“There was this man, ways back, a lot like you, Jack. He had life figured out real well. Had all the fixings you need to scratch a living. Well, one day, he got the notion in his skull to go get some more out in California. So he builds himself this huge wagon, ’cause you know, a man like that can’t just travel like normal folk.
“Anyway, he stuffed his whole family in there and headed out west. Slow goin’ for a long time. Passed just below Utah. Time kept wearing on them, and winter was coming.
“Folks in the train started getting antsy and second-guessing each other. Tempers got hot. They always do when things go bad. Folks get downright mean.
“One day, that man got into a fight with someone he’d been riding with. Ended up killing him dead before he knew what had happened. City man, clean hands, now finding himself standing over a dead body. Something he never reckoned he’d ever do. He couldn’t imagine at what he’d just done.
“As you can reckon, folks don’t get too comforted with having a murderer around them. Naw, they prefer their killers pushed out away from sight. So they all got around and tried to decide what to do with him. Some said to kill him, some said turn him out.
“Folks who said ‘turn him out’ won over. So they put him on a horse and made him ride out. No food. No gun. Out in wild country. They thought it’d be the easy way to kill him. He’d end up dead, but they wouldn’t have to do it themselves.
“Can you think what went through his mind, having to leave behind his wife and kids in the wilderness, winter comin’ on and still a long way from where they were going? He knew he was a goner, but then he must’ve known they were goners too.”
They kept walking, Boots talking, Jack listening, up the mountain.
“That man was strong, however. Most would have given up at that point. Not him. That’s the time that stubbornness comes in handy. He refused to give up the ghost. He made his way on his own to California. Alive. Then he waited out there for his family to come. They never did.
“Waiting. The misery of waiting. It can tear a man up.”
The crunching of rocks below their feet beat a rhythm to Boots’s story. Up the mountain.
“Then one day, word gets to him that his kin are still alive, but stuck in a mountain pass in the dead of winter. Stuck in a place that got turned to all kinds of evil.”
Boots stopped, and straightened his back. He looked up the two-track as if looking through time.
“Some of the worst things swept through that pass. Folks turning savage. Not human.”
Boots resumed the upward trudge.
“Anyway, that man hears that they are up there. So he goes back for them. Pushing through snow and cold. He finds them all and brings them home.
“Man had everything, lost it all, then he guts it out and gets it back. Not all, but what mattered most is what he saved. All it took was a little beatdown to set him straight.
“You may not like me, Jack. You may hate me. It doesn’t matter. What matters is, are you goin’ to go up there and get back what matters most?
“Not too many folks get a chance like this. To prove themselves. But it was what you always wanted, ain’t it. Wanted to show what you’re made of? Well, here you go. Served up on a stick for you.”
Jack watched his feet, his legs beginning to burn from the climb. He had the vague feeling of a man being marched to the gallows.
Halfway up the ascent, a small foot trail broke off to the left, and Boots stopped and sat on a rock. Jack came up a couple paces behind, bent over, and put his hands on his knees. This uphill slog was torture, his legs were burning, and sweat was pouring out of his pores. Boots looked little affected as he reached into his satchel and handed Jack some water. He drank it down in several gulps, feeling ashamed that he didn’t ask if Boots needed some. By the looks of it, he didn’t.
“How much farther?”
“Not too much. Just about a half mile more,” Boots said, taking the container back and closing his bag. He stood up and pointed up the two-track. “A couple more turns and the road ends in a clearing. On the other side, there is a cave. They’re in there. Both of ’em.”
Boots stretched his back, and then started up the foot path, away from the road. Jack started after him.
“What’re you doing, Jack?”
“Following you.”
“Naw . . . your road’s right there. That’s the path you’re supposed to take.”
Jack looked back at the road, surprised.
Alone. He was being told to go alone.
“But . . . where are you going, Boots?”
“I got my own business needs tending.”
Lost, his head swimming. Jack was paralyzed. He took a couple steps back but couldn’t get himself to start the climb up the two-track. Apprehension filled his body and rooted his feet in place.
“It’ll be all right, Jack. You can do this. Just head up that road and get Laura. Whatever gets in your way . . . you take it down.”
Easy advice from someone going the other way, thought Jack. It made absolutely no sense to him. The old man had taken him this far, knew exactly what road to take, where Laura and Molly were; he even had a shotgun in his hand, all the keys to save them right and quick. But now he was leaving Jack just when he could have been of some use.
Running away. Just like he ran away to his shack in the desert. All talk and no muscle. All back-country wisdom and no action.
Jack looked at the gun in Boots’s hand, imploring the old man to hand it over with his eyes. Boots slung it over his shoulder in response.
“Naw, Jack, you don’t need this. You’d probably shoot your hand off . . . or kill one of them girls by mistake. Nope . . . you need to just march up that hill and take back what’s yours. Simple as that.”
And with that, Boots headed up the twisting foot trail and out of sight. He didn’t look back, but his voice boomed down from above, “Now get going, Jack!”
Jack started slowly up the two-track, the way ahead now surrendering to nightfall.