Chapter 2

 

The dream didn’t scare Nathan.

It just wore him out.

All night long he walked behind his grandfather’s wagon, tossing rocks out of Indiana bottom land. He woke up tired.

A cool morning breeze now rubbed against his cheeks and lifted his eyelids. He half expected to see his grandfather standing there, urging him to continue.

With the polished buck-horn handle of the hunting knife gripped tightly in his right hand, he sat up quickly and looked around. The dream confused him.

Looks like Nevada. Where’s Mom and Dad?

For some reason Nathan remembered the time he and Bradford Oakes slept all night on a raft and ended up drifting six miles downstream. They thought they had been kidnapped by river pirates until Bradford’s dad came looking for them.

That’s the worst whippin’ I ever got.

Nathan scrounged up a few more sticks of wood and rebuilt the fire to warm his hands.

If Oakes were here, he’d know what to do. Nathan told him his folks would probably find gold and get rich, but he just laughed. He said he’d stay back in Indiana and protect Melissa.

“If there’s anyone in the world who doesn’t need protecting, it’s her. Bradford, you’re crazy,” he called out to the wind.

Then Nathan turned to a nearby sagebrush and spoke to it as if it were his friend.

“Now look, Oakes, I’ve got a bit of trouble here. See that town way down there? Where the white reflections are? Well, that’s Galena. And over here, see those buildings next to that big tin barn, or factory, or whatever? Well, that’s supposed to be Willow Creek, and that’s where my parents are waiting for me. I’m going to find them today. I don’t plan on spending one more night alone. It’s only a few miles. I’m going to grab my stuff, hike down there, and, and . . .

“I’m going to stop talking to myself.”

Nathan climbed the boulder that had served as a backdrop for his camp and scanned the north. Barren mountain ridges unfolded in silent regiments of canyons and cliffs. Down the steep slope of Big Belle, Willow Creek seemed only a few miles away in the clear mountain air. But Nathan suspected it was further. A chill rolled up his back as he stared at the distant outline of the town. He was anxious to finally come face to face with his parents. And yet there was an ache of fear in his stomach. Would they be there?

He stuffed his belongings back into his suitcase, grabbed it up without fastening it, and spilled most of the contents on the ground. As he scooped them up, he stopped abruptly and fell to his knees to examine the fresh tracks ahead of him.

That wolf! He was here!

The dirt was smooth next to a small sage just across from where Nathan had slept. He followed the track for only a moment as it zigzagged down the mountain.

It had spent the night right here.

Fumbling with his suitcase once more, he pulled out his hunting knife and turned toward Willow Creek.

“I’ll need to hit him with something big, like a rock. Yeah, I’ll hit him with a rock. Then I’ll grab him and stab him with my knife. Of course, I’ll have to do it quick. They say wounded animals are more dangerous.”

His voice faded into a whisper. The brave words hid his rising fear.

Nathan’s feet felt stronger as he began the descent. He rushed halfway down Big Belle, finally stopping to catch his breath. Tossing his suitcase to the ground, he leaned against a lone boulder, the only thing standing out from the smooth high basin landscape.

Pulling his hat low and squinting his eyes, Nathan scanned the red-layered sandstone mountainside. The clear, blue Nevada sky and the stark silence made Nathan feel absolutely alone. Then near a cluster of sage he spied the beast. Their eyes met.

After a long moment, Nathan blurted, “I know you know that I know you’re following me. Well, don’t mess with me. I’ve got a knife! And my dad’s in Willow Creek, and he’s got a gun. You get too close to me, and he’ll blow your head off!” Nathan waved the knife, then turned, and hurried down the mountain.

His feet felt raw and hot again, and that familiar pain began shooting up both legs. For the longest time Willow Creek didn’t seem to be getting any closer. His mouth parched, his lips chapped, Nathan finally limped onto a dusty wagon road.

The dream of a grand meeting with his parents gave way to the reality and pain of the day. Nathan knew for a fact that when he found them, he would just break down and cry.

A half-mile from Willow Creek, he still could not see any signs of life, but once his feet began tracing the wagon rut, he forgot about looking back for the wolf.

The trail into town wound through the dig holes of disappointed prospectors. To Nathan, it looked like a village of giant prairie dogs. The brown earth blended into reds, yellows, and whites as it was scooped and piled on the slopes of the rolling mountains. Every inch of ground looked as if it had been dug up and examined. Tunnel shafts had been blasted out of mountainsides. Broken and rusted mining equipment cluttered the landscape.

With a rush of energy, Nathan sprinted the last hundred yards, forgetting about his blistered feet, tired muscles, and the stalking animal. Long stage rides, towns full of strangers, and embarrassing scenes lost their grip on his mind.

“I made it,” he shouted. “Willow Creek, Nevada, Nathan T. Riggins is here. I did it!”

His yell was the only sound he heard. Otherwise empty. Almost like a dream—the kind Nathan used to have. He would dream he woke up, and everyone he knew was gone, and he didn’t know where they went.

Willow Creek, Nevada.

Just one wide dusty street with a double row of unpainted wooden buildings and sidewalks facing each other like toy soldiers that would never go into battle. But there was no blue and gray. A rich coat of red dirt caked everything in sight.

It was like going to school on a Saturday. Everything’s in place but the people! Between the street and the mountains scattered remains of tents and half-built structures.

But not a song.

Not a shout.

Not a baby’s cry.

Not a dog’s bark.

Not a mother yelling at her children.

Nothing.

Nathan walked down the south side of the street. One building had hooks where a sign had hung over the door. All the building’s windows, casings, and doors had been removed. Inside was an empty shell of a room that sported a freshly painted sign on the wall: “No Spitting Allowed.”

Next door stood a building fully furnished. A small dust-covered couch lined the entry way, and a benchless piano filled the center of the parlor. Musty pictures tilted on the walls. Some newspapers were stacked in the corner.

“Hey, is anybody home?” he yelled.

The words seemed to be sucked up into the fading red wallpaper.

Nathan thought the noise of his own shoes on the wooden sidewalk seemed terribly loud ... and lonesome.

Another building was completely boarded up, and a note was scribbled on the front door: “Charles, we’ve gone to the Jersey district.”

Nathan read the note over and over. He hurt really bad inside. He searched for some hope, some sign that his parents were still in town.

At the end of the street, Nathan saw a structure that was really only half of a building. The wooden walls went up about four feet, with a big white tent forming the top half of the room. Inside, he found long tables and benches. In the back was a kitchen behind some blankets that had been strung across a rope in the dining hall. Hundred-pound sacks of flour lay ripped open in one corner. Little black bugs swarmed over the white powder on the floor.

Nathan crossed the street and pushed his way into another building.

“Hey, where is everyone?” he called out through the doors of a place named The Three Queens. He spotted several bullet holes in the wall and jumped as a rat ran across the bare floor. He quickly backed out.

At the Willow Creek Mercantile, Nathan stepped through the window. This building, like many of the others, had all the window glass and frames removed. Wooden shelves still lined one wall, but otherwise the place was stripped. He noticed several broken boxes standing guard around a blackened spot on the floor that had once been the home to a wood stove.

He felt hungry, thirsty, and very alone. Sitting down on one of the broken boxes, he looked around at the empty, musty room. He didn’t want to cry. Not yet. For weeks his daily survival had rested on the fact that one day he would stand on these streets of Willow Creek and run into his parents’ arms.

Tears, or something that felt like tears, began to drip from his eyes.

He had no other plan. This had been his only goal.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even want to try to figure it out. Lord, I’m tired of this. I’m too young. It’s not fair. You promised to be with me wherever I went, but here I am, all alone.

After a few minutes of watching his tears splash tiny, muddy puddles on the floor, Nathan took a deep breath, stood to his feet, and declared, “I’m starved!” Searching every square inch of the building, he spotted something brown behind one of the standing shelves.

“It might be an old loaf of bread!”

By placing his feet against the wall and pressing both hands on the shelves, he pried the case away and grabbed the hidden object. It turned out to be a pair of knee-high beaded deer hide moccasins.

“Oh, great, I wanted something to eat, and all I find—”

Nathan sat down on the floor and pulled off his store-bought shoes, carefully unwrapping the rags and inspecting each foot. Slowly he slipped on the moccasins and tucked his pants inside as he laced them up. There was a turquoise and coral pattern halfway up the side of each moccasin.

This is the only good thing that’s happened to me in weeks.

He was still sitting on the floor admiring his new footwear when he heard a pounding noise and a crash from the rear of the building.

“Who’s out there?” Nathan yelled by instinct as he ran for the rear of the building. He was still yelling when he swung open the back door.

Towering over him on its hind feet was a snarling black bear wearing something that looked like a yellow bonnet.

Nathan wanted to scream.

His mouth was open, yet no sound came out.

Nathan wanted to turn quickly and run.

But his feet felt nailed to the floor.

Nathan wanted to cry.

Yet even his tears were frozen with fear.

He heard another growl and a snap from the side of the building. Both he and the bear jerked around to see an animal flying through the air at the back side of the bear. Returning to all fours, the bear retreated behind some outbuildings.

Nathan took a deep breath and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

It’s that wolf. It jumped the bear!

The animals roared up the hill toward a large tin- roofed building that looked like it was built in layers. Nathan watched as the bear burst through a gate toward the entrance of the building. The other animal halted, prowled a few steps, and then sat down to guard the bear.

“You two just about scared the breakfast out of Mrs. Fromly.”

The sudden sound of human speech sent goose bumps down Nathan’s back. He spun around to see a tall, bearded man, his arms hanging over the barrel and stock of a shotgun slung straight across his shoulders.

“Who are you?” Nathan blurted out.

“Guess I scared you a bit,” he laughed. “I suppose you thought this town was empty. I’m Earl Thunder.” He took his arms off the shotgun and lowered it. “Who are you?”

“Nathan T. Riggins from Indiana, and I’m looking for my parents, David and Adele Riggins. Have you seen them?” Nathan spat out the words quickly and gasped for a breath of air like a person who has been swimming underwater for a long time.

“Well, Nathan T. Riggins from Indiana, just relax a bit. Don’t guess I know your folks. If they were in Willow Creek, they aren’t here now. I suppose they saddled up for Jersey, like the others.”

“Aren’t there any people in town? My parents wouldn’t go off and leave me. They knew that I was on my way.” Nathan was startled to hear his voice sounding so hurried and high-pitched, out of control.

“Sorry, son. Look around if you like. But Tuesday McReynolds left town last week, and he was the last. He had been laid up with a fever and couldn’t go on with the others. There’s no one around these parts but Mrs. Fromly and me.”

Nathan took a deep breath. “Who’s this Mrs. Fromly? Maybe she knows my parents.”

“Now that might be. But she don’t talk much.” Mr. Thunder chuckled.

Nathan looked up at the big man. “Well, where is she? I’ll ask her.”

“You and your dog chased her into the stamp mill.” “The bear? Mrs. Fromly is a bear?” Nathan shook his head in disbelief.

“Sure is. Tennessee Martin brought her down when she was a cub. I guess you’d call her the town mascot.” “But the hat?” Nathan questioned. “Why does she wear that?”

“One time she got into some fresh pies at the hotel, and the cook threw a hatchet at her. It just pealed off the hide on top of her head, and for several months we had a bald bear. Then Tennessee tied that bonnet on her so she wouldn’t get sunburned, and she’s worn it ever since. Looks strange, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Is she dangerous?”

Earl Thunder grinned. “Only if you’re holding food and she’s hungry. What’s your dog’s name?”

“Dog? You mean that.. . wolf?” Nathan pointed. “Wolf? Son, he may be a scraggly mutt. He may even have a touch of coyote, but for sure, he’s no wolf. Look how that left ear flops down, and look at the color

of the eyes. Anyway, I know he’s your dog. I spied him following you all the way into town.”

“Well,” Nathan added, “he’s not my dog. He just hung around my campfire last night, that’s all.”

“He might not belong to you, but you belong to him. He proved that when he dove at Mrs. Fromly.” Nathan shoved back his hat. “I belong to him?” “What makes you think humans are the only ones who choose to have other creatures for friends? This dog has decided that you and him ought to be pals. He doesn’t seem to care what you think of the arrangement.”

“A wild dog? What kind of friend is that?” Nathan questioned.

“A better one than some men I’ve known. Out here a fella needs plenty of friends, even the kinds with hair and fur.”

“I’ve got enough problems without having to take care of a dog,” Nathan protested.

Earl Thunder started to approach the dog, who growled and circled around toward Nathan. “Sizing up that mutt, I’d say you won’t have to feed him much, and you sure won’t have to protect him.”

“You don’t understand,” Nathan said. “I’ve traveled across this country by myself to meet my parents, and all I find in Willow Creek is a lousy, half-starved dog!”

“Well,” Mr. Thunder replied, “it doesn’t sound like he’s getting much in the bargain either.”