The Pythagoras Curse Part XIII

Australia Bound

Riding south we passed lines of immigrants in their wagons, scores of people heading north, seeking a fresh start. Those wishing to make a new home for themselves or fortunes mining gold in the Black Hills of the Dakota Territories.

Of the settlers who welcomed us into their encampments at night, providing us refreshment from their meager stores, we also gained news of a great war between the Sioux and government troops.

I was glad to be away from The Wyoming and Dakota Territories.

Long Feather and I had placed ourselves in the path of far too many dangers lately. Now, our sights were set on making our way to San Francisco and then Australia.

I hoped if I was to ever find Gerung Brandt, my meeting with him would not have the same outcome as the one with Johannes Tockler.

It wasn’t until the thirteenth day of our travel from the Hole In The Wall we reached Cheyenne, a rail stop for the Union Pacific railroad.

The very railroad the now deceased Dutchman and his band of outlaws intended to rob.

It was a difficult conversation I had with Long Feather when I told him we must sell our horses, my saddle and carry nothing but our meager supplies of clothing and my pair of saddlebags.

“Not take horses with us?”

“No. From this point forward we will be traveling by train and across the water by ship.”

“Steel horse that travels across our lands?”

“Yes.”

“Canoe across water?”

“No, much bigger than a canoe. Although nothing like anything I am accustomed to. When I first came to this country I was shackled in the darkened hold of a leaking wooden ship traveling across the sea by the grace of God and the mysteries of the wind.”

“They no have place for horses?”

“No.”

“Pony not belong to Long Feather. Not sell. He is free spirit. He spends his days with me until Long Feather has need of him no more. We will take him away from this place and set him free to run beneath the sun and moon.”

I followed Long Feather out of Cheyenne along a winding road until we reached a small creek. Atop my mare I watched as the boy dismounted, led his pony to the creek and waited as the horse filled himself.

Long Feather then removed the horse’s harness and smoothed its mane, brushing its neck over and over. I watched him lean in and whisper something then he pulled his blanket from the horse’s back and slapped its rump.

As the pony started and crossed the creek then scrambled up the creek bank on the other side Long Feather turned his back on the horse and walked to me.

I watched the pony as it galloped across the expanse of open countryside until it disappeared from sight. Then I leaned down and offered the boy my hand, helping him up on the rump of my mare.

“You are an amazing young man Long Feather.”

The boy said nothing. I thought it best to remain silent as well.

We returned to Cheyenne and found a bank where I arranged a telegraphic transfer of funds from my bank on the east coast. I was informed it would take at least a week for the funds to be available so the next order of business was to find a stable where we could sell my mare and saddle, and then locate a boarding house.

For the next week we lavished in the boarding house, pleasuring ourselves with three fine meals a day and sleeping off the last dregs of many nights spent on the trail.

There was even time for luxurious baths in large porcelain tubs adorned with claw feet and filled with hot water and a trip to a local barber where I sat as the man carefully removed my beard with practiced, swipes of a straight razor.

And though I assured him no harm would come to him Long Feather refused to have his mane trimmed.

At the end of the week, I secured my funds from the bank and we sought out a Union Pacific ticket office which wasn’t difficult since the railroad was primarily responsible for the birth of Cheyenne.

Rail hubs and maintenance yards seemed everywhere we looked.

Our trip in second class consisted of the train either stopping at midday so the passengers could eat lunch, or making frequent stops in daylight and darkness to take on water and fuel replenishment.

At first, I imagined we could have made better use of the time spent had we been traveling on horseback.

But even with the stops, the miracle of modern day mechanical engineering was not lost on Long Feather or myself.

When the train was moving we zipped along at a speed no horse on earth could sustain for long.

To travel the thousand miles over steep mountain ranges instead of through tunnels blasted into the Sierra Nevada Mountain range; attempting to cross deep rivers instead of passing over them on wooden bridges would have taken us the better part of five weeks.

Instead we reached San Francisco two days after boarding the train in Cheyenne Wyoming.

San Francisco. A city of wonders.

San Francisco was the largest, most bustling, chaotic mass of people, wagons, horses and motion I myself had witnessed in a very long time. As we walked amongst the frenzied vibrancy of the city, Long Feather chose to attach himself to my hip as if another appendage, gripping my arm for fear we would become separated.

We were hoping to find our way to the harbor where I thought we would locate a ticket agent for a steamship to Australia.

But there was so much activity, so many things to catch the eye we stopped several times to take it all in. Almost every walkway was lined with merchants offering both the mundane and the exotic.

We stumbled upon an extremely wide avenue known as Clay street. There we witnessed things beyond our comprehension.

Square wagons resembling a smaller version of a railroad car but with open windows, were magically carting people up and down a very steep hill without benefit of either horse or engine.

Eventually we made our way to the harbor and found an agent for a ship from the John Elder & Co., Glasgow line. As luck would have it the Zealandia was in port and scheduled to depart for Melbourne in two days.

I purchased two first class tickets at an exorbitant fee of two hundred dollars each. Our trip would be eight days to an island port named Honolulu then another thirty five days to Melbourne.

I have no thoughts of how to find Gerung upon reaching Australia, but fate has led me to this point and I believe it will continue to show me the path.

I only hope Long Feather and I can find the strength and will to continue walking this path.

READ ON — THE PYTHAGORAS CURSE PART XIV

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part VIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII Part XXIII, Conclusion

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