The Land of Burned Out Fires Read online

  “My daughter, the history buff. Wonders never cease. What about the woman who hired you, the photographer? What do you think of them?”

  Her mother had been more than a little nervous about sending her 'baby” off with strangers. What in the world would she think if she knew everything that had happened since her youngest child had come to the lava beds?

  “Only two more days until you head back home,” her mother said. “I’m clearing my schedule so we can do some back-to-school shopping.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Can’t you be more enthusiastic? After all, I’m the one with the credit cards.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” Here was the perfect opportunity to bring up San Francisco. “You’re right. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Hmm. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Everything has changed, and I don’t understand any of it. “Fine. I think I got a little too much sun, that’s all. Mom, I love you.”

  “I love you too, honey.”

  “Can I talk to Dad? I’d like to tell him the same thing.”

  “Dad? Of course. I’ll call—are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

  ****

  After talking to her father, who'd sounded just as concerned as her mother, Kayla tried to reach her brother but had to leave a message on his cell phone.

  After taking a long and welcome shower, she was getting ready to take the bike back to the visitor's center when Joel came over. “What are you up to?” he asked. “Getting some exercise to work off dinner?”

  “I kind of overdid it, didn’t I? No, I just need to return this. And I have some questions about went on here during the Modoc war.”

  “Do you mind if I come along?”

  Surprised, she nodded. Joel pushed the bike, and they walked the maybe quarter of a mile together. He talked about when he was younger and raced dirt bikes, but she paid little attention. It was enough to listen to his voice and be reminded of how normal things could be.

  The visitor center was closed, but she soon found the woman who'd loaned her the bike.

  “I hope you didn't need it,” Kayla said. Carol was sitting in a lawn chair near the employees' housing. “I didn't mean to keep it that long.”

  “You're welcome to hold onto it for as long as you're here.” Carol indicated a pitcher of iced tea. “You two want some?”

  Kayla poured herself and Joel each a glass, and they sat down.

  “Thanks for the company,” Carol said. “My co-workers took off for Fern Cave right after dinner. Unfortunately, I got kitchen detail.”

  “Fern Cave?” Joel said. “It's too dry here for ferns, isn't it?”

  “Everywhere except that one cave. It has something to do with how the opening is situated. The position allows rain to run in and then holds it without letting it evaporate. We don't let more than a handful of visitors in at a time, and only with one of us there to make sure they don't pull up the ferns or harm the pictographs.”

  “Pictographs? What's that?” Joel asked as Kayla thought about what Robert Palmer had said about taking her there if she wanted.

  “Drawings on the stone walls. The Modocs drew them hundreds of years ago.”

  Kayla leaned forward. “What kind of drawings?”

  “You name it, you'll probably find it. There's a lot that show hunting and fishing, things that were important to them.”

  “I'd love to see that,” she blurted.

  “You would?” Joel asked.

  Carol looked at her. “Most people your age don't care about Fern Cave’s microsystem. They'd rather explore the caves—if they want to do anything at all. A lot say it's boring here.”

  I care more than you'll ever know. “Are all the pictographs in Fern Cave?”

  “Hardly. They're everywhere, probably in places we've never seen. That's what's incredible about the lava beds. We haven't begun to explore everything.” Carol stirred her tea with her finger. “You know, you'll probably enjoy the drawings about their spiritual beliefs. They gave so much credit to what we call Mother Nature. Well, why wouldn't they? After all, they were totally dependent on nature.”

  “I'm particularly interested in learning what happened to them,” she admitted, trying to ignore Joel’s incredulous look. “There must be some books that—“

  “There are, but don't forget, everything that's been recorded about the Modocs was written by whites.” Carol turned serious. “And, unfortunately, so much of their tradition has been lost.”

  Kayla had gotten even more sunburned today, but she suddenly felt cold. “Lost? Why?”

  “A lot of reasons. Mostly because no one cared until it was too late.”

  “Too late? What happened to them?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Darkness came before Carol finished telling Kayla and Joel everything she knew about the Modocs' story. Maybe the cool breeze on her sunburn made Kayla shiver, but she couldn't quite convince herself of that. Joel looked interested, his reaction nothing compared to Kayla’s reaction to what Carol was saying.

  According to the records kept by military leaders of the time, the Modoc chief, who people in the area called Captain Jack, and his followers had been living in several villages at Lost River. They fled the U.S. Army on November, 29, 1872, and found shelter in caves created some ten thousand years ago when Mammoth Crater exploded. The few soldiers who’d gone after them, although soaked by freezing rain and muddy from riding all night, had been confident they could surprise the Modocs while they slept and force them to return to the reservation. They’d been wrong, prompting a hasty increase in troop size.

  The caves and surrounding land where the Modocs now lived came to be known as the Stronghold for obvious reasons. It was one hundred and fifty yards in diameter, and the hardened lava crust formed a natural barricade that protected the sixty-some warriors and their families.

  As winter progressed, several attacks were launched, but they all had similar results to one led by Captain Bernard who, along with his one hundred officers and men, became lost in the dense fog and were forced to retreat while the Modocs teased and taunted them from their hiding places.

  The Army continued to grow, and when Captain Jack, or Kientpoos as the Modocs called him, saw an infantry battalion, a cavalry troop, and more than a hundred volunteers marching toward them, he considered surrendering. This information had come from several former warriors who’d reported that Kientpoos’s primary concern had been for his people’s safety. Maybe, he’d admitted, he’d made a mistake.

  In contrast the shaman, who was known as Curly Headed Doctor, assured everyone that his magic—which consisted of tule reeds from the lake and braided into a long, red-dyed rope that he'd placed around the Stronghold—would protect everyone. The same former warriors had sensed a power struggle between Kientpoos and the shaman with Curly Headed Doctor winning this one. Once again fog helped the Modocs, and they fired at the soldiers, preventing them from crossing the rope. Of course the shaman had taken full credit, increasing his standing in the tribe. In the end, some three hundred disoriented and frightened men had given up. Soon after, the volunteers who'd joined the soldiers left, stating that military personnel needed to fight their own battles. Newspaper articles about the “battle” made fun of the Army.

  Unfortunately for the Modocs, reinforcements and suppliers, to say nothing of curiosity seekers, continued to arrive. Under pressure from local ranchers, Congress appropriated more money to help support the military cause, something the Indians couldn’t have contemplated. That winter was particularly severe, but the Modocs added to their diet of game and wild food by taking stray cattle that had wandered into a nearby basin. Naturally this further incensed the ranchers. Although military and civilian peace commissioners held meetings with the Modoc in an attempt to get them to leave the Stronghold, nothing came of it.

  At the same time, the struggle for power within the Modocs intensified with Captain Jack and his followers interested in finding a peacef
ul end to the standoff, while others, led by the shaman, insisted that the spirits were on their side and promised victory.

  On Good Friday, April 11, Captain Jack, gave into pressure from the shaman's group and agreed that what they needed to do was cut off the head of their enemy. To do so, they planned to kill members of the peace commission, which would demoralize the Army and they'd all leave. A number of people including a local white miner named Frank Riddle, and his Modoc wife who came to be known as Winema, argued against the plan, but the Modocs refused to listen to the pair who’d long acted as interpreters. The next day, Captain Jack shot and killed General E.R.S. Canby. A minister was also killed, and another white man wounded.

  The murder of a general had the expected reaction. Three days later, hundreds of determined and angry soldiers advanced on the Stronghold. They cut the Indians off from their water supply at the lake. Their artillery and mortar shells endlessly bombarded the caves. Instead of surrendering, however, the Modocs piled their belongings on their horses and dogs and walked south out of the Stronghold, which for some reason hadn’t been guarded.

  Although the Modocs surprised some soldiers several days later and killed twenty-four of them, that turned out to be their last victory. Hoping to avoid detection, the Modocs split into two groups. Unfortunately, when the group led by the warlike Hooker Jim was forced to surrender, hoping to save his skin, Hooker Jim agreed to help the soldiers find Captain Jack's band. Trapped at the head of a steep canyon with limited food and water, Captain Jack's people gave up.

  The trial of the Modoc leaders took place a month after their surrender. Captain Jack, his brother, and four others were quickly found guilty. On October 3, 1873, Jack and three others were executed while the other two were imprisoned on Alcatraz Island.

  One hundred fifty-three Modocs were exiled to Oklahoma. Although the Modocs initially barely survived there, they eventually learned how to farm. They also sold timber and worked as laborers.

  In August of 1990, more than a hundred years later, the great-grandchildren of the early-day Modocs walked back into the Stronghold and danced around a medicine pole.

  “What bothers me the most,” Carol said as it grew dark, and Kayla shivered, “is that so many Modocs who only wanted to live on their land were shipped away and never saw it again.”

  Kayla couldn't speak. True Hand, Morning Song, and the others didn't know their fate, but she did.

  “So many mistakes were made,” Joel said as he and Kayla walked back to where they were staying. “Both sides screwed up. I like the way Carol told the story. She made it sound much more real than the history books do.”

  “It was real,” Kayla muttered.

  “Hey, don’t let it get to you.” Joel squeezed her shoulder. “History is full of stuff like that. Just wait until they get around to writing about what’s happening in Iraq.”

  She couldn’t think about anything except the Modocs and barely noticed Joel’s touch.

  “Earth to Kayla. Life goes on, and you sure as heck can’t change what happened way back then.”

  “I want to,” she whispered. “I need to.”

  He released her and stepped back. “You’re nuts. Cute, but nuts.”

  Following a nearly sleepless night, Kayla was putting a couple of water containers in her backpack when Rory joined her. “You’re taking off early again?” the photographer asked. He sounded just the littlest bit upset. “What’s out there that’s so interesting?”

  “Not much,” she answered vaguely. First Joel, and now Rory thought she was acting strange. “I just—there’s no time to explore once we start working.”

  “That’s how you see it, work?”

  “I—of course not. I mean, of course I love it.” At least she had until everything changed. Her arms and legs ached. She didn’t know how she was going to accomplish what she had to today, but what choice did she have?

  Rory looked doubtful. “What did your folks think?”

  “Think?”

  “You told them about San Francisco, didn’t you?”

  “Uh, not yet.”

  “No kidding? Are you afraid they’ll say no?”

  The truth was, the possible modeling assignment kept slipping her mind. The tennis shoes she’d worn yesterday were full of stickers. Fortunately, she’d brought two pairs. Also, despite the anticipated heat, she’d put jeans in her backpack just in case her shorts wouldn’t provide adequate protection.

  “Kayla, are you listening to me?” Rory asked.

  “What?”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “The distracted look works for the camera, but it isn’t an act, is it?”

  “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Help?”

  He brought his face close to hers. “With whatever’s troubling you. No, don’t try to tell me nothing is,” he said when she shook her head. “You’re almost young enough to be my daughter. Despite that, I’m not such an old timer that I don’t remember what it’s like to be a teenager. Suddenly you have all kinds of decisions to make, things you want to do, things you need to do.”

  Like try to tell some people I care about that their cause is hopeless. “Something like that.”

  “You don’t have to clam up around me. Darn it, I don’t want you to. No matter what’s troubling you, I’m not going to judge. I might even have some advice to give, Then you can decide whether you’re going to take it. Like I said, I’ve been there.”

  No, you haven’t. No one has. “I appreciate that,” she managed to tell him. At least he wasn’t calling her nuts the way Joel had. “And if I thought you could help, I’d ask for it. Believe me, I...”

  “You what?”

  She sighed. “It’s one of those things you have to be part of in order to understand.” Another sigh escaped her. “And even if you could, which you can’t, it’s still confusing.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I know.” Even with weariness dragging at her, she got to her feet. “Uh, I might be a few minutes late this morning.”

  “How come?”

  She shrugged, hoping that would be enough.

  “Not going to say, are you? And you’re taking off by yourself, so obviously a boy isn’t involved. All right. I’ll try to cover, but I want you to promise to be careful.”

  I’ll try. I just don’t know if it’ll do any good.

  Kayla was halfway to the entrance to the Stronghold when her cell phone chirped. Surprised by what had become a foreign sound, she stopped peddling and pulled it out of her pocket.

  “Hey, little sister, you called,” Chuck boomed.

  A million memories flooded through Kayla; she fought tears. “Where are you?” she asked. She stood in the middle of nowhere. As far as she knew, she was the only one for miles around.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but I’m standing on the patio of a condo looking out at Lake Tahoe. That’s Lake Tahoe, Nevada, although some of it is in California.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  “A little of this and that. There’s this girl—oops, you’re too young to be interested in that.”

  Usually she got a kick out of hearing about her brother’s girlfriends and sometimes told him about some guy or another she liked, but not this morning. “It’s good to hear from you,” she said. The wind kicked up so much dust that she had to turn her back to it and the cave where Morning Song and True Hand lived.

  “It’s good to hear from you, too,” Chuck said. He sounded as if he was standing beside her; she wished he was. “Mom said you were at some place in the middle of nowhere. I bet you’re more than ready to leave. No malls or hamburger joints, right?”

  Malls and fast food restaurants meant nothing to her. “Chuck, the reason I called—Mom and Dad’s anniversary is next weekend.”

  “So it is. I’d forgotten.”

  Ever since he’d gotten his driver’s license, Chu
ck had been forgetting a lot of things that had to do with family. “I was thinking we could take them somewhere nice for dinner. I’m getting paid pretty good for what I’m doing, and you have a job, don’t you?”

  “Sort of.”

  She didn’t want to know what that meant. “So, what do you think?”

  “Next weekend?”

  “That’s why I called when I did. That’d give you, what, eight days to get home.”

  Chuck didn’t say anything right away, and she pictured him rubbing his right eye the way he did when he was mulling something over.

  “No can do, kid. Sorry.”

  “Why not?” She suddenly felt angry.

  “There’s four of us renting this condo for the month. If I took off now, my share of the rent would be for nothing. Besides, the afore-mentioned young lady and I are going to go waterskiing. Did I tell you? She works at one of the resorts. This time of year she’s painting cabins and such, but as soon as it starts snowing, she’s going to put in a good word for me. What would you think if your big brother worked at Squaw Valley this winter? Is that awesome or what? Action, action, action.”

  “I thought you were going to take some classes.”

  “Oh, that. You know how it is.”

  She did, unfortunately. Chuck had told their parents he was thinking of going back to college, but apparently that had only been to get them off his back.

  “Then you won’t there for the anniversary?” Time was short, and she had so much to accomplish. She couldn’t waste time talking to her brother.

  “I don’t see how I can.” He yawned. “Man, this place never sleeps. Wait 'til you’re a little older and see for yourself what it’s like.”

  “One endless party.” She didn’t try to keep sarcasm out of her voice.

  “What’s with you? You have something against a little fun.”

  “No, Chuck, I don’t have anything against fun,” she said and hung up. The phone chirped a minute later, but although the display identified the caller as her brother, she didn’t answer.