The Ghost of St. Elmo Read online

CHAPTER SIX

  LOST GORGE RANCH AT LAST

  Visible signs of the storm from yesterday were all around us. Snow was piled high lining the road as we carefully drove the slippery highway westward. Huge drifts could be seen blown up against the outcropping of rock dotting the barren landscape. As we continued driving, the bright sun was clearing the icy roadways for us and beginning to melt the mountain streams. We saw water roaring ahead foaming over enormous boulders with cliffs rising almost vertically 100 to 500 feet above the sparkling clear water. It was certainly a magnificent sight for a city boy used to flat land and small ponds. After awhile we saw no more streams or falls, but we traveled several miles through desolate looking hills and orange/red looking buttes. We saw a “Trout Creek Pass” sign in the distance as we crossed over a large body of water named French Creek River. As we climbed higher the sun was doing an efficient job of melting snow on the surrounding peaks and in the valleys. The roads were now clear as we journeyed up and over White’s Fork Crossing, a tributary of French Creek. We crossed and re-crossed the creek traveling past the sagebrush valleys and desolate hills surrounding us. Shortly, we drove by an area with huge rock formations scattered about resembling ancient castles and crumbled ruins. As we arrived at the pinnacle of Trout Creek Pass, we were greeted by a huge animal standing in the middle of the road. We came to an abrupt stop.

  “Now that’s a big elk,” Charles said.

  “Holly cow,” I shot back. “It’s bigger than a horse.” Charles blew the horn and inched forward as he did. Obviously, the elk didn’t fear us by the way he looked up at us and then slowly began moving off. We then began our descent down the mountainside toward Johnson City, 8 miles below. The view was unbelievably beautiful. There, before us, was a wide valley with homes scattered throughout and a backdrop of majestic mountains with snow-capped peaks. Arriving at the crossroads in town, we saw a sign “Buena Vista – 7 mi. Nathrop – 5 mi.” We turned left and headed toward Nathrop and our final destination, Lost Gorge Ranch. Charles removed a paper from his pocket with the exact directions to the ranch. It read: “Turn left at Johnson City, proceed two miles on left, see Lost Gorge Ranch sign, turn left, cross Arkansas River. Proceed two miles to gate.”

  We both were excited to have arrived, and we did as we were directed. As we drove the long, winding and bumpy road, we saw elk and deer bounding through the open snowy fields into the thick groves of trees ahead seeking refuge. Because of melting snow, the road was quite muddy in spots, and it made our climb up the long winding drive difficult. Finally, we arrived at a huge gate framed by 30-foot poles on both sides and a large wooden sign hanging across the top: “Lost Gorge Ranch.” We were here at last. Putting the Jeep in gear, we proceeded slowly and arrived at a large opening in the surrounding forest. Sprawled out in front of us was a massive, adobe home with thick smooth-trunked aspen groves surrounding it and lodge-pole pines intermixed. Large gray squirrels and jack rabbits twice as big as their cousins back east could be seen in the tree tops and hopping through the woods. Close by the ranch and the barns were thick patches of brush with, what looked like, coveys of quail flying in and out. I felt as though I had been taken to another planet. There were things here that I had never seen before but had read about and studied. Suddenly, the front door opened, and a pretty, blond haired girl walked out and approached.

  “May I help you?” she asked. “My name’s Katie McVicar.”

  “Hello, Katie. My name’s Charles, and this is Ian. I believe you’re expecting us.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said excitedly. “We have been expecting you. I’ll get my mother and father.” She turned and ran up the front steps into the house. Shortly, the door opened, and the three appeared, smiling. We exited the Jeep and walked towards our hosts. Charles stuck out his hand.

  “Mr. McVicar? My name’s Charles, and this is Ian.”

  “Please, call me, Duke,” he said as he grabbed our hands firmly. “This is my wife, Doris, and you’ve met my daughter Katie.” “Katie, have Jeb get these men’s bags and bring them in the house, will you, Sweetheart?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. We followed our hosts as they directed us inside. Stepping through the door, Charles and I stood in awe. The interior was all wood logs with shiny hardwood floors and large buffalo rugs placed throughout. Just like in Hartsel, there was a huge stone fireplace, and there was a large painting of Mr. McVicar hanging above it.

  The McVicars escorted us on a tour of the house. There was a long winding staircase leading upstairs at the one end of the house and a room filled with plants at the other. One entire wall was filled with firearms and knives of every description. The back of the house was almost entirely all glass with patio doors opening onto a huge, flat, ledge rock patio. The view out the back was spectacular. You could see at least three individual, tall mountain tops and a magnificent trailing waterfall that must have dropped at least 300 feet to a pool of water and fast moving rapids below. We walked upstairs and were shown the six bedrooms and well-stocked library, as well as a large, recreation room with a pool table and bar.

  “Ian, this will be your room while you’re our guest,” Mrs. McVicar said. I stuck my head in to take a look and just smiled a big smile. It was a large room with its own bathroom and a view of some barns and corrals for the horses and cattle below. There were other assorted buildings in the distance; the view was the most impressive of all. It will be a pleasure to wake up to this everyday, I thought to myself.

  “This is great!” I told the McVicars, “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” We walked a little further and Katie’s room was pointed out to me, as well. Following our hosts down the wide staircase, we were met at the door by the loud chimes of the doorbell. Mrs. McVicar opened the door and gave a big, “Hello, Jeb.”

  “Howdy, ma’am,” he said. “Katie gave me your message. Brad and I brought your guests’ luggage up.”

  “Thanks, Jeb,” she said. “Come on in and meet these folks.” They entered and removed their cowboy hats. “Charles…Ian, this is Jeb, our foreman and his son, Brad. Ian, I think you and Brad will become pretty, good friends while you’re here.” We exchanged handshakes and smiles, and separated our luggage. “Brad, you and Ian take his bags up to his room and Jeb will show Charles his room in the guest quarters at the bunkhouse. After you freshen up, come on back, and we’ll give you a walking tour today of the grounds and then head out on horseback tomorrow,” Mr. McVicar said. We headed off in different directions, unpacked and settled into our rooms. I sat in my chair gazing out the window at the corrals below and the mountains in the distance. I felt my insides shaking with excitement, knowing this was going to be an exciting 30-day adventure.