You know that Wyomin’ will be yer’ new home.
Whoopy-ti-yi-yo, get along little doggies…”
Their harmonious singing made its way out over the large herd to the southeast; indeed medicinal as it drifted among those animals, but the men’s voices hit a wall amid an explosion of thunder just to the west of them, breaking their melodious words into pieces.
High on the mountain near the very core of that thunder and lightning, Michael rode steadily upward in between an array of white boulders, his eyes fixed on the coarse shale that lie beneath the hooves of his tall mount. He gently stroked at the animal’s mane as they trod over them, speaking out to him.
“Spirit Rider—you know that sittin’ up here atop this saddle like I am, I can’t see through your flesh nor down through your hooves neither—can’t see if that shale’s cuttin’ into you or not?”
The horse snorted in response to the man’s words, lifting its head and then quickly lowering it again as he trudged forward.
“I can read your heart, my friend—but it seems pretty quiet at the moment. Now, you and me are the only ones out here, in case you hadn’t noticed? I figure it’s okay for you to go ahead and speak out loud—if you’re a’ mind to? You do have my permission—you always have. But, there’s nuthin’ wrong with quiet. I guess I been a mite quiet myself on this ride.”
The animal snorted once again and then in the next moment spoke out of its mouth at the man. “My hooves are thick and quite strong, my Master. This shale beneath them hasn’t been a problem, but those unyielding mesquite thorns we encountered down below were a mite prickly. It was rough going for a bit, that’s for sure—but we made it through.”
Michael smiled. “I feel bad about having to part company with you at the high meadow, my friend. But you’re not spirit just yet. You’re still flesh—It might be that you could get killed up there.”
The horse and rider continued to climb against the shale. Spirit Rider was silent for a time, but then suddenly spoke once again. “When will I become spirit, my Master?”
“I’ve been told that will come about when Stalking Moon and your brother join up with us,” Michael responded. “That won’t be too long in the future, my friend.”
The animal nickered. “I am ready to face the evil with you, my Master. My courage is strong. Will you not at this time ask the Most High to permit it?”
“I know you’re strong, Spirit Rider. But there’s a time and a place for everything. Besides—I’ll be takin’ on the wolf’s clothing up there in that high meadow—when the moon meets with twilight. You want me to just jump on your back after that and take you on up ahead with me?”
Michael then chuckled a bit. “It might look a little silly—the big bad wolf ridin’ on your back. You’ve never met Lucifer, but he’ll know you’re flesh, laugh at your courage and most likely kill you right on the spot. Bide your time, big fella’—you’ll be immortal soon.”
Horse and rider remained silent as they continued on up the shale slope for another five hundred feet, where it suddenly leveled off. There was a small meadow just ahead of them. From there it would be a steep climb up to a high lake, where there would be abundant water for the animal. Michael reined in when they reached the meadow and spoke once again to the horse.
“It’s a ways to the higher meadow. There’s a small stream here and a lake up yonder, just below that high meadow. You want to rest here for a spell, or go on up? I know that you’re a bit tired—I can feel it. Speak up, big fella’. I like hearin’ the sound of your voice.”
The horse snorted and then turned its head slowly to the left to where it could see the rider out of the corner of its eye. The animal spoke once again. “I am strong, my Master, but there is foliage here, and I could use a bite to eat.”
“That’s what I figured,” Michael smiled. “To be honest with you, this body of mine could use a rest as well.”
Most everyone in town had gathered at the restaurant for breakfast later that morning, but John Replogle had to get up and leave in the middle of it all and tend to one of the horses belonging to Floyd Thomas. The animal had broken its leg and seemed to be in a bad way, but John was able to set the fracture and calm the horse down a bit.
The skin hadn’t been broken, which was a good thing, and he wrapped the leg with a poultice made of sage root and secured a cast about it that he had fashioned from lodge pole pine. Floyd had earlier wanted to shoot the animal, but John wouldn’t allow it. He told Floyd to give it some time. Floyd was one whose patience was a bit thin, but when he saw what John had done with the animal he was more than thankful—the man even cried a little.
By the time the two of them got back to the restaurant it was well past noon, but folk’s had hung around because of their concern about what was taking place on the mountain. John had talked about it a little at breakfast, but had to leave before everyone was satisfied with what he could tell them. He and Floyd ate a late lunch and when that was done, everyone pulled chairs up close into their table and John then told them what he could.
“I’ve told you all about everything I know at this time. The Indian legends about evil spirits on the mountain are true. Some of them have been up there for a few thousand years—ever since the Great Flood. It was to their advantage to be up there on the highest mountain, so they could see the whole of this country. That’s why nobody’s been able to get up there—they won’t allow it! They fool with folk’s minds and cause them to miss the peak—cause them to end up somewhere else!
“According to the Bible, evil spirits control just about everything that goes on in the world today. They’re responsible for wars and famine, for pain and suffering, and about everything else you can think of that might be harmful to folk’s. Now, the Indians believe that from the high places, such as our mountain here, they can see what’s goin’ on everywhere else in this country, and plan their strategies accordingly.
“The good thing about all of this is that God only allows them so much time in one particular place—and that’s especially true if he’s got some other plans for that place. This is more or less what Michael told me. The Indians have always been of the opinion that folk’s from all over the world would someday visit this mountain here, and that it would be a place of learning—a place from where all of God’s wonders could be viewed, appreciated, and shared with everyone that comes to understand how much they truly need such things.
“Michael told me that when the time comes for the evil to depart from a place, the evil spirits sometimes choose to put up a fight—they want to stay right where they are. They know that their time on the earth is short, and they want to make the most of it. When that happens, the archangel, who is Michael—the head and most powerful of all the angels, is sent there to put an end to it. Now, I don’t know anything at all in regard to how he’ll go about doin’ that—but I’m sure it will get done!
“I’m not sure what happens to these spirits after the battle either. The Indians believe that some of them are kept in a dark place to await a greater judgment. Some of them I guess just go to other places where they can keep on with their evil ways. I don’t recall Michael sayin’ anything about where the spirits up there on the mountain might end up going, but they won’t be stayin’ around here.”
Some of the folk’s then asked John if they would be able to see what was about to happen on the mountain. John got up and walked over toward the window. Ed Spencer was standing there looking up at the mountain, and glanced back toward him as he approached.
“It’s just as black as night up there, John. Lots of lightening flashing back and forth—clouds over most of the valley. I don’t believe we’ll be able to see anything—unless all hell breaks loose and the sky opens up,” he laughed, though within himself the man was quite frightened about the whole thing. There were several in the room who were fearful as well. John could sense it. He turned from Ed and looked at everyone.
“I don’t think there’s any call to be afraid, folk�
�s. I know you all want to sit together here, and I know you’re comfortable with that—that’s good. We’ll, why don’t all of us do just that? We’ll just stay together here as a group and keep an eye on the mountain. But it will be after sunset I believe before anything is going to happen up there.”
The sun was setting as Michael rode into the high meadow. From where he rode in, only massive, black clouds could be seen above him, stretched out along the entire Sierra Crest. Lightning flashed violently among those clouds, and the thunder at that elevation was ear rending, echoing boldly among the high crags. The wind had picked up as well, and he knew that before long the gusts would be strong and blow fiercely.
He rode into the center of the meadow but then decided to ride on to its north edge, where a chute opened up that would lead him upward along the north face of the mountain to its high, western slope; the only unobstructed gateway to the elusive summit. When he reached the far side of that meadow he reined in and dismounted. He then removed the saddle and other gear from his horse, setting it all atop a boulder.
“This’ll be your pasture for a while, Spirit Rider,” he spoke to the animal as he gently removed bit and bridle. “Things should be fairly quiet here, except for the storm. I’ll be up quite a bit higher, where things are liable to get a shade nasty.”
The man then looked to his east. There was high cloud cover over the valley below him, the crests on both the Inyo and Panamint mountain ranges however were clear. He then nudged the horse around slightly so that the animal might be able to view those mountains.
“We’ll be able to see the moon shortly, Spirit Rider—over there above those mountains, yonder. The twilight will be upon us in less than an hour.”
He then brushed softly at the animal’s neck. “This is where we’ll have to part company for a while, big fella. Soon now.”
Chapter Thirteen
As the light of the sun disappeared behind the great mountain, Bear Claw and Stalking Moon stood together in the rocks along the western outskirts of the Indian encampment. Little Swan soon approached from behind them. Her father was surprised to see her there.
“It is late, my daughter. You should be tending to your chores before bedtime.” Stalking Moon stroked her hair as he spoke with her. “Your new calf will want you to embrace him,” he smiled.
“I came here to hold the hand of my grandfather,” she responded. “He carries the blue stone, and said that we should pray together for the great warrior. He said the warrior would know that we held the stone as one, and our prayers would be answered.”
“Then we will all hold hands,” her father smiled. “And we will look toward the great mountain together.”
His words were followed by a sudden bolt of lightning that again stretched across the entire Sierra Crest. It lingered long enough for the three of them to see the entire length of its magnitude. It was horrific—unlike any other they had ever seen before. It disappeared suddenly as an explosion of thunder echoed down into the valley just beyond it, and with that, a sudden gust of wind that brushed heavily against the faces of the trio as they stood there amidst the great rocks.
Little Swan squeezed her small hand against that of her grandfather’s, who held on tightly to the blue stone. On the opposite side of him, Stalking Moon held firmly onto the elder’s left hand. The trio stood together in the wind, their eyes fixed on the mountain. They were anxious to see just what might take place next, and there was no fear within their hearts.
Within the town itself most of those waiting in the restaurant had stepped out onto the front sidewalk just seconds after that great bolt of lightning had illuminated the entire mountain range. They had attempted to cover their ears when the explosion of thunder came hurtling upon them, and now felt the wind rising against their faces. Some of them were fearful, while others stood boldly in that wind, yet without really knowing what to expect next. John Replogle stood among them.
“Everything’s gonna’ be okay,” he encouraged. “We ought to go on back inside. It will be a little bit now until the full moon is up. That’s when things will start to happen—that’s what Michael told me.”
Some distance to the west of them, the folk’s among the orange groves were huddled together inside of a barn. The doors facing the mountain were wide open as the group of men, women and children sat together, captivated by a violent display of weather on the mountain that they had never before seen. Jerry Garcia and his wife did their best to keep everyone calm.
“Do not be afraid,” he told them. “You will never see anything like this again, I am sure! We will not be harmed in here—I am confident of this.”
Southwest of the groves, the three fishermen, who had their lines in the stream when the great lightning and thunder had come upon them, dashed frantically toward their tent and crawled into its entrance, grumbling and coaxing at one another to move inside quickly. Two of the men then struggled against the sudden wind as they endeavored to secure the doorway.
Johnny Lucas abruptly slapped at the hands of Charlie Begole and Al Johnson, who had both the upper and lower lashings for the doorway in their grips.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” he shouted. “Don’t lash down them flaps! Let’s watch and see what in the name a’ hell is goin’ on around here!”
About a mile and a half southeast of that tent, the drovers at the cattle camp were out roaming among the herd, hoping to keep them settled down. Both Slim Woodson and Ed Winter were among that group bumping cattle. The two men soon found themselves beside one another.
“There a mite spooked, Ed. But I think they’ll be all right. I got one extra man from town—name’s Donnie Crawford. He’s a good horseman. He just started workin’ at the livery, but his boss sent him on out here—figured we might need some help.”
“That was kind of him,” Ed responded. “We’ll probably need that man down on the point. We don’t want them cattle breakin’ for the lake. There’s some steep cliffs down that way.”
“I’ll send him down there with Bruce Smith,” Woodson responded. “He’s rode point with me before. They can round ’em in and keep the herd back this way toward camp—no problem.”
“You do that, Slim. I’ll ride back to the chuck wagon and have the cook wrap up some grub for ’em—for you, too. Everybody stays with the herd after dark tonight. The other riders you got out here already ate just a bit ago. Make sure they know to stay put.”
“Yes, sir!”
Twilight soon fell upon the valley and embraced the great mountain. Michael stood in the high meadow with Spirit Rider, nearly 11,400 feet above the valley floor as the full moon appeared on the eastern horizon, at that moment the upper portion of it just peeking over the top of distant mountains.
The man removed his hat, gun belt, boots, and then his clothing, and stood naked beside his mount. He folded the clothing and placed the gun belt and hat on top of that fold, and then set the items onto the ground near the forward hooves of the animal. He moved the boots up against the clothing. He then reached out and brushed at the horse’s mane.
“If it rains down here, you be sure to step over that clothing and keep it dry, you hear?” he smiled.
The horse nickered. In the distance the full moon had just cleared the top of the mountains. As Michael looked over-top the back of his mount out toward that silvery moon, the man promptly took on the form of a wolf, at that moment finding himself standing on four paws in the lush green of the meadow. Spirit Rider, startled, suddenly moved back about three paces. He snorted, but held calm, his eyes then fixed upon the wolf.
The wolf was indeed a large animal, coal black in color with a blending of silver-gray throughout its thick fur. The tops of its feet were snow-white, the white fur ascending slightly onto the lower portion of its legs. A patch of white fur resembling a bolt of lighting was displayed high at the front of the animal’s chest.
Michael then looked about at himself, slightly taken aback at his striking appearance. He was deliberate in opening
his mouth, great white fangs protruding just out the front of it. He then smiled, displaying both upper and lower teeth behind them, which were white like pearl as well. He soon spoke words to Spirit Rider, who awaited the familiar sound of his master’s voice, yet remained just a little apprehensive.
“It’s only me, my friend. Don’t run away,” Michael said. “You’re a lot taller than me now anyway—have no fear.”
The horse snorted and then spoke with him. “I was startled at first, but you do look magnificent, my Master. I would be extremely proud to go with you—anywhere.”
The wolf moved toward him. When it stepped in close it rose up on its hind legs and put its front paws on either side of the horses neck, looking directly into its eyes. The horse stood firm with the wolf’s weight against him, rubbing his nose along the snout of the wolf. The wolf then drew back its head a bit and rubbed noses with the animal. They embraced in this manner for a brief time, when the wolf suddenly dropped down and stood alone on its feet. Michael then spoke gently to the horse.
“I will miss you too, my friend. I won’t be long.”
With that the wolf turned and ran swiftly into the rocks at the lower end of a wide, granite chute—a pass filled with boulders of all sizes, which had formed between two towering spires of white granite, and ascended along the mountain’s north face toward the high, western slope that would lead him to the summit. The great wolf climbed at a good pace, his eyes scanning the terrain ahead of him as he moved with a steady rhythm over and around a recurrent arrangement of boulders, which were strewn about within his chosen pathway.
He climbed to 12,000 feet in no time at all, reaching a small plateau that stood just north of the summit block, pressed in close to where it butted tightly against the north face of the mountain. As the wolf made his way along the gradual slope of that plateau, lightening suddenly flashed violently about him, striking the rocks with great intensity on either side of the animal. Michael stopped in his tracks and spoke out.
Three Days In LONE PINE, An Untold Tale of The High Sierra Page 17