hot during the day and cool at night.
This search had reversed part of that journey. Following the route of the map, upon leaving Sacramento he had traveled through dense forests to the junction of the Sacramento and Joaquin rivers, and from there the Tuolumme River over boulder canyons to Sonora.
Garth untied the bandanna from around his neck and wiped away the sweat, then took off his hat and did the same to his brow. With another swipe of the bandanna around the inside band, he plopped the hat back on his head and then raised himself in the saddle enough to look back at the trail. In the distance he caught sight of the dog, still following behind in a steady trot.
“Maybe its home is here, Boots,” he murmured, and rode into the town.
Like so many of the scattered little towns he’d ridden through, this one was in an extreme state of decline. There wasn’t a smidgen of shade or a horse trough the whole length of the dusty main street, and being siesta time, it was deserted as well. Garth stopped in front of the general store, one of the few businesses that appeared to still be in operation. Dismounting, he tethered Boots.
A bell tinkled overhead when he entered the store, and the dozing proprietor awoke and got to his feet.
“Howdy,” he said.
“Hello,” Garth said cordially. “Hot out there, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Folks don’t try to move around too much this time of day. Best to stay still. You a stranger in these parts?”
“Yes, I am,” Garth said.
“Huh. Third stranger to pass through in as many days.”
His words struck a chord with Garth. “Is that so? Were they two men?”
The storekeeper eyed him warily. “You a lawman?”
“No. Why, do I look like one? Name’s Garth Fraser.”
“Can’t say you do, Mr. Fraser. But you don’t look like no trail bum passing through, either.” He extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fraser. Name’s John Hastings.” Hastings gave him a quizzical look. “Say, you wouldn’t be related to Henry Fraser, would you? He had an accent that sounded like yours.”
“I did have an Uncle Henry who lived in these parts before he died.”
“Yep, lived right here in this town,” Hastings said. “Bought all his supplies from me. Henry was a good man. I felt real bad when he passed on. You here on business, Mr. Fraser, or just passing through?”
“Actually I’m looking for the Misión de La Dueña de Esperanza, Mr. Hastings. Can you tell me where it’s located?”
“Right up at the end of the road. You can’t miss it. It’s got a pink wall around it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Real pleasure talking to you, Mr. Fraser,” Hastings called out as Garth left the store. “Any friend of Henry’s is a friend of mine.”
The dog had caught up to him and was stretched out next to the hitching post.
“So you made it, fella.” He gave the dog’s head a pat, then mounted and headed for the mission at the other end of the town.
The dog rose to its feet and once again followed them.
The gates of the mission were open, and Garth entered the courtyard. Unlike the floral gardens characteristic of most of the Spanish patios he had seen, this one had nothing more than several benches under four trees that offered some shade. The rest of the courtyard could boast only a vegetable garden and, at the moment, the most important thing—a well. A building that appeared to be the church was connected to the larger one by a roofed passageway.
A priest rose from the shade of a bench and approached him. “Greetings, my friend. I’m Father Chavez. How may I help you?”
“Hello, Father.” Garth dismounted and removed his hat. “My name is Garth Fraser, and I’ve been told this is where to come to find out about previous mine claims.”
The priest stared at him with an intensity that seemed to go beyond mere curiosity. Garth shifted uneasily and wondered if he’d become a face on a wanted poster.
“How strange that after all these years, you are
This search had reversed part of that journey. Following the route of the map, upon leaving Sacramento he had traveled through dense forests to the junction of the Sacramento and Joaquin rivers, and from there the Tuolumme River over boulder canyons to Sonora.
Garth untied the bandanna from around his neck and wiped away the sweat, then took off his hat and did the same to his brow. With another swipe of the bandanna around the inside band, he plopped the hat back on his head and then raised himself in the saddle enough to look back at the trail. In the distance he caught sight of the dog, still following behind in a steady trot.
“Maybe its home is here, Boots,” he murmured, and rode into the town.
Like so many of the scattered little towns he’d ridden through, this one was in an extreme state of decline. There wasn’t a smidgen of shade or a horse trough the whole length of the dusty main street, and being siesta time, it was deserted as well. Garth stopped in front of the general store, one of the few businesses that appeared to still be in operation. Dismounting, he tethered Boots.
A bell tinkled overhead when he entered the store, and the dozing proprietor awoke and got to his feet.
“Howdy,” he said.
“Hello,” Garth said cordially. “Hot out there, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Folks don’t try to move around too much this time of day. Best to stay still. You a stranger in these parts?”
“Yes, I am,” Garth said.
“Huh. Third stranger to pass through in as many days.”
His words struck a chord with Garth. “Is that so? Were they two men?”
The storekeeper eyed him warily. “You a lawman?”
“No. Why, do I look like one? Name’s Garth Fraser.”
“Can’t say you do, Mr. Fraser. But you don’t look like no trail bum passing through, either.” He extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fraser. Name’s John Hastings.” Hastings gave him a quizzical look. “Say, you wouldn’t be related to Henry Fraser, would you? He had an accent that sounded like yours.”
“I did have an Uncle Henry who lived in these parts before he died.”
“Yep, lived right here in this town,” Hastings said. “Bought all his supplies from me. Henry was a good man. I felt real bad when he passed on. You here on business, Mr. Fraser, or just passing through?”
“Actually I’m looking for the Misión de La Dueña de Esperanza, Mr. Hastings. Can you tell me where it’s located?”
“Right up at the end of the road. You can’t miss it. It’s got a pink wall around it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Real pleasure talking to you, Mr. Fraser,” Hastings called out as Garth left the store. “Any friend of Henry’s is a friend of mine.”
The dog had caught up to him and was stretched out next to the hitching post.
“So you made it, fella.” He gave the dog’s head a pat, then mounted and headed for the mission at the other end of the town.
The dog rose to its feet and once again followed them.
The gates of the mission were open, and Garth entered the courtyard. Unlike the floral gardens characteristic of most of the Spanish patios he had seen, this one had nothing more than several benches under four trees that offered some shade. The rest of the courtyard could boast only a vegetable garden and, at the moment, the most important thing—a well. A building that appeared to be the church was connected to the larger one by a roofed passageway.
A priest rose from the shade of a bench and approached him. “Greetings, my friend. I’m Father Chavez. How may I help you?”
“Hello, Father.” Garth dismounted and removed his hat. “My name is Garth Fraser, and I’ve been told this is where to come to find out about previous mine claims.”
The priest stared at him with an intensity that seemed to go beyond mere curiosity. Garth shifted uneasily and wondered if he’d become a face on a wanted poster.
“How strange that after all these years, you are
Similar Books
