the Lonesome Gods (1983) (8 page)

My father got into the wagon at the last and sat near the back.

Nobody talked. Some of us dozed. We were descending slowly, and we had been told it would be hot. The sun came up and the coolness disappeared. Fraser hesitated, then with a mumbled apology took off his coat. After a bit, Fletcher did likewise, and unbuttoned his vest.

"It's below sea level down there," Fraser said suddenly. "One of the hottest, driest places in North America." Nobody answered him. He mopped his face, and the
n
he said, "It used to be an old sea bottom, or maybe the bottom of a lake."

My father looked around at him. "When we get down a little further," he said, "you can see the old beach line along the edge of the mountains. There are seashells there, some of them thin as paper, and they almost crumble in your hands."

"But surely," Miss Nesselrode said, "that was a very long time ago?"

"A very long time," my father said, "yet the Indians have memories of it. They say the basin has filled up five times within their memory. There is even a rumor of a Spanish vessel that came in through a channel from the Gulf of California, a channel opened by a sudden break when the sea poured in. However, when the ship could find no way out, it returned, to find the channel blocked, and it was trapped."

"What happened?" Mrs. Weber asked.

"The crew were killed by Indians, the ship drifted, hung up somewhere, and was buried in the sand. At least, such is the story. Of course, according to the story, it was loaded with treasure."

"Nobody found it?" Fletcher asked.

"Not yet. At least there's been no report of it being found."

"There might be something to it," Miss Nesselrode suggested. "Did not the Spanish believe California was an island? The crew evidently hoped to sail around the other end."

"It is possible."

"Treasure?" Fletcher muttered. "A shipload of it?" "That could be," my father said, "but I doubt it. Some pearls, perhaps, as they had just come up the gulf, where there were pearls and pearl-fishing. I cannot think why they would be carrying treasure and going away from Mexico."

"Maybe they were stealin' it. Maybe they just wanted it for themselves," Fletcher suggested.

"In any event," my father said, "the area that was onc
e
underwater is very large. It would be there or along the shores somewhere."

"Betcha some of them Injuns know where it is," Fletcher commented. He turned his eyes on my father. "They tell me you know them Injuns. They might tell you where it is."

"They might," my father said. "Indians have their own ways of thinking, and many of the things important to us are not at all important to them. Also, they might not think it safe to tell another white man where Indians had killed white men."

"Scare 'em into tellin'," Fletcher suggested.

Fraser looked at him contemptuously. "From what I have heard," he said, "Indians do not scare easily."

It was growing hotter by the minute. "It's mighty hot," Farley told my father, "but I want to get to the mountains. Once we get to Agua Caliente, we can hole up. Stay a couple of days, if need be." He paused. "Do you know the place?"

"I do. It is likely you'll find some Cahuillas camped there."

"I never knew them to be trouble."

"They are not, if you respect them and their ways." "They the ones who helped you?"

"One of the tribes. The Luiserios and Chemehuevis did also."

There was no more talk. It was very hot, and I tried to sleep. The wagon rocked, rolled, and rumbled, dragging through sand, bumping over rocks, sliding down banks. After several hours Doug Farley stopped the wagon and gave a small amount of water to each of the horses.

Fletcher raised up on his elbow at the sound of water being poured. "How about some of that for me?"

"Sorry. We'll have no water until we cross the desert." Fletcher sat up, grumbling, but Farley paid no attention. Fraser pulled his skinny knees closer and tried to write. Mrs. Weber dabbed at her nose with a flimsy handkerchief, and Miss Nesselrode simply leaned her head back and closed her eves.

Nobody talked, nobody wanted to talk; they just sat. "Oven!" Fletcher said suddenly. "It's like an oven!" Mrs. Weber fanned herself with her hat. She had removed it at last, and her hair was drawn tight to her skull except for buns over each ear. Her hair was parted in the middle, and she looked more than ever like a tired bulldog.

Miss Nesselrode opened her eyes to look toward Farley, who sat on the driver's seat. I had not noticed before how large her eyes were. She caught me looking at her, and with a perfectly straight face, she winked.

I jumped. It was so unexpected, and I had never seen a lady wink before, although Papa sometimes did. But her wink from such a straight face was so droll that I had to smile, then I grinned, and she smiled back, then closed her eyes. I decided I really liked Miss Nesselrode.

It was almost dark inside the wagon when my father sat up. I had been asleep, and so had most of the others. Jacob Finney was driving the team, and Farley was sitting in the very front of the wagon behind him, his eyes closed.

"We're comin' up to Indian Wells," Jacob said over his shoulder. "Hear the place started as a spring, but the water level kept falling. Now they have to go down steps to get to it."

It was cool now. It was as if the heat had never been. Mrs. Weber put her hat on, and both Fraser and Fletcher put on their coats, but not before I saw that Mr. Fletcher carried a small derringer in his vest pocket. Later, when we had stopped and were alone, I told my father.

"Good!" He squeezed my arm. "You are observant. I like that, and it is important."

"It is on the left side," I said, "and the butt is turned toward the left."

"Oh?" He paused a moment. "Now, that is interesting. The butt toward the left? That I had not noticed."

Chapter
9

It was after midnight when we stopped at Indian Wells. My father climbed from the back of the stage, stagg
ering a little.

"Mister?" It was Kelso. "You all right?"

"Yes, yes, thank you. A little unsteady, is all. Will we be here long?"

"We're changin' horses here. Our stock's about played out, an' Farley had planned to get a fresh team for the long pull through the pass." He pointed off into the darkness. "There's the Indian well that gives the place a name, but maybe you know all that.

"You have to go down steps to get to the water, but it's good water. Cold."

"I could use a drink. So could my son."

There was a pause while Kelso removed his hat and wiped the sweatband. "Lunger?" he asked gently.

"I'm afraid so. I've been coughing less since I reached the desert, though."

"Whyn't you stay over at Agua Caliente for a few days? Folks say that hot, dry air is good for lungers."

"I haven't much time, Kelso. I am taking my son to his grandparents in Los Angeles."

Mr. Kelso walked away in the night and my father put his hand on my shoulder. "Hannes? See that big old palm tree over there? The Indians say one of their wise men, when he was growing old, turned himself into that tree so he could continue to serve his people."

"How could he do that?"

"He willed it. He stood very straight and very still an
d
willed himself to become a tree, and slowly he began to change until he became that tree."

"Do you believe it, Papa?"

"I have never seen such a thing happen, Hannes. My reason tells me it could not happen, but my reason can only judge by what I know, and I do not know everything. "Indians are different from us. They have other beliefs, and other reasons for believing. It is best not to dispute what the Indians say, but to listen and learn, making your judgments later."

He glanced toward the small building where the light shone from a window and an open door. "Stay by the stage, son. I shall be back in a minute."

No one else had left the stage. All were asleep or trying to sleep. Mr. Kelso and my father had both forgotten the cold water, and I was thirsty.

The men who had taken the horses away had not returned with the fresh team. Edging closer to the rift in the earth where the well was, I peered down. Far below I could see the gleam of water.

Carefully I tried the first step, then another. One by one I descended. When I stood on the square of earth near the water's edge, I looked up. All I could see was a rectangle of sky and two stars. When I looked around, straining to see in the darkness, I saw a huge olla or jar, and hanging beside it, a gourd dipper.

Dipping it into the cold water, I drank and drank. Nothing had ever tasted so good. I filled the dipper again, and then realized somebody was watching me.

It was an Indian, a very, very old Indian wearing a loose cotton shirt. His hair was thin and gray, bound with a band around his head and hanging to his shoulders. Suspended from a cord around his neck was a triangle of blue stone with markings on it.

"Oh? I am sorry, sir. I did not see you at first." I dipped the gourd into the water and held it out to the Indian, who merely looked at me. Then my father called, and I put the gourd dipper down and hurried up the steps. "I am sorry, sir. Please forgive me," I said over my shoulder. My father was beside the wagon and he turned at th
e
footsteps. "You had me worried. I was afraid you'd wandered off."

"I was getting a drink."

When the wagon was moving again, I said to my father, "I saw an Indian."

Fletcher was sitting up. "Ain't likely. They tell me Injuns don't come to the well no more. Not at night, anyway." "He was very old," I said, "and he had a piece of blue stone hanging from his neck."

"Turquoise," Fletcher said. "They set store by it. More than gold." He glanced at me. "Turquoise is a kind of rock," he said.

The new team moved off at a good gait, Finney driving. Farley had crawled back into the wagon and found a place where he could recline on the blanket rolls. "Next stop is Agua Caliente. You've been there before, Verne?" "Yes, several times. It's right at the door of the San Jacintos. Some of the Anglos are beginning to call it Palm Springs. There's nobody there except three or four white men and some Cahuilla Indians."

He paused. "I am expecting some mail there."

He leaned back against the baggage, and after a while I did also. I was tired, tired for want of sleep and tired of the wagon. I just wanted to be someplace and not to have to go on, day after day.

Lying awake in the dark, I thought of that lost ship, trapped in an inland sea from which it could not escape, sailing around and around forever until someday it ran aground and could sail no more. I dreamed of finding that ship and going aboard and finding chests of gold and chests of pearls.

Or chests of turquoise like the old Indian wore.

The horses were trotting now, hurrying. We would soon be in Agua Caliente, and then on to Los Angeles. How many more stops? Five, six, a dozen? I did not know. The wagon rumbled along in the night and my father sat up, bringing his holster around to a better position. He took his rifle and placed it beside him also.

Was there to be trouble, then?

A long time later, when I had slept, awakened, an
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slept again, the wagon rumbled to a stop. Peering out past Mr. Finney's head, I could see a lighted window and a door opening to let light stream out. A man came from the door and hurried toward the wagon.

My father moved to the back of the stage and slid to the ground. He had straightened up when the man came around the wagon.

"Verne? Are you there? Is it you?"

"How are you, Peter? It's been a long time."

"Let's go inside and have some coffee." The man was as tall as my father and had a handlebar mustache of golden brown, and a goatee. He glanced at me. "This is your son?"

"Johannes? This is Peter Burkin. He's an old friend." "We've got to talk, Zack. Serious talk. Let's all go inside."

"We've only a minute. We're just changing teams again. Farley's in a hurry to get in."

"That's just it, Verne. You mustn't go any further. If you go into Los Angeles, you will be killed. You and the boy as well."

"What?"

"They're waiting for you, Zack."

Chapter
10

They went inside, and I followed. It was a small store with a bar along one side and three tables. Behin
d
the bar were a few bottles; behind the counter on the other side, were some packages, cans, and boxes of groceries or supplies.

My father dropped into a chair. His face was gray and his eyes hollow. He looked worse than I had ever seen him.

"Peter, I've got to see them! I have to convince them! My son will need a home and he has no other kin.

"I'm not worried about dying. I've accepted that and I expect I'm as ready as a man ever gets. If they kill me, it will only lessen the suffering, but it is Johannes who matters."

"You don't understand, Zack. The way they see it, you disgraced the family by marrying their daughter, and your son is living evidence of their shame. They want him dead, Zack."