The Fugitive Son (26 page)

Once inside the store, her curiosity got the best of her, and she lost herself in the scents, the displays, and the layout, making mental notes of how she could set up her own mercantile. She also took note of the prices, which seemed quite high compared with prices at home. She reasoned all goods would be more expensive out here so far away from everything due to the heavy transportation costs and the scarcity of supplies, but these prices seemed outrageous. Would she have to charge that much in Santa Fe?

Her eyes fell on a stack of newspapers sitting on the counter. A headline blared at the top, “Brigham Young Mustering Forces to Fight United States Troops.” The storekeeper saw her looking at the paper. He opened a New York Times and pointed to another article. “Their prophet is refusing to allow the judges in Utah to act without his say. He’s making himself the only law in the territory,” he said.

Elsie took the paper and began to read the article. It mentioned a number of Mormon atrocities against the judges appointed by the president. A mob breaking into the law office of Judge George Stiles, burning his books and stealing his records. Accusations of poisoning another judge. Claims of non-Mormon judges being murdered as they were leaving Utah. Others who managed to return to Washington reported that they had been prevented from carrying out their official duties.

“It’s no wonder the Army is being sent to Utah,” the storekeeper said. “Someone has to restore order. President Buchanan has appointed Alfred Cumming to replace Young as the territorial governor, along with a slate of other non-Mormons to take over other administrative and judicial positions. But you can bet old Brigham ain’t going to give up his power that easily.”

“So you think there’s really going to be a war?” Elsie asked quietly.

“Some of our troops here at Fort Union have already been called up north. Mormon raiders destroyed more than seventy wagons of military supplies, stampeded the Army’s horses and cattle, and burned the grasslands all along the route to keep the troops from feeding their stock. Brigham’s men are a mean, cowardly lot, harassing the Army every chance they get but not willing to come out in the open and fight like men.”

“How will that affect wagon trains going through Utah on their way to California? Will they be caught in the middle of the war?” Elsie feared for her friends who were headed that way even now.

“Don’t think there’ll be any real fighting. The Mormons will likely keep up their guerrilla raids to keep what they call “gentiles” out of their precious territory. But I did hear that Brigham sent a letter to the president warning that he would turn the Indians loose on any ‘foreign’ trains that try to pass through his territory.”

Elsie shuddered and sent up a quick prayer for the Fanchers. She hoped they’d get through Utah before any problems started.

Trip entered the store. After picking up a few items, he turned to Elsie. “Ready to go? Our next stop is Las Vegas.”

The storekeeper handed Elsie a couple of older newspapers. “Since you seem so full of questions, why don’t you take these along to read. You might find them interesting. And they’ll catch you up on all that’s been happenin’ in the country since you’ve been on the trail.” He smiled as he pressed them into her hands.

Elsie tucked the newspapers and balms she had purchased beside her on the wagon seat. Trip came up while she was rubbing her hands with a salve the storekeeper had assured her was “loaded with medicines that would heal her hands quick as a wink.”

“Still having problems with your hands?”

“They’re getting better,” she answered. “But every day I spend tugging at these reins just opens the wounds again. I declare, it seems like we’ve been climbing for a long way – yet I don’t remember any huge hills.”

Trip chuckled. “We are climbing. All across Kansas Territory, even though it seemed flat as a pancake, we were going uphill. We’ve probably gained three or four thousand feet in elevation since we left Missouri.”

“No wonder my mules are getting cantankerous. I’d be tired, too, if I were doing all that heavy climbing!”

Trip laughed again. “It’s going to get worse. Right now the trail runs along the line where the Sangre de Cristo Mountains meet the Great Plains. We’re going to have to cross some of those mountains, so we’ll be climbing another couple thousand feet in the next day or so.”

Elsie sighed. “Someone at the fort was talking about the Comanche being on the warpath again. Do they hide out in the mountains?”

“I heard that rumor, too, but we should be safe,” Trip assured her. “They’ve burned out a few settlers, mostly while stealing horses. But Las Vegas is too big a town now. The Comanche usually stay clear of the bigger, more populated places. We’ll be fine.”

Elsie visibly relaxed.

“Speaking of Las Vegas,” Trip said, “we need to get moving. Watch for the big rounded humps of Hermit’s Peak, which loom up just behind the town. If you tilt your head to the left, the peak forms a profile of a face, looking skyward. When you see it, you’ll know we’re almost there.”

He continued talking as he walked toward his own wagon. “You’ll find this part of the trail more interesting. You’ll see grasslands, brush thickets, cottonwood groves, and ponds and marshes filled with migrating birds. Then there are the box canyons that are home to prairie falcons and cliff swallows, and the Gallinas River runs down from the mountains right through the middle of Las Vegas. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the scenery for the next few hours – better than sittin’ and stewin’ over who you’re destined to marry…”

He added the last comment with a laugh when he was just about out of earshot so she couldn’t toss him a sarcastic reply. How did he know what she was thinking? Was he a mind reader? Or did he think every young unmarried woman was trying to find a husband? Now, thanks to Trip’s arrogance, she wouldn’t be sittin’ and stewin’ about anything except what a pompous man he was!

Her anger at Trip subsided somewhat as she enjoyed the changing landscape. It was magnificent – almost spell-binding – and different from anything she had seen before. She thought back to her lovely Kentucky home, it’s broad rolling lawns, white fences, and genteel look. The steamboat journey had exposed her to even more of America’s wonders, the overhanging trees lining the riverbanks, the distant hills, the huge forests. And her travel across the Great Plains had introduced still more marvels.

Thinking about all the sites she had seen, she gave thanks to the Creator for the beauty he had made. Truly, he was an awesome God! Now, approaching the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo range, she took in a new vista with each rise in the trail. The mountains seemed to lay in low folds, one range after the other. White, fluffy clouds hung over the mesas, looking like the whipped cream Mama used to pile on her luscious desserts. Momentarily saddened, Elsie thought about her mother. Her life was spent in the Kentucky hills along the river. Did she ever imagine that one day her only daughter would be traveling across the wide expanse of America, taking in all its wonders?

Her thoughts turned toward the future. What amazing things would her own daughter get to experience? That is, if she ever had a daughter. The growling of her stomach interrupted her musings, reminding her they hadn’t stopped for lunch.

Almost as if someone had turned off the lamps, the sky grew dark in an unnatural dusk, as dark clouds covered the late afternoon sunshine. An icy wind roared down the canyons, bringing with it sharp stings of dust, dirt, and sand that stung her eyes and cracked her lips. In the semi-darkness, she could see that Trip had pulled his rig over to take shelter in the undercut bank. She yanked on the reins, urging her mules to follow in the same direction. But raindrops the size of grapes began pelting her before she could make it to the sheltering rock overhang.

The rain came down in a mighty torrent, drenching, blinding, and choking her as she desperately fought to get under the safety of the rocks. Jumping from the driver’s seat to get under the canvas cover of the wagon, she realized she was ankle deep in water, which was rushing down the arroyo. They were in a dry lake bed, a hard cover of salt and soda, with a foundation of forest mulch. A wagon could sink down to the brake blocks here.

Trip grabbed his reins, yelling, “We’ve got to get out of here! Head up there for higher ground!” He pointed up ahead to a rise on the trail.

Urging the reluctant mules into action, Elsie desperately hoped it wasn’t already too late to get her wagon out. With a mighty lurch, the mules followed Trip’s wagon back out to the trail and picked up their pace, either by natural instinct or an urge to keep up with their companions.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle by time they reached the top of the rise, and again Trip called a halt. Stopping smack dab in the middle of the trail, Trip climbed down from his wagon and motioned for Elsie to do likewise. He set the brakes on both wagons, then climbed up on the back stoop of hers and handed her a piece of beef jerky. She joined him, thinking it was a strange place to stop for supper.

Moments later, a mighty roar startled her as she looked back at where they had just been. She watched in shock as a six-foot wall of water gushed down the gully as if a dam had burst, knocking out everything in its path. Angry, swollen waters devoured everything in the way, taking out huge chunks of rock and forest.

“Whew!” Trip exclaimed. “That was a close one!”

Elsie trembled violently as she realized how near they had come to death. Trip grabbed a blanket for her from the wagon. “I’m n-n-n-not c-c-c-cold,” she stuttered. “D-d-d-don’t know why I c-c-c-can’t quit sha-king.”

Trip pulled her close and gently patted her back. “That was a bad scare. Enough to make anybody shake. We’ll just sit here and rest awhile until you calm down. Nobody’s going to be coming up the trail tonight. There’s no way a freighter or stage could get across that mess.”

He continued to soothe her, talking in a low, soft voice, telling her about the sudden storms that could appear out of nowhere. “It was my fault,” he said quietly. “I should never have stopped in that arroyo. I know better than that. The water surging through those washes can swallow an entire wagon train in an instant.”

Just as suddenly as the storm had appeared, it stopped. Almost in apology for its temper tantrum, the sky put on a spectacular display for their enjoyment. The undersides of the threatening clouds blazed with vibrant reds and purples that vied with the brilliant golds and oranges of sunset. Elsie gasped in awe. It was as if the sky was afire. A line of tall trees stood in black profile against the ridgeline, where golden streaks divided the darkness of earth from the brilliant, flaming sky.

“Oh, if only I could paint this sunset.” Elsie sighed.

“Likewise,” Trip agreed. “Sure shows the hand of a mighty Creator, doesn’t it?”

Elsie glanced at him, perplexed. “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“I didn’t say that. I don’t believe in formal religion. There is a difference, you know. But a body would have to be a fool to look at something like this and deny that a Creator was behind it all. And when I see a scene that overwhelms my senses, I have to stop and worship.” He jumped off the wagon and walked several yards away. “Care to join me?”

Elsie watched as Trip knelt beside a makeshift altar, raised his arms in praise, and began chanting in an Indian language. With great respect, she knelt beside him and joined in praise in her own tongue, singing softly the old Methodist hymn “Christ, Whose Glory Fills the Skies.”

September 1857
Southern Utah Territory

“M
ORMON SOLDIERS
tired of hunting you down,” Kanosh told Andy when they reached the Indian village several days later. “You safe to go south now.”

Andy knew he was right, but he still felt reluctant to leave the safety of Kanosh’s company. Something about traveling with the Indian chief and his fun-loving warriors had given Andy a reassurance he needed in light of Pa’s efforts to kill him.

It still boggled his mind that his own father could want him dead. Especially remembering how close he and Pa had always been as he was growing up. It had been the two of them against the world. What had happened in Pa’s soul to change him into a cold-blooded killer? Andy traced the change back to when Pa became a Mormon zealot. But religion should improve a person, not destroy him.