Day 17
Today we visit with Gerry Huntman as he shares his story:
Crazy Mike McCloud
I first
met Mike McCloud in the main street of Clifton. It was the day my pa was shot
dead by the Carson Gang.
The town
was dusty, like most of the year—this part of the Arizona Territory always had
long, harsh summers—and the folk who lived there were either copper miners or
traders keeping them fed and drunk. Oh yeah, and there were sometimes drifters
and outlaws—that was when pa told me to stay indoors as these men often hadn’t
seen women or girls for months on end.
I lived
most of my life in Clifton and I thought it was a good place, all told. Ma died
when I was still a baby and Pa worked hard, running the only honest General
Store this side of the Gila Mountains. Father was generous to a fault, and lots
of people owed him money.
The
Carson brothers weren’t locals—they ran stock a ways out—and they owed Pa a lot
of money. They got in trouble with the law and we thought we saw the last of
them ‘cause of the debt. Trouble is they needed supplies bad and they came in
with a hired gun.
I
remember that morning so well, and I wish it would go away. Back then I didn’t
want to forget—I needed to hate with all my might so I could find a way to kill
them. Josh and Kyle walked in with guns in hand. They brought with them a
strange-looking man—an Englishman with a short beard and dark blue derby hat.
Pa told me to hide in the house, and from behind our shop door I heard the
argument getting fierce. I remember Josh, in his raspy voice, say, “Partridge,
finish him.” There was a shot and I heard my pa fall to the floor. A few
seconds later, as my heart beat hard against my ribcage, I heard a second shot
and I knew what they did.
Kyle
said, “Didja see his daughter? Can’t be over sixteen. Real sweet. How ‘bout a
bit a fun?”
Partridge
spoke and that’s when I knew he was a foreigner. He said, “Sounds good. I am in
the mood for quim.”
I was about
to run for my life when I heard Josh shout, “No! Leave her. The law will be
here soon, and I think the posse are sniffing ‘round. Grab the supplies and
skedaddle for Coronado. Now!”
I was in
a nightmare world. I kept crying, but I had to bite my knuckles to keep the
sound down. I heard the three outlaws pillage our store, and I still feared
they would come in and search me out. However, they finally left, but I stayed
cooped up for God knows how long. I didn’t want to see what happened to Pa. I
didn’t want them to see me, even
though my brain told me they were long gone.
I heard
a voice; male. “Oh my God!” It was Old Man Cleary. He shouted through the door,
“Laura! Laura! Are you there, sweetheart?”
I
managed to open the door, and I fell in my neighbor’s arms, weeping. I saw my
father and nearly fainted. He was shot in the chest, and then in the head.
People say that the dead look peaceful, but not so my pa. He had the look of
pain, sorrow, and loss etched into his blood-soaked marble face.
Cleary
led me out of the General Store, mumbling something about him and Edna looking
after me, but as the door opened we saw a lone figure in the middle of the
street, hands on hips, staring at us. The man was dusty in his clothes and
leathers, full beard hiding most of his face, but his bright eyes were alert
and keen. Sweaty matted hair, long overdue a barber’s cut, flowed from under
his salty Stetson, and he wore a Peacemaker on his hip.
“It’s
Crazy Mike McCloud,” Cleary said. “Steer clear of him; he’s loco.” I heard of
him; the locals said he was a wanderer and had come down this way a few weeks
ago. Talked funny. People said he was a gunslinger because he was good with a rifle
and revolver. Cleary pulled me gently to the right, heading for his home.
Mike McCloud
moved quickly forward. “I need to talk to the girl,” he said.
“Can’t
you see she’s grievin’?” Cleary replied.
“I need
to talk to her.” He had a strange accent, almost like the killer Partridge, but
it wasn’t the same. Yeah, it was strange; maybe he was from the east, like New
England, or maybe Canada. But there was no mistakin’ the authority in his tone.
It was commanding.
Cleary
looked stunned. “S…sure. Don’t you lay a finger on her, though.”
“I’ll
respect her, Mr. Cleary. I’ve sworn to honor and protect damsels.”
Cleary’s
eyes glazed over with McCloud’s choice of words. “A…alright. Fetch her over to
the Bakery. I swore to Laura’s pa that we’d look after her if somethin’
happened.”
McCloud
bowed in acknowledgement, another strange thing to do.
He led
me to a quiet place next to the San Francisco River. The noise of the fast
moving water appeared to be something he wanted, to keep our conversation
confidential.
“I am
sorry about what happened to your father, Miss Jones. I only spoke with him a
few times, but he was clearly a man of honor and commanded the community’s
respect.”
“Thanks,”
I whispered. The subject was too raw and I barely managed to keep my composure.
I really didn’t want to talk.
“Yes, I
can see this is hard. I would not have bothered you but I need information. The
men who did this, do you know them all?”
I gave McCloud
an account of what I saw and heard. When I finished, I covered my face with my
hands and wept again.
McCloud
placed his hand lightly on my shoulder. “I am so sorry, poor, dear maiden. Our
world is, unfortunately, full of danger and evil men. But know this, there is
virtue as well. And justice.”
I
lowered my hands and saw glistening moisture in McCloud’s eyes. I saw
compassion. I also realized he was much younger than what he appeared to be
from a distance. He wouldn’t have been older than thirty. “Justice?”
“Yes,
justice. I have been hunting the man known as Partridge for some years. His
full name is Marcus Partridge and he is evil indeed. I have a long grievance
with him, and intend on killing him.”
These
were the first words in the day that resonated with me. Justice. Revenge. The
same thing for me. “When are you going to do this, Mr. McCloud?”
“Call me
Mike. When I find the Carson Gang I will dispense justice. You mentioned
‘Coronado’ as their destination.”
“Yeah,
didn’t make sense to me. A Spanish word, but I don’t know any place with that
name.”
“It is
not a place. It is a trail. A Spanish explorer called Francisco Vasquez de
Coronado was in search of the Seven Lost Cities of Gold, and believed—much like
most of the world three hundred years ago—that they existed in the Indian
territories.” He shook his head as if he was reliving a poignant memory. “Francisco
so much wanted to believe in the cities. Totally fanciful, but then again, he
was an impetuous man.”
I
couldn’t believe what I heard. It sounded like he knew the explorer. I realized
now why Mike was nicknamed ‘Crazy’. Sheepishly, I said, “Do you know where the
trail is?”
“Yes, I
know it well. It leads into the mountains…I believe the Carson Gang wants to
find sanctuary in the wilderness from the authorities. They waylaid several
stagecoaches a few weeks ago, and have been pursued since.”
I found
it difficult to understand every word he said—they sounded so foreign! And yet,
as crazy as he was, I believed him. And if the Carson Gang were heading deep
into the Gila Mountains, no posse would follow them. Crazy Mike McCloud was my
only chance of revenge. “I want to come with you.”
He
raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You jest. The terrain is rugged, and the
Carson Gang are murderous, especially Marcus Partridge. You…you are too young
and…”
“A
girl?”
“A
maiden. This is not for you.”
I was
upset, but I admit I exaggerated my emotions at the time. I cried. “Mike, I’m
alone now. Everything has been taken from me. All I’ve got left is seeing my
father’s killers hang. I need to be there.”
Mike McCloud
shook his head, but his eyes gleamed in understanding. “I cannot do this, Miss
Jones. It is too dangerous. You will have your justice.”
“I’m
sixteen, and you can call me Laura. Especially if we’re going together. I’m
stronger than you think because I had to help P…pa work the store. We even
hunted together.” Remembering the good times with my father caused the flooding
of my despair again.
For a
second time, tears formed in the rugged drifter’s eyes. He stared into my eyes,
peering deep into my mind—my heart. “Alright, you can come. But it is I who
will battle the Carson Gang, not you, and it is I who will dispense justice.
You must swear that if there is battle you must stay back and take cover.”
I knew I
couldn’t push him any further. I got what I wanted. “I swear.”
#
I didn’t
expect Old Man Cleary to agree to me hunting the Carson Gang, and he’d kick up
a stink with the townsfolk for sure, so I secretly left with Mike, taking Pa’s
horse, supplies that I could scrounge up, and leaving a letter of explanation. I’d
return, of course, when this was all over, and it was my plan to run the
General Store. I’m no quitter.
The
first two days’ ride was hard going but nothing I couldn’t handle. I rode with
Pa often enough that I wasn’t going to get saddle sore easily, and wore men’s
clothing to keep things practical. I didn’t expect to bathe for a week or two,
but I hoped we’d find the odd stream or river to freshen up.
The fire
crackled loudly and the heat from the flames added to the warm Summer’s night.
We sat well away from the fire and ate the meal Mike had thrown together—it
wasn’t bad.
“Why do
you speak funny,” I asked, finally unable to hold the question, and perhaps to
get a conversation going. He talked when he needed to but he also kept to
himself a lot. I was beginning to like him, especially the way he treated me
with a hell of a lot of respect. But he kept using strange words like ‘maiden’
and ‘damsel’.
“Do I?”
he asked, tipping the last of his tea (would you believe) into the
yellow-flowering saltbush.
“You
know you do.”
He
snickered, in a nice way.
Even in
the semidarkness of the flickering fire-lit night I could see the gleam of
kindness and caring in his eyes. I realized he was handsome, more handsome than
my first assessment.
“I’m
from England, but I’ve been abroad for quite a few years, and recently in your
frontier lands. Out West. Some of my countrymen would say I sound like an
American, but Americans wouldn’t agree.”
“Did you
serve in the US Army?” I asked.
“Why do
you say that?”
“Your
gun—it’s a Peacemaker, and along with your Winchester rifle, you’ve got a Trapdoor—that’s
regular army.”
“You
know your guns, Laura.”
“Pa
traded guns, just like everything else.”
Mike
threw another tree branch into the fire. “I have military training. It is
something best not to talk about.”
#
I want
you to know I’m not that kind of gal, but later that night I thought about
Mike’s eyes, and his handsome features, even if it was hidden under his beard.
I couldn’t help myself.
I
crawled over to him, my heart pounding because I’ve never been with a man
before. I kept thinking to myself that this was stupid, but the rest of me said
otherwise. I think it had to do with the hunt—I really didn’t care much about
my life, or the consequence of things. I was near him when he jerked awake and
pulled his long, sharp knife from under his makeshift pillow. It gleamed in the
moonlight, and was only an inch from my neck.
“What
are you doing?” he asked, retracting his weapon.
The
knife hadn’t deterred me. “I…I…want to thank you for letting me come with you.
I…” It was now or never. I started to unbutton my shirt.
“Stop!”
he hissed.
I started
to feel stupid, on top of my embarrassment. “I thought you might need…?”
“I’m a
man, like any other,” he said, voice turning to a conciliatory tone, “but I
swore chastity until I married. I cannot break my oath.”
“Oh.” I
heard the churchgoers talk about it but I never saw a young man who kept his
virginity, and no small number of girls.
“Please,
there is nothing to be sorry about; no apologies. You are a frightfully
beautiful girl—no, a woman—and a sore temptation indeed. But I have a pact with
God and I will keep it.”
I felt
devastated, revealing my base emotions to a stranger. “I…I’m so sorry.” I
hastily buttoned my shirt, and scrambled back to my blanket.
“As I
said, there is nothing to be sorry for. Good night, Laura.”
I was so
glad he couldn’t see my ruddy face. “Goodnight, Mike.”
#
It
seemed we both figured that ignoring what happened the previous night was the
best way to handle the morning. While embarrassed in many ways, I still felt
excitement at what happened. The possibilities. I stole glances at him when he
was checking trails for signs of the Carson Gang, and on one occasion I think
he did the same to me. In a way I respected him more for his chastity, his
strength of character, but it also confused me because he was obviously
religious and yet he clearly had no issue about breaking the Commandment, ‘Thou
shalt not kill’. He intrigued me.
My
thoughts were not centered on Mike, only on the periphery. I suppose, in a
curious turn of events, I wanted to seek comfort being with him, while the grief,
sadness and ferocious need to see the murderers brought to justice, coursed
through me.
“Found
it,” Mike said.
“What?”
I steered my horse next to his.
“Four
sets of horse prints, one strikes me as a pack-horse. I was wondering why I
couldn’t find them before but now I know. They took a round-about way to get to
the Coronado trail, probably to trick any posse that might want to follow them
into the mountains. Most scouts would have given up and returned to Clifton
before coming to this intersection of trails. Clever.”
“Does
that mean we’ve caught up with them?”
“Almost
for certain. These dusty trails aren’t easy to read but—”
A shot
fired from afar, and a bullet slammed into a lonely tree only a yard away from my
head.
Mike
leapt off his mount, yelling, “Get off your horse and find cover!” while
pulling his Winchester from his saddle holster.
Another
shot fired wildly from a craggy mountainside to the West—the sun had journeyed
into early afternoon and made viewing the terrain difficult. I didn’t see this
as luck on the Carson Gang’s part. They were crafty sons of bitches.
Mike
shot across the trail and disappeared amidst some Apache Pine trees and low-growing
brush. I grabbed his Springfield, knowing that it was loaded, and I only had
one shot available to me. I ran to a small outcrop of rocks and decided to
slowly follow him.
I heard
the echoing shouts of men communicating with one another. “Josh, he’s in the
pines!” “Yeah, I know!” “Watch the east rocks!” “Gol-darn, it’s hog-killin’
time!”
A shot
fired—I was sure it came from the pines.
“I’m
hit, Josh! Oh God, it’s bad! Help me!” Whimpering rebounded off the various
rock outcrops.
“I
can’t. Shit, shit, shit. He wants us to come over!” A pause, as if Josh was
expecting a reply. “Kyle, can ya hear me? Kyle, God damn you, can you hear me?”
Another short pause. “You son of a bitch,
whore ass! You’ll pay!”
My
respect for Mike grew from what was already a great height. I decided to move
in closer, but I steered clear of the Apache Pine copse, not wanting to attract
Mike’s attention. I kept my path as much as possible underneath the rock
outcrops, but I hopped to high-elevated positions on several occasions. No
shots were fired but I did hear the odd snap of twigs and rustling of branches
from several directions.
I was
startled by two gunshots—different weapons, in rapid succession only a few
dozen yards away from me. I also heard a grunt. I moved as quickly as I could,
without giving away my position.
Lying
low in the underbrush, I saw a small clearing. Mike was holding his Colt and
had it aimed at Partridge. The Englishman was grasping his lower right arm with
his left hand—it was bleeding copiously. The murderer’s pistol was lying in the
dirt and leaves.
“You
have me, Michael.”
“I said
I would get you, Marcus.”
Partridge
laughed through gritted teeth. “I had no doubt of that, but I didn’t expect it
here and now. You are a long way from home, old chum, as am I, and I wonder if
the effort was worth the result.”
Mike
kept his Peacemaker trained on Partridge’s heart, rock steady. “You have never
understood me, or my kind. You committed the most heinous of crimes and you
were judged, and sentenced to death. We never give up on matters of honor or
sanctified justice.”
“Sanctified justice?” Partridge roared,
despite the agonizing pain in his arm. “You sanctimonious fool. They were untouchables,
worthless scum. Why waste our precious food supplies on worthless women and
children? They deserved to die.”
Despite
my distance and the angle of viewing, I could see a surge of anger in Mike’s
face, and the way his hand quivered. I knew he was going to shoot Partridge
then and there. I felt uneasiness in my bones, a sense something was wrong. I
positioned the Springfield and readied my weapon, just in case.
A shot
fired. It wasn’t Mike’s revolver.
Mike
spun around, clutching his side, dropping his weapon, falling to the ground.
Partridge
sunk to his knees in shock, and then relief.
Josh
rushed into the clearing with his own Colt at the ready, trained at Mike, who
was groaning, glaring in the dust, sweat, and blood.
“So
you’re the prick who killed Kyle. Die, son of a b—”
I fired.
I aimed for his head for a quick kill and hit my mark. The top of his head
exploded and he crumpled to the dirt like a sack of potatoes. By then Partridge
was back on his feet, and on hearing my shot, ran into the bushes—with his
Webley.
I left
the rifle in the bushes, more concerned with Mike’s life. When I got to him he
was groaning and smiling at the same time. “Disobeying my orders was
fortuitous, I see.”
“Yeah. I
can’t help myself. I figured an extra gun would help.” I pushed his hand away
from his side wound. There was a lot of blood but it didn’t seem to be oozing
much right at that moment. It was hard to tell how bad it was. “How’re you
feelin’?”
He
smiled again, but his eyes suddenly looked funny—they were focused on his gun
only a yard away. “Jump; shoot!” he hissed.
To this
day I don’t know how I reacted so quickly. Maybe I was so highly strung by
shooting Josh and fearing for Mike’s life. I leapt to the gun, grabbing it in a
shooting grip while I landed heavily to my side, having about-faced. I was so
quick I barely registered the form of Marcus Partridge, wide-eyed and bloodied
hands, pointing his revolver at Mike, but hesitating as he witnessed my leap.
As he redirected his weapon to me I fired, straight into the middle of his
chest. A small puff of red mist billowed where I hit him, as he was flung
backwards to the ground. His legs twitched but I knew he was dead.
I
collapsed onto my back, exhausted. While my efforts at the clearing had taken a
lot out of me, there was something else that sapped me completely. Flirting
with death, the horror of seeing Mike shot, the anger at seeing my pa’s
murderers still at large—all rendered me insensible.
#
“Laura,
are you alright?”
I opened
my eyes. Mike was over me, smiling. He didn’t appear to be in pain. I wondered
if I had dreamt of the gunfight.
“Laura,
can you hear me?”
“Yes. I
thought you were hurt.” I slowly rolled to my side to view him properly. There
was a large dried bloodstain on his shirt.
“I
was…am. It wasn’t as serious as it looked.”
“Let me
see it. I know a little about bandaging wounds.”
“I see
you are resourceful in a number of fields. A warrior as well as a
field-surgeon. But no, you do not have to see my wound. I have taken care of
it.”
“I
insist,” I murmured, and pushed Mike’s hands out of the way. I lifted his shirt
and saw no bandaging. There was a scabbed-over wound, smaller than what was
expected, among several old scars. “I don’t believe it. Even a flesh wound
can’t heal that quickly.”
“I’ll
explain later,” Mike said. He looked embarrassed. “I think we need to ride
somewhere special. It will take a few hours.”
“No,
explain it to me now!” I never spoke so boldly before.
He
smiled. This time it was endearing, beautiful. “You have every right to be
angry, but I implore you to have patience, young maiden.”
We
stared at each other for a minute or more, my eyes flaring and his like a sad
dog’s.
I gave
in.
#
We rode
without speaking for three grueling hours. We were tired, but he had a destination
that gave him the energy to continue, and I simply wanted to know what was
going on.
“This is
the trail that Coronado mapped,” he said, breaking the long silence. “He
thought it led to the Seven Cities of Gold, but it never did. It led to a
treasure that is so well hidden he would never have found it, nor any other
mortal soul.”
“What is
it?” I asked.
“You
will see it soon enough. Even Marcus Partridge was unaware of it. He had long
fled to your country after committing a horrific crime when serving as an officer
in the Indian Army. I prosecuted him and found him wanting…beyond the normal
laws of the British Empire. I spent years searching for him when he fled custody,
which ultimately led me here, a place I have visited on several occasions…”
We
rounded a small crest and rock formation, and before me was a vivid green
valley with a large medieval castle, just like in the story books, with high
walls and commanding towers.
“…over
the last several centuries.”
I pulled
on my reins, halting my horse. “I don’t understand. This can’t be happening.”
“I know
it is hard to believe, but you must trust your eyes. This is my home, but it is
not actually in this valley. Instead, there is a door you cannot see before us,
and it leads to another place…another time, which is what you see. When I pass
through this door, I will ride into my valley, my home.”
I
couldn’t shut my mouth. It hung open, without control. Again, my heart beat at
a rapid rate. “Mike, are you going to leave me?”
He
nodded. “My task is complete. There are always new quests to be assigned. My Order
swore to protect the righteous and punish those who are evil. We once concentrated
our efforts in the Old World, and the pilgrim roads to Palestine, but the world
has changed over the centuries, and we have extended our demesne.”
“I don’t
understand. You’re Crazy Mike McCloud. You’re hairy and you smell!”
He rode
his horse forward five yards, and miraculously his steed
grew in size, with tufted hooves, and Mike’s clothing transformed into armor
covered in a white surcoat with a large red cross. His guns turned to sword and
shield, mace and flail. His helmet was tied to his embossed saddle, his mail
hood hung back. His beard was short-cropped, and his hair was wavy and shoulder
length. He was as handsome as I imagined. More so.
“I am no
longer Crazy Mike McCloud,” he said, his voice seemed to travel a greater
distance than the mere few yards. “I am Sir Michael de Tourville, Knight
Templar, formerly assigned to Temple Cloud, in Somerset. I am now one of only a
small number of knights based in The Hidden Vale.”
“You
really are going!” I exclaimed, realizing, for the first time, that his going
would rend my heart nearly as much as my pa being taken away. “What about me?”
He
smiled. I couldn’t believe it; he just looked like a character out of Ivanhoe. “What are you saying, Laura of
Clifton?”
“I don’t
know. I…I want to be with you. I want…I want to save your life again because
you need me!”
Sir
Michael laughed so hard he nearly fell off his mount. “You saved my life twice,
actually. It is not unheard of for a maiden to be a warrior. Rare but not
unheard of. Laura of Clifton, warrior extraordinaire. Would you do me the honor
of being my wife, and to join me in my just quests?”
I did.
****
****
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