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I had a roughly drawn map of the territory that looked like it might have been a copy of one of the old indistinct Spanish ones. What looked like a day's ride might take a week, and visa-versa. I was heading north, and the angle was wrong for me to see the Grand Canyon. "Maybe on the way back," I told myself.
I had no time for sightseeing right now, anyway. The captain had stressed the urgency of my mission, and I was letting no grass grow under my feet. When I pulled up to Lee's Ferry, I was feeling worse for wear. I met a group of people in a wagon, and their total lack of acknowledgement had me wondering if I had a Keep Off sign pinned to my back. I figured they must be some sort of church group, with two bearded men on the seat and fifteen or sixteen women in the bed of the wagon. Turned out I wasn't too far off at that. But I didn't find out until later.
At the ferry I was met by a man with a sour disposition. I was beginning to feel downright unwanted. Maybe it was the badge. There are some people that just don't like lawmen, even though the man with the badge is there to help them. I have to admit the ferry operator didn't look like he wanted or needed any help.
He was a big man to start with, and the extra pounds he carried around his waist didn't appear to slow him down at all. His heavy beard was stained with tobacco juice that dribbled from the huge wad of cut plug he had stuffed in his cheek. His wide brimmed black hat looked like it had been blasted with a shotgun. Age was hard to determine, but he might have been an old mountain man, judging by the artillery that he had stuck in his belt. He had two single shot guns, which used to be known as horse pistols. I didn't know the caliber, but they were certainly more than fifties. These were converted from flintlocks and may well have been sixty nines. That is the same bore size as a twelve gauge shotgun, and a round ball out of one of these would be like a'
punkin' ball from the scattergun. Judging by the leer he gave when he saw me looking at that brace of guns, I didn't think the big fellow would have any compunctions about using them.
After I had boarded and paid my fee I asked, "Do you know a man named Neal Young? I'm looking for him."
In answer he spat a stream of tobacco juice that narrowly missed my boots. "You swim?" he asked.
I shook my head and decided that was enough questioning. This old river looked mighty swift. Deep, too.
I didn't hang around after getting off the ferry. The guy had his chance to be friendly - it was his loss, not mine. I did have the urge to look back, but I fought it. My back had a prickly sensation that I put down to sleeping on the hard ground.
I was greeted with a choice of trails, and I chose the one heading north toward Utah. I couldn't be too far from the border, and I wondered about actual jurisdiction.
I knew what the old time lawmen would say, "If you're packing a gun, you can make your own jurisdiction."
I rode through some beautiful country and saw a lot of elk. I have heard these animals described in many ways, but the word that does them the most justice is 'majestic.' They are the denizens of wild country. The sound of a bugling elk will quicken the pulse of all but the dead. Here and there a bear watched them from a distance, but there was plenty of easy-to-find food at this time of year, and they didn't waste the energy chasing elk or deer.
A dim trail branched off to the west, and with no definite plans in mind anyway, I followed it up to a notch and into the thinly wooded valley on the other side. Through this little valley a stream meandered slowly through deep pools that promised fishy delights. Halfway down the valley and uphill from the stream was a little cabin that had a wisp of smoke rising from the chimney. About thirty head of cattle grazed in sight of the cabin, and a bear hide tack on its wall told of the end of an aspiring predator. Out in back of the building was a neatly tended garden, which had not only vegetables but also several bunches of brightly colored flowers that told of a woman's touch. All in all it seemed to be a little Eden.
In a way I hated to stop and spoil the tranquil scene, but I knew the cabin's occupants probably had little contact with the outside world and would be eager to have an outsider to talk to. I was proven to be right, but they did not rush out of the house like a bunch of greenhorns either.
When I pulled up in front of the cabin a voice came from my left side, from a man standing motionless amidst a few thin trees. His lack of movement was all the camouflage he needed.
"Light and come on in, if you're friendly," said a pleasant voice.
"I'm friendly," I answered, "I'm just looking for a little information."
"Be glad to help if I can, but I don't know much about what goes on outside this valley. Mary, we've got company. How about warming up that chowder?"
"It's all ready on, David," came a woman's voice from inside the building.
"Chowder? Out here? It's been six months since I've had anything but meat and beans."
"We've got all the makings right here. I caught the fish downstream in a big deep hole, and the onions and potatoes came from the garden. Mary insists on keeping a milk cow, so we have not only milk but plenty of butter and cream. We don't take in much money, but we live high on the hog."
"I sometimes dream of having a place just like this," I confided in him. "But with my new job as a Ranger I don't believe it will happen for a while."
"You never know. Come on in and get a bowl of chowder."
He suddenly remembered we had not been introduced. "I'm David Smart, and this is my wife Mary. I came out here and built this place, and then went back and got her."
His wife laughed. "There was a little more to it than that."
"Well, yes," David smiled. "Actually her father didn't like me and forbid her to marry me. I thought that was it, and I came out West to start a new life. When I found this place, I thought of Mary and built the cabin and garden with her in mind. Somehow I knew she would wait for me.
"The problem was her father. I didn't know how to win him over, and then one day I head of a new gold strike over in Nevada, and I went to stake a claim. Talk about beginner's luck. I claimed a stretch that others all passed by, and I found three nuggets that were pure jewelry rock. I sold out after that and went back East for Mary. When I showed her father one of the nuggets, I had him eating out of my hand. Why the old..."
"David!" Mary said sharply.
"Oh, sorry, like I was saying, now that he could see I was making a go of it, he changed his mind and said I was welcome into the family. I left that nugget with him to save or to use if he ever had need of it. I used another one to buy cattle and gear. The last one is saved away just in case. We take in enough cash to get by on. I sell a few head of cattle when the price is up. And the streams around here show a little color. Not enough to get rich on, but enough to put some ahead. Plus I trap in the winter and hunt for meat and hides. I don't have to travel far for mountain lions. Seems like they think my cattle are the tastiest ones in the West.
"One thing about lions - I like to eat them as much as they like to eat cows. Mary won't touch 'em, but I eat every one I can get. Stay for supper if you'd like to try a little."
I did stay for supper, and the night as well. The man was right - mountain lion was in a class be itself. It is distinctive, so comparison is not really possible, but it's almost like a cross between pork and veal. I knew that if I ever shot one none of it would go to waste.
When I asked them about the fate of Penelope Grimes, neither one had heard anything about it.
"Haven't been down to the crossing since spring," explained David. "Don't really need to go out this fall, but I know Mary would like to take a trip and buy some cloth and spices. Maybe we'll go over to Fredonia before snow flies. I was thinking about buying a pistol, but I probably couldn't hit anything with it."
Mary didn't get this, "Why do you need a pistol, David? You've got a rifle and a shotgun."
"A rifle gets in the way when I'm out working, and if I leave it home I see game everywhere I look. Plus I don't like to go around unarmed. There are plenty of outlaws roaming the old trail."
"There sure are," I told them, and I explained a little about the men I had fought before I joined the Rangers.
"David's right," I told Mary. "A handgun is a weapon of opportunity, both for defense and for hunting. You never know what you'll run into out in the wild."
I invited David to try a few shots with mine, and with very little instruction he was shooting quite well. He was a good listener, which helps a lot. One problem beginners have is trying to focus on the two sights and the target at once. The shooter should only keep the front sight clearly in focus. I doesn't matter that the rear sight and the target are blurry. It was clear that David was a natural and would be able to protect and defend his family with just a sidearm if required.
"The way your holster is set up looks like you shoot from the hip, right?"
"Well, right," I told him, "But that does take a lot of practice. As a lawman it's a good skill to have."
"Oh, show us," exclaimed Mary. "I've heard what the pistilleros can do, but I've never seen it."
I'm not one to show off, but with nice people like these, what can you do?
We had set up good sized chunks of wood at about twenty yards. "Okay, Mary, stand in back of me, take this stone and drop it on that one. When I hear it hit I'll shoot."
She did as told, and the sound of the stones touching was drowned out by the roar of my forty five. David slowly walked out to the target and looked at the hole.
"I wouldn't have believed it possible," was all he said.
"Nor I," said Mary. "I thought most of those stories were all made up."
Later a joke was had on me. I told them about the people I had seen at Lee's Ferry and how they must have been a choir or something going to a function, and Mary got the giggles.
It was starting to dawn on me. Mary put it into words. "Those were Mormons. They can have as many wives as they can afford to feed. Plenty of the men have six or eight wives."
I had to laugh when I understood my mistake.
"Torrence," Mary said, "most of the time you're a tough ranger, but sometimes I think you're just a babe in the woods."
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