Times were now rather tranquil at the Double D. Winter had set in, leaving behind the fall months that had included a great deal of excitement. The railroad celebration had been a great success—there had been no harm to the town’s citizens or property, and the tracks were now twenty miles west of Flat Peaks. The town, especially the sheriff, was relieved at the party’s outcome. The two new enterprises in Flat Peaks had been well accepted by the town and outlying ranch folks. Both business owners were staying busy. Of course, the ranch was on pins and needles with Thomas’ trip to find his family.
The ranch’s traditional Thanksgiving gathering was well attended and had gone off without a hitch, with many people asking about Thomas. Folks had heard rumors from Thomas’ original letter but wanted to know of any later happenings; however, the Double D folks could offer no additional information, hoping no news was good news. They still worried.
Prompted by their guests’ concern over Thomas, Douglas brought up the matter that evening with his wife as they were getting ready for bed. “I hope Thomas is doing okay and hasn’t backslid to the bottle,” he said.
“Why would you have a thought like that, Herb?”
“He’s a drunkard, Alice. He’s been sober for three years with us, but he still craves the bottle. If he gets depressed, he’ll be tempted to take a drink, and if he does, he won’t be able to stop. If you recall, he’d been drunk every day for ten years when you got hold of him. It’s a miracle you got him straightened out. He’s enjoyed a new life these past few years.”
“I didn’t straighten him out, Herb,” she said gazing into his eyes. “All I did was sit with him at nights for a couple of weeks.”
“You did more than that, sweetheart. You encouraged him to take care of himself, and you kept him busy. Your advice must have been a strong influence on him, too.”
“I didn’t give him any advice at all, Herb. All I did for those two weeks was to read with him from the Bible. God did all the influencing.” Douglas looked at his wife with admiration as she remarked, “He’ll be all right, Herb. There’s nothing to worry about.”
By mid-December there had been several snow days but also warm, sunny days, which kept most of the snow melted. On one of these nice days, Liz and Scar decided to go to Flat Peaks. After all, it wouldn’t be long until the deep winter snow would be here to stay, keeping them on the ranch until spring.
When they arrived in town, the first thing on their agenda was to check on the mail. Scar pulled the team up to the mercantile hitch rail. Since the road was a sloppy mess of horse manure and urine, he took Liz into his arms and carried her to the boardwalk. After looping the tie rope a couple times around the rail, they went inside to the postal area. The clerk wearing a white apron came hurrying from across the room. “Do we have any mail?” Scar asked, a bit of excitement in his voice.
“I’m sorry, Scar. I know you’re looking for a letter from Thomas, but there’s nothing from him.” Scar frowned as he gave a nod.
They were about to leave when he asked, “Has today’s stage come in yet?”
“The stage doesn’t provide the mail service to Flat Peaks anymore, Scar. The train took over two weeks ago. Some of the small towns off the beaten path still have stagecoach service.”
“How’s the service since the train took over?” Scar asked. “I imagine mail gets here much faster these days.”
“You’d think so, but it doesn’t. It’s been a mess. Ever since the train replaced the stage in Denver a month ago, the service has been terrible. A good share of the time mail gets here in two or three days from Denver, but you can’t count on it. Some of the mail has a month old postmark when it gets to Flat Peaks. You never know these days.”
Scar asked again, “Has the mail been delivered yet?”
“Not yet. The westbound normally comes through around noon. It carries the mail from the east.”
“I’ll either be at the newspaper or Jenny’s around that time,” Scar said. “If we get anything, could you get word to me?” The clerk smiled and gave his nod.
Scar and Liz went outside and stood on the boardwalk, looking disappointed.
“I sure thought we’d have a letter from Thomas this morning, Liz. He’s been gone for six weeks.”
“I thought so too, but maybe his letters are lost in the mail system. You heard what the clerk said.”
Several seconds went by before Scar spoke. “I’d like to stop at Jake’s, Liz, but first I wanna go visit Eli. Why don’t we all meet at the café at noon?”
“Can you drop me off at Betty’s?” Liz asked. “It’s two hours until noon. Maybe I can be of some help to her before we eat.” Scar swung Liz into his arms and returned her to the buggy seat.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, as her husband pulled back on the horse's reins.
“What’s with the buggy, Scar? Where’s Maude?” Eli asked when the team drove up to the livery and the big man stepped down.
“Liz came to town with me, Eli. She wanted to see how Betty was getting along with her shop and get a few things at the mercantile.” Scar paused. “I wanted to see if a letter had come in from Thomas, but there’s no word.”
“Let’s go inside by the stove,” Eli said. “It ain’t winter yet, but a little heat still feels good. I’ve got a fresh pot on. Made it a few minutes ago.” The men went inside, poured coffee, and pulled their chairs closer to the heat.
“I’m worried about Thomas, Eli. It’s not like him to leave us in the dark. If we don’t hear something soon, I’ve a notion to go looking for him.”
“Give him time. He may be on a trail and doesn’t have time to write.”
“I hope you’re right, Eli.” Both men picked up cups of steaming coffee. After a couple of swallows, Scar said, “Wouldn’t it be great if Thomas found his wife and kids and brought ’em back?”
“It’d be nice,” Eli responded, “but it’ll take a miracle for it to happen. Those kids aren’t little children anymore. They’re mostly grown up and will probably want to stay put.”
Three cups of coffee had been finished off when Scar pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s eleven thirty, Eli, and I haven’t been to Jake’s yet. I’d better get going. I’m supposed to meet Liz at noon.”
“I’m glad you stopped by, Scar. It’s always a pleasure talking with you.”
Jake was setting type when Scar entered the newspaper office.
Jake greeted him warmly but declined his offer to help. “I’m all caught up on my work, except for setting this type. It’s something I need to do by myself.” Scar took a chair by the door.
“We’re to meet Betty and Liz at Jenny’s Place at noon if you can spare the time.” The big man reached for last week’s paper. Minutes later, when Scar had reread most of the newspaper, Jake came from behind the counter, removed his apron, and the two headed off.
By the time Scar and Jake got to the café, Liz and Betty were already eating at a back table and carrying on a conversation with Jenny. Sitting on the table in front of two empty chairs were two plates chock-full of steaming food. “We went ahead and ordered for you…knew you’d be hungry.” The women went back to their talking and occasionally took a bite. The men looked at each other and took a seat.
Jenny had cleared the table and refilled their cups when the telegraph agent walked in. “Heard you were in town and figured you’d be eating this time of day. I’ve got a telegram for you, Scar. It’s from the governor.” Everyone went quiet as the agent handed the big man the dreaded brown envelope. They all imagined it contained orders for another dangerous assignment.
The agent had started off when Scar called to him, “Do you know if the noon train has come through?”
“Yes, sir. It stopped at the station about thirty minutes ago.”
As Scar raised his cup for a swallow, his eyes connected with Liz’s. They looked troubled.
As the buggy plodded homeward to the Double D, scattered snowflakes had begun to fall, but they went unnoticed by the couple. Finally, Liz spoke up. “Hand me the governor’s telegram, honey. We might as well get the suspense behind us and find out what he wants.” Scar took it from his inside vest pocket and handed it to his wife. She ripped open the envelope.
December 17, 1878
Washington is split on the Indian issue, and your help is needed. There is to be a three-day planning meeting in my office the third week of January. Dignitaries from Washington will be there soliciting our help to put all Indians on reservations. You’ll be sworn in as Director of Indian Affairs for the state of Colorado before they get here. Be here by Monday, January 17th.
Governor John Long Routt
Liz folded the paper and held it for a couple of minutes while thoughts crowded her mind. Then she handed it back to her husband. As Scar was putting the telegram away, he asked, “Have you noticed those dark clouds in the west, Liz? There’s a storm coming our way, and from the looks of things, it could be a bad one. We didn’t leave the ranch prepared for bad weather. I didn’t bring rain gear or a buffalo robe to keep us warm if the weather turned bad. We only have the thin blanket in the backseat.” Liz shared his concern as she observed the dark clouds in the western sky. They rode on.
Within ten minutes, snow was coming down at a fairly fast rate, and a strong wind had come up. The farther north they traveled, the more the wind and snow picked up, bringing with it a considerable drop in temperature. Within the half hour, snow was coming down so heavily the visibility was restricted to less than ten yards. Liz reached in the back, retrieved the thin blanket, and pulled it over their heads and around their shoulders. “How much longer before we get to the ranch?” she asked.
“We’re not quite halfway. It’ll take another two hours to get there…maybe a little less.” Scar didn’t want to alarm his wife, but he was afraid of losing his bearing. They were in a circle of white. Nothing much could be seen. The wagon track ruts were quickly filling with the blowing snow. His only guide was the direction of the wind. It normally came from the west during storms but not always. He had heard many stories about men who had used the wind as their course, only to become lost for days. Scar thought he was going in the right direction, but he wasn’t sure, so he loosened the reins and gave the team the lead.
“What are you doing, Bart? How come you slacked up on the reins?” Liz asked.
“I’m a little disoriented, Liz. But don’t worry. The horses have been over this trail many times and will have a sense of the direction home.”
They plodded on through an ever-increasing amount of snow and strong winds. Soon there was no visibility whatsoever. “It’s getting cold, Bart. I believe the temperature has dropped twenty degrees or more.” Liz didn’t complain in spite of her fingers and toes feeling like icicles.
“Cuddle up closer to me, sweetheart, and keep the blanket tucked in. It’ll help keep us both warm. Remember to wiggle your fingers and toes.” Her husband put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. The horses trudged on.
Scar was worried. What if the horses are as disoriented as I am? His mind had pondered alternatives for several minutes when he noticed a path of fresh tracks crossing in front of the horses. When the tracks were directly under the buggy, he pulled the team to a halt. “What’s going on, Bart? How come we stopped?”
“We’d better hole up, Liz. The storm is getting much worse.
The temperature must be below zero. We’re not dressed for these conditions. With this wind, our exposed skin could freeze.” Scar didn’t want to scare his wife, but he wanted to be honest with her. “Besides,” he said after a pause, “I’m not sure the horses are going in the right direction.”
“What’s your plan? What should we do?”
“There’s fresh animal tracks heading off to our right. They look like antelope tracks to me. I’d guess they're heading for the mountain stream flowing south to Flat Peaks.”
“Why would they be doing that, Bart? Couldn’t they get their water from the snow?”
“They’re not going for water, Liz. There’s an embankment by the stream with trees lining its bank which blocks the wind. That’s where they’re going.” He paused, looked into his wife’s eyes, and then said, “That’s where we’re going too, Liz. We have to find protection from this storm.”
“How long will we stay there? Will we have to spend the night?”
“More than likely,” he said.
Within ten minutes, they reached the stream. They were freezing. “You go hunker down beside the embankment, Liz. It’ll keep the wind away. I’ll gather some wood and get a fire going.” After the fire was blazing, Scar went to the team. He unhitched them from the buggy, removed their harness, laid it under the
buggy, and led the horses into a thicket beside the embankment where he hobbled them. He then went back to his wife. “How are you doing, Liz?”
She was within a foot of the blazing fire with the blanket spread overhead catching the heat. “I’m doing okay. Get under the blanket with me, Bart. It’s a little warmer under here.”
“I can’t, sweetheart. I’ve gotta dig us a cave in the side of this embankment. I’ll be back in a little while.” Scar headed for the stream where he found a flat rock about a foot square and an inch thick. Then he went to where the embankment jutted up several feet and started digging into the hill at ground level. He used the flat rock he had found to chisel the dirt out of the embankment and pulled the loose dirt onto a mound three feet in front of the dugout. His goal was to dig out a three-foot round opening, five feet deep into the embankment’s side. It would be hard to accomplish because of the frigid temperature and the blinding snow.
Scar had to be careful. Even though the temperature was well below zero, he might start sweating if he worked too aggressively for long periods, and he knew sweaty clothing in this temperature could cause one to freeze. So, he dug in ten-minute increments, occasionally going back to Liz to check on how she was doing and to add wood to the fire.
By the time Scar had his makeshift cave finished and had enough wood gathered for the night, the sun was long gone. The dark clouds blocked the light from the moon and stars, but the light from Liz’s fire reflected off the snow, lighting up their surroundings a little. Scar was tired physically and mentally, and he still had one more job to do before bringing Liz to the cave. He had to build a fire between the mound of dirt and the cave opening.
It wasn’t long before the fire was going and the cave’s temperature warmed considerably. Liz turned to her side and was soon sleeping. Scar stayed awake, however. He was sleepy but felt the need to stay alert, if for no other reason than to keep the fire burning. He wasn’t worried about their immediate safety any longer. They could last a few days in the makeshift cave if necessary. There was water and plenty of wood nearby. His concern was for the folks at the Double D. They probably wouldn’t worry too much at them being gone for one night, thinking they had stayed with Betty or Jake, but if they were gone two nights and the weather didn’t break, someone might chance it and come looking for them.
The night was long. His thoughts took him to the scheduled meeting with the governor and the dignitaries from Washington. Why are so many people against the Indians’ way of life? Can I help the governor defuse the Washington men’s thinking?
Scar questioned being appointed to the state’s cabinet. He was young. Did he have the experience? Was he capable? He knew he could never be a part of sending the Indians to a reservation. Many were his friends.
“A horse ranch,” he mumbled minutes later. Will we ever get one? Not unless I discover a gold mine or some other money-making venture. He grinned at the thought and then continued his daydreaming. Raising quality horses on a sizeable ranch would be a good place to raise our children. But the thought of children brought a slight pang of wonderment to his stomach. Liz should be pregnant by now. Wonder what’s wrong.
Scar was still having thoughts about the future when the eastern sky started turning gray. Not long afterward, the gray turned to a bright sunrise. Scar crept quietly from the dugout to avoid awakening his wife, leaving her to sleep a little longer. He stretched, taking in the clear December day. It was cold, but the sky was bright with white clouds floating eastward. The landscape was coated with several inches of white. The high-up mountain slopes to the north with evergreens reaching for the heavens were beautiful.
He looked toward the horses; they were not where he had put them. He hurried to the top of the embankment and found them clearing the snow with their hobbled front legs, looking for grass. He went after them.
Thirty minutes later, Scar called to Liz. When she crawled from the dugout, her dress and shoes were caked in mud, and her face and hands were streaked with dirt. Her red hair hung in dirty strings. But to Scar she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
After both had their fill of ice cold water from the stream, they boarded the buggy and headed north in the chill of the morning. They had traveled a mile or so when Scar said, “You don’t have to worry any longer, Liz. Everything is going to be all right.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she said, snuggling closer. “I’m always all right as long as you’re by my side.”
The big man looked at Liz. Then he pulled her to him for a long kiss. The horses could find their way back to the Double D.