The Adventures of Gopher Piddington

by David Michaelson

  “If the accused were deputized at the time of the shooting, he would have committed nothing more than Justifiable Homicide, common in law enforcement. But because of his tender age at the time, it is ludicrous to extend that privilege to past deeds or especially into his adult life ten years after the fact.

  “Yet, justice is not always a simple matter of assessing the data and passing judgment. There are times when new concepts must prevail; new ways of looking at the why, the how and the wherefore of a case—perhaps, even, a new law.

  “Such a dilemma falls under the heading of precedence—has a similar case preceded this one? Considering the case of Gilbert G. Piddington, there is no satisfactory precedent and therefore does not fit neatly into any of the laws of this land when intent is the judging criteria.

  “It is in the belief that this particular case falls into the category of needing a new law concerning the very young and the trauma suffered by heinous acts against such children. Perhaps a broader interpretation of existing laws is in order, as our current laws simply do not allow for what has transpired.

  “For that reason, this court declares this trial null and void; a mistrial.”

  The courtroom erupted in conversation, both pro and con.

  The violent pounding of the gavel brought quiet and order to the room.

  “Should anyone wish to pursue additional charges or appeal my ruling, I suggest filing a writ with the Colorado State Supreme Court. But I doubt any competent attorney will undertake an attempt to reverse my decision.

  “The prisoner is free to go.”

  Bang. The final gavel strike made it official.

  ENROUTE TO SANTA FE

  The train ride from Leadville to Denver was joyous. Ellen invited the Piddingtons and their guest, Grenda to spend the night in her boarding house, free if charge. To Ellen’s surprise, Able insisted upon donning an apron and preparing the evening meal. To Able’s surprise, Gopher offered to help.

  Ellen protested, claiming she had not had the time for a proper shopping and didn’t know what she had available. Able said the men could handle whatever was thrown at them and told her to relax and enjoy the evening as the hostess.

  While the Piddington men busied themselves with the kitchen duties, the women chatted about everything under the sun, but so far, had said nothing about the recent trial or the verdict. It didn’t take long for the subject to come up.

  Kirsten wanted to know if the trial ruined Ellen’s bottom line by tossing her boarders out for a few days.

  “They will return—well, I guess I should say, I hope they return. Remember I don’t have the good cook I had when Gopher was here. His assistant grudgingly manages most of the time but I hear grumblings now and then regarding tough, chewy meats. Gopher was good at knowing what parts of an animal would be tough and how to cook them. I shall miss his expertise.”

  Kirsten said, “You should see his father’s kitchen skills. He learned from the best, his classically-trained grandfather. As a boy Able worked every afternoon at the famous Maissón Bleu in London. He cooked his way across the Atlantic Ocean and with a chuck wagon, fed our entire wagon train and a few wayward Indians.”

  “Tell me, are the Apache as fierce as they say in the newspapers?”

  “They are like anyone else; there are good ones and bad ones. Most of those we met were the good ones. Lartano was one of the truly bad ones.”

  “Look I didn’t want to bring up the subject of those three people you killed, but I’m fascinated that a woman could actually do that. What was it like?”

  “I don’t really mind you asking. It was a necessary part of life at the time. I have no regrets to any of it and I would gladly have shared the gallows with Gopher.

  “The first fellow I ever shot was getting ready to hit my Able over the head with a shovel, so I popped him in his butt with my .22 rifle. I expect he was pretty sore for a while. He left camp right after that, along with much of the owner’s food supply.

  “The Mexican bandit was a different story. We came onto the property of a rancher, who was expecting us but was out rounding up strays. His hired hands at the ranch were terribly outgunned and short of ammunition.

  “Had we not intervened, many of the ranch hands would surely have been killed and their women dragged off to Mexico.

  “Because I had never taken anyone’s life up to that point, it was Able that suggested we both shoot the band’s leader at the same time. When it was all over, Despiado was dead with two bullet holes in him. Either would have done the job but my hole was much bigger because I had a bigger rifle.

  “As for those damned Apache that took my little boy, we tried to track them for the longest time but we could never catch up to them. Then the weather turned sour. One of our guides climbed a mountain and spotted pieces of broken mirror. We knew then that the band was using spotters and flashing mirrors to inform the main party that we were coming for them.

  “When we returned to the Mescalero to replenish out supplies, the administrator loaned me his prized rifle for the express purpose of taking out those watchers and spotters.

  “Then, with the help of three expert Apache trackers, we re-provisioned and set out all over again. It must have been horrifying on poor Gopher, not knowing if we were ever coming.

  “When we finally were able to make progress by taking out two of their spotters with that high-powered rifle, they got wise to our coming and banished Lartano, leaving him on his own in a pretty hostile environment. As for Gopher, we found him tied to a willow tree. He was unconscious and for a moment there, I thought my little boy was dead.”

  “Kirsten, what was it like to shoot a woman? I mean; it must have been a terrible thing to decide. Does it bother you?”

  “At first I didn’t know that spotter was female, not until at sunrise, when she raised her skirt to pee. Of course, I wondered if I had someone’s mother in my sights and should I pull the trigger? But as the sun peeked over the horizon and the woman raised her arms to welcome the warmth, I realized she was just a guilty as Lartano.

  “No, I don’t regret any of it. It was all just a part of getting my son back.”

  “But why did Lartano take Gopher in the first place?”

  “Back then, there were plenty of hard feelings between the Indians and the whites. Our people had rarely been honest with the Indians. We took their land and forced them onto reservations. To many Indians, the white man had taken away their spirit. Some adapted while others took the path of rebellion. Lartano and his band were of the rebellion mindset.

  “What got Lartano banished was the fact that he claimed Gopher was an orphan, when in reality, he stole him right from under the gaze of his elders—and the two of us. We suspect the leaders of the rogue band got wise to our presence and Lartano’s deceit when two of their watchers failed to report in.”

  “That’s the two you shot with that special rifle?”

  Kirsten nodded, but it was clear she wasn’t fully comfortable reliving the incident, especially the part about one victim being a female.

  Grenda noticed Kirsten’s gaze and chimed in with news of her own. “You should see our place now. Papa has it fixed up real nice. When he can, he wants to put in a wooden floor, so we don’t have to walk on the bare dirt.”

  Ellen asked where their place was, exactly.

  “It’s about halfway between Santa Fe and Chimayo. It’s a beautiful little valley and Papa hopes to make a good living there when all our livestock are at the proper numbers.”

  “Grenda, tell me about your little sister. I’ll bet you miss her terribly.”

  “Yes, she was a dear little child; so trusting and happy. It’s too bad she strayed that morning. I often wonder what she would have become if the Lord Almighty hadn’t taken her.”

  “You said in your testimony that Gopher helped your family during that time of distress?”

  “Oh yes, he was a wonderful person to repair our wheel. He didn’t have to do any of that.”

&nbs
p; “Well, it’s been my experience you can get a lot out of a man—or a boy, by being nice to them and maybe tossing them a little wink now and then. Boys are men after all; just little ones.”

  Grenda agreed. “Most of the time we women have a power over the boys. But there’s a boy I met at school in Chimayo. He’s the cutest thing but he can’t see me for beans. I’ve tried everything but he doesn’t seem to notice; not like Gopher, who noticed everything.”

  “Yes, Gopher is a special lad; so grown up for being so young.”

  Back in the kitchen, Able and his surprisingly willing assistant scoured the pantry for something suitable for the occasion. “It would be really nice if we had a haunch of venison and some winter squash,” Able mused.

  But the icebox was empty. Nothing remained, not even a shard of ice—just the musty smell of moisture. As for the pantry, the only meat Able could locate were a few glass jars filled with chunks of cooked meat. It would have to do. Writing on the front of each jar claimed the contents to be beef. What cut they might be, no one could tell, but it was clear Ellen Nielsen did not preserve her own food. Everything in the pantry was store-bought.

  Able asked his son if there was a root cellar. “There might be some potatoes and onions down there.”

  Gopher knew there was a small cellar under a hinged hatch in the broom closet. When he lifted that section of the floor up, he was met with an obnoxious odor. Something had rotted and had not been removed.

  “I know that smell,” Able stated without even looking. I’ll bet it’s rotten cabbage. Check it out and see if I’m right.”

  Gopher knelt down, reached in with his bare hands and retrieved a slimy head of purple cabbage, its outer leaves dripping with mold. “Got it.”

  Once the offending vegetable was removed, the kitchen began to smell slightly better. With windows opened it didn’t take long for the room to return to normal.

  Gopher said he had delved around in that pit many times to gather potatoes and onions but had never bothered to cook with cabbage. “What’s that stuff good for?” He asked.

  “Besides sauerkraut, it is wonderful in soups and stews or simply fried in butter.”

  “But what about the stink?”

  “Fresh cabbage doesn’t smell. Only when it’s cured and brined into sauerkraut does it emit an odor—or when rotten; then it smells. But when fresh, frying it in butter with a little salt and pepper is quite satisfying.”

  “There’s more down there. What shall we do with it?”

  “That depends upon what we’re going to do with the preserved meat. Any suggestions?”

  Gopher thought about it for a few moments but couldn’t come up with any really good ideas. “You know, most of the time I cooked fresh meat Ellen bought that very day. I never messed with any of this canned stuff.”

  “How about a hearty beef and vegetable stew?”

  “You mean like the kind you sometimes serve as a lunch special at the restaurant?”

  “Exactly. Got any idea how to go about it?”

  Gopher said he had a pretty good idea of what went into a stew from eating it but had never prepared it from scratch.

  “I know you aren’t interested in cooking as a way of making a living, but would you like me to show you how to put together a really memorable stew? It might be something you can use later in life.”

  Gopher felt a little embarrassed. He had declined to learn the finer points about cooking on many occasions. But on this particular day he was very interested—and very hungry.

  Able began by explaining that in normal circumstances, beef bones should be roasted in a hot oven for an hour or two. Then the bones be broken and splintered and boiled for another hour or two. After all the marrow and flavoring was extracted, the bones were removed. The remaining liquid would be the base for the stew or soup. “But because we don’t have bones and must resort to using the put-up beef in those jars, we won’t end up with a very stout beefy flavor.”

  “What do we do in that case?”

  “We switch things around and make a vegetable stew flavored with the beef chunks. There’s no other way, short of going the long, tedious route of breaking down the bones.”

  Able showed his son how to caramelize onions to bring out their sweetness. “This method will give the stew a lot of depth and will offset the tartness of the preserved tomatoes.

  “At this point, we need to scrape the skin off the carrots and peel the other root vegetables. Then we need to take care to cut all the vegetables into similar sizes so they cook evenly. We don’t want rock-hard turnips and mushy potatoes, so it’s important to know which ones cook faster and which ones break down quicker. As for the remaining good heads of cabbage, it won’t hurt to take a small head and cut the leaves into thin shreds, a specially shaped cut called a chiffonade in France.”

  The two of them worked together at the big wooden planked table. Gopher quickly got the hang of cutting vegetables into similar sizes and shapes. The farther down the taper of a carrot, the longer the pieces were cut. As the carrots grew thicker at the top, the rounds were cut thinner.

  Once everything was in the pot and simmering, Gopher asked if it was going to get thicker or were they going to serve soup?

  “What would you prefer, soup or a thicker stew?”

  Gopher said he liked stew because it was easier to eat.

  “Fine, then we need to thicken the liquid. Any ideas on how to do that?”

  Gopher said he knew one way: let it cook down all by itself.

  “You are absolutely right but that method has advantages and disadvantages. First, all flavors concentrate and can become too strong, especially salty things. Second, as the dish thickens, it can burn on the bottom, so care must be taken to keep that from happening. Once scorched, there is no way to remove that offensive flavor.”

  “Somehow I get the feeling that there is another way to turn soup into stew.”

  “Ah, indeed there is. The best way is to make a cooked mixture of fat and flour—any kind of flour and fat will do, depending upon the intended final flavor of the dish. In this part of the country, corn flour is often used but regular baking flour can also be used.

  “But since we don’t have any lard or butter on hand, there are still two remaining ways to thicken our creation. Any ideas on what they might be?”

  Gopher had not a clue.

  “See that loaf of bread over there on the shelf? Go fetch it and bring it here.”

  The bread was several days old and as hard as a brick.

  “It’s no good. It’s dried out and rock hard.”

  “That’s exactly what we want. You see; all the moisture is gone from that loaf. If we chop it all up into fine pieces and stir it into the soup, the bread will absorb some of the liquid. . .”

  “And thicken it. That’s a great idea. Let’s do it.”

  “Hold on a moment. There us still another way. Let’s assume there isn’t any stale bread. What then?”

  “Without any butter or lard, I can’t make a roux like at home, so I have no idea.”

  “To be brief and to the point, as I know you really don’t have any of this in your heart, there is always simple flour. You can make a slurry with flour and almost any liquid but you have to make sure all the raw flour flavor is cooked out of the dish before serving it.

  “Now that doesn’t hold true for corn flour. It doesn’t need to be cooked to be edible; good to know when cooking Mexican style dishes.”

  “Father, this might surprise you but after doing most of the cooking at Ellen’s place, I rather enjoy working in the kitchen, especially during the winters when it’s cold outside but toasty warm in the kitchen.”

  “Well son, that’s the best news I’ve had since the verdict at your trial. Maybe we’ll make a restaurateur out of you yet.”

  AND A MAN EMERGED

  The early morning train from Denver to Lamy was not crowded. It seemed most folks were headed north to the big cities and the lure of precious metals
still being extracted from the mighty Rocky Mountains.

  It was decided Grenda would stay with the Piddingtons in Santa Fe until Gopher got his old life in order by taking a couple of days for his wrists and ankles to recover from being shackled.

  Two days later, he eagerly agreed to escort the pretty girl back to her homestead near Chimayo. With the trial and all the problems Gopher had endured since last seeing Grenda, he was surprised at how she had changed. The little girl that was in the process of becoming a woman had managed that feat quite well. She now sported all the curves one would expect of a fully-grown woman.

  Grenda may have changed a great deal on the outside but she was still the slightly coquettish girl Gopher had been attracted to when he first laid eyes on her. But the spark Gopher had felt in the beginning had withered. For some reason, Grenda did not stir his inner emotions as quickly or as deeply as before. He also noticed that while she still flaunted her figure, it was more of a show of normal behavior rather than an act directed at him. She always walked as if she were proud of her equipment, not just when she was in his presence.

  Gopher thought to himself, “I’ll bet she stirs up all the boys at her school.” He found himself comparing Ellen Nielsen’s mature figure to that of the youthful and energetic Grenda.

  Gopher shook his head in confusion. He didn’t understand the female species at all. In the end, he figured it was better to think about his immediate future and less about girls.

  The round trip to the Friedman homestead went off without a hitch. Grenda’s parents were happy to have her back, as the place needed more help than two sets of hands provided. Gopher offered to stay another day and split wood. His offer was accepted for that chore but missus Friedman politely refused his help in the kitchen claiming it was woman’s work and men merely get in the way. Rather than argue about his newfound interest in food preparation, he stayed in the background and observed. He would have liked to help or at least offer a piece of advice, as the dumplings that night were slimy on the outside and chalky on the inside—a simple and easily remedied flaw in her cooking technique.