I moaned. It had been a dream, a horrible dream, a nightmare so real it jerked me clean out of a deep sleep. The out and out truth of what I had to do this very morning came crawling back over me slow and painful. I rubbed my tingling left hand and remembered. I had to kill the guy in the red shirt, Romy Manuel, before the dream, the horror I’d seen in my sleep, became real.
I flipped the blanket back, sat up, took a deep breath and tried to calm down. My heart pounded and my hand still shook, but the sun would rise soon enough so I might as well start some pan bread. There would be no more sleep for me tonight anyhow.
At the fire pit I looked at the ashes I’d banked up around the hot coals last night and thought back to how Major Lawson had checked the fire pit along Weber Creek yesterday to see how long it had been since anyone had camped there. I poked the embers around and blew on them. When I saw a red glow I tossed some small twigs and kindling on the coals. After I got a flame I laid several small logs on top. They turned black pretty quick then caught fire.
I couldn’t help but recall what the Major told us last night about how Romy Manuel’s own heart must have been charred black by hate after his mother got killed. I figured that’s what caused the hot temper he carried with him now. Most folks can keep their temper under their hat. They are a lot like this small campfire. Because it is kept in check by the flat rock fire pit, it does a lot of good. It cooks the food we need to live, a lot like the stove at the cafe. But Red Shirt’s hot-tempered heart beats wild. Like a burning cabin full of smoke and flame, Romy Manuel’s hate destroys all the good things people work hard for, and leaves only cold, empty ashes behind.
The sky had brightened a lot by the time I finished with the last of the pan bread. The sun would peek over the mountains soon. I had fresh coffee brewing and a pot of leftover beans warming. I’d thrown in the last of the rabbit from yesterday just to give them a little extra kick.
Eban tossed around in his bedroll and sat up, stretched his arms to get rid of the kinks and pushed himself to his feet. He picked up his saddle, walked to the mustang, threw a blanket on his back, tossed the saddle on top and cinched it tight. He pulled his rifle out, checked the load and slid it back into the scabbard.
About that time Major Lawson sat up. “What a fine morning it is,” he said and climbed to his feet without help.
Eban and the Major walked together over to the fire with Lacey’s pa still leaning heavily on his carbine and limping. They both took the coffee I offered, each with a mumbled greeting and a half awake look pasted on his face.
When I handed over a tin plate of pan bread, bacon and beans their eyes brightened and hearty thanks came from each one. I smiled. I knew it meant they liked the food and were grateful I’d gotten up early to fix it. Somehow it meant a lot to me that people appreciated my cooking after all the guff I took when Maggie had baby Josie and I ran the cafe.
While I fixed up a plate for me, both of them ate without talking, their faces tight, worry clear in their wrinkled foreheads.
Lacey’s pa held out his cup. “Warm this up for me, will you?” he asked.
“Sure, sir,” I poured him more coffee.
“Thanks.” He took a small sip and cleared his throat. “Son, you know what we plan on doing this morning,” he said and sounded stuffy, like an officer giving orders to his men. “It’s going to be dangerous, real dangerous. Eban and I talked this over yesterday and we both want you to stay here. There’s too much chance that somebody will get hurt, maybe even killed, and we don’t want that someone to be you.”
“But sir—”
“No buts Tom,” Eban interrupted. “I know you’ve done a lot and you’re looking at bagging this scalawag like it’s some sort of reward, but that ain’t what it’s likely to be. Romy Manuel’s apt to fight to the death, kill as many men as he can, all out of pure spite. We can’t go back and tell Maggie and Lacey you’re dead. Right now you’re a hero to the Major. You saved his life. That ain’t bad for a boy just turned sixteen.”
While Eban ran on about why I couldn’t go hunting Romy Manuel, my mind flashed over the plan I’d made to shoot the four-flushing rattlesnake myself. I’d thought a lot about what I would do and how I’d do it, but I hadn’t thought a whit about how I’d explain things to Eban. Now I realized that I only had to tell one big, fat lie and afterwards agree to whatever Eban and the Major told me and I’d be free do what I wanted as soon as they left. It’d be as easy as a Mexican siesta. After all, I’d gotten used to telling lies this week.
So I tossed the last bit of coffee in my cup onto the fire, setting off a loud hiss and a puff of steam. That ought to show them how mad I am. “That ain’t fair,” I yelled. “Just ‘cause I’m sixteen don’t make me a kid.”
“No, Tom,” the Major said in a tone that sounded more like a father talking to a son than the official army voice he’d used before. “Being sixteen simply means you have a lot of good years ahead of you. You are a remarkable young man and I owe you my life. I’d like to make sure you’re around to help other men who get themselves in serious scrapes like I did. And after talking to Eban, I’m pretty sure Lacey would never forgive me if I let something happen to you.”
Major Lawson said some real nice things that I knew ought to make it easy for me to agree to stay behind. If only I could make both of them believe I would do what they said then I’d be scot-free to do whatever I wanted after they left. “Well,” I grumbled while I put on my best woe is me look. “I guess I could stay here if you’re going to make me.”
“Promise me, son,” Eban sounded determined.
“Oh . . .” I whined, and then I shrugged. “All right, Eban, I promise I won’t go with you,” I muttered, trying to seem as down in the dumps as I could.
“I don’t want you to follow us after we leave. Give me your word,” Eban added.
“Okay, I won’t come after you,” I mumbled, head still down and giving off the best hangdog look I could muster. After all, Eban had really only made me promise to not go after them when they left for town. He hadn’t said a word about going after Romy Manuel by myself. This lying stuff was getting easier and easier the more I did it. Still, the lies didn’t feel right. Maybe that’s why my hand twitched so much right now.
“I’m glad you see it our way, Tom. It’s for the best, someday you’ll understand.” Eban stood and turned to Lacey’s pa. “Are you ready, sir?”
Major Lawson sighed. “As ready as I can be.” Together they made their way to the horses, Lacey’s pa still limping bad but not leaning on his carbine anymore.
They passed Boyd, with Bug scuffling along behind, about the same time a flood of sunlight surged down the river valley, washing out the predawn shadows in a blaze of color. Facing directly east, Boyd shielded his eyes with his hand, then sat down across the fire from me and held out a tin cup. “Morning, Tom,” he said.
“Morning.” I poured him coffee.
Bug struggled onto the log next to Boyd and muttered a couple of blurry, fuzzy words that I took as a hello.
I got them both food and picked up the plate I’d fixed earlier for myself. Together we ate quiet-like, listening to the small wrens and bush tits chirp from the pines while a red-tailed hawk let out a shrill screech every so often as it floated slowly overhead in search of its own breakfast.
I looked up when I heard the clomp of horses coming. Eban and the Major stopped near the fire. “We’ll be back as soon as we can, Tom.” Eban said. “Remember, you gave me your word you won’t follow us.” He wore a stern do-as-I-tell-you look.
I frowned. “I won’t follow you, Eban,” I promised, happy I could honestly agree. I knew now I could go after Romy Manuel as soon as they left. By the time the posse from Coloma caught up to me, Romy Manuel would be dead.
Still, Eban didn’t look satisfied. “I can count on you, can’t I?” he asked with one eyebrow raised.
I tried to put on my best don’t worry about me smile. “I promise, Eban. I won’t follow you,” I said wit
h all the gumption I had.
“Wish us luck,” he added and gave the mustang a light flick on the rump and off he went down the hill.
But Major Lawson glanced from me to Boyd. “I’ll look forward to more pan bread and rabbit around noon, if you boys are agreeable,” he said and rode off after Eban.
Boyd put down his plate and stood. “I reckon if the Major wants some rabbit I’d best go hunting. Morning’s always the best time to find rabbits. They’ll be looking for breakfast like we are.” And he walked off toward the ridge.
I put the cooking stuff away quick. I needed to hurry. Romy Manuel would likely leave his camp soon too. I couldn’t count on him sticking around like he had yesterday. Besides I didn’t know how long it would take for the men in Coloma to get organized and start out.
I walked to Rojo and started in on getting him saddled. When I’d cinched everything tight I pulled the shotgun from the scabbard and checked to make sure the caps hadn’t fallen out and that it held a full load of buckshot in each barrel. Next I took Maggie’s little gun from the pocket of my roll-up pants, checked it and slid it into the waistband near the small of my back. Ready as I’d ever be, I reached for the reins and realized my left hand trembled like the dickens again. I shook it hard hoping it would settle down. I must be sick or something, I thought.
“Are you the one the Lord chose to smite down that red shirted devil?”
I near jumped out of my skin. It dawned on me pretty quick Bug Riddle had snuck up behind me, but how the old man managed to get so close hobbling along on a crutch like he did I couldn’t figure. Still I turned to face him. “Sir?” I asked, understanding his meaning well enough but set on not telling a soul, even a crazy old man, what I had planned.
“You’re saddling up, checking your guns. I seen men hunt men before. You’re hunting for that black-hearted son of Satan. I know. I’ve known since you got here.” Bug spoke softly but then his eyes got wild. “You kill him boy. Send him straight to hell. You do it and the Lord will bless you, but if you ain’t got the guts, or if he sneaks up on you like you aim to sneak up on him, you run to Bug Riddle. I’ll be waiting, watching for that red shirted devil to ride into the river. You run, boy, before he pounds the life blood from the very pores on your face then stomps your bones underfoot like a normal man does kindling wood. You run. You run to me. You hear me, boy? You run to me!”
I could barely believe what I’d heard. Bug Riddle ranted like a madman but he’d figured out exactly what I planned. “I got the guts,” I yelled. “I ain’t going to run like no coward. I know where he is. I’ll find him. I’ll kill him.” Bug stared at me, his face dark with rage. But he’d hit my sore spot hard. “I will,” I added, louder than before and crammed my left hand into my pocket to calm the confounded shaking down some.
The hate in Bug’s face eased into a nasty frown and his voice softened. “You kill him, boy. Blow his black heart to pieces with that scattergun then feed his wretched carcass to the buzzards, but bring the bloody shreds of that red shirt back here to old Bug Riddle so I can rest in peace. Will you do that for an old man, boy? Swear you’ll bring me proof the devil is dead. Swear it, boy.”
“I swear, sir. I’ll bring you his shirt. Don’t worry.” I promised and felt some better right off. Now it sounded like Bug Riddle wanted to make sure I’d really taken care of what needed to be done to the man who broke his leg.
His tired eyes drilled into mine then, without another word, he turned and shuffled back to the hole he’d chopped in the earth, teetering on his crutch and waving the heavy Hawken rifle high over his head.
I started down the hill toward the river but stopped to look back at Bug. He sat quiet and still, not hacking with the hand ax, the big-bore rifle cradled in his left arm, his right hand on the trigger. The broken leg stretched out flat on the ground while the good one rested in the bottom of the hole he’d dug so that the knee bent at just the right height for a man who wanted to shoot someone down at the ford to rest his left elbow on so that he could steady his aim. Bug Riddle had dug himself a perfect place to sit and wait for Romy Manuel, and make the best shot he possibly could whenever the man who had tried to drown him in Weber Creek rode into the river.
It dawned on me that Bug might not be as off his rocker as he seemed. And in a flash I understood what must’ve happened that day along Weber Creek. Romy Manuel likely slipped up and beat Bug half to death before he braced Bug’s foot on top of a log or rock then stomped down as hard as he could on the poor man’s leg, snapping the bones in two like kindling. I shuddered when I thought about it. It must’ve hurt something awful. Then, adding insult to injury and figuring Bug would drown right quick, Romy Manuel drug him to the creek and tossed him in. I could even see him laughing as he watched poor Bug flop around in the stream, trying to keep his head above water.
Boyd said they called him Bug because when he got an idea in his head he couldn’t get shed of it. Bug wanted revenge on Romy Manuel for what he did but Bug couldn’t chase the varmint around on a busted leg so he decided to sit and wait. With all the gold mined here in these ravines, Romy Manuel was sure to show up sooner or later to strong arm one man or another into joining the mining cooperative or else to get off a good paying claim. When that day came Bug planned to blow his evil head right off.
I rode into the river and a hair-raising shiver bristled up my backbone. I spun in the saddle and looked back up the hill. At first I couldn’t see Bug anywhere but I knew he sat right where I’d left him, watching and waiting. But he must have noticed me looking back because I saw him when he pumped the Hawken high in the air. I felt sorry for taking away the revenge that meant so much to him, but I’d set my mind on killing Romy Manuel no matter what. It had to be done. On the other hand I’d promised Bug and I’d keep my word. I’d bring the old man Romy Manuel’s bloody red shirt at least. As I rode out of the water on the far bank I thought how it would all be over soon, but I sure wished I could stop my left hand from shaking.
##
At the road to Hangtown Creek I stopped. Straight ahead lay Coloma, and from somewhere in town Eban, Major Lawson and a posse of townsmen would soon come this way. I had to hurry so I rode on towards Hangtown Creek, past the redwoods to the west and the pines on the east. Soon the oaks rose on both sides of the trail. I edged Rojo into the woods and past a line of brush and scrub oak a hundred paces from the road.
I left the chestnut in the shade of an oak tree where plenty of grass grew. “You be real quiet while I’m gone, okay. I don’t want that skunk to know anyone is here,” I told him and Rojo bobbed his head and pawed at the ground like he understood. I knew that would be the best answer I would get. I pulled the shotgun from the scabbard and checked the firing caps under each hammer one more time. They both looked fine.
I gulped down a couple of deep breaths, squared my shoulders, and slipped off as quiet as a church mouse toward where I figured Romy Manuel’s camp must be, the scattergun across my chest, right hand on the grip below the trigger guard, left hand on the stock under the barrels, both hammers cocked and ready to fire. My head swiveled from side to side. I ducked from tree to tree, glancing back a lot to make sure nobody tailed me. Little by little I made my way through the oaks close to the road so I could spot where his pinto had hit the trail yesterday.
Sneaking along as slow as I did it seemed like I’d never find this brigand’s camp. Maybe I’d started too far down the road. A deep quiet hung all around me. No birds chirped from the trees. No squirrels chattered over an acorn. Not even a breeze blew in to rustle the oak leaves. The day had heated up, even in the shade, and sweat soaked my green shirt. My heart thumped so much I thought my chest would bust.
A loud crack rang out. I froze. My left hand trembled. But once more the deep hush closed back around me. I’d stepped on a branch and snapped it in two. If Romy Manuel heard it I’d face trouble, big trouble. I listened hard. I even held my breath, but heard nothing, no chirp, no chatter, not even a soft rustle in the tr
ees. My right hand started to shake along with my left, jiggling the shotgun across my chest.
I pulled down one long breath, then another. I kept at it, drawing air deep inside and letting it out slow, again and again. While I breathed I repeated to myself, I’m a man now. I can do this. Over and over I said it, until the words and my breathing merged into one throbbing pulse. Breathe in. I’m a man now. Breathe out. I can do this.
Time slowed to a crawl and so did the chant in my mind. My senses grew sharp. I could see everything now and all at once, not just in front of me but also to the sides and even behind. I could hear each sound for miles around, the splash of the river as it ran to the west, the flap of a hawk’s wing high above. And I could feel the fire of life burning inside each living thing in the woods around me, like I belonged with them now, a part of the forest and no longer an outsider.
A mockingbird sang his high low call then trilled a short, sweet song. A squirrel chattered from a branch, quickly answered by another who skittered through the leaves, shaking the limbs above. A hoarse cry screamed down from a hawk soaring high above. The forest, so quiet before, now teemed with life. I realized my hands were still, the shaking gone. My fear had melted away like boiling water in a pot untended too long.
Romy Manuel hadn’t heard the twig snap. Like all the animals in the forest I just knew. I walked on, confident, even cocky, a man with a tough job to do. Ahead I found a scuff mark on the forest floor. It came from the iron shoe of a horse, likely Romy Manuel’s pinto. I walked toward the road and found several more clear prints plus a lot of oval dents in the ground where the horse had dug his hooves in as Romy spurred him onto the trail. I turned to follow the tracks back into the woods, to the camp of the man I came to kill.
A little deeper in the trees I caught sight of the pinto, hobbled in a small clearing. My heart thumped loud again. I breathed slow and easy and carefully crept across the open space to the horse. I held out my hand and let him smell me. At any time Romy Manuel could show up, looking for his mount, ready to ride off for whatever dirty work he had planned. I knew I had to stay alert and aware like I never had before.
Into the face of the devil: A love story from the California gold rush Page 16