Last of the Know-Nothings
Suzanne Jennings

     Nestled above the confluence of the North Fork and South Forks of the Salmon River, where the dirt trail widened to two wagon lengths, lay the outlaw town of Forks of Salmon.  Sophie McLaughlin and Phil Balfrey approached slowly in the blistering heat.

     Caleb, Sophie's brother, could have been a trail bandit the way he pounced upon them.  "Thanks for waitin' for me."  His words stung with sarcasm.  "That swingin' bridge was something else and this place-- it's like a ghost town.  Where's the folks?"

     Phil's lanky torso dripped with sweat.  "Probably sittin' in the river if they know
                                       wha's good for 'em."
      Straight ahead was W.P. Bennett's white-washed Forks of Salmon General Mercantile Store.  To the right towered his two-story Forks of Salmon Hotel.  Top the left was a ten by ten foot post office and the skinny bunkhouse building.  A few houses dotted the premises, along with W.P. Bennett's  Stable and Stage Station, and that was it.  But to Phil, living up Knownothing Creek his whole life, it was town with a capitol
whole life, it was town with a capitol "T".
 courtesy Siskiyou Historical Society.

      Out on the porch of his store, W.P. Bennett, himself, sat snoring away the heat of the day.  Better known as Ol' Man Bennett, a wide brimmed hat covered his face as his chair leaned back against some crates.  Curled at his fee was his trusty red-eyed hound who immediately set to snarling at Phil and his companions.  They scooted over the porch and let the screen door slam behind them.  Bennett's hound clawed at the door, her ravenous growls growing louder.

     "Great," said Caleb, "now we're trapped inside this sweatbox."

     Sophie walked up and down aisles of stacked goods ignoring the hound.  She stopped by brown bottles of sarsparilla, and licked her lips.

     "I could drink a whole gallon myself," said Phil. He was about to stick his hand in a briny tub of pickles when the sound of falling crates was followed by more ear-splitting yapping.

      "Ol' Man Bennett tore open the screen door fuming.  "Stupid dog!" he cursed.  "Woke me from my nap!"  But the scowl on his face instantly changed, once he saw he had three paying costumers.  "Howdy-do!  Howdy Do!  Why if it ain't one of the Balfrey boys."  He waited behind the counter while his fingers tapped on a shiny scale which would measure out their gold.

     Making their purchases, Sophie, Phil and Caleb had lunch under a shady oak.  They didn't exactly forget about the hundred-plus weather, but they did feel less wilted.  The buzzing of the cicadas surrounded them and if they paid really close attention, they'd hear trees whisper secrets from days long ago, but not forgotten.

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