Down to a Soundless Sea (16 page)

The next day Doc made his stitch-splint-and-patch rounds out at the mines and, after passing a cheerful hour with his erstwhile host, Willie Cruikshank, Doc turned Daisy’s head west and followed the sun out of the mountains. Doc took Willie’s timely advice and traveled a different course out, an
old but well-cut track down Plover Canyon. This wagon trail had survived the storms with little apparent damage, and it made a pleasant, shaded descent for both man and beast.

They crossed two swollen creeks, so Daisy refreshed herself easily and foreswore her usual objection to regaining the trail. Their course met the main track running north just as the sun crossed into its last quarter. There was a passable drover’s shed on the banks of Little Grass Creek about three miles ahead, and it was there that Doc planned to bunk down for the night.

The creek fed a shallow meadow rich in clover and sweet grass and Doc knew that Daisy would find the extravagance only a fair exchange for her devoted services on his behalf.

The track north led back into a narrow canyon and down into a miniature, canopied glade of scrub oak and storm-twisted cedar. Suddenly, just as they were about to enter the bower, Daisy stopped dead and threw her head from side to side. Doc peered into the twilight shadows but saw nothing overtly sinister. He coaxed Daisy forward, but she complied only under protest. They hadn’t traveled but a few yards when Doc spotted a strange movement by the side of the trail thirty feet ahead.

Doc reined in and watched carefully. He fixed the movement once more. Its motion was low to the ground and lurching, but it was the pattern and color of the form that seemed oddly familiar. Doc dismounted and, leading Daisy, walked toward the movement with every confidence that the situation was benign. He didn’t know how he had come to that conclusion, but he followed through with it nonetheless.

Suddenly Doc released Daisy’s bridle and rushed forward. He had established the figure as being that of a man struggling on his hands and knees. He was wearing a filthy plaid
shirt and carried a thin bedroll tied across his shoulder. His boots had more holes than leather, and his jeans were torn and bloody.

Doc Roberts immediately recognized the symptoms of advanced exhaustion and dehydration. He at once retrieved his canteen and medical kit from the cart. Doc insisted that the thirsty man sip the water very slowly while he tended to his other injuries.

It was obvious that this poor derelict could not possibly walk, and without food, water, warmth, and rest, his hours on earth were numbered.

It took some applied effort, but Doc managed to haul the broken figure up into the cart for the short ride to Little Grass Creek and the shelter of the drover’s shed. Daisy managed all quite nobly, even though she was somewhat spooked by the incident. Doc would see that she got a special ration of sweet oats to go with the fresh clover and pure creek water.

It was during the short journey that Doc learned that he had delivered a transient cowboy who had walked north all the way from San Luis Obispo to find work in Salinas. His name was Jersey Dean, and he hailed from Santa Maria.

He said that he had started out adequately equipped for the journey. He had purchased a sturdy burro, and the creature had bravely shouldered all his gear for many miles. But five days ago they had been attacked on the trail by a very large bear. The beast had killed the burro with one mighty bite to the neck and had driven Dean off.

He had spent a rain-soaked night in a tree. Dean had tried to retrace his steps the following day in an attempt to regain his gear, but the bear had dragged the animal away, gear and all. He was lucky to have found his blanket, and he was not
prepared to contest his remaining possessions unarmed—Dean’s old Colt pistol had unfortunately been packed on the burro, which gave the bear the edge in firepower. Doc laughed at the quip and commended the cowboy for his discretion.

Doc found the drover’s shed in good order. It was really little more than a large, three-sided log hut, but it had a solid roof and four plank bunks against the facing walls. The fourth side of the shed was open to a broad stone hearth sheltered from the elements by the extended eaves of the structure. The fire reflected its light and heat into the shed by virtue of a stone screen erected behind the hearth. A secondary lean- to at the side of the first sheltered a good supply of dry wood, and as soon as Doc had put Dean to rights on one of the bunks, he set about building a substantial fire to drive the foggy chill from the shelter’s interior.

The lack of food was a problem with few remedies. Doc rarely carried anything substantial in the way of rations for the trail. The smell of cooking or tree-stashed provisions was a magnet for predators, and Doc generally preferred to shelter without their company.

He did possess two pounds of venison jerky, black tea, salt, sugar, various condiments, and a large cake of portable soup, but he carried little in the way of utensils to prepare the same. A collapsible tin cup and an old army mess kit served his purposes, but allowed for limited entertaining.

The shed came equipped with a bucket, an axe, and a large rendering kettle that would serve to heat water once it was clean.

Doc cut fresh cedar boughs and made a more comfortable berth for his new patient nearer the fire. He used his own blankets to cover the branches and made a passable pillow from
Daisy’s oat sack. Then he helped the grateful Dean to bed down more comfortably.

Doc took the kettle down to the creek to clean it with wet sand and did the same with the bucket. He set the first on the fire to scald and disinfect. Then he topped the bucket from the creek and set water on to boil. When the first kettle had boiled to the point of sure sterilization, he poured it off into the bucket, let it cool somewhat, and then bathed and dressed Dean’s cuts and abrasions.

The cowboy blessed all the saints to have found such a Samaritan on the threshold of certain extinction. Dean swore he would repay the doctor for his generous kindness if it took a lifetime. Doc Roberts allowed that his patient’s offer was more than attractive, but totally unnecessary. Hard money would do. Doc’s fee was two dollars cash or eight live chickens, but terms might be arranged for a responsible client with steady employment.

Young Dean smiled for the first time in days, though it hurt his cracked lips. Doc noticed the boy wince and promised to be less entertaining until he recovered somewhat.

For sustenance, Doc cut up venison jerky into small pieces and cooked it with a large cube of portable soup in boiling water. He garnished the brew with meadow chives he found while staking out Daisy to graze.

When the venison had made a proper broth and been tenderized for a weakened constitution, Doc slowly fed a portion to Dean. Though frail, Dean was ravenous, and it took some effort to assure that he paced his intake. Doc Roberts also insisted that he drink small amounts of warm sugared water often.

The next morning brought dense fog, cold, and intermittent
rain. Doc thought it best not to risk traveling under those conditions, especially with his patient still in such a feeble state. So rather than idle away his time, Doc set about seeing to their common comforts now that there was daylight to work by. First he built up the fire and went to fetch Daisy from her breakfast in the meadow. It wouldn’t do to have her stand out in foul weather all day. That kind of thing always put her in a contrary frame of mind.

Doc brought her near the fire and rubbed her down with fragrant grass and cedar boughs and, when she was nominally dry, covered her with her blanket and installed her at the back of the shelter where she could remain warm and dry. On such a day she appreciated the consideration.

Jersey Dean slept so soundly that no disturbance could possibly penetrate his dreamless refuge. Doc took his pulse several times and was content that the cowboy still remained among the quick. Exposure and exhaustion were not simple conditions to remedy in a drover’s shed in the middle of the wilderness, but Doc always liked challenges and he was tenacious as a problem solver. He contemplated the slumbering figure and recalled that only innocent children and octogenarians were blessed with true rest. To that list he would add exhausted young cowhands.

Doc recalled having seen fresh rabbit pellets in the little green meadow where he had allowed Daisy to graze under the trees. Doc never hunted for sport and only rarely out of necessity. He carried an old navy Colt in his saddlebags, but that was for scaring off curious predators.

He wasn’t sure he could hit anything with it if he tried, and he judged the caliber too large to leave behind much rabbit if he should prove lucky enough to hit one. Somehow Doc
needed to come up with reasonable rations if his patient was to gain enough strength to make the journey north.

At last Doc fetched a small reel of fishing line from his kit; selected flexible sticks from the woodpile; and with the help of his razor-sharp pocketknife, proceeded to manufacture six of the neatest rabbit snares one could imagine. Banking the fire with dry wood, Doc went off to set his snares. He discovered a generous ring of edible mushrooms, iris bulbs, and a robust little patch of cress at the edge of the creek. He gathered as much as he needed to enhance the evening’s meal.

When he returned, Doc found Dean awake and hungry. Doc boiled water in the kettle and allowed the boy a cup of sweet tea and a soft tack biscuit to start with. Again he prepared a strong broth of venison, cress, and wild scallions. Dean voraciously inhaled the steaming brew and happily asked for more.

Doc could see that the boy was on the mend as far as appetite was concerned, but he insisted that Dean drink more water to rehydrate his system.

After filling his belly Dean flattened back into a childlike oblivion of healing sleep. Doc sat by the fire and recorded the day’s events and medical observations in his journal.

The rains stopped in the late afternoon, and Doc led Daisy out to graze by the creek. Dean never stirred from his berth, but slept as though drugged. Doc felt that Dean’s health was by no means a foregone conclusion. He had a premonition, based on years of experience, that the boy’s constitution was about to be tested again. His weakened condition could prove fertile ground for any number of serious infections.

Doc was awed, proud, and surprised to discover that his snares had bagged three plump rabbits and a ring-necked pigeon the size of a prize pullet. Doc had no idea how a pigeon
found its way into a rabbit snare, but he was grateful to an all-seeing Providence just the same.

On his return to the shed Doc proceeded to transform his catch into a noble repast. Two of the rabbits became a fine stew cooked with wild mushrooms and chives. The meal was also flavorful because Doc always traveled with plenty of condiments. Salt, pepper, dry mustard, chiles, and herbs were often the difference between good food and tasteless trail rations, and Doc liked his food savory. However, he would see that Dean’s portion remained relatively bland so as to put as little stress on his digestion as possible. Doc roasted his own portions of rabbit and pigeon on wooden skewers, seasoned with a fulsome bravado of condiments.

Dean slowly awoke to the rich fragrance of hot food. Propped on his elbows, he asked Doc where he could relieve himself. Doc pointed to the great wilderness, held out a small shovel he carried in the cart, and humorously bade him choose any king’s throne he pleased.

When Dean returned he looked flushed and there were slight beads of sweat on his brow, though the temperature was crisp. Doc made no comment, but portioned out hot rabbit stew, which Dean enjoyed to the last morsel.

Doc told the young wrangler they would have to make their way north in the morning. He said that he feared complications if better accommodations were not found quickly. As he curled back into his warm bunk, Dean assured Doc Roberts that he could make it the rest of the way if he had made it this far.

Again he blessed Doc for his kind intervention and promptly fell back to sleep. Within moments he began to snore softly while Doc ate his supper by the fire.

Doc disposed of all the food scraps in an old gopher hole and collapsed the entrance in lieu of formal burial. He retrieved Daisy from the meadow and stabled her at the back of the shed for warmth. It looked to be a damp, foggy night, and Daisy deserved every possible consideration. She would have to pull double duty in the morning. Better to be warm and flexible than cold and stiff when called upon for major exertion. After building up the fire, Doc made himself comfortable on his bed of cedar boughs and went to sleep covered with his trail duster and poncho.

He dreamed of the journey north. He dreamed that all the arduous and perilous obstacles had been removed from their path and replaced with a wide smooth avenue to ease their way. It wound beautifully like a broad, black velvet ribbon along the hills above the shore. The moonlight gave it a shimmer like cut jet, and it was warm and firm to tread upon.

Doc awoke in the morning to find Jersey Dean already up and about. Creek water was heating in the camp kettle for tea. Dean had packed and tied off his bedroll and burned the cedar boughs that had formed his mattress. The smoke gave off a lovely aroma. Dean had also given Daisy a hatful of sweet oats before watering her at the creek.

Doc Roberts was impressed and grateful, but he knew that in spite of Dean’s supposed vigor, he was suffering the first giddy effects of a growing fever. Doc administered a dose of willow salts, which Dean swallowed obediently, and after swilling down his own tin of hot tea, Doc hitched up Daisy and loaded his gear.

He insisted that Dean wear Doc’s rain poncho for warmth, since they had little else that would serve to insulate him from the elements.

The trip north was anything but swift or pleasant. As Dean’s fever worsened, Doc found it necessary to make many stops to rest and water both his patient and his horse. Daisy was not used to hauling two passengers, and though Doc was proud of her steady forbearance and tenacity, he could not allow her to suffer while struggling over the rougher terrain. Thus he found himself walking a great deal more than he would have wished.