Western Chimeras

By Eric Berg and Sutherland Staatz

Part One: Wilds

Chapter 1: Hat

I collapsed on the beach and vomited sea water up on the white sand. I cursed the crimp that had got me drunk, dragged me aboard The Rhododendron and forced me to help sail that blasted tub around Cape Horn.

I got up off of my hands and knees and surveyed the stretch of beach that I shared with only a few flocks of seabirds. Hopefully it was California and not Mexico. I didn't know any Spanish and hadn't heard anything about gold in Mexico. California on the other hand, well, I should be able to earn enough gold for a trip back to New York without scrubbing decks.

It took me so long to find fresh water that I had stopped cursing the crimp and started cursing myself. My fellow policemen had warned me against drinking at the New York docks, but of course I was too young and stupid to listen. You'd think being through a war would have taught me a thing or two. 

I finally stumbled upon freshwater and was deep in self pity with my face in the stream when I was addressed with the first kind voice I had heard since I had left home.

"Hola, como estas?"

My first thought was that it was nice to be addressed with a little respect. My second thought was that I had been thrown overboard too soon and would have a long march North to go before I would find California.

"Uhhh, where is the closest town?" I rasped. 

The man shrugged and motioned for me to follow him. The trail that he took me on was short and came to a busy camp where some of his fellow countrymen were just finishing breakfast.

One of them stood up and handed me a plate of leftovers which I unceremoniously wolfed down.

"Hungry, eh?" The thick-mustached man jested with a raised eyebrow as he stared at me.

"You... speak English," I said stupidly between bites of fried potato.

"Yes, yes. It is useful in California."

The man regarded my surprised expression for a moment, said something to his companions in Spanish, and then let out a big laugh with the rest of the small group.

I joined in with a forced laugh of my own.

"My name is Robert."

"Jose. The man who you met is Rodriguez."

I shook each man's hand in turn.

"I appreciate it. Is there a town nearby?"

Jose's jubilant expression faded to a somber one. "Yes, Oak Grove."

At the mention of the cheery name the mood of the rest of the camp immediately darkened.

"What's wrong with Oak Grove?"

Jose stared at me intently for quite some time before answering. The rest of the group dropped their gaze to their food and ate in silence.

"That's not a place where you want to go, Robert. That's not a place where anyone wants to go anymore."

"How bad is it? Is it worse than being shanghaied? "

A grin tugged at Jose's mouth and he took an oversized bite of his potato. He responded through his mouthful of food. 

"Well shit, friend. It sounds like you've had a rough time!"

Chuckles briefly ran through the other men but left just as quickly as the shadow of the main topic of our conversation settled back over the camp.