Scar and the Double D Ranch

by Jim Cox

  She was in deep thought when Morning Sun came to the table and sat across from her. Minutes passed. Then Morning Sun reached for Mrs. Douglas’ hand. Words were slow in coming, but finally, the young woman’s black, penetrating eyes stared into Mrs. Douglas’. “Why does God not love Morning Sun?”

  Alice Douglas had never been put in this position before. Every aspect of her belief and faith was being tested. Am I ready to give my testimony? Can I give Morning Sun an answer that’ll change her mind to believing God loves her more than she can imagine?

  “Morning Sun,” the older woman began. “If you and Little Turtle were walking on a rocky cliff and she fell and broke her leg, would it be your fault? Should Little Turtle blame you for breaking her leg?”

  “It is not my fault her leg is broken.”

  “You’re right. It wasn’t your fault. What would you do? Would you leave her alone on the cliff because of her broken leg? Would you stop loving her?”

  “I would not leave. I would fix the leg. I would take care of her. I love her.”

  “That’s the way it is with God. He didn’t cause your husband to be killed. He didn’t cause you to be abandoned and nearly starve. But because it happened, He took care of you and your children because He loves you. He brought you to a safe place where you would meet folks who love you.”

  “That is a good answer,” the young woman said with a slight smile. “Do you think God loves Morning Sun?”

  “I know He does. He loves you more than you love Little Turtle.”

  “That is a lot of love,” the young mother said.

  Minutes had passed when Mrs. Douglas started to stand, but Morning Sun put her hand on the older woman’s arm and said, “Do not get up.” Mrs. Douglas obliged, and again they sat without words.

  The cups were nearly empty when the young woman spoke. “Little Eagle, Little Turtle do not have a father…need a father.” Time lingered before she continued, “I do not have a husband…I need a husband.” Mrs. Douglas nodded as she reached across the table for the grieving woman’s hand. She knew what was going through the young woman’s mind.

  “Do you want to go back to your people, Morning Sun?”

  The young woman paused, looking into the unknown. “Someday I will live with my people…and find a husband,” she said. Then shaking her head, she smiled and said, “Not for many moons.”

  Supper was over and the dishes were cleaned as folks found chairs in the sitting room for the passing out of presents. Jake and Morning Sun sat on the floor. Liz, Little Turtle, and Little Eagle were ready to hand out the presents when Little Eagle hurried to his mother and whispered something in her ear. The whole clan looked her way with questioning eyes. “He said…why do we not say happy birthday like was said to Mr. Douglas on his birthday?” Mr. Douglas stood and motioned for Little Turtle to stand beside him. “What a wonderful idea, Little Eagle. Why don’t we make it a household tradition? Let’s say Happy Birthday Jesus, before handing out the presents?” Everyone nodded their agreement. “It’s settled then. On my count of three, let’s all shout it out.” He started counting in a loud voice, “One…two…three. Happy birthday, Jesus.”

  After the presents were handed out, the unwrapping began. They were simple gifts of little commercial value, but to the receivers, the gifts were priceless. All had been handcrafted by the people they loved. Liz gave Little Turtle a rawhide necklace with a small deer antler point hanging from it. “That’s like yours,” Little Turtle said to Liz as she reached down Liz’s blouse to pull hers out.

  “Yes, it’s exactly like mine. Bart gave me my necklace on our very first Christmas at the ranch, and I very seldom take it off.” Liz looked at Scar and smiled.

  “I have a necklace too,” Little Eagle called out as he held up a rawhide strip with a rabbit’s foot on it. “Scarred Warrior gave it to me.” The young boy always referred to Scar as Scarred Warrior.

  “Jake told me you caught a rabbit in your trap, Little Eagle. That’s its foot. Always wear your necklace with pride,” Scar said.

  “You have one. Did you kill all animals on necklace?” the boy asked.

  “I didn’t kill any of them,” Scar answered. “The necklace was given to me. I’ll tell you the story someday.”

  Chapter Seven

  A week after Christmas, Scar was in his barn in Flat Peaks tending the livestock and Liz was busy in the kitchen preparing supper when someone knocked on the front door. It was the sheriff. “Hello, Liz,” he said, stomping the snow from his boots.

  “Come in, Sheriff. Bart’s in the barn but should be back any minute. Can I get you a cup of coffee while we wait?” The sheriff followed her to the kitchen, laid his coat and hat on a chair arm, and sat down. Liz placed two coffees on the table and was pulling out her chair when she saw the brown telegraph envelope the sheriff was holding. She froze, knowing what its contents most likely contained. The lawman saw the changed expression on her face and explained.

  “I was in the mercantile when this telegram came in, so I volunteered to bring it to you. It’s to Scar from the governor.” Liz was about to make a comment when the kitchen door opened.

  “Hello, Sheriff. What brings you out on a day like this? I’ll bet the temperature has fallen ten degrees in the last hour, and the snow hasn’t let up a bit,” Scar said as he took his coat off and stomped his boots.

  “Sit down, dear, while I get your coffee. The sheriff has a telegram for you.” Scar’s reaction was the same as his wife’s. He stood sober-faced for a second or two, wondering where the message would send him.

  “It came in about twenty minutes ago,” the lawman said, handing Scar the envelope. He took the message and laid it on the fireplace mantle. There was a minute of silence before the sheriff interjected. “Liz, I’ve been meaning to come over and tell you how much I appreciate you taking Rebecca under your wing at school. She sure enjoys the time she spends with you.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. She’s a great help. Because of her, we’re able to spend time with children who are struggling with their lessons. She has the skills and personality to become a great teacher.”

  When the sheriff had finished his coffee, he stood. “Rebecca will have my supper ready before long. I’d best be going. Thanks for the coffee, Liz. I’m sorry I came when you were fixing supper, but I thought you’d want the telegram.” The lawman pulled his hat down and raised his coat collar high as he leaned into the cold, snowy wind.

  The meal was mostly silent, except for Scar bragging on the delicious supper Liz had prepared. Their minds were on the unopened envelope. They wanted to postpone the inevitable as long as possible, knowing it most likely contained a message taking him away from home for a week or two on a possibly life-threatening errand. But they also knew whatever was requested must be followed. Scar had given his word, and his word was sacred. He would fulfill the request under any circumstance. Occasionally, their eyes went to the mantle.

  When their meal was finished, Scar got the envelope and laid it down on the table beside them. Liz reached for his hand. There was a long pause as their eyes met. Liz’s were watery. “I love you, Bart, and I know our love is strong enough to bring us back together soon, no matter what the message says.” Scar opened the telegram.

  January 3, 1877

  To: Bart Carter

  From. Governor John Long Routt

  Be prepared to leave for the White River Indian Agency within two weeks. I’m sending you a letter with the details.

  »»•««

  Ten days later, Scar was eight miles south of Flat Peaks riding through a foot of snow. The prairie terrain was fairly flat but still had an occasional rolling ridge with an undetectable downward slope causing the altitude to drop with each mile. Scar wore his sheepskin coat with the collar raised and a wool scarf draped over his head to cover his neck and ears. The black, flat-crowned western hat was pulled low with its tie-string under his chin.

  Overhead, the mid-morning sun peeked out occasionally through a sky
filled with low-hanging, gray snow clouds. Of course, Scar rode Maude, but unlike his other trips, Frankie, his other mule, followed carrying supplies needed on the long winter trip.

  Scar was ready to stop for morning coffee when he spotted a wide path of trampled snow ahead. Within seconds, he decided a small herd of buffalo had passed through, probably heading for water. He reached this conclusion because there were no bare areas where the critters had dug through the snow for grass. And if his thinking was correct, the water would have a swift current, which prevented it from freezing, and would be surrounded by trees for firewood. He followed the tracks heading in a southwesterly direction.

  Twenty minutes later, the tree line came into view. It was a small creek flowing with mountain water. Its sides were trampled, indicating the buffalo had been there to satisfy their thirst. The herd was not in sight, but the tracks continued westward. Scar removed the mules’ loads and started gathering wood. Within minutes, the water was boiling and the coffee grounds added. While he sat on a log holding coffee, he observed the surroundings. The snow-covered prairie stretched for miles in all directions. In the far distance to the north were the mountains north of Flat Peaks. They were twenty miles away but could still be seen. Maude and Frankie were digging for grass a few yards south of the stream.

  As he waited for the mules to rest up a bit and get their fill, his thoughts went to Liz. It had been a difficult departure. They said their goodbyes the night before because he intended to leave before Liz rose. He remembered feeling her sobs as he lay wide-eyed beside her in bed.

  Scar shook his head as he tried to eliminate his depressing thoughts. He dug out the letter from the governor and read it again, trying to figure out how long he’d be away from home. The letter indicated there was a possible problem with the U.S. government’s food distribution to the Ute Indians, the one going through the White River Indian Agency in the little settlement of Meeker. Governor Routt said he didn’t have many details but had received a request from President Grant in the last days of his presidency asking him to investigate the situation. Apparently, the president had received some inside information saying procedures weren’t being handled properly at the agency. Scar returned the letter to his coat pocket and whistled for the mules.

  After the stop, his plan was to ride Frankie until noon to give Maude a chance to rest while carrying the lighter cargo. This riding alternation would take place during his entire trip, allowing for faster travel and less stress on the mules. As he moved away from the trees and stepped into the saddle, he felt a brisk west wind carrying a few flakes, and from the looks of the clouds coming his way, a snowstorm would soon be upon him.

  Since the sun was blotted out and no landmarks existed, he reached for his compass to make sure he was heading south. Scar was following Thomas’ directions since he had been on cattle drives through this country before. His directions were to ride south the first day and then head southwest following the cattle tracks. He knew the trail would be covered with snow, but the ruts from the cows would leave an indentation in the snow, making it easy to follow. The trail would go through a sizable gorge in the Black Mountains, which would take another day and a half. He was to ride in the gorge until he came to the White River. It would be twenty yards wide with a swift current cutting through the surrounding mountains. He was to follow the river westerly until he came to the U.S. Army Post in Meeker, which was located on the river’s north side.

  There was only an hour of daylight remaining when he stopped at a tree-lined creek for the night. The snow had stopped, but dark clouds were still hanging overhead. Scar could tell it was getting colder. With the strong wind, the night would be long and cold. He picked a campsite behind a cluster of trees on the east side of the creek bank, which would help protect him from the wind. Far off to the south, the Black Mountains loomed on the horizon.

  The mules started for grass, but Scar whistled them back. He quickly unpacked the cargo, retrieved two horse blankets, and placed them on the mules. It wasn’t long before they had watered and were digging through the snow for the rich prairie grass.

  Scar went to the creek and retrieved several large, flat rocks and placed them outside of where he’d construct his tent. Then he gathered firewood, piled it on top of the rocks, and started a fire.

  After water was put on, he started to build the shelter close to the fire. He cut eight six-foot small saplings and erected them in a tepee framework, lashing them at the top. After the framework was in place, he put his large canvas around it and staked the bottom.

  It was dusk when he sat cross-legged inside his tent eating his evening meal of bacon and biscuit sandwiches with coffee in hand. He had put more wood on the fire when the mules walked by. Within minutes, they were lying close to the creek bank, out of the wind and covered with blankets.

  Scar had drunk most of the coffee from the pot when he started to prepare for bed. He dug a three-by-six-foot hole three inches deep inside the tepee, removed the hot rocks from under the fire with his shovel, and placed them in the tepee’s dugout. He then covered the hot rocks with three inches of dirt.

  After placing his ground tarp over the dirt-covered rocks, he placed his bedroll on the tarp and covered it with a buffalo robe. He looked down at his bed. He had no doubt the hot rocks and buffalo robe would keep him warm tonight.

  When the outside fire was rebuilt and flaming high, he went to the stream and filled the coffee pot. He figured it would most likely be below zero when he woke, so his plan for the morning was to quickly build a fire and put the already filled coffee pot on before jumping back under the covers.

  Chapter Eight

  By noon three days later, the river mountain gorge Scar had been riding westward through widened out to a half mile. He could see Meeker in the distance. The first structure he came to was the Army compound, built close to the river and on the south side of the trampled trail he had been following. Fifty yards past the compound was a long log building supporting a general store sign. Past it a bit was a fair-sized building with a crude sign over its door identifying it as a café and tavern. Across the road from the café was a livery with an attached empty corral, and then about a dozen structures which Scar assumed to be homes. They were dugouts, each fourteen to twenty feet square with slanting roofs and only four feet above ground. Scar was familiar with this type of housing since he had lived in one with his ma and pa during his growing-up years in Pennsylvania. His pa told him the dugout floor, usually four-foot-deep, helped keep the house warm in the winter and cool in the summer. A stone chimney lined each structure’s side. Toward the end of the packed road were two large log buildings. Scar figured the one with a cross on the roof was most likely a church, and the other was probably the Indian agent’s headquarters. Not far beyond the agent’s building were tepees scattered about.

  The entire town looked run down, with piles of debris spread about. Scar imagined it would look worse when the snow melted. Dogs ran about, some barking at the big man and his mules.

  He left his mules untied at the café’s hitching rail alongside three tied horses. It had been six hours since breakfast. His mouth was watering for a hot meal. All eyes turned his way when he opened the door and stood for a few seconds getting oriented. Compared to the town, the room looked cleaner and more orderly than he’d expected. Cigarette smoke filled the air above the adjoining bar. As he took in the occupants, he observed they were all men with holstered handguns at their sides, and tobacco bag strings were hanging from their shirts or vest pockets. Most had cigarettes dangling from their lips. Five of the six dining tables were taken. Four sloppy looking soldiers sat at one. Three other tables had men eating at them, and the other table was occupied with four men playing cards with bottles nearby. Across the hall, a ten-foot bar dominated the room where three men stood, each with a glass in hand. One of the patrons, a man with red hair, was loud and obnoxious. He was tall with wide shoulders, and his belly protruded from his red plaid coat. His beard and mustach
e matched his shoulder-length hair hanging from under a dilapidated hat. He seemed to be impressed with himself, using profanity in every sentence and acting like the king of the roost.

  All eyes followed Scar as he walked to the only vacant dining table along the side wall. It wasn’t long before a robust, middle-aged woman came over with coffee in one hand and a plate of food in the other. “That’ll be two bits,” she said in a short tone. “Pay me now, or I take the food back.” Scar, hungry for a hot meal, quickly reached for his pocket. As he pulled his money out, he wondered why she had such a sour attitude.

  The woman took his money and had started off when Scar said calmly, “Thank you, ma’am.” She turned back, faced the big man, and after a long look gave a nod with a slight smile. Scar dug in. The food was surprisingly good.

  He had pushed his plate back and was on his second cup of coffee when the redheaded drunk from the bar walked up to his table. “You’re new in these parts. I ain’t seen you before. What’s your name, and where do you hail from?”

  “Name’s Bart Carter. I’m from a little town north of here a ways,” Scar said after standing and extending his hand to the drunk.

  While their hands clasped, the drunk demanded in a low voice, “What are you doing here? What’s your business?”“I was sent here to see if a herd could be driven through to California,” Scar lied.

  The drunk laughed, along with several men sitting around. “You must be a greenhorn,” one of the card players chimed in. “Folks for miles around know this pass gets filled with ten to twenty feet of snow, especially west of here where the winter snow comes over mountains.” Scar put on an act and looked surprised.

  “Thanks for the information. I guess we’ll have to wait.”