The Ghost of St. Elmo

by L. Parks Sanford

CHAPTER SEVEN

  GHOST TOWN HERE WE COME

  “Knock. Knock. Knock.” I rolled over only to hear the soft voice of Katie. “Come on cowboy; breakfast in 15 minutes. I’ll see you downstairs.” I jumped up and headed for the shower. After dressing, which I did extremely fast to impress my hosts, I quickly made it down the long staircase toward the kitchen. I rounded the corner and saw Mr. McVicar and Charles engaged in conversation, Mrs. McVicar sitting at the end of the table, and Katie looking up with her sparkling, blue eyes and smiling. “Hi Ian. How did you sleep?” she asked.

  “Good morning, everyone,” I blurted out. “I slept great!” Charles looked up at me and smiled.

  “Find a place and sit down, Ian,” Mrs. McVicar said. “Breakfast is hot.”

  “You look pretty rested,” Mr. McVicar said, “but how’s the rear-end?” “Oh, Daddy,” Katie said embarrassed.

  “Well, it’s pretty important,” Mr. McVicar said laughing. “We’re going to put him on Splits today.”

  “Splits? Who’s Splits?” I asked.

  “He’s going to be your horse as long as you’re here,” Katie said. “We picked him out especially for you.”

  “Watch out. He’s a real killer,” Mr. McVicar said with a slight chuckle. I wasn’t quite sure what was so funny, but I’d soon find out. We all finished the big breakfast and headed for the barn.

  It was obvious the weather was changing because all that deep snow from the day before was slowly beginning to disappear and turn to slush. Mr. McVicar, Katie, Charles and I entered the barn and flipped on the lights. You could see small birds flitting in and out making nests and bringing food to their young. I looked down toward the other end and saw Brad and his dad putting saddles on three horses. It was a huge barn, and it seemed as though we walked forever before we reached them. “Hey Ian,” Brad smiled.

  “Hi, Brad,” I smiled back.

  “Good mornin’, Mr. Mac,” Jeb said.

  “Good mornin’, Jeb,” Mr. McVicar answered. “Do you have all the horses saddled?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where’s the killer?” Mr. McVicar asked.

  “Brad has him tied up around the corner,” Jeb answered. All the other riders took their horses’ reigns, and we walked around the corner of the barn. What a sight! A large, black horse with a massive chest and swayed back stood in the shadow of the barn. My first thought…this horse has been around awhile. I looked at him, and he looked at me and snorted. I turned around to see a smile on everyone’s face as each of them waited for me to mount up. I had ridden a horse many times at the orphanage so I wasn’t nervous, but my hosts weren’t aware of it. My butt fit snugly into the saddle in the valley of the horse’s back. They had given me an old hag who had seen better days, but I didn’t say a word. I jerked my horse around and waited for further orders. The four of us headed off with Mr. McVicar leading the way while Jeb and Brad stayed behind. We rode through the sometimes deep and sometimes non-existent snow. It was obvious that this was a very large ranch with wide-open ranges, deep and thick forests, and magnificent chalk colored cliffs. The weather had changed dramatically, and it was beginning to get quite warm. You could see water streaming over the sheer, stone mountainsides, as the warming temperatures melted the snow above.

  “We could have some problems brewin’ with this run-off,” Mr. McVicar said as he pointed to areas around us. “If we get any kind of a freak cloudburst, this water would sweep down this valley taking anything in its way,” he said, rather concerned.

  We moved on, making our way to a vast clearing in what Mr. Mac called the Forest of Lights. We stopped as he told us the story of 4,000 brave Wapiti Indians lined up ready to face the Spanish conquistadors, who were seeking gold and destroying anything in their path. “Wouldn’t any Chief be proud of his warriors, bonfires lighting the entire area, awaiting orders to attack as the Spanish made their way down the steep mountainside? And they held their ground,” he explained. “Unfortunately the firearms the Spanish had brought were new and far superior to the Indians’ weapons, and they were all slaughtered. They were all just sitting ducks illuminated by the raging, night fires. Legend has it lights can still be seen from time to time in this very spot, flickering in the darkness of the night.” Shivers ran up and down my back as I looked over at Katie to see her reaction. There was none.

  Once again we headed off down the valley with Mr. Mac leading the way. We wound our way along a narrow trail that Mr. Mac called Chalk Creek Gulch. Rounding a bend in the trail, there, spread out before us, was an old town with dilapidated buildings. There were no signs of life other than prairie dogs scurrying here and there, running for safety under a pile of old lumber on the main road. “Gentlemen, welcome to St. Elmo, once the boomtown of Chalk Creek Gulch,” Mr. Mac shouted out. We all paused in the middle of the road looking in every direction. I could picture in my mind how these streets and fallen buildings once bustled with men and horses, mule trains and pack trains of burros. Now the only remnants of a once prosperous past were collapsing buildings, with wood almost bleached white by the sun, an old rotten wooden water tower that was lying on its side and a few old rusted ore cars sitting on tracks leading to nowhere.

  We slowly began moving up the main street to find a spot to dismount in need of a good stretch. Katie seemed to slow her walk on purpose, as I began to catch up to her. Soon, we were walking side by side smiling at each other, every so often as we explored the old town. “Daddy! Daddy!” Katie suddenly cried out.

  “What’s up?” I asked, shocked.

  “It’s smoke!” Katie exclaimed pointing to the mountain above.

  “Fire!” Mr. Mac burst out.

  “I’ll ride back and call the fire-tower,” Katie said excitedly.

  “No,” Mr. Mac answered, “it’s no forest fire with all this snow.” We stared up at the curling smoke, and it seemed to vanish as fast as it started.

  “That’s strange,” Mr. McVicar said with a quizzical look. “There’s no camping around here. It’s my property.” Then the smoke was gone.

  Mr. McVicar looped the strap of his binoculars around his neck and headed toward the only brick structure in town. Climbing the old rickety, side stairs still attached, he tried to get as high as he could. Putting his binoculars to his eyes, he scanned in the direction of the phantom smoke. Charles, Katie and I also scoured the countryside, but saw nothing. “It looks as if we’ve reached a dead-end,” Charles said, “unless we ride toward the direction of the smoke.”

  “Look! Look up there!” I shouted, pointing frantically.

  “What?” Katie asked.

  “Did you see that Indian sitting on that big rock up there?” I asked excitedly. “There are no Indians here,” Mr. McVicar said smiling. “Have you been watchin’ too many cowboy movies?”

  “No, sir!” I said, knowing for sure I had seen an Indian. “He was dressed in rawhide and carried a bow and arrows on his back,” I continued. Everyone looked at me, said nothing and then suddenly burst out laughing.

  Without any warning a sudden cloudburst opened up, and we all ran for cover, pulling our horses as we did. Katie and I found cover inside an old saloon filled with cobwebs, broken glass, rotten wooden tables and an old piano with the keys smashed and missing. Charles and Mr. McVicar were across the street standing under a leaky old roof. “Katie, I really did see an Indian. I swear I did,” I said as I grabbed at her shoulder. I was begging her to believe me. I wanted her to know I would never tell her a lie.

  “Ian, I want to believe you, but there aren’t any Indians in this area,” she said. I looked at her dejectedly and headed across the road toward Charles and Mr. Mac. Katie followed behind looking forlorn. She knew I had been hurt when they laughed, and especially since she was questioning me herself.

  “Let’s have some food and head back,” Mr. Mac said. “The weather’s starting to turn bad.” After we ate the sandwiches Katie’s mom had packed in our saddlebags, we started ou
r journey home. There was little conversation on the way home. After a couple of hours on horseback, we reached the sprawling ranch. We went straight to the barn where Jeb and Brad took our horses to brush them and put them in their stalls. “Well, is everyone ready for a big dinner after that ride?” Mr. Mac asked. Everyone agreed that we were. We thanked Mr. Mac for the day’s adventure and decided to meet in an hour after we had freshened up.

  After enjoying a hearty meal of venison, pot roast and oven-browned potatoes, we all sat down and discussed the day’s adventures. Once again, my Indian came up and seemed to remain the topic of conversation. “Doris, did you know there’s Indians in them thar hills?” Mr. Mac asked with a smile.

  “Now, Duke,” Doris said, “be nice.”

  “Really, Mrs. McVicar!” I said, “I really did see an Indian!”

  “I’m sure you saw something, Ian,” Mrs. McVicar said. “But there are no Indians in this area of the state that we know of.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said, “but I know for sure, I saw that Indian sitting on the rock. He even had bright yellow moccasins on his feet!" I said emphatically. Mr. and Mrs. McVicar quickly glanced at each other, their brows wrinkling as they did so, the color seemingly draining from their faces. I glanced over at Charles, who seemed to be watching the McVicars’ response with a somewhat quizzical look on his face. Katie, sitting next to me, gave out a quiet gasp and looked over at her parents. Something very strange was happening in the room; that was obvious. Maybe I wasn’t so crazy after all.