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 Bullhead River (Excerpts)
 
(c) 1998, 2009 by Clete Goffard
 
Kyle : 1868
 
On a balmy morning in 1868, fifteen-year-old Kyle Flanagan was taken from his precinct jailcell in the City of Chicago,and led before Judge Jeremiah Morton, who sat behind a tall wooden desk. Kyle's grim lippedfather and his worried mother were waiting for him at the desk where the hearing was to beconducted. The balding judge was clean shaven except for a ferocious moustache. He banged hisgavel and motioned Officer Weller, the cop who had arrested Kyle, forward.The cop went into a recital of his recollection of the event as the judge shuffled and sorted a pile of papers before him. At one point Kyle tried to make a correction to Weller's account, andthe judge looked up and said brusquely, "You will remain silent unless spoken to, young man, if you know what's good for you!"It seemed that Kyle was being accused of stealing a horse and wagon, and also of being a participant in a robbery that occurred at the time that the horse and wagon were taken. JudgeMorton questioned the patrolman closely about whether he had, in fact seen Kyle emerge fromthe street where the horse and wagon were found standing, allegedly waiting to be unloaded byother members of the gang. The officer finally allowed that he had not, but insisted that theaccused had not exited a doorway and would have otherwise been seen by him if he hadapproached on the main street. Weller didn't mention that he had been looking into the sky,studying the chance of rain, when Kyle had collided with him.The judge pondered this and asked if there was an eyewitness to the theft itself. They hadn'tfound any, Officer Weller said, as everyone's attention at been drawn to the sound of a bombexploding at the front of the establishment. The investigation was continuing, however.Judge Morton took a drink of water and held forth, looking directly at Kyle's parents."The is only the slimmest circumstantial evidence that your son was involved in this crime,"he said, "and if I bind him over for trial I have no doubt that a witness would be found. Here heglared reprovingly at the officer. "And I have no doubt , that if this were the case, that he would be convicted of the charge laid against him. Now, I have my suspicions, but there is a seriousamount of doubt. Before I render my decision, I have a question to direct to you, his parents:What assurance can you give me that this boy will not be brought before me again?"His father tried to say something, but his mother was quicker, understanding what JudgeMorton wanted as an answer."His grandparents live north of here in the pinery, up by Green Bay," she said."He could go upthere.""You are certain they will not send him back in a few weeks?""They will not send him back.""Very well," said the judge, "I am going to release you into the custody of your parents, youngman, while they make arrangements for your trip.You will remain in your house 'til then--you arenot to leave it, do you understand? Officer Weller will see to it that you depart the city." He banged the gavel and left the room.Kyle and his parents also left. His father's face was ashen and his lips compressed. As theystated down the street, the
 
elder Flanagan took a vicious roundhouse swing at Kyle's head and spat: "You worthless son-of-a-bitch!"His mother gasped at the outburst, and Kyle said, truculently, "Don't you talk about my momlike that!"Three days later, Officer Weller showed up at their doorstep, and Kyle was given a ride toLake Michigan in a police wagon. He carried only a small bundle and a letter to his grandmother,Lena Gundel."You're getting off easier than you deserve," said Weller, pushing him up the gangplank of hisship, "Don't ever let me catch you in Chicago again."When Kyle reached Green Bay he was glad to set foot on dry land once more. Standing on thedock, it occured to him that he had no knowledge about how to reach his destination.He onlyknew the name, Bullhead River --that must be really out in the sticks, if this was what they calleda city here--and his grandparents' name. He began by asking questions of passersby. One hadnever heard of the place, another was of the opinion that it was up north somewhere, and the third jerked his thumb toward a shack with a sign nailed to the front. Kyle puzzled out the words,"River Cargo Company--Eb. Martin, Prop."Kyle pounded on the door, and there was a shout from around the side of the building. Helooked and saw a thin, sunburned man with white hair and a mallet in his hand. He wasattemppting to repair some kind of flat-topped barge.Kyle walked over to him and said, "I want to get to Bullhead River.""So do I, Sonny," the man said, "But first I got to fix this boat." He looked more closely atKyle and said, "You from Chicago?""How do you know?""Oh, no reason. You just look like a city boy. What business have you got there?""My Grandpa lives up there by the lumber mill. Emil Gundel.""Know him. You in a hurry to get there?""I guess not," said Kyle, "They don't know I'm coming.""What's your name?""Kyle Flanagan.""Flanagan, is it now?" was the reply. "I'm Eb Martin. Look here, I've got to pick up some boards in Oconto. Give me a hand and I'll get you there before dark.""Good enough for me," said Kyle.Martin went into his house and came back with a handful of dried meat he said was venison,and gave Kyle a piece to chew on.They pushed off and spent several hours pushing north alongthe coast. There wasn't much to see, throught Kyle, that he hadn't seen on the trip up fromChicago.They turned onto a river and spent some more time traveling, and came to a settlement. After an hour of loading boards next to a sawmill, they returned to the bay and went north again beforeturning again onto another river that didn't seem to be much more than a creek. Kyle was afraidthe old guy was going to spend the afternoon fishing before he finished the trip, but Eb said,"Bullhead River. The mill is up here a ways."They chugged along the stream and the trees seemed to close in on both sides. Kyle glancedaround nervously, not certain they weren't going to be ambushed by Indians. He could almost seethem lurking behind the trees in their war paint and carrying tomahawks. At any time he expectedan arrow to thunk into the boat.After awhile he began to see animals, and birds, too. He saw some whitetail deer. This wasn'tas bad as he thought it would be. If you had a gun you could shoot deer and always havesomething to eat. Better than a piece of fatty pork with the bristles on it, any day. He stuudied thewater and saw shadowy shapes moving away from the boat. Fish--and big ones, too. This mightnot be bad, at all."On vacation?" asked Eb.
 
"Naw," replied Kyle, "I'm gonna live there.""Some sort of problem, is my guess," said Eb."I got kicked out of Chicago," Kyle replied. What the hell, what difference did it make whatthe old guy thought?"Good for a young feller to get out and see the world." replied Eb, "We're going to get these boards to a man who's building a boat for me." They went around a bend and headed to theJacobson Boat Company dock.Kyle got stuck unloading boards with one of the boat builders who had come from Chicago afew years ago. They talked about the city until the riverman and old man Jacobson finishedtalking about the new boat. They all had a plate of firecrackers --beans cooked with cayenne pepper--and cold biscuits. By the time they had pushed off from the boat company dock, the sunhad already set.They went a few miles more up the river until they came to a wide part and saw a saloon andsome other buildings and what looked like another saw mill. Kyle had a sinking feeling that Ebwas going to tell him that this was his destination. He looked at the old guy out of the corner of his eye, and Eb, who must have been reading his mind, nodded his head. Well, it figured.In a few minutes, Martin aimed the boat at the shore, grounded it on the bank, and turned off the little steam engine that had powered it. "You can jump off here," he said, "Take that paththrough the trees for about a quarter of a mile, and it's on your right. Just a cabin and a fewoutbuildings in a clearing.Don't dawdle along, it will be dark as a bat's ass in half an hour.""What about you" asked Kyle."Don't worry about me" said Martin, "I'm gonna camp out at the boatworks for a few days tosee how things are coming along Say hello to Emil for me. Better get going now." He pushed the boat from the bank with a long pole and went drifting downstream.Kyle waved goodbye and went off to his new life.II.Emil and Lena's parcel was adjacent to the Lorquist's on the river, and their back boundaryabutted the land of a family named Selby.It was not an uncommon sight to see Emil, or "old manGundel," as he was sometimes called, on the banks of the Bullhead with four or five long bamboo poles stuck into the bank, with their lines and bobbins well out into the stream. Despite the river'sname-- the bullhead might be described as a small brown catfish seldom fished for--there weresome excellent fish in the river, including northern pike and a few pickerel.The flowage by theThorvald mill where the river widened out was the size of a small lake.He would rather fish than farm, the neighbors said, and he usually did, so the land clearing of his forty acres proceeded at a less than leisurely pace. But as he was no longer youthful, and hisand Lena's children long grown, there was little stigma attached to this. One expected old folks totake it as easy as they could.Emil was not quite so old as his reputation would have it, though. He had inherited his parent'sfarm in the southern part of the State after their deaths from cholera that resulted from a visit torelatives in Milwaukee. The Gundel's son had left for California, and their daughter had married arailroad man, from Chicago, named Flanagan. The combination of a good offer for their farm plusthe lure of unlimited hunting and fishing inclined Emil to move, and Lena had acquiesced to himas she usually did in family matters.They had hired a crew of lumberjacks, who needed summer employment, who cleared aboutfive acres and erected a cabin of logs from the straighter hardwood they had cut down. TheGundels kept an ox for transportation and hauling, two goats for milk, chickens, and a series of housecats which lasted a year or two before they disappeared.They were not rich, but they had money put by from the sale of their farm. They settled downto a relatively inexpensive existence. They could send away for what they wanted when theywanted it, or the riverman would bring it to them for a good price.Their combined skills made
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