Three Days In LONE PINE, An Untold Tale of The High Sierra

by Mark Stephen Taylor

  “Howdy, folk’s. Name’s Ed Winter—I’m the man with all those cattle south of town, if you haven’t heard. Maggie, your saloon keeper there, told me she thought you folk’s might be havin’ a meetin’, and I asked her if it would be okay for me to sit in—maybe get to know you folk’s. I been thinkin’ about purchasin’ some land for a beef ranch—north of town. The area seems to be growin’ fast, and with the railroad doin’ some surveyin’ in these parts, I figured it would be a good place to grow beef.”

  “You’re welcome here,” Ed Spencer responded, looking at others in the room. “This town needs to grow a little, and a cattle rancher would be a great addition to providing a more firm foundation for that growth here in Lone Pine.”

  Buck Grace and the Boyce brothers immediately spoke up in agreement with Ed, as did the Warner’s and several others in the crowded room. They made Ed Winter feel comfortable with their words, and he soon took a seat at the Warner’s table, who just the day before had purchased some of his beef. Sheriff Johnson then glanced over at Lovella and spoke up.

  “I guess our latest interest here in town is the stranger that rode in yesterday—this Michael fella’. He’s done some strange things—some good things here in town, I believe, and I for one am a mite dumbfounded—to say the least.” He then glanced over at John Replogle, seated near him at table with the Doc and Claude Davis. “John there, says he’s a special man. I’m not real sure what John meant by that, but let me tell you all what I’ve heard about the…”

  “Well, he killed a man just this mornin’!” Will Boyce interrupted. “We all heard about that! Ed Spencer there, said that it happened so fast you couldn’t see the man’s hand move. Shot that jailbird right between the eyes. We know he’s a gunfighter, that’s sure! Fast as the devil himself, he is!”

  “He saved folk’s lives this mornin’, Will,” Ben responded. “It don’t matter to me what he is. This man also warned Lovella about a faulty gun—never laid eyes on the piece. He cured that mangy red-bone hound that wanders into town all the time—and I hear it ain’t so mangy no more. He warned Sam Waters about a busted ladder rung at the livery, and I guess he’d never been back in the loft where it was. He handed me back my own gun just this mornin’, after those jailbirds had got the drop on me and threw it out amongst a corral full of horses! I don’t know how he found it nor how the man knew it belonged to me!”

  Ben then removed his hat and set it on the table in front of him. “Of course, this may not seem like much to some of you folk’s, with the exception of what the man did with that hound, but I’ve heard some other things as well.” He glanced over at Jerry Garcia and nodded his head at him. “Tell ’em, Jerry.”

  “Si’, sen’or. This man rode through the orange groves this morning, very early—in the light of dawn before the sun had risen. We had been looking for my youngest son, who ate some rotten fruit and wandered off sick. We had been looking for him in the dawn’s light, after one of my servants had told me of this illness, but we could not find him.” Garcia suddenly became a bit choked up and paused for a moment. He soon gained his composure and then continued.

  “This stranger who rode by helped in the search for my son, and found him in one of the trees—he had climbed up into its branches, and was in such stomach pain that he could not cry out. This stranger climbed up and brought him down, draped over his shoulder. This man then put a hand on my son’s tummy, and my son wiped the tears from his little eyes and began to laugh. He said that the pain had left him. The stranger told us to give him some milk to drink—mixed with a small amount of honey, and then he rode away—even before we could thank him.”

  Several in the room immediately began to converse about the incident among themselves. Some spoke across the room to one another, while others chattered among themselves at their respective tables. As their conversations grew louder, Sheriff Johnson suddenly interrupted them.

  “Hold on a minute, folk’s—simmer down. That ain’t all.” He then looked over at Floyd Thomas, seated at a table with Charlie McCloud. “Tell ’em, Floyd.”

  Floyd nodded. “Some of them sheepherders, southeast of town; Tom McDonough and Carl Rabe, Wiley Hunter and them other boys—they say the stranger came by them when he rode in yesterday. It was early. He asked them to move the sheep to that pasture further south for a couple days. He said there was a big storm comin’ on the mountain, and the lightnin’ would scatter ’em hellbent for green grass if they didn’t move ’em on out. Sure enough, a big storm is brewin’ up there on the mountain—like we never seen here before—I believe that! You all see them dark clouds up there?”

  Ed Winter abruptly spoke up. “Lightnin’, you say?”

  “Yes, sir,” Floyd nodded. “Just before dawn you could see flashes up there that stretched all along the crest—for miles! And the clouds are movin’ down on this side right now—right this very minute. And them boys moved them sheep, all right. They weren’t over there this mornin’ when I went a’ lookin’.”

  Ed Winter removed his cowboy hat, wiping the hair back out of his eyes. “That stranger told my men there was ‘danger’ comin’. Asked us to move the cattle north. He didn’t say nuthin’ about the storm or the lightnin’. Of course my herd ain’t near as close to the mountain as those sheep. We knew they were west of us when we made camp—I can understand movin’ ’em south.” Winter then shook his head for a moment.

  “What I am a bit confused about is that the stranger said there would be some kind of ‘danger’ to my animals tomorrow night. And when my man asked him if it was rustlers, the stranger said, ‘you might call it that.’ Then he said that my man wouldn’t believe him if he did tell him what the danger was all about—which I thought was strange. He then told my man about a band of rustlers that might be headed this way from down south. I don’t know what to make of it all?”

  Again those in the restaurant began to converse among themselves about all the things they’d been told regarding this stranger, Michael, and some folk’s then became quite concerned about just who he might be. Two or three of them argued back and forth about it. Some negative comments were voiced and Ben Johnson became a little frustrated, but it was Lovella who finally called things to order, pounding loudly on one of the tables with an empty water pitcher.

  “Let’s all quiet down in here! I know there’s been some strange things goin’ on around Lone Pine, but it’s all been good, and there ain’t nothin’ to really get in a tizzy over. Now, them’s my words! Let’s have a little order in here and talk out things one person at a time. Just have the courtesy to raise a hand and the sheriff will call on you.”

  At that time you could have heard a pin drop in the room, until Jim Boyce spoke up.

  “I sure am glad I never asked you to marry me, Lovella. You would have probably got hot under the collar and thrown me in that deep well out at my place.” There was an immediate chorus of laughter in the room. Lovella responded amidst that laughter.

  “No, Jim—I would have thrown that fuzzy wig of yours in that well first—after I rubbed it in some cow pies. It ain’t much good for nuthin’ else, Jim—’cept maybe to replace one or two of them corncobs you got out there in your outhouse. Don’t you know that they make therapeutic papers nowadays?”

  Jim bore a scowl on his face as the laughter erupted once again. “Dang you, Lovella! You always got to have the last word!”

  Sheriff Johnson then raised a hand and the laughter soon died down. “Let’s get on with hearin’ what any of you might have to say about the matter at hand—and show me a hand!” Buck Grace responded promptly to the sheriff’s request, along with several others. “Go ahead, Buck—your hand was up first.”

  “Ben, you said that John Replogle here said that the man was special. Besides you and me, I think some other folk’s in here would like to know just what he meant by that.” Buck then looked directly at John. With that prompting most everyone else in the room did the same.

  John was for the most part a quiet man
. Never said much at town meetings, and many times didn’t even show up. There were always the local domesticated animals, along with the creatures of the wild as well to tend to. He lived alone on a fair sized spread out in the hills—that was his way of life. But, when folk’s needed him, he would come running. John was a man with a servant’s heart—that’s just the way he was.

  He had come to the restaurant at this particular time to see if he could talk with Michael. But the stranger had ridden out of town before John arrived—just after the shooting took place. John had helped Charlie McCloud, Doc Mucci and Floyd Thomas remove the body from the restaurant. He even said a prayer over the man after he was laid out in Claude Davis’s wagon.

  All eyes in the room on him, John then looked around and spoke at everyone. “I know that most of you folk’s have a Bible in your homes. You may think I’m crazy, but I believe that this Michael is an angel. In fact, I believe he’s what the Good Book calls an ‘archangel’, which may be a great leader among the angelic host. There’s only one archangel mentioned in the Bible, and his name is Michael. Some believe he’s Christ’s right hand man—like Joshua was for Moses. If he is, that’s quite a rank in the heavens.”

  Sam Waters suddenly spoke up, looking around at everyone. “I’m inclined to agree with John, and for one good reason. I asked that stranger, when he was over in the livery, how he knew about Lovella’s gun, and how he knew about the busted rung on my ladder, there in the loft. When he answered he told me that there was an old writin’ that says that folk’s should be hospitable to strangers without pryin’, more or less, into their business, which I ’spect he felt I might have been doin’. He then said it went on to say that one might be ‘entertainin’ an angel without even knowin’ it.’”

  Sam then wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “When that stranger stepped out of the livery last night and walked on over to the hotel, I just kind of sat down in a chair and shook my head in wonder. I thought about what he said for quite a while, before I blew out the lantern and went on to bed—I had a hard time gettin’ to sleep after that. But I agree with John. I also believe the man is nobody to fool with. The rest of you folk’s can think whatever you like.”

  “That ‘old writing’ he was talkin’ about is in the Bible,” Lovella responded. “That verse can be found somewhere in the book of Hebrews.”

  “And don’t any of you forget,” Misty spoke out. “Some of us sitting right here in this very room saw that man cure that red-bone hound, out there in the street. We were standing over there, looking out the front window when he did it. I believe the man would have to be an angel to do something like that!”

  “He cured my son, as well,” Jerry Garcia nodded, his wife teary eyed and holding onto him just as he spoke those words.

  Some of those in the room began to speak softly to one another, whispering back and forth about the things that John and Sam had just said. Ed Spencer then raised a hand. Sheriff Johnson saw it and acknowledged him. “Go ahead, Ed.”

  “Wiley Hunter came into the pharmacy last evening. One of his flocks graze over near the Indian settlement. He said he saw that red-bone hound walking with a little girl in the village. He believes it was the chief’s granddaughter.”

  Will Boyce then abruptly spoke up. “Maybe this Michael fellow is in with them Indians—maybe they got some kind of hocus-pocus goin’ on around here. They’re always doin’ somethin’ out of the ordinary. Maybe they want to take us over—deceive our minds or somethin’—catch us off guard and try to wipe us out!”

  Margaret Warner immediately stood up from her chair and glared at Will Boyce. “Now where’s that coming from, Will? Bear Claw’s braves dug a well for you just last year. If they wanted to kill you, I believe they would have poisoned the water. Either that or they could have thrown you down into that well after they dug it. Your remarks were totally uncalled for.”

  Don Warner pulled at the waistband of her jeans and she sat back down. “Don’t pay him no mind, Margaret,” he whispered. “You know most all of that Boyce family is touched in the head. Their minds are bent on mischief.”

  Some murmuring continued in the room. As it grew into chatter, Lovella once again banged the empty water pitcher against the table.

  “Raise your hands if you have something to say,” Ben Johnson then spouted. “You’re all welcome to speak, just don’t do it all at once.”

  Don Warner raised a hand and the sheriff acknowledged. “Go ahead, Don.”

  The man stood up from his seat, clearing his throat. “Will Boyce brought up the Indians. Well, I’ve traded with them and they’re cordial folk’s. Will there, stretched things a bit, but it reminded me that the Indians do seem to have a spiritual knowledge that’s above ours, as white folk’s. I’m ashamed that we haven’t invited any of them to our town meetings. If they were represented here at this time, we might gain some insight into what this Michael fella’ is all about—maybe even learn something about why he’s come here—to Lone Pine.”

  “I agree,” Michele Spencer responded. “I know for sure that some of their cures for illnesses work better than the remedies we prescribe at the pharmacy. As a matter of fact, I prefer some of their remedies over our very own.”

  “Hocus-pocus!” Will Boyce spouted. A few folk’s then sounded off, scolding Will. Others murmured among themselves about the local Indians—some good things were said, as well as things that were not so good.

  Maggie MacDonald then raised her hand. The sheriff acknowledged. “Go ahead, Maggie.”

  She looked over at John Replogle. “John—you know about these things. Why don’t you enlighten us?”

  Others in the room abruptly voiced their agreement in unison and all heads and eyes then once again turned towards John. The man hesitated a few moments, not sure that his comments would be accepted. He remained seated but did speak up.

  “You all know the stories the Indians tell about the spirits on the mountain. We also know that men who have attempted to climb the mountain have so far been unsuccessful, or have turned up missing—whites and Indians as well. This stranger, Michael, has been keeping an eye on the mountain ever since he got here. He’s out there somewhere at this very moment—somewhere in the rocks near the base of the mountain.

  “I have a feeling that he’s about to go up there and investigate the Indian legends—and why do I feel that way? Well, naturally, God knows all things. For instance—he knew centuries back that Sodom and Gomorrah, along with some other cities in ancient Moab, were just brimful of evil people—people who were depraved in their thinking. The Bible says that ‘the outcry of iniquities from within those cities had reached his ears’—all the way up into the heavens.

  “Now, God knew that the evil existed there, but he still sent a couple angels to confirm the truth of those things; being the just and fair God that he is. He even came down to the earth himself and was actually walking toward those cities with the two angels, but then stopped along the way to talk with the patriarch, Abraham, while the angels went on ahead down toward Sodom. He considered Abraham to be his good friend and chose to spend some time with him. What a God, huh?

  “Anyway, later on that night, when the angels got into Sodom, the largest of five cities along a vast plain, they found the people to be exceedingly wicked—in accordance with the outcries heard up in heaven. The next morning all those cities were destroyed by fire and brimstone that rained down from heaven. And sulfur, or brimstone, burns near to five or six thousand degrees, my friends—it melts stone—turned those cities into pure ash!

  “Now, I’ve said all that to say this—Michael may have been sent down here to investigate and to confirm, if you will, and perhaps even to in some way or another drive the evil away from this mountain out here. That’s the way I see it. Since I’ve lived here I’ve felt that the top of that high mountain would someday be a place that climbers and hikers would flock to. I’ve felt that in my bones, but nobody’s done it yet—nobody’s been able to get up
there. A little strange, ain’t it?

  “Michael might be here to prepare the mountain for that point in time. There’s a time for every purpose under heaven. Up until now, as I’ve said and at least as far as we know, nobody’s ever climbed to the top of that mountain. And those who have attempted in recent times have mysteriously ended up on some other peak—or disappeared altogether! Now, this is only my opinion. I do agree with Don that the Indians might know more about it. You’d have to ask them.”

  “They won’t come here,” Sheriff Johnson responded. “They stay clear of the white settlements—we all know that.”

  Margaret Warner then spoke out. “We should invite them to come here. The first whites that landed in this country ate with the Indians at their harvest festivals—and we still cook turkeys every year to commemorate those events. Sometimes we tend to forget how it all started. Lone Pine can be a place to revive that tradition with our local Indians. They’re just like us in a lot of ways. We respect the land, the mountains, the breathtaking scenery and all—just as they do. There’s a strong force for good here. We’ve all felt it.”

  She paused to look around the room at the others. Some were nodding in agreement, while others made no gestures at all, but everyone was more or less drawn to her words. She then continued.

  “Once again—we’ve all felt it, and we’ve all talked about it—how we seem to be a part of our surroundings. Maybe this Michael is here to bring us all together. We had no problem accepting Jerry and Juanita Garcia, nor their working crews from south of the border. The Indians shouldn’t be any different. We should all think about it and do the right thing.”

  Most everyone became silent when Margaret had finished speaking. To their surprise, John Replogle, usually a man of few words unless called upon, suddenly spoke out once again.

  “Bravo, Margaret!” He then looked around the room at the others. All eyes were fixed on him.