Gunfight at the Onion Patch

Gun Fight at the Onion Patch
Copyright Andrea Heyser 2009

I have told this story only a few times and it seemed to me that no one really believes it. So if you do not believe it, then it is simple poetic justice.

When I was about nineteen and was up at the cabin we had a number of guests as usual. It seemed like we always had company as on the mountain: that was the only thing to do. People were laughing as I walked into the room and I asked why. Mother said that they were talking about old Jim Butler and his crazy stories.

Jim Butler was a quaint old man who lived up on a hill with no road to it. If one wanted to see him it was a long walk up a trail below the Onion Patch. But most people did not wish to see him. When he developed his gold mine he needed a donkey to pull his ore cart, but the trail was so steep he had to actually carry the donkey on his back up parts of the trail. At least that is what people said. They also said that he did not cut fire wood, that he simply put a branch on a rock and then placed one end of it in his wood stove and just shoved it in a little futher when needed.

Also people said he was half blind and he drank a lot.

Jim Butler of late had been complaining that the indians were stealing from him and had taken his anvil. Mother said he just lost it. Besides there was only one indian on the mountain and that was Louie. Louie was very poor and he only had a 22 rifle which was held together by bailing wire. I later saw that rifle in Jerrie's hands, I don't know how he got it and he threatened me with it, but that is another story.

Anyway I was bored and told every one I was going to visit Jim. Paul another young man of about seventeen years old asked if he could go with me. People gave us directions that started from Tip's new place just below the Onion Patch and up an indistinct trail.

I always carried a rifle, a 22 semi-automatic and gave Paul a single shot 22 over and under with maybe one or two bullets so he would not feel emasculated. You know how young men are.

After we had gone about four miles and standing on a rise talking about which way to go, a bullet hit the tree beside my face and splatted bark into my skin which bled profusely. Paul being a city boy did not know what to do. I shouted into the forest that the shooting should stop as we were on the trail and also uttered some sort of insult that anyone would be so stupid as to shoot down a canyon. At that bullets came flying into the tree and at our feet. Little puffs of dirt would fly up with each bullet.

At that point it was clear that some one was trying to kill us and a fine shot he was. Paul was a little upset, but did not say a word. He was just a little pale. I screamed "drop and shoot, shoot for your life". We both fired in the direction of the gun fire, but quickly ran out of bullets so we snaked our way down the trail and ran for our lives. We both did that quite well.

When we were safe I began to worry as mother always said if you shoot that gun you had better have a body to show and have a damned good explanation" So I planned a great lie, I just told her that I had fallen into a bush. I was bloody and filthy, there was even dirt in my underwear, but mama believed it.

I never heard Paul say another word, I think he was a bit traumatized by the whole thing and I doubt that anyone ever believed his story if he told it.

Ten years later, by then I had my own car, I arrived up at the cabin and even from the parking lot could hear wild laughter coming from within. I said hello to everyone and asked why they were laughing. Mother said they were laughing about old Jim butler and his wild stories about his fight with the indians. The poor man had died years ago and not one person believed him when he told the of the frightening fight with the indians.

They were wrong about his being half blind, the man had eyes of an eagle and was a crack shot. I told them so.
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