Open Road

by M. M. Holaday

  When they walked out of Mr. Brewer’s office into the sunshine, Gus took Meg’s hand. “You add luster to my days—that’s a fact.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Congratulations.”

  “You don’t think I’m a fool, do you, Gus,” she asked, “buying land for Gray Wolf?”

  “Darlin’, you follow your heart and you will never be a fool.”

  With her inheritance, she purchased seven thousand acres from the United States government. The plan had been forming in the back of her mind ever since Gray Wolf shot Sutter and saved her life. She wanted to repay him with land—land no one could ever take away. On private property, he and his family could live in peace, and off the reservation.

  Excited to share her news, when Meg and Gus returned home they rode into the mountains to tell Gray Wolf about their purchase. Meg was taken aback when Gray Wolf balked at the idea.

  “It was not theirs to sell. No one can own the Earth or sky. Do you own the air we breathe here, too?” Gray Wolf appeared more offended than pleased.

  “No, of course not.”

  Gray Wolf became agitated. “White men bought land at the warm springs where the Ute wintered. Now white men come from the east to camp for pleasure. They have homes in the east. Why don’t they stay there and let the Ute have their home?”

  “I heard about that,” Gus said. “William Byers created his own little town and brings bigwigs there to show off. He has plans to make it a resort. Wants to call it ‘America’s Switzerland.’ ” Gus looked Gray Wolf in the eye. “It’s a damn shame, but all the more reason to buy this acreage. If Meg didn’t, someone else would.”

  “We’re going to raise horses, Gray Wolf, not create a resort.”

  “Treaties are smoke from a fire. The wind blows it away and it is nothing,” Gray Wolf said. “It is not wise to trust what is on paper.” He looked more confused than angry, perhaps troubled. Meg’s heart broke for him.

  “This is not a treaty. Gus and I bought the land to live on. We want you to live here, too.”

  Gray Wolf looked old and tired. He closed his eyes, the way he often did when he tried to gather his thoughts. “We used to move with the seasons. We listened to our Mother Earth and followed her voice. Her cold wind blew us where the sun was warm while she replenished the north. Her hot breath pushed us north again, where she gave us the buffalo. We hear her voice, but are no longer allowed to follow her wisdom.” He paused for a moment. Meg tried to control her emotions, but tears escaped and ran down her cheeks. “Our home was once where our ancestors lived. We had to leave and call a new place home. I no longer know if we will meet our ancestors when we die. How will they know where to find us?”

  His words wrenched Meg’s heart. “I want your grandchildren’s grandchildren to live here.” Her voice quavered with emotion. “They will be able to find you. This is your home for as long as you want it to be. I don’t know what else to say.”

  Gray Wolf opened his eyes and looked at her softly. “I believe you. That you welcome us to live here is not what saddens me. I am sad that our Mother Earth has been sold, like a slave.”

  “I’m sorry about that, too,” Gus said, “but this way you’ll never have to leave.”

  Even sitting, Gray Wolf appeared to grow to the size of a grizzly bear. “Guns say we never have to leave.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: WIN

  Denver, one year later, Autumn 1868

  Win and Jeb sat in the saloon across the street from Sanders’s Denver warehouse, reading a newspaper. Normally they’d be waiting for a shipment to be readied, but Clint had just informed them that he closed down his freight business. The Union Pacific Railroad had reached Cheyenne the year before. While it continued to work its way west to join the Central Pacific, feeder routes spread out everywhere. Track had been laid to Lyonsville, and soon, regular service between Cheyenne and Denver would put his freight line out of business completely. Clint’s private stage still served some areas, but he decided to get out while he could. Earlier in the day, Clint finally approached them with the news—he and Amanda were headed for California. Their good-byes had been congenial, their wishes for good luck sincere.

  Win couldn’t have been happier. He didn’t wish hard times on Clint, but this was a long overdue opportunity. Civilization encircled him, choked him. He had waited as patiently as he could while Clint tried to keep the business afloat, not wanting to add to his troubles by quitting.

  Now free, and with time on their hands, Jeb and Win sat in the saloon, celebrating their unemployment with a beer. Win picked up a newspaper on the way, which Jeb warned he’d take away if Win started complaining.

  Win scanned his section as Jeb announced, “We just purchased Alaska from the Russians.”

  “Did Meg buy it?”

  Jeb laughed. “No . . . it says, ‘The House approved the appropriation, which has been called Seward’s Folly, in July, by a vote of 113–48.’ ”

  “Let me see that,” Win said, and held out his section of the newspaper to trade. They exchanged pages and Win found the article. “Wonder what’s up there,” he mumbled, his curiosity piqued.

  “A bunch of states ratified the Fourteenth Amendment. Does that include Indians?” Jeb asked, reading a new article. Win didn’t answer. He was calculating how long it would take to get to this new place called “Alaska.”

  Win felt the presence of someone else at the table. He looked over the top of his paper to find a short, wiry gentleman about a decade older than he standing next to him. He was missing his right arm.

  “It is rare to see two men in a drinking establishment so engrossed in such a cerebral activity.” The man removed his hat. “Please excuse the intrusion.”

  Win closed his paper. “What can we do for you?”

  The man placed his hat on the table and stuck out his left hand to shake, which was awkward, but Win shook it anyway, as did Jeb. “The name’s Powell. I’m a museum curator, natural history. I’m here studying the West with students from Illinois Wesleyan University. We are the Rocky Mountain Scientific Exploring Expedition.”

  A bolt of electricity shot through Win. He jumped up to pull a chair from the neighboring table and invited Mr. Powell to join them. The barkeeper brought over two beers at Powell’s beckoning. Too excited to drink, Win grasped the mug tightly as Powell told them about his work. The professor and his party had amassed collections of rocks and fossils, insects, birds, and small mammals. They were sending shipments back to Illinois for the museum. He and his wife had climbed Pike’s Peak, he said proudly, modestly adding that he and a party ascended Long’s Peak in August. His next project was to take an exploratory trip down the Colorado River.

  Then Powell leaned forward. “Most of my students are returning to Illinois with the crates of specimens, but a few want to stay on. Jack Sumner, a guide at Byers’s ranch, told me about you two. He said you might be able to help me.”

  “How does he know us?” Jeb asked.

  “He is aware of two freighters who have unusually good luck on the route from here to a little place called Paradise. He found it curious that you never had any trouble with Indians robbing or begging. I need some able fellows who can keep my ambitious students out of harm’s way while they continue their research. Guides who have sense enough to keep a peaceful watch. One of my students is convinced he’ll uncover the next Stonehenge. I hate to dampen such enthusiastic curiosity, even though I must move on. He comes from wealth. He’ll pay handsomely for the privilege of staying behind.”

  Jeb leaned back in his chair. “I would escort your students as long as they give their word that they’ll respect sacred burial grounds and steer clear of them.”

  Powell nodded. “I assure you, they are well indoctrinated with my views and will respect the aboriginal inhabitants of these parts. My students will give you no cause for concern.”

  His mind reeling, Win had heard little of the conversation after the mention of the Colorado River. “Indian and white men alike believe no one c
an survive a journey down the Colorado.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Powell leaned back, scrutinizing Win. “But there’s a large blank space on even the best Colorado maps. It’s time something was done about it, don’t you think?”

  “How do you propose to do it?” Win asked.

  “With sturdy boats and a fearless crew, I should imagine.” Powell smiled, as though he knew his answer didn’t address the essence of the question. “Eventually, I’ll head back east to make the arrangements. I have ideas to incorporate into some custom built boats.” Powell shrugged. “And, I need to locate my brother. He’ll join the crew who’s assembling at Green River City in the spring. But, first, I want to learn as much of the Ute language as I can, so I plan to winter at the basin. Understanding Ute would be a useful tool in Ute country, wouldn’t you say?” He chuckled. “With this ambitious timeline, you can see why I need to put my procrastinating students in your care.”

  As Win listened to Powell, he felt like St. Elmo’s fire was glowing from his fingertips. Something momentous was about to happen. “You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?”

  Powell leaned in, his eyes locked on Win, as though he saw the blue glow, too. “Why not?”

  Electricity crackled through Win again.

  Glancing out the window, Powell stood up. “There’s Mrs. Powell. I must go. The three students remaining behind are resupplying now. Will you guide for them?”

  Half listening, Win heard Jeb agree for both of them, and through hazy window glass watched Powell walk down the street and join a woman who he assumed was Mrs. Powell, a wife who joined her husband on adventures. An intriguing thought. Win tried to imagine Meg on an expedition, riding through the mountains, but the dark-haired girl from Win’s recurring dream appeared in his head, smiling and shaking her head. What are you trying to tell me? he asked her.

  “I said that was perfect timing,” Jeb said, breaking into Win’s thoughts.

  Win sat in silence planning his future for a long time before he drained his beer mug. He’d escort the college students as they dug for fossils and studied plants. But next spring, he would be at Green River City to join Powell’s expedition.

  CHAPTER THIRTY: JEB

  The Road between Denver and Paradise

  The mules lumbered along in the late afternoon, pulling one final order for delivery at the Carters’ store in Paradise. The wagon and mules were a parting gift from Clint. Embarrassed that he couldn’t pay them in cash, he bought them a beer at the saloon before bequeathing the wagon and team to them.

  “You aren’t telling us anything new, Clint. We’ve been expecting this conversation for a while now,” Win had said. He raised his mug and grinned. “But thanks for the beer.”

  “What are you going to do?” Jeb asked.

  “Amanda and I are headed to California. I’ve got a couple of connections in Sacramento from my trail days. Interested in joining us? I’d get you work.”

  “I think we’re set here. But thank you.” Jeb had no intention of leaving Meg for an adventure in California.

  “I figured I couldn’t pull you two away from that pretty little hostler, and I don’t mean Gus.” Clint raised his eyebrows suggestively and had a good belly laugh at his own joke.

  Jeb was happy to see Clint at ease. He’d provided Win and Jeb with steady income for three years, and, with few expenses, Jeb had accumulated a respectable stake. While Win made it clear he wanted to move on, Jeb had plans of his own, too.

  Almost as soon as Clint left, John Wesley Powell showed up and secured the two friends as escorts for his students. Then Powell left to prepare for his trip down the Colorado River. Within an hour, their lives had completely changed. Jeb saw in Win’s eyes a sparkle he hadn’t seen for a while and knew Win wouldn’t understand that Jeb no longer shared his yearning for adventure.

  Jeb slapped the backs of the mules as their team of six labored up a steep rise before the terrain leveled out again. A buckboard wagon coming from the opposite direction appeared on the horizon.

  Win talked of nothing but Powell’s expedition. “That Powell fellow was something, wasn’t he? We’ve got to sign on with him, Jeb. We’d be perfect for his crew going down the river.” Win sighed happily. “Unexplored territory.”

  Jeb didn’t respond. Win’s feet were itching, that was obvious. A few years ago, Jeb had liked traveling with Win. They had been through a lot together and had some good times. But lately, Jeb had been thinking a lot more about that pretty little hostler, as Clint called her. The best times of the last few years included Meg. Crossing the plains and meeting Gray Wolf brought big changes to their lives, but she brought pleasure to his every day. He couldn’t wait to get back to Paradise whenever they were away, and felt content when he was there. Meg and Gus had the land to ranch, but they couldn’t run it alone. Jeb hoped Meg would stop joking that she’d never marry and consider having him.

  The buckboard wagon they’d watched progress steadily closer was almost upon them. Win squinted at it curiously, and then tensed up as the driver slapped his mules into a run.

  “Shit . . . Stop the wagon!” Win yelled to Jeb, clutching his own rifle while reaching for Jeb’s under the seat. Two men with rifles emerged out of hiding behind the driver. Jeb slammed the brake into place. Win jumped from the wagon, Jeb following right behind him. A bullet just missed Jeb, stinging his skin as it shot through his wool coat.

  They were out of the line of fire for a fleeting moment while the bandits cut in front of the wagon. With expertise that Jeb would question him about later, Win tossed Jeb his rifle and yelled at him to take cover and shoot the driver. Win remained next to the wagon wheel. As soon as the bandits drove into view, bullets rained at them. As instructed, Jeb shot the driver. A lucky hit, the driver slumped over. Win shot one of the two men with rifles and accidentally hit one of the mules. The wagon flipped as the mule fell, tossing the injured man out of the wagon like a rag doll, but the other jumped off and raised his rifle. Win and Jeb fired at the same time and he dropped to ground. All three bandits lay motionless. Win kept his rifle pointed at the fallen men as he collapsed to his knees. He’d been shot in the thigh. Blood spread onto his pant leg, soaking it.

  “Win!” Jeb said and started over to him, but he waved him off.

  “I’ll cover you. Go make sure they’re dead.” Win grimaced in pain as he pulled himself up onto the wagon wheel and drew his revolver. Jeb crept over to the bandits. The dead driver still held a revolver in his hand. If Win hadn’t told Jeb to shoot him, the driver would have shot him first. Jeb wondered how Win knew that. “Anything on them?” Win called over to him, grunting as he struggled to remain standing. Jeb searched their pockets; it felt strange doing so, like he was the bandit instead of them. “Check the wagon.”

  “Jesus, Win.” Jeb straightened up. “What does it matter?” He started over to Win.

  “They’re robbers, Jeb. I want to see what they stole.”

  “No; I’m getting you home.”

  Ignoring Win’s complaint that they might be leaving something valuable behind, Jeb tied a handkerchief tight above the wound on his thigh. It was bleeding badly. Jeb lifted Win into the wagon bed, adrenaline giving him extraordinary strength. He wrapped a blanket over him and climbed into the driver’s seat, taking a quick glance at the carnage they were leaving behind. One of the mules stood, imprisoned by the harness attached to the overturned wagon. Jeb jumped down and cut the animal free, giving him a smack on his rump. The mule trotted a few paces ahead and stopped, as though freedom confused him. Jeb returned to his own wagon and headed north.

  It was past sunset and snow fell lightly. The flakes floated around lazily, not intending to gather into a storm of any significance. With clouds covering the moon, Jeb drove far too fast in the darkness, barely able to see where he was going. Win groaned whenever Jeb rolled over a bump. Jeb finally saw the light from the way station ahead. When he got close, he shouted that he needed help. Meg appeared at the door, and
when she saw him, immediately called to Gus. She ran out of the station without her boots or coat.

  “Win’s been shot. Help me get him inside.” Jeb jumped from his seat. Meg and Gus each grabbed a leg as Jeb wrapped his arms around Win’s chest and backed into the way station. He eased him down on the floor next to the fire. Win’s eyes were closed and his teeth were chattering. Jeb quickly cut away his pant leg, revealing the gunshot wound in his thigh. Meg brought a pan of water over to him and gasped when she saw the black hole surrounded by red swollen skin. The bullet was still lodged in his leg. Jeb glanced at Gus and knew what he was thinking—Jeb would have to dig it out.

  Meg brought over a stack of clean rags while Jeb retrieved his small bundle of surgical instruments. Gus found a piece of kindling in the woodpile and rummaged around for a bottle of whiskey.

  “Tie another knot on that tourniquet with this stick attached, Meg,” Gus said, nodding to the rag on Win’s leg. Meg did as instructed. With his one hand, Gus tied a couple of knots into one of the clean rags. Jeb sterilized a scalpel and small forceps by holding them in the fire.

  Win came to and, seeing the activity, cussed. “I had a feeling it didn’t go through.”

  “I’ve gotta get it out,” Jeb said. “It’ll get infected if I don’t.”

  “I know. I just wish you’d stayed in school longer.” Win breathed heavily.

  Jeb smiled weakly at Win’s attempt at humor, but in truth, he felt sick as he weighed the risks. He wasn’t sure he could dig a bullet out of his friend. If he nicked an artery, Win could bleed out and die. But if the bullet stayed in his leg, no doubt with a piece of his pant leg with it, it would only fester. Gus handed Win the open bottle and suggested that he take a swig or two.

  “Here’s the plan—” Jeb said.

  Win held up a hand. “I don’t want to know. Just do it, and do it fast.”