Chapter 7: UP THE TRAIL

Abner and Clyde weren't all that eager to leave the warm comfort of the barn but after a few tickles of encouragement from the quirt Jess had borrowed from Jimmy, they decided to cooperate. Instead of each man leading a mule, Jess had roped them together with himself in the lead and Andy riding drag, which precluded conversation for the first few miles.

At their first break to let the animals rest and drink from a clear mountain stream tumbling over a rocky bed, the two dismounted to stretch their legs. Jess' knee was stiffer than he would have liked but the foot wasn't aching as much. He was able to get on and off his horse without assistance, but not with much grace.

"I thought you said that lake was only twelve miles from Centennial? Why are we stopping overnight before we get there? Boy, I'm winded like I've just been running on my own two legs... what's up with that?" Andy's breath was coming in short pants. So, he noticed, was Jess'.

"It ain't the distance what's gettin' to us, Andy... it's the altitude. From the Kelso's we go up another two thousand six hundred feet and that makes it harder for us and the animals to breathe 'til we get used to it. Air's real thin up here."

"Really?" Andy did the math in his head. "That means we'll be half again higher above sea level than Laramie is! How do you know these things, Jess?"

"Military survey maps... used to study 'em a lot when I was in the... when I was younger. Some fella name a Hayden—geologist what works for the U.S. Department of the Interior—just came out with some new maps a Wyomin' this year. They're sayin' next year President Grant's gonna make the Yellowstone some kinda national park what's off limits to development. I'd kinda like to see that, myself."

"Why would they need to do that? This is such a big country... we figured it out in civics class... the whole United States is three million one hundred twenty thousand square miles, give or take. And according to the last census, our population was thirty-eight and a half million. That works out to a hair more than twelve people per square mile. It'll take years and years to fill it up."

"Some places, that's eleven too many to my way of thinkin'," Jess retorted. "When you're on the train between Cheyenne and Laramie, whadya see mostly when you look out the window?"

Andy thought for a moment. "Um... tree stumps... miles and miles of 'em."

"And whadya see around Centennial? Any forests? Nope. Just more tree stumps. All them railroad ties gotta come from somewhere an' here's where they come from. An' that's just for one railroad track. What dya 'spose is gonna happen when they take a notion to start linkin' all them little towns by railroad 'stead a stagecoach? Why... there ain't gonna be a tree left in the whole dadgum state! That's why we need places set aside where nobody can go in an' cut 'em down!"

Andy gave his friend that little endearing lop-sided grin that always caught at Jess' heart. "Why Jess... I had NO idea you had any interest in conservation or environmental issues. This is a side of you I would've never guessed existed!"

Jess looked off into the distance, abandoning his diatribe for the moment. He spoke quietly.

"Yeah, well, kid... there's still a lotta things about me you don't know. You or your brother..."

An uncomfortable silence ensued, with Andy thinking doggone it... I've gone and hurt his feelings... and I never meant to...

Presently Jess stood up from the rock he'd been perched on. "I reckon we'd better get movin' if we want to make Kelso's shelter before dark."

"Yeah, okay..."

As they rode along, Andy recalled Slim explaining, years ago, how the distant mountains everpresent on the far southwest horizon were called the Snowy Range, but the area encompassing them was called the Medicine Bow because of the mahogany trees that grew on the lower slopes—their wood prized by many different Plains tribes for the bows of exceptional quality they provided.

The wagon track Andy and Jess were following had been blazed some four or five years ago by Union Pacific workers in their quest for trees for railroad ties. It still held deep ruts gouged by heavy-wheeled lumber wagons, and the gentle slopes of the foothills on either side still exhibited more stumps than trees, interspersed with secondary growth that would take decades to reforest. The grandeur of the old-growth timber canopy would not be restored in their lifetimes—if ever.

Gradually the stumps and immature trees were left behind and they reached an abrupt incline in the track—the end of the railroad's devastation. Someone, presumably the Kelsos, had continued blazing a trail upward, just wide enough to accommodate a small cart and winding sinuously through towering stands of fir, cedar and redwood. Tall grass and weeds were belly-high to the animals and they had to pick their way over windfalls.

In the last year and a half Andy hadn't spent as much time astride a horse as he had in the past two days... and was suffering the usual effects. No matter how often he shifted his weight from one haunch to the other, his nether regions were unhappy. How is it possible for your butt and hips and thighs to be so numb and at the same time ache so much? Hope my legs hold me up when it comes time to dismount again. How long before we reach that promised shelter? Don't dare complain to Jess... this was for me, after all...

Their path merged with a clear brook tumbling over rocks from pool to pool, too shallow for serious fishing, and followed it the rest of the way to a modest plateau with a two-acre lake backed up behind a beaver dam. The far side of the lake was boulder-strewn below a high escarpment, the near side featured a wide expanse of thick grass before the tree line started sloping downwards. The lakeshore on this side was flat and pebbly. And there stood the Kelso's 'shelter'... a more elaborate affair than they'd been led to expect, tucked into a grove of blue spruce. It was closed in on three sides, the open side facing the water, with a loft under the pitched roof.

A quick glance revealed that the bottom portion of the shelter was partitioned at chest-height in two large stalls separated by a smaller compartment containing a couple of saddle racks, various hanging hooks and a short ladder to the loft. The stalls were floored with pine needles, with tie-rings securely bolted to the back wall. Several feet in front of the shelter was a rock-lined firepit with a metal grate and four log segments functioning as seating.

Andy slid off and leaned against Ranger for a minute or two until his wobbly legs stopped quivering. Jess had no such trouble, except for the limp caused by the injured knee. They first stripped the tack off their horses, hobbled them, and turned them loose on the impossibly green grass, then set about unloading the mules. With the animals secured and peacefully grazing, Jess and Andy walked around back to check out the firewood supply. It was as Jim Kelso had said: a lean-to stocked with pre-cut lengths, ready to use, as well as a pair of oak buckets. They soon had a fire going and a pot of coffee on to boil.

Andy had no idea what time it was... there was still light but the sun was behind the escarpment so he couldn't tell how close to sundown they were. He had no complaints about stopping early this time—it was a blessing to his sore bottom and aching legs. When he squatted to rummage in the sacks Marge and Carrie had provided, hoping to find something immediately edible, he almost teetered over when he tried to stand up... would have if Jess hadn't been standing nearby and grabbed his elbow.

"You gonna be able to get up that ladder to the loft, sonny?" Jess queried, grinning.

"I was wondering the same about you... with your knee and all... old man," Andy retorted.

"Who you callin' old? If you think you're sore now, just wait 'til mornin' when you try to get back on your horse," Jess chortled.

"Thanks a lot!"

"I'm gettin' kinda hungry... anything interestin' in them sacks?"

"I think there's some stuff we can just warm up..."

"Where's that fryin' pan...?"

Just then there was a distinctly audible splash somewhere out in the lake...

"Beaver?" Andy queried.

When they'd ridden by the dam, the residents had slapped the water angrily and dived below the surface. Some braver souls had resurfaced and were cruising the territory directly in front of their domain, warily regarding the human intruders.

Jess' eyes narrowed as he listened intently and made a sign to Andy to hush up. There it was again... "No. Fish. Big 'un... I'm gettin' my pole..." He made to go to the packsaddles and Andy forestalled him.

"I'll get it..."

Jess snorted, trying to contain a belly laugh as the boy headed toward the offloaded supplies, waddling like he had a load in his britches.

Presently Andy returned with a long narrow flat package done up in brown paper and string—somehow he'd managed to load it without Jess' knowledge.

"Here... this is for you," he said shyly, thrusting it at his friend. "It's your birthday present."

"It ain't my birthday 'til next month..."

"I know. I was going to give it to you then, after Slim and I got back... but, well... things changed and it's something you can use now." Andy offered his pocketknife so Jess could cut the string.

Jess slowly unwrapped the package, which turned out to be a leatherbound case with a handle and brass locks... too large for a pistol, too short for a rifle or shotgun. He wasn't sure what he could use it for but it was a fine case nonetheless. He looked up at Andy, blinking.

"You shouldn't a wasted your money on me, Andy," he said softly. "Nice case like this, must be real expensive..."

Andy laughed. "That's not the present! Go ahead... open it up."

Jess did. Inside was a new three-piece split-bamboo octagonal fly fishing rod with brass reel and fittings. A smaller compartmented box within held an assortment of dry flies of all varieties.

"Well... I'll be dadgummed..." he breathed, then looked back up, perplexed. "Andy... I can't accept this... this musta cost a fortune... you can't be dippin' into your school money!"

Andy giggled. "Don't tell Slim, but I've got a lot more money than he knows about... won it gambling."

"Gambling? On what? You know how he feels about gambling..."

"Racehorses... back in St. Louis. We all do—Jonesy, Aunt Emma, Aunt Alice... Moira and Cosette, they're the maids. Othello Jones—he's the handyman—he gets hot tips from his brother that works at the tracks... we've all made tons of money..."

"But still... Slim ain't gonna like it," Jess said weakly.

Andy shrugged. "Well... we don't have to tell him... I'll tell him something else like... oh... I don't know... I did some odd jobs."

"Andy, that's lying an' you know it."

"Not exactly... I have done some odd jobs and have made some money that way... can't help it if work money gets mixed up in gambling money, can I? Besides, that rod came all the way from England, special order. I can't send it back."

Jess hands were twitching... he was dying to take out that beautifully hand-crafted rod and just heft it a time or two.

"Go ahead... line's already spun on it. The flies in the box aren't as pretty as the ones you make but they'll do for now. I'll get supper started..."

Dusk came on more quickly than Andy expected as he warmed up some of Mrs. Kelso's stew and fluffly cathead bisquits. Every time he looked up Jess was unhooking something and throwing it back... either the fish were too small or he didn't feel like cleaning any that late in the day. When Andy called him to come eat, Jess carefully diassembled the components, wiped everything down with his bandanna and replaced them in the case.

Jess sighed as Andy ladled out stew into his tin.

"Thanks, Andy... just... thanks. That's the finest birthday present I ever got in my whole life!"

"You're welcome. I saw it in a magazine way back in January and ordered it then. Took all this time to get here. I was real glad it came in time!"

After polishing off the stew and washing up their utensils, they watered the horses and mules and brought them into the shelter for night, tethering them to the tie rings. Andy noted they'd need more firewood for the morning and Jess went around back to get it. Stacking it inside the shelter, he suddenly yelped.

"Ow! Damnation!"

"What'd you do now?"

"Splinter!" He was shaking his right hand around as if he could dislodge it that way.

Andy rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'll get the medical kit."

Daisy Cooper's wartime nursing experience had forged a lasting friendship with the humanitarian activist Clara Barton, who was campaigning to create an American branch of the Swiss Red Cross Society. Emulating the 'Angel of the Battlefield', Daisy had created what she called a 'first aid kit'—a former biscuit tin now enameled white with a red cross emblazoned on the lid, which served as a compact, portable adjunct to the large wooden tea chest Jonesy had used to house medical supplies. Overriding Jess' complaint about unnecessary items on their packing list, Daisy had gone over the contents of the kit with Andy before entrusting him with it, adding, "You'll be needing this, traveling with your walking injury magnet there".

Not even an hour ago Andy'd been thinking... well, we've made it over thirty-six hours now without Jess hurting himself... So much for that! He recalled seeing a lantern and a tin of fuel in a corner of the storage area behind the ladder and brought them out as well. Dragging together the four improvised seats, he put the lit lantern on one and the opened tin on another. He and Jess sat facing each other, with Jess' hand palm up on Andy's knee.

Andy used the magnifying glass and tweezers to try weaseling out the offending sliver of wood but it was jammed in there good and tight in the crease in his index finger.

"Hold still, willya?"

"I am holdin' still..."

"No... you're not. Quit jerking..."

"Ow! That hurts!"

Just about the time Andy got a good grip on the bit sticking out, Jess twitched and it broke off, leaving most of it below the skin.

"Now see what you've done... I'm gonna have to cut it out..."

"Cut?" Jess snatched his hand back protectively. "Just leave it then."

"If it stays in there it'll fester. And then you'll be in a pickle. One tiny little cut... that's all... it'll only hurt for a second."

Jess shuddered. "Nah... it'll be okay."

Andy played his trump card. "Jess... it's your trigger finger!"

The other gave this about thirty seconds of hard thought then cautiously extended his paw. "Just be quick about it, okay?" His voice had a definite quaver and he had to look away.

How many times has Jess been shot... and then bounced back up to finish the fight? And he's whimpering over a splinter? Gee willikers!

Andy had thought to use his penknife but the kit contained a tiny razor-sharp scalpel that made a fine incision directly above the splinter. Jess closed his eyes, grimacing and flinching a little as Andy dug below the surface to latch on to the remains.

"Okay... it's out now."

"What? Already?" Jess had been waiting for the bite of a knife and all he'd felt were... pinpricks and mild stinging when Andy dabbed the wound with iodine and blew on it.

"There, all done."

Jess used his sleeve to dab the perspiration off his brow. "Reckon we'd best turn in, pard."

Andy'd already thrown the bedrolls up into the loft. He and Jess managed to negotiate the ladder, catcalling and making fun of each other at their clumsiness. To their surprise, there was quite a bit of still usable hay up there, most of which they tossed down to the animals through the slot between the roof and the loft floor. The rest they spread out as padding under their bedrolls. In no time at all they were both snoring.