OLD Nate Parsons lived a quiet life alone in the backwoods of California. Gold fever took him there, chasing his dream soon after the great strike at Sutter’s Mill and the Gold Rush of 1848.
Although he fancied a woman back in Virginia, he would not ask her to marry him until he had made his fortune. That was twenty-five years ago, and no doubt that woman had long since cast her romantic eye in another direction. A woman can’t wait forever.
Nate had given up trying to strike it rich at his present location. He managed to pull just enough gold dust out the ground to pay his bills and buy new equipment, but like most fellows, he never earned enough to stop, just enough to keep going.
One day he decided to walk away from it all. At fifty-two years old, he still had enough juice left in him to try another career. He left his camp next to the entrance to his mine, just as if he was going into town for the day, only he had no plans to ever return.
He headed east, slow and gingerly, because his horse did not have many more miles left, carrying only what the nag could bear. Nate was right. It turned out his horse had about two weeks left in her, because that was when she lay down to rest and never got back up, leaving Nate stranded in the God-forsaken scrub country of Nevada. He built a fire, rolled out his blanket, made coffee and contemplated his next move. No one had crossed Nevada on foot, so he was not too keen on his chances.
Two days went by when a stranger entered his camp. Obviously in sore straits, he was bleeding from the abdomen and appeared not long for this world. He told Nate not to bother trying to get him to a town, he would never make it. In any case, he had not lived a good life and was getting what he deserved. Before he died, though, he wanted to do something good for somebody, so the man left Nate his horse. But go easy, he told Nate, because the horse had lost a shoe. Then the stranger expired without even telling Nate his name or the name of the horse.
Nate broke camp and, with the horse, proceeded in the direction the man came from, reasoning there must be a settlement over yonder. After another day’s ride, walk really, Nate spied the dust cloud of a group of riders in the distance. Finally, his salvation was near. As the men approached, Nate offered a friendly wave, but they returned his salute with gunfire.
“Hold it there, you scoundrel! Move and I will finish my work with this rifle.” The look on the face of leader gave Nate every reason to believe he meant what he said. Nathan tried to explain.
“I am a miner from the gold fields of California,” Nate said, “and I am off to make a life somewhere else. The gold rush has not been too good to me, but it has not been too bad, either. In any case, I am headed for mountain country. Can you fellas point me in the direction of a meal and a bath?”
“Don’t bother with lame stories!” was the reply. “We know who you are. You are the snake that robbed the bank back in Tahoe town, and we have followed you all the way out here. Thought we were going to give up? That man you shot has died of his wounds, so that adds murder to the charges against you. You can hang for your crimes or you can die shooting it out with us, makes no difference. Either way, it’s the end of the line for you.”
“There has been some mistake.” Nate pleaded. “I don’t know about any robbery, I have never been to Tahoe town, and I have never shot anyone. I tell you, I came from California and am headed to the mountains.”
“Save it, you skunk! We know it was you because your horse has left that cockeyed trail ever since town. They’re the only hoofprints with one shoe missing. Yes sir, your horse has betrayed you to the people who will bring justice.”
Nate tried to explain how he had come by the horse, but it was no use. The story sounded made up, even to Nate. He was taken back to Tahoe town, put on trial for bank robbery and murder, and well, you know the rest.
BC Cook, PhD lived on Saipan and has taught history for 20 years. He currently resides on the mainland U.S.
BC Cook
