Rifle in a Tree – Part 1

It was the story of a man fighting for his life.

Zack was a miner out looking for something besides gold.  He had left his camp hunting for food and shot a deer.  After making sure the fat doe was dead he leaned his rifle against a juniper tree so that he would have both hands free to start the butchering.

And that’s when things went wrong – horribly, horribly wrong.

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As a young man in his mid-twenties Zack had left home to fight for his country when the southern states seceded.  His family hadn’t owned any slaves and hadn’t really wanted to, but he was worried about northerners coming in and taking over everything, as his father warned.  So he had fought for the Confederacy during that horrible war.

Like many of the young men he had fought beside, and many he fought against, he had joined thinking he would have some excitement and adventure and go home to a hero’s welcome.  Instead, the war had dragged on.  He had seen some awful things, even done some unspeakable things…things he never wanted to experience again, but things that he relived many nights in his sleep.

Then, after the war he had returned home to find that the crops had been destroyed and the livestock slaughtered or stolen.  The house had been burned and his mother and two of his brothers and one sister were living in a ramshackle shed that had escaped the destruction.  They never found out what had become of the other three brothers who had gone off to fight. 

The paper money his parents had hidden before the war was still in the canning jar buried beside a fence post, but now it wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.  Their father had gone off to sell some livestock he’d rounded up and he never returned.  They never found out what happened to him either, but heard rumors of guerillas who were roaming the area wreaking havoc.

There was plenty of work to do on the farm but little food to keep them going, and no money to buy needed supplies. 

What was left of the family buckled down and went to work.  They traded labor with neighbors for the loan of working horses; swapped more work for seed; and helped at a sawmill in exchange for some lumber to start rebuilding.

They were making slow progress and it was a few years before things were looking a little better.  Zack married Eliza from a neighboring farm and set up housekeeping on the home place.  Before long, they had a daughter, then another.

Then came a hot summer when there was not enough rain, so their crops didn’t turn a profit, and another when there was too much rain and the farm again didn’t make money. 

That winter Zack’s wife and daughters got sick.  Eliza and the children didn’t make it.

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After burying his young family Zack was faced with a harsh reality.  He was in his 40s and in the same position he had been right after the war – he had no wife, no children, and he was about to lose the family farm.

When he heard about some people finding gold out in Nevada, Zack thought it might be the answer to the family’s problems.  He knew that dreams don’t come true; life had taught him that, but as the oldest surviving brother he felt it was up to him to do…something. 

Besides, he really wanted to get away for a while from the place that held so many bad memories.

He was able to work out a swap for an old mule that was still pretty sound, and a rifle, a lever action 1873 Winchester in .44-40.  He left his brothers to care for his elderly mother and the farm.  He promised them all he would be back soon.

Then he rode west.

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In Nevada Zack took a job helping an experienced miner named Levi so he could learn the basics of prospecting.  He quickly discovered just how dangerous it was to work underground when a loose rock rolled out of the mine’s wall.  It could have killed him but he was quick enough to dodge it.  Instead it hit the Winchester, which he had propped against the wall beside Levi’s weapon.  The boulder bent the other miner’s weapon, an old.50 caliber Sharps, beyond use.  Zack was luckier.  His rifle only suffered a cracked stock and jammed loading mechanism.

He fixed the stock with metal pins but was forced to remove the lifter to get his rifle to shoot again.  From then on he had to load one round at a time by hand but at least he could still shoot the rifle.

He used most of his ammo to get the gun hitting where he wanted, which left him with only two cartridges.  Hopefully that would be enough until he could get more.

A couple days later Zack carried the .44-40 with him when he went out in the Snake Mountains to restock the mine’s larder with meat. 

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A few hours into the hunt he tethered the mule to some brush and snuck quietly to a scrub oak.  He peered around the tree and saw three deer standing quietly.  They hadn’t smelled or heard him.  Good, he thought.  Maybe he could “make meat” using only one cartridge.  He had one in the chamber and the other in the hollow compartment of the buttstock.

He nestled the rifle in one of the tree’s forks and sighted carefully, then squeezed off a shot.  The doe dropped at the boom.  Zack ejected the spent cartridge as he watched the other deer run off.  The one he shot never moved.

He led the mule as he walked to his fallen prey and double-checked to make sure she was dead.

She was.

Zack leaned the rifle against a juniper and tied the mule to a tree branch.  He turned back to the deer.  As he made his way through some brush toward the carcass he heard something that chilled his heart.  From under the brush came a loud buzz.

Rattlesnake.

He was still trying to decide which way to jump when he felt a hard smack on his right leg just above the top of his boot.

At the sound the old mule exploded, pulling her reigns loose from the branch they were tied to.  It ran off, braying and kicking.

Zack knew his time was limited.  He cut a strip of cloth from his shirt and tied it around the leg above the wound and started walking.  Levi had a general idea where he was hunting but would never come looking for him in time.

Zack walked toward the frightened mule, calling softly.  If he could catch it, he might have a chance.  Again and again, when he was almost close enough, the frightened animal would move away. And with every step Zack took, the pain in his leg increased.

He pulled up his pant leg and cursed.  The bitten leg was growing black and swelling.  He looked back up but everything seemed to be getting foggy.  He looked around.  Where was he?  Where was the mule?  Where was camp?

As he looked around, the fog thickened, then the world seemed to spin.

He thought, “What will happen to the farm?  What will happen to Momma?” 

Then he thought of the horrible pain; then he thought of nothing…ever again.

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The doe was beyond eating by the time Zack’s friend found her, but he was able to track the runaway mule and found Zack nearby.  The mule would have nothing to do with Zack’s body, and Levi didn’t blame her.  He buried Zack then took the mule’s reins and led her back to camp.

He couldn’t find any identification in Zack’s things and had no idea who to notify.  He realized too late that he had never learned his friend’s last name or where he was from.

That wasn’t uncommon in that area and in those times.

Before long scavengers ate and scattered the remains of the deer, and Zack’s body returned to the soil. 

The forgotten rifle leaned quietly against that juniper tree where Zack had propped it.  The seasons came and went and the 19^th century passed into history.  The 20^th century came and was soon also part of the past. 

And all that time the Winchester leaned against that juniper. 

Until just a few years ago.  

More about that in Part 2.

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