truth that they must leave Homer’s body and escape West. The group gathered what they could, but mostly left it all behind. They moved toward the trees on foot, away from the fog and evil that had overtaken Oregon Territory. They moved until the sun was about to set, but through the trees they heard something. When they emerged upon the noise, they found Henry sitting by a tree. They patched the man up and gave him water. They moved him back onto Sool once more, and the group continued their journey as far away as they could go.

          They walked for three days. Henry seemed to recover well, and he made endless apologies to Clara that she wouldn’t hear. They had their children, and they would find safety once more. They mourned the loss of Homer, and whatever would become of Victor. But they had to keep going. And after days of travel, when Oregon Town seemed finally behind them, a song returned to the group and joy filled their hearts. They traveled the long road, Henry and Clara leading Sool. The children sat atop the steed. Behind them walked Adah and Julius, as well as Felicity.

          Fear and torment had left them. Clara smiled at Henry across Sool’s reigns, and Henry smiled back.

          “So,” Henry asked. “Where are we going to go?”

          Clara smiled. “Somewhere quiet.”

          They rode and sang until the sun began to set. Benjamin held onto his sister tightly, who sat in front of him. The young boy was careful to keep one hand on her to make sure she was secure on the horse. But his other hand kept moving to his pocket. The tiny hand patted it, making sure its contents were still there. The boy nodded, feeling the circular shape of the locket, and the coil of the silver chain that was laced with gold. He could hear it thrumming. A soft gentle sound that drummed through the trees. Calling…

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Nicholas Woods 2024