Jericho Dawson led the three Pinkerton men and Bull Curry through a timbered mountain pass. The storm had hit and it was bitter cold. This country was not new to Jericho, and even with the sudden winter storm, he was in his element.
“Jericho, this wind is cutting me in half. How much further until we can set up a winter camp and get out of this cold?” Shiver shouted over the sound of the howling wind.
Without saying a word, Jericho motioned for the men to follow him into a stand of trees that offered a good windbreak. “Shiver, this storm is long from being over. It’s not letting up. On the other side of this forest, there is a valley that will take you to the Yellow Rock Station. I want you to turn back and take the horses with you. They will not do me any good, just make my task more difficult. I will take the pack mule with the supplies and go it alone.”
“We are willing to continue, Jericho. We didn’t come out here just to turn back when the going got tough!” Shiver said.
“The storm will be the death of all of us if you don’t listen to me. I know how to stay alive. The best thing you can do for the kids is come back after the storm passes. I will depend on you for that,” Jericho said.
Bull Curry moved next to the Pinkerton men and said, “I know there is no quit in you men, but Jericho is right. I will continue with him. I have weathered many a storm on the great plains. It would increase our chances of failure if we all try and fight our way through this storm. You are the backup we need to ensure we find the kids and get them safely to their mother,” Bull said.
“If that is what you think is best, we will head for the station. Mind you, as soon as the storm breaks, we will be headed straight down the tracks looking for you,” Shiver said.
Jericho set the Pinkerton men out on a trail to the station that would be hard to lose. “Shiver, you will be at the station before dark,” he said.
Within a few minutes, the Pinkertons had disappeared in the blowing snow. “Bull, those old boys are city born and bred. If we took them along, they would get us all killed. Let’s get going. The railroad tracks are about five miles or so that-a-way,” Jericho said.
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Two days earlier, a cold, icy wind blew across the mountain tops bringing steady sleet that turned the forest into an ice palace with icicles hanging from every limb. Elam had backtracked the horses until the storm hit. Then it was blind hope as he moved along the rails. Over a layer of ice, a foot of snow piled quickly along the tracks making footing slippery and forward progress slow.
Several times he slipped and fell. Occasionally, he would wipe the snow and ice away at a trestle finding the horse tracks making sure the children were still in front of him. His beard was covered with ice and snow and he wavered in his tracks. In this blizzard, he had come as far as he could. Now, he must seek shelter or he would die and not help anyone. He went to a trestle and decided to get out of the blizzard for a while and rest.
Shoving his heavy pack beneath the trestle, he crawled behind it to get out of the wind. Elam lay there wrapped in a heavy buffalo robe listening to the howling wind. His rest was short-lived as he could not rest knowing the kids were out in this cold weather. The country was now completely buried in a foot of white powder and more falling. Visibility was only a few feet in the driving snow, so it would be hard to locate a good campsite. Looking around the landscape, he decided the horses would have come around the low ground on the side where he now stood and up the grade. It should not be hard to backtrack them over the most likely path around the trestle. Making his way to the bottom of the grade, Elam looked up at the rails above him. For a few minutes, he walked back and forth until he finally decided that he had found the most logical path for the horses to climb back on to the tracks.
Elam went down on his knees and dug at the thick snow. There was the proof! The horses had torn the ground up climbing up the grade. The boot tracks of the man were also evident, but no children. Walking the path of least resistance, he made his way around the trestle and along the stream at the bottom of a gully. The stream flowed clear and strong. There was evidence of the horses crossing in the bottom of the stream. With bloodshot eyes and a tormented mind from worry, Elam found a shallow spot where he could cross by jumping to a rock in the middle of the stream. Exhausted, he crossed and removed his pack. Elam sat down on a rock and the snow quickly piled up against him. He could go no further. Knowing the children could not last the night in this storm, he bowed his head in despair. Surely, he had failed, sliding from the rock to his knees, he prayed, ‘Lord, help me--surely this has been the plea from sinful men like me throughout the ages. For the children and their mother’s sake, please help me find them.’
Exhausted Elam lay prone in the snow for a time before he realized he was covered thoroughly. It was a struggle for him to get to his hands and knees again. Having an overwhelming thirst, he crawled to the stream and lay face down, drinking the clear cold water. Raising his head slowly, he looked into the clear water. Below the surface, there was a boot print--a small print. It was Danny’s boot print. Frantically he brushed away the snow searching the soft soil at the stream’s edge. He built in his mind a picture of where the children had come and gone, time and time again to this very spot to fetch water.
Elam staggered weakly to his feet and hefted the heavy pack. Moving back along the direction of the mountainside, he saw a dark spot on the side of the snow-covered rocks. Moving carefully, he found a cave entrance. His heart raced as he called the children’s name. The black hole yawned at him and dread coursed through his mind as again he called their names. There was only the mournful wail of the wind and he knew the temperature was far below freezing. He was too late.
Inside the cave it was dark and cold. The only remnant of a fire was the smell of the smoked rocks. Elam shed his pack and quickly lit one of the candles that were part of his supplies. His tear-filled eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light and he saw the children against the back wall . Their faces grey and cold lying wrapped in Mary’s dirty and tattered blanket, the only blanket they had left. To keep as warm as possible, Danny had scraped dirt with his hands from the cave floor and piled against their bodies.
Elam quickly removed his buffalo robe and covered the children. With renewed vigor, he went about collecting all the firewood he could from a deadfall outside the cave. In a few minutes, the flames were high and illuminated the cave. Touching their cold faces, Elam spoke softly to them, “Danny, Mary, please hear me--I have brung’ your ma home for you. She is a-waitin’ for you--please hear me.” His big heart broke, and tears ran down his face as he sobbed, holding the small hands of the children, Lord, I will give my life for these little ones, take me instead. Falling back against the cave wall, he collapsed from exhaustion and slept. Outside the cave, a pack of wolves sniffed the air and peered into the opening as darkness fell.