River of Lost Souls
by
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Sam’s low-pitched voice sneered. "So, my little Greaser wants to vamoose by herself does she?" The voice lowered to a growl. "You’ll do what you’re told, you bitch. You’re lucky to be living with a white man." Concern moved Monroe closer. He stopped on the front lawn. Sam continued. "On second thought, Bonny dear, I’ll give you an outing you won’t forget." Monroe heard a loud tromping on hardwood. He peered through the open window. A big sandy-haired fellow strode across the room. The woman was hidden. Probably in a corner. Monroe turned away, starting to move on, but a high-pitched shriek interrupted him. "Don’t touch me, you bastard. If it weren’t for Harold, I’d have left long ago." Looking back, Monroe saw a struggling red-head being carried to the front door. She thrashed the air, groaned, and wriggled. Tried to scratch the man’s face. The door wouldn’t open. "Don’t put me outside, Sam! I can’t leave Harold!" Sam tossed her small body into the air, grabbed her around the waist as she came down and pinned her tight against his chest. "Oh, you’ll go all right, Mrs. Bonny Isgar. Out into the night alone." Sam’s left hand unlocked the door. He bumped Bonny’s head, arms and legs against the jam as he forced her onto the porch. Juggling her to the screen door, he hurled her into the yard. She stumbled over the stoop, lost her footing, and tumbled onto the cement walkway leading away from the house. Huddling at the bottom of the steps, Bonny moaned. Monroe saw Sam staring in his direction. Obviously surprised at finding a stranger in his yard. Suddenly, Sam turned back into the house and slammed the door. A lock clicked. Monroe watched Bonny struggle to her knees, then sink back on her heels. He set his package near a small tree, turned toward the stricken woman, hesitated and wondered whether he should take a hand. Thinking she might be hurt, Monroe walked toward her. After a few hesitant steps, he stooped to grasp her arm. She recoiled, hissing like a wildcat. "Get away from me, you bastard!" Monroe jumped back. "Oh! I thought you were . . . " she said. The light from the moon and the house flooded over Bonny. Monroe saw a lovely face, twisted with pain, smeared with dirt and wet with tears. Her tangled dark hair glowed with red-highlights and contrasted with a milk-white skin. Torn clothes sagged. He peered closer. She was . . . very special. "Who are you?" she gasped." He extended an open hand. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I only wanted to help." "No man scares me . . . least of all, him. If I was bigger, he wouldn’t throw me around, either." She pulled her disheveled clothing about her body, bowed her head and cried like a lost child in a thorny thicket. Monroe removed his jacket and cautiously placed the coat over her shoulders. One by one, every light in the house went out. Only the corner streetlight and the moon remained. A breeze swirled. Monroe stepped to the tree and lifted his bundle. "Do you have family . . . friends?" "No." Monroe wondered, and then asked, "Where does a woman go when her husband throws her out?" Bonny looked lost. "I don’t know. I went to the church last time." "St. Joseph’s?" "Yes." He helped her to her feet. The moon revealed her eyes. Neither guile nor design appeared in those limpid pools. He gazed while moments passed. Finally he said: "Goodnight." "Goodnight." Monroe forced himself to turn away. Drifting down the street, he heard Bonny shout, "Sam, please let me in. Harold is crying." "Go wherever you want. My son stays here," Sam returned. On his way to the next corner, Monroe stopped and turned around. He hesitated. Listened. Nothing. Long before Monroe reached the whorehouse on Pitkin Avenue, he felt his gut grab like it had never grabbed before. He felt lost--lonesome. "You fool!" he said. "Don’t get involved." Reluctantly, he moved on.
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About the Book
A true story, but friend and family names are changed to allow literary freedom. In the early 1920’s, on Colorado’s spectacular western slope, World War I is ended and economic depression runs rampant, woman suffrage is law, labor fights management, and the Ku Klux Klan makes significant strides in Colorado’s politics. Monroe Morgan, a miner, a railroader, and a moonshiner, meets gorgeous Bonnie Isgar, wife to Sam Isgar and mother of Harold. Love blooms between Monroe and Bonnie as the abusive Sam organizes the Klan to provide a political base for his attempt to gain the Governor’s Mansion. Bonnie runs away with Monroe and takes Harold with her. Sam follows. The chase begins in Grand Junction and ends in Durango where Bonnie gives birth to Wade Morgan. The Klan burns Cascade Ranch, Monroe’s family home. The Klan kills One-armed Charlie, Monroe’s Navajo buddy. There is no turning back. The death struggle continues until Bonnie dies of strychnine poisoning and a broken neck. A destroyed Monroe confronts Sam deep in a coalmine, survives the police investigation with help from Charlie’s ghost, and then tries to live again by raising Wade.
About the Author
The author was born on the west bank of the Animas River (dubbed: El Rio de las Animas Perdidas, and translated: The River of Lost Souls) near downtown Durango, Colorado, on September 5, 1922. The following day his determined grandmother burned the shack while killing bedbugs. With that inauspicious beginning, the author continued his education on the western slopes of Colorado. After completing high school in Beaver City, Oklahoma, he started college at the University of Southern California and finished with a Bachelor of Science Degree in Great Falls, Montana, when he was fifty-six years old. He served in the United States Navy during World War II, was a contract player for Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, did night club stints as a singer-master-of-ceremonies, worked in construction, and finished his career as an Industrial Engineer for the United States Air Force Procurement Division in Albuquerque, New Mexico.