Scar had stopped fifteen miles east of Pinneo for his afternoon coffee. He sat in a field of lush grass with his coat collar up, waiting for the water to heat. Ten yards away was a mountain stream. Maude had been unsaddled and was now grazing. She had already been to the creek and had made two or three attempts to roll over. Their stop would not be lengthy, maybe thirty minutes, but it was time enough to stretch, build a fire, and drink a couple of cups of coffee. By the time they left, Maude would have a full belly and enough rest to complete the final leg of their day’s journey.
Once they were back on the trail, the balance of the afternoon was uneventful. They did get a glimpse of deer bounding over a ridge and an eagle sailing in the far-off sky. Scar was glad he chose a seldom-used trail to ride, instead of the more traveled road in the meadows to the south. The scenery was breathtaking. Huge virgin pine trees looked as though they were reaching for the sky, and the vertical cliffs bordering much of his travel were amazing. Mountain streams flowed down rocky beds wherever the terrain allowed. Overhead in the deep blue heavens, pillow-like clouds floated eastward. Huge boulders jutted up occasionally, causing the trail to wind around.
Scar estimated there was another hour of travel left when he saw black clouds rolling their way. “We’d better find shelter, girl. There’s a storm coming,” he said conversationally. Maude quickened her step. Scar often talked to his mule. Of course, she never answered, but he truly believed she understood what he was saying.
Thirty minutes later a fire was blazing under a rock overhang. The outcropping protruded eight feet from the cliff, had nine feet of headroom and was open in front and on both sides. The back of the outcropping was cut into the cliff’s wall, four to five feet deep. He had gathered several armloads of wood and was now on his way to the creek for water. Maude had found a patch of grass and was making the most of it before the storm hit. Black clouds were close by, but the rain hadn’t arrived.
Scar poured a second cup while the bacon was cooking when Maude walked under the overhang. She was dripping wet. A short time later, she lay down at the back. Scar knew she was tired. It had been a long day.
After eating, he spread his ground cloth, unrolled the bedding, and put a few more pieces of wood on the fire. He removed and placed his boots by his rifle, which was nearby. Sitting on his bedroll with his back against his saddle, Scar watched the rain come down amidst the firelight. It wasn’t long before snowflakes were intermingled with the rain. Scar knew the ground would be covered with a couple of inches of white when morning came, but he wouldn’t let snow bother his travel. Thanksgiving was only a week off. He wanted to be home to celebrate with Liz and the rest of the Double D—the people he considered family. His thoughts paused for a minute or two as he drank his coffee. Then his family of yesteryear came to mind.
He recalled his childhood days in Blainsboro, Pennsylvania, when his pa was off to war. He remembered his ma and how hard she worked while his pa was gone, how she helped him with his school work and the times she read to him from the Bible. Scar remembered as if it was yesterday, the terrible day of her death, November 7, 1870. She died two months before her baby was to be born. I was thirteen.
His coffee was cold, so he tossed it out and poured more. After a couple of swallows, his mind raced back to his childhood. He remembered his pa’s skinny body and his bloody handkerchiefs from coughing, due to his consumption. Their trip on an Ohio River barge to Cairo, Illinois, and from there on a Mississippi River boat to St. Louis as they pressed on to Colorado was still a vivid memory.
He recalled his pa buying Maude and Frankie and a large wagon with a bonnet while in the big city. His thoughts went to his pa’s death on the trail a few days after leaving St. Louis. “He died less than a year after Ma died,” he mumbled.
A gust of cold wind brought the big man back to the present. His shelter had become cold in spite of the close-by fire, so he drew his blankets around him and was soon sleeping. From habit, he woke after a few hours to put more wood on the fire. It blazed quickly, illuminating falling snow.
Scar woke to the sound of Maude getting up and the wind blowing. It was first light and snow was swirling down. He rose, shook out his boots before stomping them on, and put on his hat and coat. He added wood to the fire, and while going for water, he saw Maude chomping grass in an area where she’d cleared the snow.
He prepared his normal trail breakfast, three bacon and biscuit sandwiches with plenty of steaming black coffee. The hot coffee was especially fitting this morning because of the blizzard-like wind blowing through his shelter. After eating, he went to the stream for water to douse the fire. Afterward, he removed his rain slicker and repacked his gear before whistling for Maude. She snipped a few more mouthfuls, went to the stream for water, and then ambled to the shelter. He had the saddle waiting. After pulling the saddle girth tight and knotting it, he tied his bedroll and both bags behind the saddle.
The second day’s travel toward home was much like the first, except for the wind and snow. The wind had eased, but the snow was now eight inches deep and still coming down. Travel was a little slower due to Maude’s cautiousness in the deep snow, but at the same time, the slower pace gave Scar comfort, knowing she’d most likely stay sure-footed if she didn’t hurry.
In an effort to find a good shelter for the night, their day had lasted longer than normal, and it was now turning gray in spite of the snow-covered ground. Scar was about to give up and build a make-do refuge when he saw a dark spot on the side of the cliff. It was a cave.
Scar woke to a bright sun the next morning. He looked back to say something to his mule, but she was gone. She sneaked past me in the soft sand, he thought with a smile as he placed firewood on the red embers. Before heading outside to collect snow for coffee, he stood at the cave’s entrance wall, looking for possible intruders, a habit he’d developed years past. He saw nothing except Maude, who had gone back to the far-off meadow for grass.
Scar was humming songs as he packed and readied Maude to travel. He was in a good frame of mind with thoughts of Liz and the Double D. If his travels went well, he could be to the ranch by noon tomorrow.
Maude stepped out at a fairly good pace considering the snow was now ten inches deep. It had warmed a bit, and the sun’s rays had caused an ice crust to form. Maude’s hooves made a crunching noise each time she punched through the icy snow. They were only a couple hundred yards from the cave when they rounded a boulder and Maude stepped on a pile of snow-covered loose rocks, causing her to stumble. She would have easily recovered if the big man had been paying attention, but his mind was on home. His weight added to the downhill force of the already stumbling mule. As she fell, he was thrown off, and Maude slid twenty feet down the mountain on her side. Scar immediately rose and ran to her. “What have I done to you, Maude?” he said in an apologetic voice. “It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” Maude was lying on her side with legs stretched out. Her eyes looked glassy. He made a fast overall assessment. Only her left side was visible. He then examined each of her legs. Both hind legs and her left foreleg looked normal, but as he raised her right foreleg, he saw a six-inch laceration above her knee that was bleeding quite profusely. He quickly removed his bandanna and made a tight tourniquet around her leg, which stopped the bleeding. He removed the saddle and other gear she was carrying and placed her head on his thigh. Scratching her forehead for several minutes seemed to calm her.
It wasn’t long before she raised her head, pulled her legs under her body, and stood. Scar examined her right side but found no injuries. He patted her neck and scratched her forehead for a spell before picking up his saddle by its horn and slinging it over his shoulder. Then he picked up his carpet bag, and turning to Maude, said, “Let’s go, girl.” After she had taken a few steps, he noticed she was lame in front.
They walked cautiously back to the cave. Maude went to the back wall where she stood three-legged. Scar quickly kindled a fire from the wood he’d left. After placing the coffee pot full of snow on the fire, he went to his mule. Even though the gash was ugly, he knew it would not cause her to limp, so he tenderly rubbed her injured lower leg with a small amount of pressure. When he moved his hand down her cannon bone to her pastern, she flinched. “You’ve sprung your pastern, girl,” he mumbled as he stood. “It’ll heal up in a couple days, but we’ll have to keep a hot wrap on it till then.” His mind went to Liz. The telegram I sent her said I’d be home by tomorrow, but with Maude’s injury, I’ll be at least two days late, maybe three…she’ll be worried.
Scar put these thoughts aside and started tending to Maude. She was his first priority under the present circumstance. He retrieved a clean pair of his underdrawers from his bag, cut off both legs with his boot knife, and went for the steaming pot. Squatting by his mule, he poured the hot water on the underdrawers and wrapped her pastern carefully. He then started tending the ugly gash. After he removed the tourniquet and saw the bleeding had stopped, he retied the bandanna, pulling the gash closed, which would enhance the healing process.
The day passed very slowly. Scar replaced the wrap on Maude’s pastern with a hot one every hour or two. Between times, he sat drinking coffee with his mind on the past.
Scar remembered the terrible experience he’d had with Luke Mills two days after burying his pa. Luke forced me to his cabin out of the rain, he remembered. During a drinking rage, he beat me with a rawhide whip, cutting nine bloody gashes on my back. I remember raising my head pleading for mercy when the whip tip caught my jaw, cutting my face open and leaving the scar I now carry. He did not recall much after the beating except for riding away from Luke’s place on Maude.
Scar was told later Alice and Herb Douglas, along with Liz, were traveling to Colorado in a ten-member wagon train when Liz found him lying unconscious on the prairie, tethered to his mule. They provided him a bed in their wagon where Liz and her mother attended to his medical needs. Mrs. Douglas had applied ointment and wrapped his back wounds. After much pondering, she concluded his facial wound, which was reeking with rotten flesh, was causing blood poisoning. It had to be cut away and cauterized with a red-hot branding iron during an evening stop on the trail.
Scar remained unconscious from the time Liz had found him until five days after the cauterization. She and her mother had taken care of him during the entire time and continued to do so for several more days. Scar’s reminiscing finally came to an end. He was brought back to the present when he heard his mule lying down.
Three days later, Scar woke to a warm fall day and a missing mule. He added wood to the red embers and ambled to the front of the cave to look for her. Maude was eating in the same location she’d been to every day since being on the trail back home, at the mountain floor where the long-stem prairie grass grew. She was pawing snow away from the grass with her injured left leg, which pleased Scar. He sliced bacon, gathered snow in his pot, and a few minutes later sat against the cave’s wall holding coffee and eating his biscuit and bacon sandwiches. He was trying to decide whether to leave or not. I’ll wait and see how Maude walks back to camp. If she’s still limping, we stay. If she’s not limping, we’ll leave, he thought.
He allowed her to eat for another forty-five minutes and then whistled. After eating the grass in the spot she’d cleared, Maude started up the hill. Scar’s eyes were on her every step. She was not limping.
By the time Maude was in camp, Scar had scattered the red coals and packed his gear. He carefully examined the mule’s wound and then applied a good amount of pressure to her pastern. She didn’t flinch. Both injuries seemed to be in fair shape. He stood scratching her forehead for a minute or two and then saddled her. It was at this point he decided to walk. He knew his two hundred thirty-five pounds would not be good for Maude’s recovery. Maude followed the big man but seemed perplexed because he hadn’t mounted. Onward they went. It would be a long walk back to the Double D.