I laugh, to see how your unshaken Cato
Will look aghast, while unforeseen destruction
Pours in upon him thus from every side.
So, where our wide Numidian wastes extend,
Sudden th' impetuous hurricanes descend,
Wheel through the air, in circling eddies play,
Tear up the sands, and sweep whole plains away.
The helpless traveller, with wild surprise,
Sees the dry desert all around him rise,
And, smother'd in the dusty whirlwind, dies.
Joseph Addison, "Cato"
Jamestown, California, previous day, 1874
Martin Peale approached to lean in the doorway of the cell block and gaze speculatively at its sole current occupant. The man lazily turned his head to look right back at him, his brown eyes almost black in the dim light, his expression amused.
"Rich girl socked you a good one, did she, Sheriff? How come she's not locked up in here now? I was waiting, hoping maybe you'd treat me to a new roommate. Mmm, mm." He closed his eyes, smiling and humming as if imagining eating a delicious meal.
Peale smiled as well, though there was no humor in his eyes. "Yes, she did. Wasn't expecting that, I must admit. Good thing for you she wasn't that close when she put you in your place, don't you agree? You wouldn't be alive to tell about it."
The lazy brown eyes opened again with a flare of anger, quickly suppressed. Peale continued. "I have a few errands and tasks that I'd rather not share with my deputies, things I think are better suited to a man with your experience. I propose a trade. You follow a few simple instructions in my service, and I will direct you to where you can rendezvous with the troublesome rich girl and enjoy her company outside of these walls. Does that appeal to you?"
The dark eyes flared again, though now Peale saw interest and a feral energy. "You'll outfit me?" the prisoner asked. "Ain't got no gear."
"Certainly."
"Then you got a deal."
"Excellent. I need to make some arrangements, attend to some details. This evening, you and I will talk again."
Jamestown-Sonora Road, December 1, 1874
The gods, in bounty, work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert
Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice
Virtues, which shun the day, and lie conceal'd
In the smooth seasons and the calms of life.
Joseph Addison, "Cato"
With varying degrees of curiosity and apprehension, the five travelers watched the two deputies pull up their lathered horses on the road, dismount, and approach on foot. Heath appreciated that simple courtesy, and wondered if these two youngsters might not be as rude and bigoted as their boss. It was basic good trail manners not to raise dust or kick up mud in a person's campsite.
The next thing Heath noticed was their eager and apparently genuine deference to Marshal Smith – again, surprising in an emissary from Sheriff Peale. Heath maintained his right-hand-man position, standing slightly behind Smith, watching the two men carefully. They resembled each other, and he suspected they were brothers. They were watching him too, Heath saw, though not with respect or deference. The wary looks they sent his way spoke loudly of their distaste and disapproval of his presence there. Fear of him, and frank hostility, were visible as well, but suppressed, Heath imagined, in order to maintain decorum. Heath wondered what ideas Peale had put in their heads about him. They were clearly busting with pride and were even a bit star-struck at having been sent as messengers to the renowned Marshal; their admiration for his admittedly impressive career was plain. The more senior – and more confident – of the two announced their identity and purpose with what appeared to be a practiced speech.
"Marshal Smith, sir, I am Sean Thomas, Deputy to Sheriff Peale of Jamestown. This is Roman Thomas, also Deputy to Sheriff Peale. It's an honor to meet you, sir. We bring you an urgent message from the Sheriff, sir." They glanced nervously at each other, then stood rigidly at attention, awaiting the Marshal's response.
John raised his eyebrows in surprise and brought a hand up to stroke his chin in a gesture that looked thoughtful, but was intended to cover a smile. He deliberately turned his face away from the deputies and looked to Audra with amusement. She stifled a laugh. She was relieved the two men seemed relatively harmless, and was enjoying the fact that John had included her in the humor of the moment. John regained his professional demeanor quickly, she saw, but he winked at her before he turned with all apparent seriousness back to the visitors.
Audra had noticed immediately the respect and admiration with which the two deputies approached John. While she had had many opportunities to observe Smith in his professional role in Nevada, this was really the first time she glimpsed something of his renown as a marshal across the western states, and the widespread esteem in which he was held. She began to feel a certain proprietary pride in her stepfather.
Stepfather? She rolled that unfamiliar word around briefly in her mind, trying it out, and was surprised to find she rather liked it. She then put that thought aside, because she had also noticed the very different looks these deputies were directing at her brother, and that was making her hackles rise. She studied Heath, knew he sensed it too, and marveled at his ability to be still and calm and observant.
Smith, too, could see it, and could practically smell Peale's influence on the deputies' attitudes. He turned and walked over to stand in front of them, tall and imposing. His grey eyes studied them for a long moment, while their anxiety visibly rose. Heath felt some sympathy for the two young men. He knew well what it felt like to be under that steely scrutiny. Knowing also it would not serve him well to get lost in those memories, Heath firmly directed his attention back to his task at hand. Watch. Wait.
"At ease, gentlemen." The order and the air of command came easily to Smith; Heath could tell by his own gut response to the Marshal when he chose to take the lead. The two deputies relaxed their stance.
For his part, John found himself wondering where these two got the idea that he would expect this kind of rigid military formality. Was that also Peale's influence? The US Marshals had a strict hierarchy and chain of command, certainly, but as an organization they weren't much for marching and decorum and standing in line like toy soldiers. They had far too much wild ground to cover. The service sought individuals who could think and act independently, because "independently" was often the only approach a marshal had available.
"What urgent message?" he asked.
The younger deputy stepped up and produced an envelope from inside his jacket, extending it to Smith. "Sheriff Peale sent us with a letter, sir. We're instructed to wait while you read it, in case you wish to send a reply. Sir."
Nodding, Smith accepted it, then turned and walked away from the deputies as he opened the envelope. All four of his outlandish companions approached to stand close by him, waiting to hear what Peale had sent; to Sean and Roman's amazement, their proximity seemed acceptable, even welcomed by the famed Marshal. It made no sense. They looked at each other in confusion and distress. Two girls (both dressed like men), a bastard just out of prison, and a Jew? How is that possible? Why? What is the Marshal doing?
John ignored the two unsettled messengers for the moment and steeled himself to get through Peale's long, and – as he was certain it would be – unpleasant letter.
From: Martin H. Peale, Sheriff
Jamestown, Tuolumne County, California
30 November, 1874
To:
John G. Smith
U.S. Marshal for the 9th Federal District
Honorable Sir,
I am writing this in haste to transmit to you intelligence which may have a direct impact on your safety in your travels. My sincerest apologies for not having this information in hand during the favor of your visit to my office yesterday morning. I have dispatched these two junior deputies as the most expeditious way to bring you and your party up to date on local conditions and circumstances. Several crises and hazards have developed in the vicinity of Sonora which you would do best to avoid, especially given that you are traveling with two ladies, and an assistant who, most would assume, requires your closest supervision.
The local Indian situation has flared intermittently but dramatically in recent months in the wake of the defeat of the northern Modoc last year. One expects that such a spasm of violence here in our region is but a last gasp of resistance from these Digger tribes before the nuisance of this race is eliminated completely, however, I have received reports today of intensifying sorties against White people and their properties.
To summarize:
A rogue group of Miwok, calling themselves Chakka, have been actively raiding in and around Sonora, hitting ranches and travelers, even ambushing our militias in order to steal horses, food, and supplies, and also liberate Diggers being moved for relocation. They have made several bold attacks in the past two days, and I worry deeply, Marshal, about you traveling as you are without any reliable back up or support on hand.
The Chakka, I am told, are practitioners of the Ghost Dance, a pagan apocalyptic Indian cult of which I am sure you have heard. These rogue Miwok spread the practice wherever they have opportunity, with dances and rituals to bring an end to the White Man and raise all their Indian dead back to life to take back what they have rightly lost to the advance of civilization. Their leader leaves a mark of a black tree whenever they strike.
In response to this latest burst of insurgence, the US Army has provided troops to accomplish the capture of any Miwok and Yokuts Indians – any who are not indentured or otherwise assigned to a White household or enterprise – and remove them to a temporary holding area outside Sonora, pending their final transfer to a reservation designated for these tribes in the vicinity of La Grange. These Army units are on loan, so to speak, operating under the command of Colonel Harrison Morgan; he answers, however, directly to our Governor, who directs his efforts as he sees best for the welfare of our State.
Please understand: The US Marshals have no jurisdiction in the activity of these militias, and no mandate regarding Indian affairs other than the taking of the census. I beg you to give Morgan and his troops a wide berth and do not interfere, especially since you are so new to your post in this state. Colonel Morgan served under General Canby for over ten years, since their defeat of the Confederate rifles in New Mexico. He was devastated by Canby's assassination by the treacherous Modoc last year. He is a man who will brook no obstacle to the completion of his mission.
The holding camp to the south of Sonora, moreover, is fraught with death and disease. The Diggers are incapable of organizing a subsistence for themselves, though they are left alone to manage however they choose in the camp, just as they have said they prefer. Many are starving, I have heard. Just now, influenza is raging everywhere in the country, but in the camp the Indians are dying at a rapid rate, especially the children and the infirm. In addition, it was confirmed to me today that an epidemic of typhus has developed in the camp - arising from their savage and unsanitary way of living no doubt – and this also is causing many deaths. All medical and nursing personnel have been withdrawn from the camp for fear they will spread the diseases to the towns and White homesteads. The people of Sonora are becoming alarmed at this threat to their public health, and have been pressing the Governor to relocate these Diggers away from settled areas as soon as possible – or find some other solution. You can imagine, I'm sure, what solutions have been considered – the rising cost of metals to make bullets has been an incentive for us merely to let nature take her course in this instance.
So again, I advise you, give the holding camp a wide berth, as you are traveling with vulnerable companions. The ladies with you, I am sure, would be traumatized by exposure to such destitution and disease; it is far worse than the small outbreaks to which your most charitable new wife and stepdaughter have ministered in and around Stockton.
Your Deputy, on the other hand, might find the conditions in the camp a little too familiar for his comfort.
In that vein, by the way, not only was Colonel Morgan a great admirer and acquaintance of Tom Barkley when he was alive, it occurred to me that he and your deputy might also know of each other. Morgan was Canby's Judge Advocate officer when they liberated Carterson, though I suppose he could be forgiven for not remembering an undistinguished NCO. I did make a point of letting Morgan know of your assistant's curriculum vitae, so to speak, just in case you do cross paths.
I do hope, though, that you'll heed my advice and avoid the military patrols. I would suggest redirecting your route to the northern approaches to Sonora, conclude your business there quickly, and head back to that lovely mansion of Victoria's as soon as possible. You should enjoy your holiday, though I imagine you still feel like a guest of Mrs. Barkley and the family. Most men wouldn't be able to give up being head of the household, even to a woman as impressive as Mrs. Barkley, but you have shown yourself admirably humble and compliant in this. I suppose, though, what choice does one have when confronted with such an economic disparity? What is a man to do in such an odd situation?
I find myself apologizing again, Marshal, because I pose questions and offer no answers. I hope my digression into personal thoughts and observations can be forgiven. I wish you safe travels, and regret I could not give you this information in person. I hope you will honor me again in Jamestown in the near future.
With great regard, Marshal, I remain your humble admirer and fellow servant of the law,
Sincerely,
M. H. Peale, Sheriff