Stinking Arrow
by
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Bill, not really thinking, reached out, pulled a turf of grass from the ground, and gave it a flip into the fire. Just as he released the grass, he thought he saw some gold in the roots. "No, can’t be!" So, he pulled another turf of grass and began to study the roots, but he really didn’t have to, because gold nuggets were hanging from every root. Some were little, some small, some as big as fifty caliber bullets. "Holy s--- Boone, you see what we got here, "GOLD." He went to his pack and fetched a leather pouch that would hold five thousand dollars in gold. He started pulling grass and stripping the roots of gold nuggets, lots of them. Oh, it was so easy. Shoot, in just a manner of minutes the pouch was full. Then, another was full. When the odor of burning bird hit him, "Oh s---, the bird." It was hard to quit plucking gold. "Well, let’s take a break, eat the bird and tomorrow we will get back to gold plucking. Look at me I’m shaking all over and have goose bumps too. My, what a find." In all the history of gold, nothing like this had ever occurred. They were onto something, maybe the biggest find ever. Raw gold was just lying there, waiting to be plucked from the earth. It didn’t take any brains and not much work to fill the pouch. He had a hard time sleeping that night. All night long he tried to make a plan. "In the morning I’ll get up early and really get to collecting gold, but no, I had better claim this find first. Put out my stakes before anyone else comes along. But, if I do that I’ll be wasting time, gad I could have a couple of pouches full of gold at sunrise." All night long he tried to sleep, but the gold wouldn’t let him. Finally as dawn approached, he realized that claiming the find was the most important item. As soon as he could see; he was up and cutting stakes, marching up and down the stream and pounding them into position. He noted the position of the claim on a piece of leather, placed it into a tin can, and covered it with a rock monument. Finally satisfied that everything was in order he went to collecting gold again. In a couple of hours he filled another three bags full, with no end in sight. He sat down to rest, pulled Boone near to him, and said, "My God dog, I must be dreaming, s---, in a little bit we’ll have more gold than we will ever need, more than enough." He decided to take a break and have some breakfast, relax a little. Hell he was a rich man already, beyond belief. After breakfast, he stretched, lit a cigar, and walked around his camp spot, taking note that he had pulled out one hell of a mess of grass and weeds. "Goodness Boone, looks like a bunch of turkeys have been scratching here, God, I’m making a mess." They walked over to where the grouse had fallen. For some reason, he studied the spot. He could see where the bullet had hit a rock outcropping behind where the grouse was sitting and that it had knocked off a big chunk too. He reached down, picked up the chunk, and studied it for a second. He held it and couldn’t believe his eyes. It was almost pure gold, maybe five pounds worth. Bill flipped away his cigar and took a real close look at the outcropping. S--- the whole rock was nothing but a huge gold nugget, millions and millions of dollars worth. Gold veins were here and there, two or three inches wide, ten, twelve feet long. The "MOTHER LODE," for Christ sakes. He just stood there with mouth open, he looked upstream and then downstream, like he was expecting to see someone, scratched his head, did a little shuffle with his feet and then tossed his hat into the air. He bent down and gave Boone a good rub and a hug. He walked back to his pack, got another cigar and pull of whiskey, then sat down. Then got back up and walked over to the nugget again. He stood looking at it making sure it was what he thought it was. "IT WAS." "S--- Boone, my God, what are we to do with all this gold? Its more than one man could ever use. Hell its more than fifty people could ever use. We got us a big problem." Bill puffing on his cigar, making so much smoke that he looked like a coal burning train. Scratched his head and blew his nose. Boy, his brain was working over time; what to do; what to do? Bill stopped pacing and said, "I know, sure that’s the thing to do, yes sir, I’ll place more claim stakes and claim the vein gold for Soapy and some of the stream gold too." So, he walked all over the area to be claimed, placed the claim stakes, wrote up another claim leather, with her name on it, put it in a can and placed it under a rock monument. Bill spent the next week working his claim, if you want to call it work. His back got sore from all the bending over and his hands were almost raw from pulling grass and weeds. But, the gold nuggets were coming fast and thick. Some nuggets were larger than chicken eggs. Bill lost track of how many leather bags he filled with gold, maybe two or three hundred thousand dollars worth. Bill began to worry about theft and realized he had better start playing it cool. He located a hiding spot for the bags of gold and placed them under a rock ledge that was hidden from view and the ground around it was granite rock. No one could follow his footprints to the treasure. He continued to work the claim, because the gold was there just for the picking. "Goodness Boone, we are going to have to stop collecting gold, the weight will kill the horse and mule. I think we had better pack up and get this gold to some secure place and have it shipped off to Maria. If we get too greedy we might loose it all." Morning found them packing up. He had just finished loading the gold onto the horse and mule and was about to pull out for Soapy’s place. When Boone growled and pawed at him. Boone was looking down the trail. He took a quick look. "S---, looks like five miners coming in." Bill walked over to his horse and pulled out his Hawken, then sat down on a stump with his back to the outcropping. In rode the miners, a tough looking bunch too, but just dirty looking. The lead miner stopped and looked at them. "Nice looking dog mister, are you having any luck?" Bill laid his rifle across his lap and said, "My name is Bill and this my dog Boone, what’s your handle?"
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About the Book
This story is about Bill Donner, a beaver trapping mountain man, his Vizsla dog Boone, and a crazed deranged bad Indian named Stinking Arrow. It’s a love story too. Bill meets a beautiful Mexican girl, Maria, in Southern California; hand in hand they build their dream home and orange ranch. It’s also a love story between a dog and man, their brotherhood, their days together catching beaver, hunting and fishing, and life with the mountain men. Bill and Boone are making their way to Southern California, quitting the Rocky Mountains to realize Bill’s dream of raising oranges. It tells of troubles on the trail going to Southern California, including a love affair with an Indian girl named Morning Dove. Plus, falling in love with a sexy missionary girl named Sarah. This love affair has a sad ending. Later and a couple of years of building their orange ranch, Bill worries about their financial status and decides he must return to the Rocky Mountains to recoup spent monies, but not before Maria becomes pregnant. The return trip to the mountains is one of adventure. He guides a western bound wagon train and becomes involved with a widowed girl. Upon reaching the California gold fields, he takes a girl partner. She is a retired whore and dance hall girl, named Soapy La Rue. Bill discovers gold by the buckets full, making them millionaires. Then on the return trip home to Maria, he guides some lusty Mormon women to Salt Lake City, and has a final run in with Stinking Arrow. The story is full of adventure, tall tales of the Yellowstone, rattlesnakes, Stinking Arrow, trappers, bears, dumb pioneers, lust, and killing of claim jumpers.
About the Author
Brian Henry Leachman is a Westerner, a wilderness wanderer. His friends and daughters call him the last mountain man. Maybe it’s true, because he knows the mountains. For over fifty years he wandered this vast area. He has been to the top of Mount Whitney, all fourteen thousand four hundred and ninety five feet of it, the highest peak in California’s Sierra Nevada Mountains and in the depths of the Death Valley. He has searched for gold in the mountains of San Bernardino, Mojave Desert, Sierra Nevada’s and tramped the California Trail through the Great Basin and deserts of Wyoming and Idaho. He fished the Snake, Grey’s, Hoback, Madison, Sacramento, Logan, and many rivers of the west. Always trying to catch that big one, but it got away. Along with his love of the western mountains, tracing the trails of the trappers, pioneers, and Mormons, searching out their history and campsites, visiting historical sites, and battlegrounds, he can tell a pretty good story too. Years ago in a Montana wilderness, sitting at a campfire telling the story of how Jim Bridger was trapped by Indians right here on this very spot, his daughter asked, "how do you know all that stuff?" He replied, "History, reading old diaries, journals of the trappers, pioneers, and army boys." As a little boy his parents called him Daniel Boone, no kidding. He even had buckskin clothes and a coonskin hat along with a replica Hawken rifle. Even today, his friends and family will greet him as Daniel. His story writing came at the urging of his wife and daughters. "Write it down honey." Well after retiring from the Aerospace Industry he began to write stories of the romantic west, mostly fiction, but his work is laced with real life adventures and tall tales and then intermingled with personal experiences. He writes about the way it was. Last but not least you will always find his friend and companion of thirty years, a Vizsla, walking the paths of history alongside the hero. My goodness what a wonderful dog. He will tell you; a happy life is a fine wife and a Vizsla, a straight shooting rifle, a fine book; maybe some whiskey and a cigar too, but not necessarily in that order.