December 29, 1915

Du Bois had frostbite. The tips of his toes turned dark gray. The pins and needles pain to his feet increased this morning and I did not think he could walk. His boots were still not dry, anyway. By rationing food, I figured, we had enough for a couple days. I wondered if he would make it that long. His cough deepened, and he spat out phlegm frequently. He needed to be in a warm bed to recover.

I lived a long night. I dozed some, awoke with starts, broke more branches, fed the campfire, and walked in circles. I felt the cold air deep in my lungs and it tingled in my nose. With melted snow, I boiled up some oatmeal for breakfast and tried to be cheery. Du Bois related his childhood in Normandy. When he lost his train of thought, he babbled until he remembered what he was talking about. I mostly listened and added the occasional encouragement to continue.

Mid-morning, he slept again. I continued feeding the fire and watched the puffy white clouds sail in the deep blue sky. Fresh snow shrouded the evergreens, and, on the tops, the wind had driven snow deeply into the boughs. Giant white towers surrounded us and not a breath of breeze blew. The ubiquitous camp robbers found us, but I wondered if any humans would. The morning looked fine and I would have enjoyed it more under different circumstances.  I readied to scout for a snow cave location and build it near the highway.

Du Bois woke and stated, “I’m hungry.”

“That’s a good sign. I’ll boil more oatmeal and add dried fruit to it,” I replied.

“Do you hear the sleigh bells?” he asked.

“Anthony, I think it is your imagination.”

“Sounds real to me.”

Moments later a loud crack echoed through the trees. I snapped my head toward the perceived sound. Silence again. Then another whip like crack followed by, “Duke, you lazy bastard, get up with Joe.”

I jumped to my feet and ran to the roadbed. To the west, a freight bob sleigh with a box style body, pulled by a team of four, hauled coal. I waved my arms frantically. The driver casually gestured back.

“I hear the bells and chains rattling, mate. Someone is coming!”

“About time, I’m tired of waiting.”

I could see the driver’s white beard protruding out of a red scarf wrapped around his hat and chin. He progressed slowly, and we impatiently waited.

“Anthony, you need to get your boots on.”

“I’m only slightly looking forward to that.”

“Work on it. I’ll load our gear into the rucksacks.”

The horses lifted their hoofs high and trampled snow. The rear ski runners creaked and moaned while packing the roadway. When he arrived, the driver looked us, spit tobacco juice in the snow and questioned, “What are you boys doing up here?”

“Winter tour, we just ended up staying longer than we planned,” I answered with a smile.

“You both look pretty beat up,” he said and pointed at du Bois, “He can’t walk right.”

“Maybe frostbite,” I responded.

“Where you goin’?” He asked cautiously.

“Hot Sulphur.”

“Long walk, I‘m meeting a fellow, from Middle Park, and then trading my coal for his hay. He should be at the bottom of the pass.  I can’t say for sure if he has room in his truck.”

“We’ll take a ride, if you’re willing and be closer to our destination.”

“Alright, throw your gear in the back. We’ll all fit on the bench. You there, with the bad feet, get in the middle and use my foot warmer. I’ve got plenty of fuel,” he laughed. “Looks like you boys got coal for Christmas.”

“Thanks, we appreciate it,” I gushed.

“My mother always warned me I was going to find coal in my stocking,” du Bois added.

“French and English what a pair to draw. What are your names?” The driver said smiling.

We told him and he replied, “I’m Kris, with a ‘K,’ nice to meet ya.” Then he advised, “Julius, put everything you got into that brake going down. Anthony you got it easy.”

I was elated, simply overjoyed that we might just pull off our escape.

Then he asked, “You boys in trouble with the law?”

Our silence convicted us.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s good to have the company. Nice day, eh? Someone will thank me for packing the road. Want a little snort of whiskey? Ain’t no Prohibition here.”

The warmth of the liquor never felt better. Du Bois took a swig, coughed, spat, and had another. I wiped the spout with my handkerchief and gave it back to Kris. He did not seem to mind. We slowly weaved down the hairpin curves without incident.

At the base, the truck waited, I shoveled most of the lump coal into it and Kris remarked, “Son, you could do that for a living.” I swear, if I am ever at the Oak Creek Festival again, I will compete in their contest. Then I bucked hay into the sled. I gave five dollars to Kris. He smiled, thanked me, and drove his team of horses west up the pass toward Steamboat Springs. I could not join him. Duty and honor demanded me to deliver Anthony to a bed, safety, and recovery.

Jake, the truck driver asked,” Where are you going?”

“To Thomas Brandon’s place,” I informed him.

“I know him. He’s a good horse doctor.”

He delivered us to my uncle’s door. Jake did not want the five bucks. I convinced him to take it. “Alright, it’ll make my wife happy,” he replied sheepishly.

“Jake, thanks for delivering the extra cargo,” Uncle Thomas smirked while he cleaned snow from the hooves of his horse and smeared on bear grease. “It’s good to have my wayward nephew arrive.”

“You bet, anytime, my pleasure,” he responded and drove away leaving a trail of smoke.

Thomas gave me his avuncular look. “I have a letter for you from Corina. I opened it because my name was on the front too and the word urgent. I know the details and I saw Sheriff Chivington on the train yesterday. It looks like you’re in the clear for now.”

Du Bois coughed and hacked. My uncle gave him a concerned look and continued, “Let’s get him inside. I have Bayer Aspirin and some chicken noodle soup on the stove.”

Eating a hot meal in a warm house remains a treat. One never realizes the importance of the simple pleasures until they are absent. My uncle cleaned the dead skin off du Bois toes, applied ointment and bandaged them. Then he put him to bed.

Before we started our cribbage game he explained, “Time will tell if he needs surgery. First, we need to prevent his cough from progressing to pneumonia.”

Tonight, I write with warm fingers and anticipate a good night’s sleep in a bed. Du Bois has a paid receipt for a train trip to San Francisco. He gets well and moves forward with his life. Where do I go? Back to dodging JJ for six more months? Maybe Corina needs to fight the battle by herself.