“Cowboying is when you round up cattle and drive them to wherever you want them to go.”

Chapter 27 - Cowboying

Last night Jackie was hired to do baby-sitting and slept over our neighbor’s house, the Burns. She went to school from their house this morning. And after school she had dinner with them and waited for Dad and I to get back from our long day of cowboying.

***

After being out all day cowboying, I come running in the door trying to contain myself. It’s around 9:00 PM at night and I try to act casual.

I say to Jackie, “How did baby-sitting go last night? Did Hank and Jane get home late?”

“No, not too late. It went good. Brice and I designed clothes. Then we had a fashion show and put on matching tops with boas and stuff. It was a lot of fun.

I got to sleep in Brice’s room. She has two twin beds, really comfortable. It was more like a sleep over, and I made some really big bucks babysitting, twenty dollars,” Jackie says with a sassy tone.

“Very cool, that’s a lot of money. You want to hear my amazing cowboying story?” I screech.

Jackie knew we had gone cowboying. It was all prearranged, her staying with the Burn’s overnight. They live right across the street. Jackie did not want to go cowboying, she thinks its barbaric to eat meat, she’s a vegetarian.

We had left really early in the morning and we knew we wouldn’t be getting home till late. Besides Jackie couldn’t go cause she had talent show practice, and she didn’t want to miss that.

***

This whole adventure began a few weeks ago when Chester called and asked us all to go cowboying with him on his cousin’s ranch.

Dad asked, “What is cowboying?”

Chester explained, “Cowboying is when you round up cattle and drive them to wherever you want them to go.”

Dad repeated, “Christina, Jackie, you guys want to go cowboying on horses on a ranch?”

I took the phone right out of Dad’s hand and shouted, “Can Neewa come?”

“Yes Neewa can come, if she can ride a horse?” Chester laughed.

“When? When?” I asked him.

Chester replied, “It depends on the weather. I’ll call you the night before. We won’t go in the rain or bad weather.”

Chester finally called yesterday afternoon, “Do you still want to go cowboying?”

“Yeah,” I told him.

Chester said, “Pick me up at four in the morning.”

I cried out, “Four in the morning! Wow, Okay we’ll see you at four.”

I shouted to Dad, “We are going cowboying tomorrow, the weather is supposed to be good.”

Dad replied, “Yeah tomorrow is good. I’ll call The Burns’s and ask if Jackie can stay over their house tonight.”

“Jackie, you okay with this?” Dad asked not completely convinced Jackie did not want to go cowboying.

“Yeah Dad, I’m not going cowboying, its barbaric,” She said again.

***

“So anyway Jackie listen, we picked up Chester’s at four, and we all arrived at the ranch before the sun came up. We met Chester’s cousin, Dave at his house and took his pick-up truck to the barn. Dave was surprised when Neewa jumped up into in the back of his pick-up.”

“Cute dog you got there, can she stare down a steer?” Dave asked.

I answered, “Neewa can do anything, just tell her once and she is good to go.”

Neewa was an instant hit with everyone.

“She loves to be petted and play fetch,” I told them as we drove down the dirt road, “She can do anything. Its as if she is human.”

“Right from the start Dad and Dave had an issue.”

Jackie sighs, “Oh boy, it figures, Dad What did you do?”

He doesn’t answer, just continues tinkering around the kitchen.

I continue my story, “We’re getting in the truck. Dad just walked away from our van and Dave asks, why did you lock your van?”

“Oh did I?” Dad answered surprised.

“I didn’t even realize I did? Where we come from you have to lock your car. I guess it’s a habit.” Dad shrugged.

Dad and I could tell Dave was insulted. He thought we didn’t trust him and that we were afraid someone from his ranch would take something from our van.

Dad confided in me, “I know there is nothing I can do to take back what I did. I feel terrible that Dave thinks I don’t trust him. Guess we started off on the wrong foot.”

Dad tried to explain again by saying, “Dave we just moved out of the city. I picked up the habit of locking the van. You have to lock it or someone will take it.”

Dave shrugged his shoulders, “Oh, is that right?”

Dad sipped on his bottle of water as we arrived at the barn. Two of Dave’s ranch hands were already saddling the horses and getting everything ready. They nodded to us.

We each had to check our own bridal, synch, and reins ourselves to be sure they were tight, Dave insisted.

He told us, “The heard roams government land all year long. They eat whatever they can find, mostly sagebrush, but some grasses and new plant shoots if it rains. But it’s not enough, so we bring them hay to add to their diet. Mostly, the cattle live off whatever they can find. If it were not for the stream running through our land, there would be nothing for them to eat, just more desert.

We have about a dozen fields of grass and hay that belong to the tribe. We sell that for cash and that money goes to the old ones who can’t work.”

“I got the gentlest horse Dave had, her name is Stork. Dad got a horse that likes to throw you off onto the ground. Its name is Mac.”

Dave said laughing under his breath, “Be ready to land on your feet when that one throws you off.”

Dad replied, “Yeah? Ok? I’ll be ready, I hope.”

“Next we rode out onto the desert. It was so quiet and the sun was just coming up. You should have seen it when the early morning light hit the mountains, they turned a brilliant ruby red.”

Chester gave us our coyboying instructions as we rode, “I will tell you guys where to stand. We will drive the cattle toward you. Don’t get off your horses or you will get trampled for sure. You guys will be like bumpers in bumper pool, guiding the cattle.”

He asks, “Did you ever play bumper pool?”

“Yes,” We both say.

“I play all the time,” he says. “At my friends house.”

Chester continues, “The cattle will turn away from you when they see you. Make sure they turn the right way. Just raise up your arm opposite the direction you want them to go, don’t worry, they spook easy.”

I looked at Jackie who is hanging on every word, “That was the extent of my cowboying instructions.”

Chapter 28 - Cattle Drive

“I’m not sure if they were speaking Shoshone, Piute, or Washoe, but no one spoke English as we headed out to the desert.

It felt like I was with Billy Crystal and Daniel Stern in the movie City Slickers. You should have seen it Jackie, cattle everywhere. I was on my horse the whole day. It feels like I’m still on that horse, my legs are killing me.”

“Yeah Christina, you smell like you’re still on that round-up. I hope you’re taking a shower,” Jackie wrinkles her nose.

“Yeah, right after I finish the story,” I warn.

“Neewa was running around the cattle like she knew how to round them up. She nipped at the cow’s tails to get them to move faster. Once when a cow stopped right in front of her, she looked the cow straight in the eye and barked. The cow turned and ran to escape her glare. If a cow turned in the wrong direction, Neewa circled around and brought it back to the heard.

Someone would give a command in Shoshone, Piute, or Washoe. Dad and I would look at each other with a blank stare. Chester translated only if it was something we needed to know.

Chester would yell, stay by that sage bush, or don’t move, or move to the left.

Dad and I learned a couple of Indian words, stop, go, and don’t move you diaboo’s.”

Dad excited, continues the story while I go take a shower.

“Jackie, we rounded up all the cattle on the desert. That took almost all day. It had to be after two in the afternoon before we stopped for a drink of water.

Then we drove the cattle down a long dirt road with fence on either side to a corral. That was the easy part cause all we had to do was stay behind them and keep moving.

Occasionally, a steer would break away, get through a broken part of the fence and run for the hills. One of the cowboys would have to go round up the cow and drive it back to the heard.”

Dad laughs, “Neewa ran off into some trees. It was the perfect place for her with a shimmering stream, shade from the sun, and plenty of water. She probably wanted to get a drink or go for a swim and cool off. I saw her chewing on the green grass on the bank.

At that moment, she started rolling around on the ground scratching her back. Dirt and dust rose all around her as she wriggled around. I didn’t know what she was doing.

We continued down the road with the cattle when she came back. As soon as she got close to me, I realized what had happen. She had been rolling in cow manure and was covered in it.”

“Oh my god you stink!” I yelled.

Returning from my shower I interrupt Dad, “I told Neewa, you smell so bad you are going to have to stay outside on her chain in one of your dens.

When we passed the next pond, I took her for a swim. We played fetch and she swam across the pond a few times, but that didn’t get all the smell off.”

Dad continues the story, “We finally arrived at two big corrals that were in the middle of this wide-open field. Somehow we were going to get all the cattle in side. Christina and I were assigned to guard the gate and we positioned ourselves twenty or thirty feet away. Our job was to guide the cattle into the corral and keep the one’s inside from coming back out, which is what they wanted to do.

The only way to do this was to yell and wave our arms in the air to spook them in the right direction. Sometimes just raising an arm would scare the cattle enough to keep them from running back out.

When Chester and Dave herded a whole bunch of cows in through the gate, the cows inside tried to escape. Again and again the cattle got spooked and ran in every direction. Sometimes they ran right at us, and then it was impossible to keep them all from escaping while driving still more cattle in through the same gate.

If you let one get by you, and it was your fault, the other cowboy’s gave you a look. That would be your signal to go and get the escapee and drive it back into the corral.”

Jackie’s eyes are wide open as she listens to every word, “Next we separated the calves from the cows and put them in a separate corral. The calves screamed when they were taken from their moms. Some of them were not even weaned yet. It was sad, cows were mooing for their young. I wanted to die. They tried to get back to each other, crying, and blaring in cow language. They kept running out of the corral and back to their moms, only to be separated again by one of us on horseback. That was the worst part. I don’t ever want to do that again, I cried.”

Dad jumps in, “Cattle trucks arrived just when we finished getting the cows and calves separated. The calves were in the smaller corral. They are staying on the ranch, and will be Dave’s heard next year. The rest of the cattle were loaded into the trucks.

But in order to get the cattle onto the trucks, they had to be chased through this chute that lead to the trailer. The chute is a four-foot wide corridor in the corral with fence on both sides. It has dropdown doors to control the number of cattle passing through. After that, they go up a ramp into the truck’s trailer.”

Dad added, “The truck drivers have to get the trailer door really close to the top of the chute. If not, the cows jump between the trailer and ramp to freedom. Several cows made the four-foot jump and ran to the other corral to be with their calves. They mooed and mooed until they were roped and dragged back to the chute by a cowboy.

Then it was done, finally they were all loaded and two trucks full of cattle headed for the auction.”

I continued the story, “At this point I’m want to go home. I feel like I’m going to collapse from emotional and physical exhaustion.

I rode Stork back to Dave’s barn, I took her saddle off, and put away her blanket, bridal, and all her stuff. She walked back to her stall and started eating oats. I went straight to the van.

Dad and I followed the trucks into town. On the way, I could hear the cows screaming and mooing for their calves. Their cries are still ringing in my ears.”

Dad chimes in as I pause to go get some water, “Today was auction day and the buyers and sellers were ready to get started. We followed the trucks to the cattle market right in town near the railroad. The auction is enormous with dozens of corrals full of cattle. Each rancher’s heard of cattle is put in a different corral where they are sold.

Sounds were coming from everywhere at the huge railroad yard. Railroad cars wheels squealed and train whistles blew. The auctioneer tested his mike getting ready to start the bidding. Cattle were mooing, cowboys yelling orders to each other, and hooves of cattle stomped up and down ramps.

Finally, all of Dave’s cattle were unloaded from trucks into one of the corrals.

The auctioneer went around to each heard yelling into his microphone for an opening bid.

Swiftly he began his chatter into the microphone, “Do I hear fifty cents a pound? Fifty? Fifty, give me fifty cents? Do I hear fifty? There ya go, I have fifty cents, do I hear fifty-five? Fifty-five? Fifty-five? Give me fifty-five cents.

The auctioneer walked from corral to corral and the bidding continued until all the cattle were sold to the highest bidder.

The auction was over, trains were loaded with cattle, and off to the slaughterhouse they went.

Dave went to the cashier and picked up his check, and we came home.”

“That was my cowboying experience. I’m going to remember this day for the rest of my life. I’ll probably never do it again, ever. I’m going to bed after a good soaking in a hot bathtub. You did save me some hot water? Didn’t you Jackie?”

Jackie looks over at me and says, “Christina you probably used it up when you took a shower before,” She returns to her TV show.

“Cool, sounds like you guys had a good time, I’m going to bed, Brice and I stayed up late last night, goodnight.” Jackie walks to her room.

I whisper to Dad, “My legs hurt pretty bad, my thighs are burning from holding onto that horse. It feels like they are going to hurt for a week. Tomorrow is Saturday and I’m staying in bed all day, so don’t wake me. I mean it. Don’t wake me up.”

“Did you have fun?” Dad asks.

“Yeah, I had fun, but it was so sad separating the calves from the cows. I cried Dad, they were calling each other, it was terrible,” I mope off to the bath.

Dad reminds me, “We are going to leave Neewa outside tonight even though it will be cold. She can sleep in one of her caves or dens or whatever they are and stay warm. I will feed her and give her water. Hopefully, she won’t smell so bad tomorrow. If she rolls around in the dirt a few times she’ll get most of the smell off, or else you’ll have to give her a bath tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll give her a bath tomorrow,” I answer.

I lay on my bed, reliving the whole experience of the day.

It was nice of Dave to take us out to dinner at the restaurant. The place was a few blocks from the train yard, downtown. As I walked the bright lights downtown flashed, Jack Pot, Jack Pot, alternating in yellow, red, and orange. One casino’s flashing lights depicted a twenty-foot neon cowboy with a cigar in his mouth and a fist full of dollars.

Jogging across the tracks, we put the bright lights behind us passing a movie theatre, bank, and a pawnshop.

We arrived, and walked into the restaurant probably built a hundred years ago. Along the left wall were the booths and across from them a long counter with green vinyl topped metal-rimed stools. Spinning several of them easily, I walk by and then collapsed into the vinyl bench seat with a squeak. Each booth was just big enough for two people on either side.

The twelve-foot high restaurant walls were green too, although a different shade. Or maybe they were just covered with a coat of grease from the fryers and grill. Fans hung down from the embossed tin ceiling painted white.

Behind the restaurant counter was all the action. One cook on the grill, another busy at the sandwich board, and yet one more chatting with the cute waitress that helps bring in the regular customers.

Conversations are plenty as I quietly listened to those around me. Charlie, seems to have lost most of his stake at the casino and doesn’t want to go back to the ranch. Randy is sitting at the counter after having drunk too much, and isn’t sure if he should go back to the Pioneer Bar for another Bud, or stay here and have another cup of Joe.

The waitress bounced from table to table trying to cover up any mistakes the cooks may have served up.

She politely smiled at each patron, “Is everything all right? Can I get you anything dear?”

Families were interspersed throughout the room. They’re traveling long distances and have stopped to eat and shake off the road.

Someone asked in a tired and road weary voice, “Is there a good motel nearby? Clean with plenty of hot water?”

I wouldn’t touch that one, the motels here are known for problems with their hot water supply. Well meaning locals suggest a variety of motels for the weary traveler.

Smiling the waitress asked enthusiastically, “What’ll you have sweetie?”

“Burger, fries, and a Coke please,” I looked up at her as she wrote on her pad of checks ready to hand in the next ticket to the cook.

During dinner Dave told his story, “I borrow money to buy and raise cattle just like any other rancher. The price of cattle has gone down, it could go down even more. If that happens I’ll get an even lower price than I got today. I have to sell my cattle now because there is no telling what the price is going to be tomorrow. I’m not going to make much money this year. But I can’t take a chance that the price will go down even more and then I’d lose money. So I have to sell the heard now. At least I will have enough money to raise another heard. I hope to get a better price next year.”

He continued, “I’m going to keep my calves and buy more with the money from the sale today. I’ll feed them all year and then sell them next year. If my bull is healthy, I’ll have a lot more caves in the spring. I’ll brand those and let them out into the desert.”

After I had enough to eat we were ready to leave, I said, “Good luck Dave.”

Chester said, “See you guys.”

Dave said, “See ya.”

Dave and Chester were staying at the restaurant to have some dessert and coffee. We were ready to go home. Dad and I walked back to the van.

Neewa was resting in the back seat and jumped up as we approached the van. She was glad to see us. But I was not so happy to smell her. The whole car stunk of manure.

Usually Neewa jumps all over me when she sees me. But because she smelled so bad, I didn’t let her near me. I told her to get in the back. Then I gave her the rest of my cheeseburger, which she gobbled down in under three seconds.

I held my nose, “Neewa you smell.”

Neewa The Wonder Dog and the Ghost Hunters... The Secret of the Indian Medicine Woman is Revealed!

Chapter 26 - Spirit World

Heather speaks, “This evil devil spirit is moving like a tornado, a violently rotating column of air with the power of the wind, earth and sky. That one is a strong one and it must be stopped. I will vanquish this evil devil spirit back to the supernatural, back to its eternal pain. My battle with evil will be to the death.”

Heather reaches into her bandolier bag and throws a handful of yellow powder into the air. It blows right past us giving us a light coating.

She explains, “The powder will protect us from this devil, but we must seek sacred ground.”

Now I’m in shock and I don’t know what to say. Jackie hugs Dad and Dad embraces us as we stand shoulder to shoulder.

“Look!” the Medicine Woman exclaims. “That evil devil spirit is seeking a body and soul to possess, don’t let it be yours.”

I’m gasping for air, “It sounds like a screaming banshee and it’s headed right for us.”

“Hurry up, come into my home, it is sacred ground and the evil one cannot take you here. Quickly, quickly,” Heather implores.

We duck inside her house and go by the light of the wood stove. Heather throws blue powder into the fire. It contacts the flames and blue smoke rises up the flue. The stovepipe glows for a moment as the smoke goes up the chimney.

She yells, “Go demon, leave us evil spirit.”

Huddling together, Heather looks at each of us. “Families of those who have been taken by an evil devil spirit will not even notice a change. They will not see any physical difference in their loved one. No one will guess their body and soul have been taken.

“Evil devil spirits are amongst us, you know who they are. You have met them, someone who has become evil, a problem to the rest of us.

“Everyone who knows one will say, ’It’s not like him, he was so nice, but now he is different.’

“A friend of one who has been taken might confide, ‘I don’t know what has happened to her, she’s gone bad. I don’t know her anymore.’”

No one moves or speaks for what seems like minutes, but is only seconds.

Heather speaks, “It’s safe now, the evil one is gone.”

Silence hangs over us for a few seconds, none of us know what to do or say.

Finally Dad says, “Okay, it’s getting late guys, let’s go home. Thank you, Heather, for everything. Good to see you, Diane. Ready, Christina? Jackie? Neewa?”

“Yeah, Dad, ready,” I reply.

Neewa wags her tail and runs to my side.

“Me too, Dad, I’m ready,” Jackie adds as we file out.

Safely in our car now, questions flood my head faster than terabytes on high-speed broadband. Did that really happen? What was Heather fighting? What is an evil devil spirit?

But not one of us actually has anything to say. We just stare at the road and drive the half-mile to our home.

I ask, “Dad are you thinking what I’m thinking? Heather said that her house is sacred ground. And Diane told me at school that the tribe’s burial ground is underneath her house and that spirits visit her.”

“Yes, Christina, what about it?” Dad asks.

“We’ve found the Indian burial grounds, that’s what! Now all we have to do is figure out how to get our equipment into that house without being discovered.”

Dad cautions, “I don’t want to disrespect Heather, not to mention the entire Indian nation. Trespassing is against the law, and Whites going on an Indian reservation is dangerous. You remember what happened to those diaboo’s (non-Indians) who went fishing out at Duck Valley? They were found hanging from a tree, gutted, and their dogs too.”

“Dad, I have to film that sacred burial ground and capture a spirit on tape. There has to be a way to get our equipment in there without getting caught? But how can we? I can’t think of a way without being seen.”

“Who says that evil devil spirit is still there?” Jackie questions. “And besides I’m not going back there, that place scared the heck out of me.”

“But seriously, Dad, there’s something going on here. What about those Orbs at Doctor Cuthberson’s ranch? And how about all his artifacts? And remember Chester put that charm on Neewa and said it will protect her from evil? Chester had a strange look in his eyes when he said that. I stared back at him. Then he said laughing, ’The evil dogcatcher, that’s who.’

“He wanted to tell me something, but he couldn’t. Something about Neewa, but it’s the Indian way, he can’t possibly tell.

“And what about Heather giving us each herbs to protect us from evil? And now this dust devil possessed by an evil devil spirit chasing us. And being vanquished with colored powders thrown in the air and into a wood stove by a Medicine Woman. Something is going on and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.

“Dad, did you forget what that little girl at the Tribal History meeting said? She asked, ’Do you know Neewa has a spirit?’ And what about when Neewa flew up on the kitchen counter to eat the pumpkin pies? Neewa can fly.”

Dad replies, “You have a vivid imagination Christina, we have no real proof Neewa flew onto the counter to get those pumpkin pies.”

Giggling nervously, “I have an idea, we can put a backpack full of equipment on Neewa and mount a camera on top. I’ll send her ghost hunting into Heather’s sacred burial grounds. Neewa can film and take readings with the meters in the backpack. I can show the film on my own TV show. I’ll call it ‘Doggie Ghost Cam.’”

Laughing, “Wait, wait, I got a better name for my TV show. I’ll call it, ‘Flying Doggie Ghost Cam.’ Neewa can fly in and out of haunted houses, sacred burial grounds, boot hills and such.”

“Ha ha, good Christina, that’s one of your better jokes,” Jackie smirks.

We arrive home from Heather’s. My head is full of devil spirits, charms, stories of evil, doggie ghost cams shows and fright, all thrown together.

On my way to bed, “Neewa, you are sleeping next to me tonight.”

I jump onto my bed and pat the comforter, “Come on girl, jump, jump up.”

Dad will have to spend some money on heat. It really gets cold at night. But Neewa will keep me warm. She stretches out her long body and legs next to me as she lies on her side, keeping me warm.

“Good night, Dad, love you.”

“Good night, Christina, Jackie, love you.”

“Love you, Dad, Christina,” Jackie says.

“Good night, Neewa.”

It’s morning and we arrive at Dr. Cuthberson’s ranch. Dad and I carry Neewa into the office. His assistant in a white coat comes to meet us. “I’m Lyle, the doctor is helping one of his mares give birth. Do you want to come watch?”

Chapter 9 - Doc’s

It’s morning and we arrive at Dr. Cuthberson’s ranch. Dad and I carry Neewa into the office.

His assistant in a white coat comes to meet us. “I’m Lyle, the doctor is helping one of his mares give birth. Do you want to come watch?”

“Bring your puppy, she can’t hurt any animals here,” Lyle says as we walk through the empty waiting room.

Mumbling as we walk, “I don’t want to see this, I really hate blood.”

Jackie follows the assistant saying, “I wanta see.”

Dad carries Neewa in his arms. She is limp, not at all the same frisky puppy we adopted at the pound months ago.

Keeping my head down and hiding my eyes, I enter the barn. The faint scents of manure and hay hang in the air. Every stall is clean, with a layer of fresh hay and a bucket of oats hung on the side. Colorful blankets are draped over the sidewalls of each stall, and a wooden name placard prominently hangs above each gate.

“Where are all the other horses?” I ask Lyle the assistant.

He answers, “They are out in the pastures for the day, we bring them in around five.”

Unsure of myself, I lag behind everyone as we enter the fifth stall. The mare is lying down, breathing heavily. Her foal is beginning to show. I can already see the foal’s legs outside of the birth canal. Above the stall’s entrance is her name, “Queen Ann.”

Doc says, “It’s her time to give birth.”

Jackie’s eyes are wide as she and Dad watch.

I decide to leave and maybe come back later, when it’s all over. Dad holds Neewa as I duck into the next stall, hoping I don’t puke.

“Is it a filly or a colt?” Lyle excitedly asks the Doctor.

Sounds of water gurgling and suction emanate from the stall.

Sweat drips from his forehead as he answers, “Don’t know yet.”

Peeking around the corner, I stare as he helps Queen Ann. He gently pulls the legs of the foal, who is born a few seconds later.

 “It’s a filly!” he exclaims.

Slinking back into the birthing stall, I watch the newborn lying on the hay next to her mother.

My stomach begins to settle. What a great movie this would make, someone should videotape this. But it isn’t for the fainthearted.

Doctor Cuthberson says to his assistant, “Lyle, you watch the filly. I’ll be back after I take a look at the puppy.”

We follow him into the examination room near the front office. Dad places Neewa on the stainless steel table in the middle of the room. She collapses into a white lump.

Ammonia, strong enough to cause me to tear, permeates the air in the clean and organized room. I gaze around the room at locked medicine cabinets. Under the large windows is a row of glass cases. Inside are Native American artifacts and artwork, with pottery, baskets and weapons labeled and dated just like in a museum. Woven blankets and oil paintings of fierce-looking Indian chiefs cover the walls.

Doc Cuthberson turns from the sink and begins the examination. Methodically he looks at her eyes, nose and mouth, quickly completing the procedure.

His voice is confident as he quickly speaks, “I wanta give her a shot of live distemper virus, maybe jump start her immune system. It’s not the usual treatment, but it’s her best chance to live. It could kill her too. If I don’t give her the shot she’ll die for sure.”

Swiftly and just as convincingly I reply, “Give her the shot.” Dad nods his consent.

Doc doesn’t say a word as he leaves the room, returning in seconds with the shot. He grabs a hand full of her butt cheek fur and skin and sticks the needle in. She yelps.

Without delay he says, “Leave her here overnight. Pick her up after school tomorrow. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

He politely says, “Good luck,” and hastily heads back to his new filly.

I look at him, “Thank you for helping Neewa.”

Doc looks at me with piercing blue eyes surrounded by dark skin and furrowed brow. The door slams closed, locking behind him.

Neewa is still on the table. “You have to stay here tonight,” I hold her. “The doctor will take care of you.”

Tears run down my face as I squeeze her close to me. I feel so helpless. There is nothing I can do but pray.

Moments after Doc leaves, Lyle the veterinary assistant enters the room.

He looks at me saying, “The doctor gave her the live virus in hopes that her immune system will strengthen and fight off the disease. Don’t worry, we will keep an eye on her for ya.”

He gently takes her from the table and my grasp. I lunge forward to give her one last kiss and hug.

Lyle walks us to the exit. The door shuts with a bang. I walk away sniveling.

Jackie is upset and puts her arm around me as we walk to the van.

Dad embraces us and says, “She’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Driving out of Doc’s driveway, I look out the window. Somewhere on this ranch, Neewa is lying helpless in a cage, alone in the desert again, just like when she was born.

Jackie all excited says, “Christina! Look at the K-2 meter. It’s flashing like mad.”

I look toward Jackie, tears still welling in my eyes. “I can’t think about that right now.”

Dad gushes with excitement, “Did you see those masks on the wall? One was labeled, ‘Sun Dance Headdress’ and another marked ‘Shaman Spirit Mask.’ And there were ancient medicines and powders in that other glass cabinet in the corner.”

Jackie adds, “I saw a scepter that had some kind of hair on it. I hope its not human hair, eek!”

Dad turns toward me with a glaring stare, “Doc Cuthberson is either a collector, or a shaman. I’ll bet they have secret ceremonies out here.”

Jackie shrieks, “I brought the pocket spectrometer and the radio frequency meter too. The readings are off the charts!”

“What’s going on out here?” Jackie yells.

Dad eagerly says, “Let’s do an investigation when we come back here tomorrow to pick up Neewa. We’ll bring the cameras and take video of the ranch. I’ll bet this place has all kinds of paranormal activity.”

“Christina, what do you think?” Jackie asks, trying to distract me from Neewa’s critical condition.

“I’m worried about Neewa. I pray she lives.”

I plead, "Can you help her? Please?"

The Starting Line

"On your mark, get set…" The starter’s words ring out over the public address system, "Bang!" He fires his pistol into the air.

Drivers snap their reins, sending a clear message to the teams. Shaking the ground, they sprint away from the starting line, twenty-four feet of horses followed by twenty more of iron, wood, and canvas.

Racing into the first turn, wagons squeeze together as drivers lean to the inside to keep their balance. Each expert coachman controlling ten tons of flesh and carriage thundering down the track. Racing through the turn, the wagons reflect the light of the sinking sun behind them. They pass the shadows of shade trees under western blue skies. Into the straightaway they sprint, a continuous stream of dust kicks up into the air behind them. Maneuvering for position, each team tries to take the lead.

The announcer calls out their order as they enter the last turn. "It’s the Hawker Ranch in the lead, followed by the Bond Farm, La Rosa Ranch is third, and bringing up the rear is the Quest Group!"

Coming through the backstretch and heading for the finish, the teams gallop four abreast. A mountain of wood and animals roar past the grand stands.

People are jumping up and down waving colored bandanas and hats. Everyone is standing, electrified, as the teams stampede by. My seat vibrates as if a clap of thunder has just hit nearby.

All of a sudden Crash! Boom! Bang! Comes from the finish line in an explosion. Clouds of dust rise above the size of hot air balloons, obscuring the finish, silencing the arena. Air Currents scoop up the dust and carry it away, revealing a mound of wagons and horse teams in chaos.

The dreadful image burns in my mind. Horses are tangled, trapped, raising their heads straining to be free. Two teams of horses are knotted together amid the pandemonium, and two lone horses are ensnared by wagons, held captive by their harnesses in the mangled wreckage.

What once were horse drawn wagons are now twisted metal, torn canvas, and splintered wood.

The crowd already silent, lets out a collective gasp, "Oh!"

A man behind me sighs, "They are going to have to destroy that horse," he points at a trapped horse.

I leap from my seat, crossing the blacktop and climb to the top of the arena fence.

A grisly sight, horses are whinnying and snorting, struggling to be liberated, gasping for freedom.

"Looks bad," a man near by whispers to his friend.

It’s a miracle, all the drivers and passengers seem to have escaped injury. A few can be seen, in shock, eyeing the devastation, not knowing what to do first.

Trainers, bronco riders, and calf ropers are risking their lives running into the wreck to rescue the teams of horses.

Men brandishing blades of steel cut agitated horses from their harnesses. Spooked, shaking their heads, one Appaloosa and an Arabian dash in opposite directions. They run erratically through the arena, each turning at different intervals, only to dart back from where they came.

More men rush to help. Carefully crossing the track, glancing in every direction, not wanting to be trampled by horses running untamed in the arena.

One team of six horses, wagon-less, is careening around the track eerily holding their heads high--manes blowing in the wind--bodies sweating--eyes bulging.

Someone shouts in amazement, "There goes Doc Cuthberson! Look at him climb into the wreckage!"

Another man yells, "He’s fearless!"

Before anyone can blink an eye, he’s in the middle of the debris grasping the reins of one ensnared horse, pulling it to its feet. Reaching to untangle another, he coaxes it to his side. Everyone in the bleachers is in shock, motionless, eyeing his every move.

Horses are still running loose in the stadium. Cowboys, with lassoes in hand are chasing them down. Wagons from the massive crash are being hoisted and towed from the arena by teams of men with trucks and chain.

Holding the horses, he perilously stands his ground, ordering the cowboys, "Pull there! Push that wagon! Now that one!" He yells, "Hurry boys, hurry."

Cowboys are yelling, shouting orders to untangle the wagons surrounding Doc and the two remaining horses. Working feverishly side-by-side, they thrust and heave, determined to free up the wagons. Finally, untangled, they are swiftly pulled away.

Smiling, almost laughing, Doc immerges from the chaos jogging toward the main gate with the two horses in his grasp.

Concerned owners and trainers run to him, eager to take their horses and calm them with familiar words and comforting strokes. Cautiously they inspect the livestock for injury, and then whisk them away to their stalls for further care.

Many in the crowd sigh, one concedes, "I’m glad that’s over with."

Another exhales, "That was a close call."

"Were any of the horses hurt bad?" I ask.

"Won’t know till Doc checks them out," someone responds in a hopeful tone winking and holding up two crossed fingers.

Now is my chance to see Doc Cuthberson--to save Neewa. I jump from the corral rails and sprint to the stables to find him.

Arriving in moments at a gigantic wooden barn between the arena and stables. I hesitate before entering. Slowly I peer around the corner and inside. Thick wooden timbers climb from the floor to the cross beams that traverse it’s length and width above me. Dim sunlight shines through a few tattered boards protecting the loft full of hay from rain and wind. Bowls of milk for the cats sit on the floorboards next to the green poison for the unwanted rats that will soon prowl through the night.

On the hay-covered dirt floor, horses held by their trainers, wait their turn for the vets assessment of every bump and bruise. Everyone is talking about the crash. Their voices are laden with concern. That’s when I see him, kneeling along side an appaloosa gelding of at least fifteen hands, examining, and gently patting his side.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I stagger up to him and cry out, "Dr. Cuthberson my puppy has distemper--she is going to die--you’ve gotta save her!"

I plead, "Can you help her? Please?"

Adopting my puppy at the animal shelter.

It was early morning when Dad woke us up. Usually, when he tries to get me up on a weekend morning I tell him, “Leave me alone, go away, don’t bother me!”

Yesterday morning was different, getting up and dressed and being ready was easy. Finally we were going to the animal shelter to get the puppy I’ve been waiting for my entire life.

Jackie on the other hand was moving as slow as a snail. I stood at the door, tapping my shoe on the floor. Annoyed, I waited while Jackie had to have her morning bowl of cereal.

“Jackie let’s go, we’re late,” I plead with her to hurry.

“Christina shut up! I can’t hear the TV,” she replied.

“Dad Dad, Jackie is having cereal, tell her to leave it, I wanna go now,” I begged Dad.

Finally after a lot of yelling, we got in the van and left.

After we drove a while into the desert from town I saw the sign, County Animal Shelter. The arrow pointed up a long dirt road. At the end of the bumpy road was a dull gray building.

Around back was the kennel area. At this distance, the compound looked neat and tidy, with animal pens in neat rows. I could see some of the area where the dogs were kept. In the front were a few parked cars and a big front door with one window.

Loud sounds of barking dogs came from behind the building. No wonder they put this place way out in the middle of nowhere. But the closer we got, the noise got so loud it sounded like a fox hunt was going on in the back. And the building seemed to turn even grayer.

I was very nervous as I lead everyone across the stone parking lot. Jackie and Dad followed close behind me.

After knocking on the steel door, a man in black coveralls, hair slicked back, and parted down the middle, slowly opened the door. The barking got even louder and I was hit with a wave of the pungent smell of a dog pound. The older man with a kindhearted smile greeted us. My guess he’s the dogcatcher, his appearance and pale face made him look like Dracula, lacking only the makeup and cape.

“Looking for a pet?” he grinned.

“Yes,” I answer back.

“Right this way, you folks just look around,” Dracula said.

“Follow me,” I ordered.

I whispered to Jackie, “That guy looks like Dracula, look at his hair.”

We laughed as we walk through the hallway into the inner chamber.

Dad reminds me, “Christina remember we want a nice friendly, house-broken, and fully grown dog.”

“Poppy, Poppy, (I call Dad Poppy sometimes,) I heard what you said, now stop with the pressure okay,” Trying to get him to back off and leave me alone.

I wandered from side to side on the walkway between the large and small cages with big and small cats and dogs of all colors inside. Creeping through the maze, I looked left then right, checking each animal, yet pass one after another. Occasionally I hesitated for a moment to take a closer look, but continued my journey down the endless corridor of forlorn and cast-off pets. I was heartbroken looking at all the cats and dogs with no homes. Surplus animals, once loyal and loving pets, now no longer needed, discarded members of society wanting to be taken care of.

Dad whispered in my ear as if the animals were listening to him, “After sixteen weeks in the pound they will be put to sleep.”

“Put to sleep? What does that mean?” I blurt out loudly. Is he saying that they are to be killed or murdered?

“They have to be euthanized, destroyed.” He finished his thinking.

Instantly I became flush, my face red-hot. Each one of them needed a home, to be loved, before it’s too late. Gasping for air, I was horrified at the thought that any one of these animals would be destroyed.

Now my morning at the pound was no longer joyous and full of promise. It was more like a slow motion death walk in a horror movie. Frame after frame passing before me with animals being led to the gas chamber where they were to be taken care of all right.

The morning was slipping away, there seemed to be more and more animals, and choosing just one became more complicated. I wanted to save them all. Maybe even lead a jailbreak and set them all free.

Jackie followed me through the aisles of animals while Dad was left behind somewhere.

Nearing the end of death row, I became full of fear and anxiety. Animals jumped toward me as I passed their cages, wanting to be saved from their ultimate fate.

If I reached out to one, it lunged to the side of the cage, crashing into the wire wall trying to kiss my fingers. It was as if they knew their fate and knew that I was their savior. But nothing could save all of these animals.

Unexpectedly, I spied a little white puppy curled up in a ball with its littermates. It looked up at me with pointed ears too big for its head and a shining black nose. It was the cutest puppy I had ever seen. It jumped up on the side of the cage letting out a yelp, calling me.

This puppy was so pretty, a German shepherd looking girl. She had the deepest steal grey eyes and a long snout on its big head. Her tail curled up over her hind legs like a Husky as she stood on her back legs up against the cage, nibbling on my fingers with her pointed white teeth. She was so beautiful, and had such soft ivory fur. And those big floppy paws were too big for her body, just like her ears. I hope she doesn’t grow into those paws.

Jackie,” I shrieked, “here’s the one, here’s the one!” Feeling joy that I have not felt for as long, long time.

Just then Dad caught up to us. I petted her through the cage as she ran around my hand like it was a toy to tease and chew on.

“Can we take her home Dad?” I looked at him.

“Hey,” Dad moaned, “I thought we agreed on a grown dog, one that’s already trained and house broken.”

Jackie stooped down next to me and the puppy licked both our faces through the metal mesh. It was love at first sight for her too.

“Jackie you want this one right? Say yes,” I pleaded with her.

“Dad let’s get this one,” she agreed.

“Dad, I want this puppy, she will be a good watch dog and protect Jackie and me. Grown up or not, please Dad,” sounding like a beggar but not caring.

Dad was reluctant to commit, something about it being too much work, or some other reason. I didn’t know and didn’t care what he was thinking. A long pause followed. He seemed to be weighing his options.

I didn’t see it as a difficult choice. On the one hand he could disappoint us and spend the rest of his days in hell, or take the puppy and win the Greatest Dad of The Day Award.

“Okay, Okay,” he says as he steps up to the podium for the Best Dad Prize.

Jackie and I disagreed on almost everything. But not this, the puppy was coming home with us. This was the first thing we had agreed on all week, maybe all month.

Dad was surprised there was so little paper work to adopt our puppy. He only had to sign a release and the puppy was free to go.

Holding her in my arms, we headed for the exit when Dracula, the dogcatcher, came from his coffin to wish us well.

I stopped and looked at him, “Where did she come from?”

He replied as if he knew the origin of every animal in the pound. “That one came from the desert. Someone found the three of them roaming around and brought them in.

They had no mom or dad with them. Not much chance they would have made it to sunrise out there in the dessert. Something would have had them for dinner. I think your Shepard pup is a coy dog.”

“A coy dog? What’s a coy dog?” I inquired.

He answered, “A coy dog is half coyote and half dog.”

Stunned by his answer, I feel my face flush and my eyes blink rapidly. Did he say coyote? Did Dad hear what he said?

“Thank you,” I hastily turned heading for the door.

Running, I cradled her in my arms and dropped my face into her soft fur hoping no one else heard what the dogcatcher had said. They might want to take her away. I’ve never heard of a coy dog before, never knew such a thing existed. But the dogcatcher said it, so it must be true.

After that, I don’t remember very much, just holding my puppy and running for the car.

“Hurry Dad, drive, drive,” I shouted, “I don’t ever want to lose her.”

He answered, “Don’t worry Christina, no ones going to take her away from you.”

A few minutes later we were driving home. I keep thinking about the news of my puppy being only half dog. Even our drive though more desert wasteland doesn’t distract me from worrying about her. I’m so tired of this place, nothing but desert everywhere.

The desert is a dangerous place compared to the place we used to live. Back East there is little risk of being killed by a scorpion, rattlesnake, or a pack of coyotes. Nor is it likely you will die from starvation, thirst, or exposure if you get lost. But out here in the desert you can die from any of these.

orbs?

“Did the camera get anything?” I ask Dad and Jackie.

Dad replies, “We are looking at the tape now.”

“There, there,” Jackie exclaims, “That’s a floating orb!  There’s another and another!”

“This place is paranormal central!”

“Did you see that?” So excited, Jackie sprays spit on me.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, “What are they? And what do they do? Why would anyone call floating bubbles, orbs?” I sarcastically add.

“Christina cool it! Give me a second.  I’m watching this,” Jackie says perturbed by my interruptions.

Staring at the screen, she finally answers me as if she is reading from a textbook.  “The orb is energy being transferred from a source such as, power lines, heat energy, batteries, or people, to a spirit… or orb, so it can manifest.  It may not even be a conscious act.  The spirit is doing what it does.  It’s the way they get their energy.”

Really excited Dad jumps in, “Finally we got something on film.”

“Look! Six floating orbs! It’s an orb hotel out there!” Jackie shouts, “Dad they could be animal spirits.  They don’t have to be people spirits, especially since he’s a vet.  I’ll bet a lot of animals die out there.  And the ones that haven’t crossed over yet, well they are still there,” Jackie whispers.

Standing behind her, I visualize cattle and horses floating through the air.

She pulls herself closer to the laptop, focused on the screen.  “I’m going to import this video into my movie maker program.  I’ll be able to look at the video and audio tracks separately.  Maybe we captured one of those orbs trying to speak with us.”

Chapter 3 - Ghost at Donner Pass

Dad is reading the newspaper at the kitchen table when he bursts out, “Hey a ghost was seen at Donner Pass.”

Confused I ask, “What and where is Donner Pass?”

Dad looks over at me, “Donner Pass is in the mountains about three hours south of here and the Donner Party disaster was a historic wagon train headed west that got caught in a blizzard and most of the pioneers died.

Dad reads me the article. “Mrs. Eleanor Waldo of Phantom Hill, Texas told her story. She said she and her husband were stopped at the overlook rest area, sitting at a picnic table when she saw it.

It was a ghost all right. It looked like a thick cloud of smoke with a head. But it was a woman with a stone face and a broad smile. She hovered right in front of me, staring at me.

The ghost asked me, “Would you like to come to dinner?”

I followed it up the mountain as it kept saying, “Come with me, I would love to have you for dinner.”

Interrupting Mrs. Waldo I asked, “Wait a minute, the ghost said I would love to have you for dinner?”

Mrs. Waldo looked surprised at the way I phrased my question as she replied, “Oh you don’t think she meant I am the dinner do you? Oh my, maybe she did.”

Mrs. Waldo squealed, and continued with her story, “I followed it up the mountain and when we started down the other side, I saw an old rusted out car with a skeleton sitting at the steering wheel, driving.

As I got closer and closer to the car, a great gust of wind blew right through me and kicked up so much sand, I had to close my eyes. When I opened my eyes I gasped, the skeleton was gone.”

She said she heard her husband calling her to come back. When he caught up to her she told him about the ghost.

He exclaimed with frustration in his voice, “That’s nonsense, its ten o’clock at night and one hundred and nine degrees Elle, It’s the heat. You didn’t see anything."

She told her husband to hush up, then sat in the old nineteen thirty-five Buick for a while. It’s a nineteen thirty-five Buick. My family had one of these when I was a child.”

Mrs. Waldo continued her story saying, “I checked out every nook and cranny of that car. My husband and I checked the car from its headlights to the taillights. Under one of the seats we found an old empty bottle of whiskey.”

She said that she was feeling around under the dashboard and found that hidden compartment she and her sister had stored stuff in when they were kids. In the compartment were chips, poker chips, lots of poker chips.

Her husband counted them up. There was twenty thousand dollars.

“Twenty thousand dollars!” He said again and again.

Mrs. Waldo cried out, “Can you believe it?”

The newspaper reporter asked the casino manager how much the twenty thousand dollars in poker chips are worth?

The Casino spokesperson said, “The chips are worth twenty thousand dollars at our casino.”

Dad puts down the paper saying, “Mrs. Waldo was lucky her husband followed her over that mountain and caught up to her. I don’t think it was a good ghost that appeared in front of her and wanted to take her to dinner. It could have been an evil ghost from the Donner Party. I’m sure Mrs. Waldo saw something, she could never have made that story up.”

Spirits use ghosts to trick humans and take possession of their body and soul. After the body dies the spirit lives in the wind, or earth and seeks the body of a human. That’s when it posses the body, returning from that supernatural world to the natural world.

I have read about people who imagine seeing ghosts. In fact they saw moonlight reflecting off a rock or a broken piece of glass. What they saw may have looked like a ghost to some people.

People high on drugs or alcohol have vivid imaginations when it comes to seeing ghosts. There are always stories in the newspapers about people seeing ghosts in the desert or mountains. They see a shadow and think it’s a ghost. Their imagination causes them to see things that are not there. They make mistakes, people always do.

Smiling I give Dad a hug, “Dad can we go to Donner Pass and find that ghost. We have to go right away while the trail is still fresh.”

Dad seems distracted as he replies, “Oh, Yeah that sounds good, I’ve been working with a brand new thermal scanner for the hurricane search planes. It’s going to be installed in all of them if we can only get it to work right. It’ll read the temperature inside the storm within a hundredth of a degree. I’ll bring it home on Friday, we can use it for the weekend, but I have to return it by Monday morning.”

Dad always tells the boss the truth, he tells him, “I’m bringing this equipment home to run some tests.” But he doesn’t tell him what tests we are running and he especially won’t tell him we use it to hunt ghosts.

Later at dinner we plan our up coming trip for this weekend. I’m so excited, this is going to be so cool.

Oh no, I just realized we’re gonna be in the van together for three hours.

Dad tells Jackie and me, “Okay this is the plan, we’ll camp out Saturday night at the Donner Memorial State Park. Before sunset we set up the equipment where Mrs. Waldo’s saw the stone-faced lady. I think that is the most likely place to catch that ghost. That is also where the Donner Party was trapped in the winter of eighteen forty six.”

“Okay Dad, Jackie and I will pack our stuff, you make a list of everything we need and we can check it before we leave,” I add.

When we go on a hunt we bring all kinds of equipment. Not all of it is ours. Some of it comes from Dad’s work.

An absolute must is the electromagnetic field meter and the infrared thermometer, which detects infrared energy and converts it to a temperature reading. Two more devices measure the electricity in the air, the electrostatic field meter and the air ion counter. We also have a radio frequency (RF) field strength meter that detects electrical fields like FM radio and microwave transmissions from .5 MHz to 3 GHz, and expresses the strength as power density (.001 to 2000 microwatts/cm2). It measures the electricity given off by stuff like transformers, computer screens, telephones, and electric motors. For extra safety we bring a Geiger counter or radiation monitor that detects dangerous alpha, beta, and gamma rays.

I ask Jackie, “Did you pack the motion detectors? We need them for the cameras we will set up on the trail. If anything moves in front of one of them, the camera will turn-on and we will catch that phantom.”

My new digital video camera has audio capability, which allows me to record every sound. The recordings are important because we can capture electronic voice phenomena (EVP’S), or footsteps, knocks, and banging during the event.”

Temperature changes like uncommon cold or hot spots can be detected with our infrared thermal camera and the infrared thermometer. Both of them will detect variations in temperature signaling the presence of a spirit.

Difficult to document events like telepathic communications, odors, and scents like sulfur, ammonia, perfume, and flowers are written down in my notepad. I take a writing pad with me on every investigation.

If I’m checking out a house haunting and someone is still living there or a past resident is near-by? I like to interview them to find out if they’re having nightmares, apparitions, seeing moving objects, or even just having simple electrical problems. All the notes from my interviews have to be written down in the notepad.

“Jackie, You packed the anemometer? That’s the weathervane looking thingy with the four cups. It spins and records wind speed.”

“I’ll get the spectrometer which analysis light intensity and somehow figures out what an object is.”

This weekend we are bringing the cameras, motion detectors, EMF meters, digital thermometer, night vision goggles, light meter, anemometer, radio frequency field strength meter, and a spectrometer.

Of course we always have flashlights, cell phones, a laptop to view the video we take, and our camping stuff. We try to bring all our equipment, but it doesn’t all fit in our backpacks. It makes no sense taking more then we can carry.

Hunting the Donner Party ghost is going to be scary for two reasons. First, this ghost is active. It’s trying to lure someone for some reason. Mrs. Waldo almost fell into its spell. Who knows what would have happen to her if she had followed it to “dinner?” Second, some on those people in the Donner Party died horrible, agonizing deaths. I think this ghost is still in pain and is dangerous.

I learned about the Donner Party in school. They were settlers headed to California in a wagon train in eighteen forty-six. There were about ninety people of all ages. Winter came early and heavy snow trapped them in the mountains. Not all of them lived through it.

The wagon train didn’t have enough food and blankets, and many of the settlers died of hunger, exposure, and frostbite. Those few settlers that did live told stories of terrible hardship, and horrible acts. They did things that people are not supposed to do.

I’m pretty sure this ghost we are going to hunt is not resting in peace, if you know what I mean.

***

Finally it’s Saturday morning. We are packed and ready to go. A three-hour ride will give me plenty of time to do my homework. I have to finish writing a book report about ghost hunting. I’ll do my math and chemistry after that.

Let’s see I have Neewa’s bowls and a chain to keep her tied up. I’m sure Neewa will love hiking the trails, camping, and ghost hunting. She loves to play with me-- this trip will be fun for her too. I feel so much better, just having her around.

As I carry the last of our gear out to the van Dad announces, “Okay we’re ready to go, all aboard. Jackie you sit in front, Neewa and Christina in the back.”

“No Dad, I’m sitting in the front I called it. Jackie, you get the front seat on the way home.”

Jackie scoffs, “You always say you called it, but I never hear you. That’s okay, I get to sit next to Neewa, ha.”

We all get in the van and drive off to Donner Pass on our ghost hunting adventure. Driving on the interstate is fun because the speed limit is eighty miles an hour. This is so cool. We will be driving over mountains, through deserts, and valleys. Small towns about the size of swimming pools dot the highway.

When we get to the Sierra Mountains it’s going to be just like back east, all green with lush meadows and streams. Nothing like this boring desert where everything is flat and faded beige with nothing but sand, sagebrush, and empty wasteland.

Driving along the highway, I get to see a lot of places I want to visit. There are huge cattle ranches, and casinos near every gas station rest stop. Located about half way there is a gold mine where you can take trips into the mine and see just how it was a hundred years ago. And near that is the military base where they supposedly keep the bodies of the aliens that have crash-landed on Earth.

After driving for hours and sleeping most of the trip, I realized we have traveled almost two hundred miles through the desert. Ahead in the distance, I see the majestic Sierra Nevada Mountains. Peaks the size of Mt. Everest jutting into the blue sky. Donner Pass is right under one of those peaks.

As we near our destination I see small meadows hidden here and there, fluorescing green, blue, and yellow. Then amazingly we pass this huge marsh that goes on and on forever to a distant mountain. The whole swamp is blooming purple at this moment. Deep lavender flowers on pale green stems blanket the landscape. Endless color as far as the eye can see. Miles and miles awash with heavenly violet flowers so thick they look like a carpet extending into forever.

We’ve left the desert and start our way up the lush mountainside entering a steep gorge on the two-lane road. The route leading up to Donner Pass goes through a gorge so narrow the road has no shoulders. It switches back and forth, meandering up, rising steadily, an endless path disappearing before us into the forest.

Back on the desert the colors are so dull, with beige sand and brown dirt all muddled together with an occasional clump of pale olive sagebrush. Except for a rare grove of green scrub pine, there isn’t any color to see all year round. We have to travel twenty-five miles to a nearby canyon to get away from our drab surroundings.

Only after it rains does the desert come alive with budding flowers, grasses, and the wonderful desert smells of wet sage and sand. Too bad it only rains a few times a year.

Dad points out the window, “That road is a runaway truck escape ramp for heavy eighteen-wheelers that can’t stop. Sometimes they lose their brakes coming down the mountain and they have to take that fork or they will crash.”

Shooting off of this road and going in the opposite direction is a mile long ramp carved into a rocky ledge. It starts upward slowly and then the grade rapidly rises above the trees until it ends abruptly at a pile of sand and a railroad tie barrier.

“That ramp saved a lot of lives,” Dad adds.

“What do they need that for?” Jackie asks.

I add, “Jackie, if a truck is coming down the mountain and loses its brakes, it can turn onto that ramp which is so steep it slows the truck down, even if it has no brakes.”

“Yeah, so what does he do when he starts to roll backwards toward the road?” Jackie counters.

“Yeah that would be a big problem, hopefully he slows down enough that he is able to stop his rig somewhere on that ramp,” Dad chimes in.

“Yeah hopefully,” I comment.

Red cedar and white pine trees reach up into the blue sky. I can see the sap leaching through the bark, reflecting the sunlight. Little bubbles of the stuff drip down the tree creating a stream of juice that eventually forms a droplet. The dribble grows until it is a blob, and the blob to a glop of sap, so over sized it drops to the ground. Plunk.

The steamy air carries the fragrance of pine to my senses. The little needles float down to the ground in the wind. Layer after layer fall, creating a soft bed of yellow and rust.

The forest begins to thin out, only small clusters of trees dot rocky terrain as the timber line, above which little grows, comes into view. A huge peak with a waterfall pouring over its rock face is revealed as we climb to still higher elevations.

Nearing the crest of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, we are about to enter Donner Memorial State Park. At the entrance stands a statue in memory of the settlers who lost their lives on that fateful wagon train trip west to the promise land.

Dad pulls over near a sign on the side of the road that reads Elevation 10,000 Ft. We get out to stretch and have a look around. Neewa runs into the woods for a quick sniffing adventure.

It’s ninety degrees, unusually hot for this late in the afternoon. There is little breeze to cool us down and an unusual amount of humidity in the air.

My face is flush and red from the heat. I always turn red when I’m out in high temperatures for a while, especially when I play tennis. It takes a lot of time for the redness in my face to go away.

Dad gets all paranoid, “Tina your face is red, do you have a fever?” he touches my cheek.

“Dad stop it,” I tell him, “I’m fine.”

I look up at fifteen-foot of statue depicting three pioneers: a man, a woman, and a child. The embossed bronze plaque on the monument reads, The Donner Party Memorial.

I wonder if the ghost that Mrs. Waldo saw is the woman in the bronze sculpture? Tonight we will be looking for that one.

It’s peaceful around the monument. Whispering breezes curve around the contours of the statue as a trickling stream in the background is feed by the snowcaps still remaining on the highest peaks. I hear a woodpecker tunneling in the hollow tree, gathering bugs.

After exploring around the monument, we drive to the camping area. The Donner State Park campground is about a half-mile in the opposite direction from Donner Pass--where we are setting up our equipment to catch that rogue spirit. Before entering we pull up to the large wooden welcome sign at the entrance for a paper copy of the layout with all the rules, regulations, and warnings to campers on the back. The picture depicts a circular dirt road with forty campsites. In the middle of all the numbered areas is the common bathhouse with showers.

Picking a campsite is no easy matter. There is a lot to be considered. After parking in one of the driveways, we walk around the circle assessing the pros and cons of the various available camping locations. About three or four of them are taken and have tents. There’s not that many people up here for some reason.

Each site has a driveway that leads to a small flat picnic area with a table, barbeque, tent platform, and a sunken campfire surrounded by rocks.

Jackie, Neewa, and I pick out the site with a view of a small meadow and the most shade trees. Dad begins unpacking and setting up the tents, while Jackie and I unload our stuff.

It’s still light out, time to go exploring for the best location to set our trap to catch that phantom.

Next to our picnic table is a sign with the word warning in big letters across the top. Below that is a picture and description of the many possible visitors that might be lurking around the park during the night. I’m least concerned about bears because Neewa will bark at them and keep them away. Besides we’ll put our food in the metal bear-resistant food locker provided at the campsite. But the scorpions--they give me the creeps. Good thing our tents zip up tight. Funny thing though, the sign doesn’t say anything about ghosts.