We gathered a couple small logs and plenty of kindling and dry grass. Stumpy reached expectantly into his back pocket and pulled out two wooden strike-anywhere matches. He’d carefully covered the heads of the matches with candle wax for precisely this situation. I guess I made fun of him at the time, but I was starting to get cold. And those two matches were a beautiful sight when he pulled them from his pockets and we saw that the wax had not rubbed off.
In short order, Stumpy scraped the wax from one match head with a twig. He struck the match on a flat rock and lit the wax on the twig as a sort of small torch. With burning sticks in both hands, Stumpy quickly lit as much of the dried grass on fire as he could, all the while gently blowing on the flames to encourage the fire. It worked perfectly, and in no time we had a small fire going. Stumpy and I foraged for two larger logs and dropped them on the fire as it grew.
We stripped down to our skivvies and draped our clothes over a nearby bush to dry. Only then did I realize how exhausted I had become. I could barely keep my eyes open when I stretched out next to the fire to get some rest. I could see Stumpy doing the same thing. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was looking up at the crisp, blue autumn sky at the opening of the ravine above us. It was a beautiful fall afternoon. And I thought it would be fine to sleep outside now that we had a strong fire to protect us from the cold and curious wildlife.
I slept deeply, without dreams or stirring. When I awoke, it was nighttime, but I could still see quite well due to the bright moon which was nearly full. The fire had grown to twice the size it was when I fell asleep. It was well tended, and I was quite warm and comfortable. I was about to thank Stumpy for this when I noticed that he was still fast asleep next to me. He hadn’t moved an inch. But he had a brown deer hide thrown over him for warmth. Still groggy from sleep, I realized that I had the same kind of animal fur stretched over myself. I could tell that Stumpy’s eyes were open. But when I tried to call out to him, I couldn’t make a sound. I tried to lift the deer hide blanket, but I found that I couldn’t move, either. I glanced back to Stumpy, but he wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he was looking at something on the other side of the fire. I followed his gaze, and that’s when I noticed the woman.
She looked a lot like Grandma, but much, much older. She had long, white hair past her shoulders. And she was blind, or she must have been. Her eyes were both covered in milky white cataracts, and she stared directly into the fire. She sat cross-legged, except she didn’t quite touch the ground. She floated about three inches above it. I couldn’t see anything holding her up, but there she was about three inches off the ground. She was well illuminated by the fire, and I could clearly see the ground underneath her as she sat motionless. To her left, a large white husky dog relaxed on all fours on the actual ground at her side. The dog was attentive, but not threatening. He seemed to be waiting for her next command.
The blind woman began to chant very slowly. Her voice was incredibly frail and weak.
From the land, we call
from the sky, we call
from the river, we call
from the Earth, we call
As she chanted this over and over again, I suddenly noticed a figure standing in the trees about twenty feet behind her. He was smoking. He completely blended into the shadows except when he raised the cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag. I have no idea how long he had been standing there. He just stood there listening to the blind woman’s chanting and finished his cigarette. A putrid smell began to waft over us. It was a combination of skunk, decaying animal, and menthol cigarette smoke.
After four or five repetitions, the blind woman stopped chanting, and the large figure moved forward into the light. Fully nine feet tall and covered in a matted brown fur. He stopped next to the woman’s dog and flicked his cigarette into the campfire. The white dog looked up at him, not alarmed, but simply acknowledging his presence. The Broomsquatch extended a hand toward the woman and lightly touched her shoulder in greeting. Then he reached down to the white dog and gently scratched him on the neck behind his ear.
The Broomsquatch stood up again and walked over to Stumpy. Stumpy was awake, but just like me, he couldn’t move a muscle. I could tell from Stumpy’s eyes that he was more curious than afraid, while I had never been more terrified in my life. The Broomsquatch crouched down over Stumpy, pushed the deerskin back and carefully examined the leg that Stumpy had broken when he fell into the abandoned mine. The squatch gently turned it left and right, inspecting it from every angle. After he seemed satisfied with how well the break had healed, he carefully stretched the deerskin back over Stumpy’s leg.
Then the Broomsquatch turned to me.
The blind woman spoke again, but this time in a wheezy and unnatural tone. It was much louder than her chant, and it was almost as if she was talking while inhaling instead of exhaling, “This other one, I have met before. But you are new to me.”
The Broomsquatch crouched down next to me and placed his large hand gently on the top of my head and closed his eyes for several seconds. His hand was soft and very warm. But his smell was overpowering.
“I know your kin. And I am indebted to her,” the blind woman continued in her unnatural wheeze.
At this, the Broomsquatch moved his hand from my head and lightly touched my shoulder in the same way that he had touched the blind woman’s. Then he stood up and faced the fire directly. He raised his arms to the sky and let out an eardrum piercing howl. It started low and guttural, but then it built up into a scream that echoed off of the ravine walls, like a fire horn. After he stopped the echoes continued to ripple through the ravine, slowly fading away.
That’s when I noticed the herd of elk. They stepped from the dappled moon shadows of a glade and stood facing the Broomsquatch. There must have been seven or eight total. They just stood there, all of them staring directly at the Broomsquatch.
Three mule deer stood in the stream in much the same pose. They all faced the Broomsquatch, motionless. From up above I saw a hawk wheeling down towards the campfire. He landed somewhere behind me. And even though I could not turn to see him, I knew that the hawk was looking directly at the Broomsquatch.
Still, I couldn’t move. So I have no idea how many animals were frozen at that moment in time, facing the Broomsquatch.
After a long pause, the woman spoke again in her backwards, inhaling wheeze. “These boys are our friends.” With this the Broomsquatch lowered his arms and gestured to Stumpy and myself on the ground. “Allow them safe passage back to the world of men.”
With that, the Broomsquatch turned and walked back into the shadows from where he’d come. Once he was out of the firelight, he just disappeared. I didn’t see any movement, nor could I hear his footfalls. It was as if he’d just evaporated into thin air.
The blind woman remained three inches off the ground, legs crossed, completely still. Over the course of a full minute, she just faded away, never moving a muscle. At first I could see the outlines of the trees behind her. And then after a few seconds, I could only see her outline. Finally, she was just gone. A breeze began to pick up. We could tell from the sky that the sun was beginning to rise, even though the ravine was still deep in the grip of the shadow of night. Gradually, all of the natural sounds the mountains returned. I didn’t realize that the whole world had gone completely silent until I heard the fluttering of aspen leaves, the calls of birds at sunrise, and the buzzing insects again.
Whatever was paralyzing us was receding at the same time. Soon we could move our arms and legs again. It was an achy sensation, like waking up first thing in the morning. Without speaking, we shook the numbness out of our limbs and put the rest of our clothes back on. They were perfectly dry and much softer than they were after Grandma washed them.
“Hey,” Stumpy said suddenly. “She left her dog.”
And sure enough, the white husky was still there crouched on all fours. He had barely moved the whole time. He had an old rope tied around his neck in a makeshift leash. And once we noticed him, the dog stood up. The dog walked over to Stumpy, and Stumpy intuitively picked up the rope leash from the ground. Once it was secure in Stumpy’s hand, the dog began to walk with purpose. He was pulling Stumpy downstream.
“I think he’s taking us home,” Stumpy said.
“I’m glad someone knows how to get out of here,” I replied.
And sure enough, without any fuss or diversions, that white dog walked us directly out of the ravine. After a couple miles on the trail, the sun was fully up. The night had given way to the day, and we could tell that we were in Eldorado Canyon. But I’ve never seen that particular ravine before or since. Once we got to the Eldorado Springs Pool, the dog turned and led us to the train station where the spur for the Denver & Interurban Railroad cars loaded.
I’ll be darned, but that white dog never stopped walking. He jumped right up into the electric railcar and pulled Stumpy up there with him.
“The dog can ride,” the conductor said. “But you’ve got to hold that leash tight. It gets a little bumpy near Superior.”
“How much is the fare to Broomfield?” Stumpy asked. We never paid to ride the Interurban to Eldorado Canyon when you could just as easily hike or ride in Grandma’s gig.
“Fifty cents,” the conductor replied. And he had a look on his face as if he expected us to both just hand him over fifty cents. Fifty whole cents.
Stumpy looked at me terrified. We didn’t have two pennies to rub together, let alone a full dollar between us.
At this the dog started nosing Stumpy’s front pocket, the one where he’d put his last Coors bottle cap. And Stumpy started talking to that dog just as if he was talking to me.
“There’s no way he’ll take it,” Stumpy said. But that white dog kept bumping his nose right into his pocket. Stumpy reached into his pocket to grab the bottle cap. “He’ll think I’m a lunatic if I tried to give him a…” And Stumpy suddenly pulled out a shiny half dollar coin from the pocket where the bottle cap had been.
The conductor immediately snatched the coin from Stumpy’s hand and said, “Oh, we take Liberty half dollar coins,” he said. “Don’t you worry about that.” And with this, the conductor examined the face of the coin and continued, “And this one was even minted in Denver. It looks brand new.”
I reached into my pocket for the bottle cap, and pulled out a half dollar coin as well. The conductor quickly snatched the fifty cent coin away and replaced it with a ticket.
“One-way to Broomfield. Ring the bell when we’re close in case I forget to stop. Now take your seats, boys. We’re just about ready to go.” Then he stuck his head out of the electric railcar and hollered, “All aboard!!!”
Stumpy and I found a bench at the back of the train car and sat down. The white dog relaxed directly at Stumpy’s feet as if he’d ridden the train since he was a puppy. There was a woman with a little girl a couple years younger than us on the facing bench.
“What’s your dog’s name?” The little girl said to Stumpy.
“I don’t know,” Stumpy replied.
“You don’t know your own dog’s name?” the little girl yelled incredulously.
“I just got him today,” Stumpy said. “I ain’t named him yet.”
“You should call him King Arthur”, the little girl replied.
“What? Why should I call him King Arthur?” Stumpy replied, quite surprised that his first real conversation since returning from the ravine of the Broomsquatch would be an argument with a little girl about the name of his dog.
“Because he’s as white as King Arthur flour,” the little girl fired back. “And it’s plain as day that he’s descended from royalty. Just look at him!”
And I’ll be darned if that white mutt didn’t sit just a little straighter and lift his chin just a little higher as the little girl said that he was a royal hound. We all looked at him for a couple seconds, and then the dog added a strongly affirmative, “Woof!” to seal the deal.
“Good boy, King Arthur!” the little girl said as she smiled.
With that the little girl’s mother intervened. “Now Sarah, you leave those boys alone. They look tired, and it’s still early. You boys go ahead and close your eyes. I’ll let you know when we get near Broomfield.”
And that electric train quickly rocked me to sleep just like Grandma used to in her rocking chair.
