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Guns and Dreamers
Chapter Seven: A Plan of Sorts
Scott A. Gese
Chapter 7
A Plan of Sorts
Six long days had passed since Mac had been told by Jason that there was a U.S. Marshal after him with a warrant for his arrest. Not knowing who might be on his trail or how far behind him they were, he kept moving. Where to, he still wasn't quite sure. He'd had plenty of time to think things through. Hopefully he could get far enough away to where he would never be found. He knew his geography and had always had a hankerin' to see what South America was like. Maybe he could make it there and start over. He would eventually need a way to make some money. What he had wouldn't last forever and there was no way to get to his bank account. He doubted if he would ever make it back to his ranch.
The note he had given Jason for Sarah laid it all out. She was to take care of the ranch, with Jason's help. And when Jason turned eighteen, it would all go to him.
Everything he had. Everything he had worked for. All of his plans and all of his dreams were gone. In all likelihood, he would never see his family again. All because of a damn fool decision to steal another mans cattle. He kicked himself every time he thought about it. He still had his life, for now. It was the last thing he had worth saving, so he rode on.
When he hit Denver, he reconsidered his plan. His horse was too slow and they were both getting tired, so he sold the horse and most of his gear, bought a train ticket and headed to California. He finally had some sort of an idea of what he wanted to do.
Before he left Denver he sent a telegram to Fort Scott.
It read...Jason, I have a plan. Someday I'll fill you in. Take care. He signed it, Tex.
Jason got the telegram. He was glad to know Mac was getting things figured out. He only wished he could let him know that he was running for nothing. Jason sent a reply, but doubted if “Tex” would get it.
He didn't.
Mac rode the train for close to a week. It rolled through some of the prettiest country he had ever laid eyes on. Tall fir trees and fertile green valleys. Rushing rivers, rolling hills and rugged mountains. He had no idea how beautiful and how rugged the land out west could be. There were several times when he thought he would just step off the train and spend the rest of his life right where his foot touched the ground. But Mac was running scared and he had developed a plan over the past week that he hoped would save him from the hangman's noose. It involved getting out of the country, and that meant putting the miles behind him as fast as possible. There was no time for sightseeing other than the brief glimpses of a beautiful land that whizzed by the windows of the train he was on.
For Mac, the ride ended in San Francisco, California. He had put nearly eighteen hundred miles behind him in a little more than two weeks. An impossible feat several years earlier. In San Francisco, he thought about sending a “Tex” telegram to Jason, but thought better of it considering it might tip off someone in Fort Scott as to his whereabouts. Sarah and Jason would just have to wait and wonder.
From here, Mac's plan was to catch a steam ship to Panama. He had heard stories of how men on the east coast used this route to get to the gold fields of California during the height of the gold rush. They took steam ships down the east coast to Panama, then went overland to ports on the Pacific side and caught another steam ship to California. And from here they made their way to the gold fields. Nowadays these same ships were transporting more cargo than men and he was hoping to get on board one heading south.
He walked down to the docks where several ships were being loaded. They were as busy as the stockyards in Kansas, but here they were moving mostly cargo and only a few people. Although, he did come across a corral that was used for holding cattle, but it was empty. During the war, he had heard about cattle being brought in from other countries, but couldn't imagine why.
He stood leaning against the fence with a boot on the bottom rail. He could smell the remains of recent activity through the salt air. It reminded him of home. It was the only familiar thing he had found since he left Fort Scott. He was already beginning to miss it.
“Hey, you there, leaning up against the fence,” called out a booming voice. “You want to earn a couple dollars? I unloaded a hundred head yesterday. I can usually find someone around here to do some work for me. Today just might be your lucky day, as long as you can stand the smell of cattle shit.”
Mac looked the man over before he answered. He was big in the belly and didn't look like he was much good at any real physical labor. He chewed tobacco. As Mac was sizing him up, he spit, it didn't all make it past his full beard. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Follow me,” he continued, not waiting for an answer. “My names Captain Pappy and this here's my ship. I call her Annabelle.” The two men walked down the dock and up the wide gangplank that entered an opening in the side toward the stern. Two large hatches on the deck were open which let in plenty of daylight. The pungent smell of cattle waste was almost overpowering.
“I need her shoveled out and hosed down in less than two days, so I can load her with cargo,” remarked Pappy.
Mac noticed two other men with shovels already working. “Where's the cargo heading?” he asked.
“Hawaii,” replied Pappy.
“Hawaii, not Panama?” questioned Mac.
“Annabelle goes to Hawaii and back. That's it. I'm asking you to shovel shit. Why does it matter where I'm headin'?” inquired Pappy.
Mac had to make a quick decision that would once again change his plan, but it would get him out of the country and that's what he was after. “I'll tell you what, Pappy. I'll help clean this up for nothing more than a small space on your ship from here to Hawaii.”
“No deal,” replied Pappy. “If you ride on my ship, you work all the way. You shovel shit here. You help load the cargo, and once we're underway, you shovel coal until we get there, and then you help unload. I'll feed you and give you a place to sleep. See those two boys workin', they're full time crew members. They're good men, but they need help. It'll take all three of you working shifts once we're underway. That's the deal, OK?”
Mac decided to take Pappy up on the offer. “You got a deal,” he replied. Where do I get a shovel?”
Pappy spit, wiped his beard on the sleeve of his dirty shirt and shook hands with Mac. “That's what I like to hear. Hang what gear you have on the bulkhead where that shovel hangs. That'll be yours for the duration.” Pappy pointed across the room. “One more thing. If you turn out to be worthless, these two may just throw you overboard.” Pappy let out a laugh. He apparently thought that was pretty funny. Mac didn't see the humor.
Trading his gear, which was nothing more than his saddlebags, for the shovel, he went to work. The other two men kept to themselves talking periodically in a language Mac didn't understand. They were hard workers and it was all Mac could do to keep up.
After two days of hard labor shoveling and hosing down the cargo hold it was ready to be loaded up. The three men onboard and another couple from the dock spent a full day filling the hold with crates and sacks of assorted merchandise, and the coal bin with a fresh supply of fuel. After a hard three days they were underway. Mac felt a sense of relief once they pulled away from the dock. The two men he was working with were nice enough. One spoke some broken English, so between the three of them they were able to communicate well enough to get by. The weather was in their favor and Pappy turned out to be a likable fellow. Once they made it to Hawaii, Pappy kept him on long enough to unload the cargo and then load it up again with cargo going back to San Francisco. Once that was done pappy paid him along with a ten dollar bonus. Mac decided to take a couple of days to enjoy the change of climate and ask around about finding some work. It turns out there were cattle ranches in Hawaii. He easily found work at one of the bigger spreads on the island.
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