Chapter 5 – Last Stop at Oak Grove Station Read Previous Chapters
By Dave Reynolds
(In the preceding chapter, Kris transfers a GPS tracking device discovered on Dan’s rig to another truck and they continue their Butterfield Trail journey. It soon becomes apparent that the man who hired Dan, Tony Cisco, is scheming to hijack Dan’s cargo. With Kris’s knowledge of the mountainous back roads, they take evasive action to escape the hijackers. However, despite their efforts, the hijackers catch up with them on the road into Murrieta. It is only when Kris shoots out the tires on the pursuing truck that Dan and Kris are able to continue.)
As Kris demanded, we “rolled.” I moved through the gears as quickly as possible and the disabled black pickup was soon left far behind. We reached the top of the mountain pass and travelled at high speed through the San Felipe Valley, turned right onto highway 79 and then headed northwest toward Warner Springs. Soon Kris, in a very calm and mellow voice (apparently oblivious to the fact that minutes earlier we had been the target of gunfire), renewed his dissertation on the Butterfield Trail and the stations we were passing.
He told me that, upon leaving the San Felipe Valley, we had passed the summit of the Coastal Range and that the watershed now drained west. He explained that we had reached an area known as Valle de San Jose – a name given it in 1795 by the priests at the Mission San Luis Rey (which still exists today near Oceanside). He stated that we were now approaching one of the most famous station stops on the Butterfield Trail. It was called “Warner’s,” named after J.J. Warner, an American who became a Mexican citizen and obtained a large land grant from the Mexican government in 1844. Kris advised, “Warner’s’ existed before the Butterfield Overland Mail route and acted as a major stopping point for settlers traveling west to California over the Southern Emigrant Trail.”
Suddenly, Kris raised his hand and motioned for me to slow down. He told me to turn off our lights. Hesitantly, and a little concerned, I did as asked. But the moonlight proved sufficient to light the road ahead. I slowed to a crawl and what came into view around the next turn was a lovely tiny mission chapel on the top of a little hill. “That is the Chapel of St. Francis; the San Luis Rey Mission padres constructed it in 1830 to serve the Indians of this region. Isn’t it beautiful?” Indeed it was -- sitting on top of the hill, illuminated only by the moonlight reflecting off its white painted adobe walls -- it stood, unadorned, without embellishment or ornamentation, with a solitary white cross on its red tile roof. Never had I seen a church look so tranquil, inviting, and appropriate. I looked at the clock in the cab and realized that it was just past midnight – Christmas Eve.
Thirty miles after passing the community of modern day Warner Springs, Kris said,
“We’re approaching Oak Grove. We should pull over. There is a side road up ahead that leads into a thick oak grove. We will be well hidden there. They may have gotten their flat tires fixed by now and it would be better if they passed by in the night. They will not try to cause us a problem tomorrow in the daylight. And, anyway, we need to get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.”
I did as requested. I was not sure what Kris meant about tomorrow being a big day, but I assumed that it had to do with bringing Tony Cisco and his henchmen to justice. I was convinced now that Kris was a special agent working for the insurance company and that he planned to have a showdown with Tony Cisco when we delivered the toys the next day. But as I pulled to a stop under the canopy of Oak trees, these thoughts proved only momentary. When I yanked the air brake release and felt the rig stop solid, I suddenly realized how totally and completely exhausted I was (after all, I had been awake for almost 24 hours and had gone through a number of harrowing adventures during that short time span). I leaned my head back against the back of the seat and was sound asleep within seconds.
I woke up about 10:00 AM. Kris was gently pulling on my sleeve, “You better wake up. We have to deliver those toys soon.” As I stretched and rubbed the sleep pebbles out of my eyes, I remembered a strange dream I had the night before. I dreamt that I awoke just before dawn and saw Kris out in the middle of the open circle framed by the oaks, but he was not alone – there were hundreds of elves and fairies, all dancing and flying in a vortex around Kris, while he was lifting his arms up and down in unison to music I could not hear. Then, one of the fairies flew up to the cab and looked at me through the side window. It had huge black eyes set in a small oval head. It was able to hover with small gossamer wings flapping rapidly. There was a glittery metallic dust covering its body, flying off as the wings flapped. Suddenly, its face broke into a large toothless smile and it lifted a little hand and blew a handful of metallic dust toward me. The dust came through the glass of the window and enveloped me. I immediately fell back to sleep.
After starting up, I told Kris about my dream. When I looked over, he had no comment. He just sat there looking forward with a soft smile on his face. As we left the Oak Grove and reentered the highway, Kris pointed across the street and said, “That is the Oak Grove station, the last remaining Butterfield Trail station in existence.” I looked at the station and was disappointed to see an unimpressive structure surrounded by unkempt landscaping and a dilapidated chain link fence. Kris, sensing my disappointment, said, “It isn’t well maintained, but it’s quite impressive up close. You can almost see the stage coaches approaching and the exhausted passengers exiting in excitement for the relief offered by the station stop. Promise me that you will go back and visit it after our delivery is complete.” I thought that it was strange that Kris should put it that way, making me promise, but I agreed since I was interested in seeing the station up close myself.
As I shifted gears and picked up speed, Kris turned to me and said with a satisfied smile on his face, “Well, that was the last stop before delivering the toys.” I responded, “I assume that you will call the police to meet us there and arrest Tony and his gang.” Kris looked at me and pointedly said, “And why should I want to do that? It’s the toys that count!” “Sure,” I said, understanding at once. “Yeah, I guess it is important to complete the delivery so there won’t be an insurance loss.” Kris took a deep breath and let it out in a sad sigh, “Dan I am afraid you still don’t understand. That is not my purpose at all.” I turned my eyes back to the road, perplexed and confused -- if that wasn’t his purpose, what was? I decided I would just have to wait to find out. It wouldn’t be long now. We were probably 40-50 miles away from Tony Cisco and his warehouse on Murrieta Hot Springs road. In a little over an hour, I would know. (To be continued.)