Noisy River: the Saga of Captain Paul Dowlin

Contents

Acknowledgements

Preface

Chapter One

A Terrible Turn of Events

Chapter Two

The Formative Years (1828-1859)

Chapter Three

Getting to the West (1859)

Chapter Four

Sapillo, New Mexico (Fall 1859)

Chapter Five

The Early Part of the Civil War in New Mexico (1861)

Chapter Six

Later Part of Civil War in New Mexico, 1862

Chapter Seven

Carleton’s Next Grand Campaign

Chapter Eight

Northern Arizona Campaign

Chapter Nine

Return to Fort Stanton, 1866

Chapter Ten

Separation from Service and Starting the Mill

Chapter Eleven

The Mill

Chapter Twelve

Business Flourishes

Chapter Thirteen

Storm Clouds Gather on the Noisy River

Chapter Fourteen

The Storm Builds

Chapter Fifteen

The Storm Clouds Burst

Resource List

Acknowledgements

I want to acknowledge the assistance of my brother, Ed, who heard the family stories from Grandma Dowlin and passed them along to me; and my cousin, Karen, who helped sort out the family genealogy. The book would not have been possible without my wife (and partner) of 52 years who has faithfully read and reread my drafts, shared our research excursions, and supported me totally throughout the process.

As a Librarian and Professor I knew that the historical facts that are in many libraries, museums, and archives would be crucial to give the book true authenticity in support of the story. The assistance of the many librarians, archivists, and others working with source and secondary material is greatly appreciated.

The Dowlin family owes a huge debt of gratitude to Carmen Phillips who rescued the Dowlin Mill from obscurity (and probably demolition) when he bought it in 1947. His daughter, Delana Clements, and her husband, Michael, have continued to keep the mill intact and active in the community.

Alice Blakestead, a retired teacher in New Mexico, spent years gathering documents and source material on the Dowlin Mill and life of Paul Dowlin. Delana allowed me access to this treasury of information. Although I never had the opportunity to meet her, I feel I know her through her diligent research file.

I enjoy looking back in history; but I realize the critical nature of looking forward and thus I dedicate this book to the next generations of Dowlins and others in our family to increase their knowledge of our past in order to prepare for their future.

Preface

As one of the three elders in our close family, I have collected historical items for years. They have been under the house in boxes and in a large traveling trunk in the shed. I have felt guilty for years that the material was there; but unknown and unorganized. On a rainy day in Arizona which doesn’t happen too often, I started on a project to organize and identify the material. I also acquired the files from my older brother containing similar material this year. I soon realized that while the bits and pieces represented by the pictures, letters, and biographical sketches are informative and entertaining; they don’t tell stories in the traditions of our ancestors.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if my ancestors had kept journals that told the story of their lives, loves, and adventures for the generations that follow? My research over five years led me to the conclusion that our ancestors were active, honest participants in the development of this nation. Yet their stories are basically untold beyond the personal retelling by the elders.

There are too many people and stories to get in one book so I decided that I would start with the story of Captain Paul Dowlin. Even though my great-great uncle contributed much to the history of New Mexico, he appears only briefly in historical accounts. I only found one reliable source identifying the reason for Paul’s assassination and I am presenting it here for the first time.

Noisy River: the Saga of Captain Paul Dowlin is my first foray into telling the saga of the Dowlins. It could evolve into several books since we can trace our family back to Ireland in the 1600s and the next generations were as involved as previous ones.

I am pleased to present this saga to family, friends, historians and perhaps the world.

Chapter One

A Terrible Turn of Events

As Lt. Paul Dowlin rode his horse along the trail that morning, he had time to reflect on his life. It would be a long, cold, and boring trip. He was dreading reporting to Col. Christopher Carson at Fort Canby. He knew it wouldn’t be pleasant when he arrived at his destination. Although he did have to stay alert to his surroundings, deep in Navajo homeland, he could kill time thinking about his life. He had come a long way from his beginnings, in terms of both distance and surrounding country. This was not the settled part of Pennsylvania where he grew up. Now he was in hostile territory, almost at the western edge of this rapidly expanding nation.

He was well armed, had a good horse that seemed to sense where they needed to go today, and knew how to defend himself. He could almost partition his mind into sections: one to pay attention to his environment, one to think, and today, one to reminisce. Dowlin knew he had screwed up and would probably get a good chewing out. So he focused on assessing his life so far.

First, he felt proud of his contributions to the New Mexico Volunteer Infantry Regiment and the other units in the New Mexico Volunteers (NMV) throughout his service. He had shown great military leadership early, and his rise from the rank of private to lieutenant had been quite spectacular. Of course, he had expected no less. He was raised properly, with dedication to his family, his friends, his fellow army troops (most of them, anyway), and above all, his country. He believed that he had found a new home where he could establish his own business, find a wife, have children, and live out his life to a peaceful finish in this beautiful but untamed country.

He had proven that he was a leader of men in the camps and on the battlefield. He had been given more responsibility as he served in the NMV. He had exceeded even his own expectations and dreams in less than four years. His abilities had brought him to the attention of Carson, a legend in his own time and now the commander of the NMV in the field. In addition, he had attracted attention from the commanders of the New Mexico Territory Army and Militias. This had brought him extraordinary independence in executing his orders. Because he saved his pay and allowances rather than carousing and whoring, he had piled up a fair amount of money. In this regard, he was exceptional compared to both the troops and many of the officers. He had benefitted from the constant reorganization of the NMV, being granted a signing bonus every time he enlisted in a new unit. With his numerous promotions and reassignments, he never found his assignments boring. That was okay with Paul; being raised on a farm in eastern Pennsylvania had given him an allergy to routines.

Paul didn’t know the precise total value of all the land grants he had coming and his accumulated cash, but he was sure that he could get a good chunk of land here in New Mexico. He had been thinking about that for some time. He knew he didn’t want to transfer to the regular army when his NMV service was no longer needed. Even in 1864 the Civil War was raging in the eastern part of the country, and he would probably be transferred back there. He had grown to love this territory, and he wanted to make his future here.

Dowlin had been reporting directly to Carson, the commander of this expedition, almost since he had enlisted. He had become close to the colonel over the years and was one of Carson’s most trusted officers. Dowlin had met Kit Carson when he first came to New Mexico in 1860 while visiting Carson’s home in Taos. He had read a book about Carson while traveling west to New Mexico and was anxious to meet him in person. After enlisting in September 1861, he gained the colonel’s respect in the battle of Val Verde during the campaign in the Rio Grande valley in the early days of the Civil War. He was also one of the few NMV officers who had been involved in the battles of Glorieta Pass.

Dowlin did not want to disappoint Carson; he had huge respect for the colonel and was dedicated to meeting Carson’s expectations. However, he was beginning to have doubts about this campaign. He had personal friends in the Mescalero tribe, and the task of corralling or killing Indians was becoming appalling. Even rounding Indians up for their own survival had become distasteful. Part of General Carleton’s plan was to destroy the food stores and animals that they used to survive the harsh winter. Starvation was a worse death even than being shot.

One of Dowlin’s most loyal aides was a Mescalero Apache he had befriended way back on the Santa Fe Trail. Apache, as Paul called him, mostly trailed along, barely noticeable. When he sensed danger or Paul needed him for a task, Apache would appear quickly. Sometimes it just took a nod of Paul’s head.

Dowlin did feel that he had put up a good front to cover his reluctance. He doubted that men in his command had noticed his change in attitude. He still performed his duties well, but he had started to suspect that Col. Carson and General Carleton, the commander of the Department of the Army for NM Territory, had spotted his lack of enthusiasm for killing or starving the natives. Although Carson rarely showed his distaste for his orders, he did share his feelings privately with Dowlin. Carson himself knew many Indians, had even married two of them, and highly respected them. But orders are orders, and his loyalty to his commander was total.

That was probably why Paul found himself acting quartermaster for supplying far-flung army stations and posts throughout the territory. He did perform well and was very conscientious in his duties. Most of his failures during this campaign against the Indians were because of the army system. It was obvious to all those in the field that the Navajo were very skilled at surviving in their own territory. The Navajo understood now that the goal of the government was to suppress them and exterminate those who would not obey government orders. Yet many warriors were willing to fight to the death to defend their family and homeland.

Many of the army commanders had little direct experience with this arid country and the determination of the natives. The army did not provide sufficient supplies, discipline, or training to some of the troops, and the West was seen as a good place to dump problem troops, especially officers. In addition, many of the officers were southerners and resigned their commissions to join the Confederates. The previous commander of the New Mexico Department of the Army, Colonel Sibley, had resigned his commission in the federal army to join the Confederates. He had made his way to Jefferson Davis, the president of the Confederacy, and convinced Davis to appoint him as a general in command of all forces in the Southwest. He would return to command the Texan forces in the invasion of New Mexico.

Drunkenness, cruelty, and lack of discipline were rampant in the ranks of the federal army in the West. Paul understood that but made it clear to troops under his command that he would not tolerate disobedience and conduct unbecoming a soldier. He believed that he was personally responsible for their performance and behavior. Some troops did not like his command and were given the opportunity to transfer out as soon as possible. He also showed high regard for the welfare of his troops, so his unit had high morale and performed their duties well.

But today, he had screwed up. He had been assigned to capture or kill the Navajo at the top of the towering rock in Canyon de Chelle. But they had simply slipped away in the night. His failure was clear. Dowlin’s thoughts turned to the beginning of his quest to go west.

Chapter Two

The Formative Years (1828-1859)

Paul Dowlin was born in Horsham, Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, in 1828 and spent his first thirty-one years in Pennsylvania. He was the third child of Josiah and Elizabeth Dowlin. His older brother was Rea; his sister Ann was also older. He had three younger brothers: John, William, and Amos. Amos was twenty years younger than Paul. There were quite a few Dowlins in that part of the country, so it was easy to roam around visiting them. Since there were many family get-togethers, Paul and his siblings knew cousins, aunts, uncles, and other relatives all around that part of the state. Just about every Sunday there was a gathering at some relative’s place or at the home of one of their longtime family friends.

The first Dowlins had arrived in America before the Revolutionary War. While most of their ancestors could be traced back to Ireland, their points of departure for America were in many countries, since they had been dispersed by Oliver Cromwell from their ancestral homelands back in the 1600s. When Cromwell took over, he gave the land to his cronies and family. The natives became homeless with little hope of surviving in Ireland. Many of the Irish starved or were forced into virtual slavery. It was the lucky ones who were able go to Scotland, England, or the Continent. If the British didn’t get them to leave Ireland, then the later potato famines did.

Many members of the Dowlin clan crossed the Atlantic and resettled from Nova Scotia to Virginia. It was easy for them to support the American Revolution, since they had either witnessed the cruelty of the British firsthand or heard family stories of the same. Some of the old-timers would still use the expression May the curse of Cromwell be on you when they were really vexed. The younger ones in the family in the 1800s didn’t know much about Cromwell, since he had lived over two hundred years ago, but they had heard what the English had done to the Irish. The curse of Cromwell sounded like a good curse, since it was less blasphemous than curses about God yet made the point.

As a youngster, Paul had been a natural leader and a great organizer. He would round up all his buddies around the countryside to set off on some great adventure. Most of their families expected the boys to help out even when they were little. They also expected them to become hard workers when they grew older. Fortunately for Paul, some of the families also allowed their kids to roam and play games as well. The banks along the Brandywine were a great place to explore.

As Paul got older, he impressed people with his ability to learn new skills. He could work with iron, wood, and any tools used around the place. He was also very gentle with animals. This had led to his reputation in early manhood as one of the best horse and mule trainers around. He could be firm with the horses he shod or trained, but he never mistreated any, as some of the locals did. He didn’t like people who beat their horses or mules, although working with mules could really be exasperating at times. They were often determined to show their ability to not cooperate with any kind of human being. Paul had the patience to show even the most stubborn that it was in their best interest to cooperate. They usually settled down and behaved for him. He enjoyed working with what he called horses with manners.

He had just learned to ride a horse when his grandmother traded a steer to one of her sons for a pony of mixed breed. This horse was great because she was used to little kids climbing all over her. She had great patience and would even let four or five little kids on at once. As Paul got older, he found that she wouldn’t trot unless you were really persuasive, and she would gallop only when heading to the barn.

His uncle and father were great teachers, and both had a lot of patience around people and animals. It was rare indeed for his father or uncle to lose their tempers. Even when Paul or his cousins took out a fencepost with a piece of farm machinery or some such foolishness, his elders just used the mistake as an opportunity to teach them the right way to get the job done. Sometimes, you need to slow down to get through a tight spot, he would be reminded. These relatives showed that patience and a few humorous words could be more successful than being hot-headed and outspoken.

Paul became very skilled in mending saddles, bridles, and other leather goods. Sometimes he could travel around working where people needed him, but he usually returned home at important times for the farm. This was a good opportunity to see the countryside, and the farther he roamed, the more he wanted to range from home. His pleasure in meeting people and his ability to learn from them gave him a wide-ranging knowledge about the world.

Paul had been exposed to history and literature during his schooling, and he read whenever he could. He was fortunate that the people in Pennsylvania considered schools important. The state had passed a Free School Act in 1834, shortly after Paul was born. In 1852 they even organized a state association of teachers, and in 1857 another act established a separate department in the state government for the supervision of schools. Paul enjoyed his history lessons and prided himself on his knowledge of English and American literature. Sometimes he thought about becoming a teacher, but he liked traveling around and wanted a more adventuresome life.

Almost all of Paul’s close relatives were in Pennsylvania or nearby, but a few of them had wanderlust and moved to Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, and other parts of the country east of the Mississippi. At family reunions the youngsters were enthralled by stories from their relatives who lived in distant places. Paul was always curious about what was over the next hill. When he had the opportunity to quiz passing travelers, their tales would set his imagination on fire. Parties of travelers often paused for a drink of water from the well out front of the house. One afternoon when Paul was standing near the well, he was approached by several men. They were polite and asked, Do you mind if we drink some of your water and fill our water jugs? We have traveled a long way, and it is hot along the trail.

Certainly, Paul exclaimed, help yourself. As Paul waited near the well for his brothers to come along, he entered into a conversation with the travelers.

Where are you all headed? Paul asked.

Out west was the answer.

Paul had heard stories about Out West for most of his life, but he was always eager to hear more. That is a big place; do you have any ideas in mind of where to go?

We hear that out in California people can just pick up gold out of the creeks. If we’re lucky, we will get rich and be home for Christmas. They call the folks who are in California picking up gold forty-niners.

It sounds exciting, but I don’t think I would like the life of a miner.

If you don’t want to be a miner, the US government is moving the Indians around and freeing up the land for the settling.

You mean that the government can just pass a law that tells some folks to move away?

Yep, that is how it works.

Paul remembered reading about the far-off West as a youngster. Now the more he heard of it, the more interesting it became. It didn’t look like there would be much land for him from his father’s place, since most of the time the oldest son inherited the farm and the younger ones had to work for someone else. Paul was almost thirty years old and didn’t see any real excitement around here other than the threat of some kind of war between the North and South. He was pretty sure that it would get ugly if a conflict broke out.

He knew of some Dowlin relatives who were out West. Distant kin had settled somewhere around St. Louis and claimed a lot of land. His father, Josiah, liked to gossip about the cousins who settled near St. Louis. They are kind of famous in this family, since it’s said that they settled on some land and then bribed someone in the lieutenant governor’s office to alter the date so it looked like it had been theirs since 1700. That would have been when the French were in control of that area, so I am kind of skeptical. The family isn’t sure it was on the up and up, but we take pride in that cousin’s cleverness.

This kind of talk fired up Paul’s imagination, even though it would take a while for him to actually get going. It did spur him to work hard to learn different skills and trades. On his thirtieth birthday, he spent some time pondering his future and became more serious about going west. He still wasn’t married, and all the potential candidates for brides had gotten married a long time ago. The one he was sweet on was already married. Her husband was way older than she was, but as Paul told his brother Will, I could hang around and hope that he kicks the bucket soon, but he has lived a very long time and will probably go on for years. Besides, her stepsons look at me like they would love to take all their worldly frustrations out on my hide.

After another frustrating encounter with Emily, his secret love, he couldn’t help but share his feelings with Will. I don’t have much to keep me around home since I won’t inherit the farm. At best, I might get a portion of it. It is barely big enough to support the family as it is now.

Paul started trying to find out about how to get to St. Louis. He kept Will appraised of his progress. If a body could get to that cousin out by Saint Louis, he could probably find lots of land for the taking—and if not, he could just keep going west.

Will was interested in striking out west as well, but he was married, with a family and a clerking job. If you go out there and get kind of settled, I will be happy to come out there. I am not all that excited about staying around here either, but I am not ready to head out with the family and all without knowing about what our prospects might be.

At that time, neither man suspected that St. Louis would be only a jumping-off place to the Southwest.

Paul had also heard about the adventures of Reverend Johnson Bailey, one of his distant cousins. The Baileys were natives of Pennsylvania, and Johnson’s parents were of Quaker origin and English ancestry. The family of Eli and Ruth Bailey had come to Greene County from Chester County when Johnson was about nine years old. Old Eli had married twice, and Johnson was a child of his second wife. Eli was an old man when Johnson was born and loved to spend his later years sitting around and telling stories to any kids who would listen. He had some brushes with Indians in his early years and would tell long, elaborate tales about those times. The children’s attention would be riveted to Eli’s expressive face and gestures as they sat around a bonfire outside in the evening.

Johnson was a good student, and his parents were quite proud of him. He became one of the most educated members of the family. He grew up on the farm but was often released from his chores on the farm to go down the road to the log cabin schoolhouse. After he had learned about all that the teacher there could teach him, he attended school at Greene Academy and went on to a school in Waynesburg, Pennsylvania.

At the age of sixteen, he joined the Cumberland Presbyterian Church in Greene County. He was licensed to preach and ordained by the Union Presbytery of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church. He practiced ministry some in West Virginia, six miles west of Morgantown, but mostly in Fayette County, Pennsylvania, where he was engaged in the ministry for a number of years. Having developed a desire for missionary work from the stories he heard from his father, he went west so he could minister to the spiritual needs of the Indians. According to him and his parents, he met with good success. Johnson did enjoy returning for family reunions in Greene County and enthralled Paul and the other children with his stories. Paul surmised that Johnson probably went to Illinois to convert Sauk Indians, but the reverend wasn’t very specific. The more Paul heard, the more he believed that he would find excitement and adventure out West. He also expected that he would need to be outfitted with supplies for his journey.

Paul decided that he needed to work where he could make some cash. His idea of heading west was growing stronger all the time, but he hadn’t saved much money. Most of the time he was paid in kind, not in cash. Cash was in short supply in those days. He thought about family members who might have a job for him. His dad reminded Paul that he had relatives who owned the Dowlin forge in nearby Uwchlan Township. They might have just the right job for a Dowlin.

The forge had been in the family for quite a number of years, starting when John Dowlin purchased the forge lands in 1801 from Hibberd’s heirs. Although that branch of the family wasn’t real tight with his branch of Dowlins, when Paul rode over he was invited by James Dowlin, who was running the mill, to come over and work. James knew that Paul had experience working with the fire, hammer, and anvil. A blacksmith who was just a couple of farms over from Josiah’s needed help from time to time, and he had commented to James that Paul was a hard worker and was willing to learn. The blacksmith’s recommendation convinced James. When James told Paul that the forge paid in cash, Paul could barely suppress his glee.

Paul had ridden over to the forge on an old draft horse of his dad’s, so he’d had to convince Will to come along so he could take the horse home. Will had some free time and still enjoyed going off on adventures with Paul. When Paul got the job, Will was able to check out the work of the forge and bring back good news to the folks at home as well as the horse. It only took him a couple of days to ride over and back. Will took one look at the work at the forge and decided that he preferred the clerking job that he had at the local store in Greene County. The brothers parted and promised to keep in touch.

The work was dirty, constant, and physically demanding. Paul had never shirked from hard labor, but the boredom of this work, once he got the hang of it, made it seem even harder. At this forge they produced raw iron. They heated raw ore in kilns fired by charcoal until it could be puddled into forms. The ingots were then loaded onto a wagon and taken over to another forge that had more sophisticated firing methods to make finished iron, which was formed into railroad rails and other such products. Paul worked hard and did whatever he was asked to do, and soon the boss was giving him work that wasn’t quite as dirty or boring. Sometimes he went out with the timber crews to cut trees down and then chop them into chunks that would be fired into charcoal for heating the forges. It was always a pleasure to get out into the woods.

Paul was very good with horses, mules, and even oxen, so he became a drover for teams hauling wood or ingots around. Although he was well educated compared to most of the workers, he didn’t lord it over them and worked alongside whomever necessary to get the job done. He was recognized as a conscientious worker and didn’t seem to have any vices. He was unique in that when he had time off he was out exploring the surroundings or had his nose buried in a book. He read anything he could find about traveling or other places.

He explored the area along Brandywine Creek when he was allowed a bit of time off from his work. As a young child, he had roamed along its banks exploring. He was an avid hunter and a good shot, and he excelled at finding game. The folks at the forge really enjoyed eating the deer or other game he brought home. There were a lot of raccoons in the forests. They were such pests that James let Paul clean them out with his rifle from time to time. Paul took the carcasses back to the forge cook, who could make a pretty appetizing meal out of them.

Paul would borrow a horse when he needed to travel around somewhere now and then. But he yearned for his own horse. He planned to buy a young one that he could gentle and break to saddle and bridle. That way he could train it to work with him with a minimum of fuss. He enjoyed working with the horses he found at the forge, even though most of them were plodding work horses. When Paul found out that some of the neighbors had spirited thoroughbreds as well as horses trained for hunting, he volunteered to help with the care and feeding of these horses during his few free days. From the neighbors he learned a lot about the strengths and weaknesses of the various breeds.

Ed, one of the regular horse traders who traveled through the countryside, seemed to get around Pennsylvania and even up into New England. He started telling Paul about a really wonderful breed of horses raised in New Hampshire. A man named Justin Morgan had moved from Massachusetts to Randolph, New Hampshire, and bought a stallion. The horse’s name was Figure, and he became the sire of a whole new breed. Ed said, People are really impressed with this horse for its stamina, hardiness, and endurance. They can’t believe that a horse could have all these traits and still be so gentle. The really amazing thing is that Figure passed along these traits to many generations of colts. When old Justin passed away, people started calling the descendants of Figure Morgan horses.

Paul was enthralled with the description of this special horse and asked Ed, Would you see if you could find me a colt that I could buy? How much money would it take to get a Morgan colt for me?

Ed was amused with Paul’s enthusiasm and promised to look around the next time he got up to New Hampshire. I don’t know how long it might take, but you keep saving your money, and we’ll see what we can do.

With a goal such as this, Paul was so energized that his coworkers hinted that he needed to slow down. You are making us look like slackers.

One old guy wanted to know what had gotten the young man all fired up. He acts like he found a pretty girl and is getting all wound around her finger.

Jim, one of the other workers, grinned really big and couldn’t resist poking fun at Paul. He is in love all right, but it’s with a horse he ain’t ever seen.

The whole crew agreed that he might be a bit batty, but when he held back his enthusiasm and toned down his performance, the guys were mollified. They still enjoyed a good joke on him, but they stopped teasing him about his girlfriend, the horse.

It seemed to take forever, but when the neighbor came by one day to say that Ed was coming down with some horses that he thought folks in the neighborhood would jump at buying, Paul got all excited again.

I can hardly wait until Ed gets here. This could be super.

One day John Jr. and Ed stuck their heads into the barn and Ed called, Hey Paul, come out and see what I got.

Paul almost fell over. The whole crew was standing there gaping at the little colt that Ed was leading. She was the prettiest horse anyone had ever seen. Paul was taken back a little because he really wanted a stallion. Ed noticed the hesitation. I imagine that you wanted a stud so you could start your own breed of horse. I tried to find one for you, but you won’t believe the price those folks wanted for stallions, even ones just weaned. The guy who had this filly owed me a bunch of money, and his prospects of getting the money looked mighty slim. So, I thought of you and made him a deal. Besides, you are going to have to work real hard to just pay for this filly. I don’t know how much money you make, but it is probably going to take some time for you to get it together.

Paul was a little taken aback, but John stepped in and volunteered, Since you are family and a really hard worker, I will help you out. I noticed that you are good with your hands, and the few times that you have formed the pig iron on the fire showed that you might be real good at making some finished products. One of the guys involved in the railroad said that they are buying the land just east of here to set up a railroad line. He said that they would like to find someplace close by to get their spikes to anchor the rails to the ties. They have to get their rails from a finish forge, but I think we could make spikes on our own anvil. If you and I can figure out how to do that, I will not only give you a raise but advance you the money for your little girlfriend here—I mean, for your little filly.

Everybody agreed that it sounded like a good plan.

Paul took a couple of days off the next time he took a load over to the finish mill and managed to get in a conversation with one of the guys making spikes. Paul showed interest in what he was doing, and so Charlie, who took pride in his work, explained to Paul how he was forming the spikes. You want to give it a go? It isn’t too tricky, but watch out for that hot iron. Touch one of those when it is too hot and you will be hurting.

Learning to form the finished shape of a spike took a long time, but Paul eventually got the hang of it. When he got back to the Dowlin forge, he couldn’t wait to show John Jr. his new skill.

That looks good, but it is going to take forever to make eight hundred of those spikes like the railroad wants.

He and Paul thought about it for a couple of days, and then Paul had an idea and found John Jr. over by the well. If we could come up with a mold that we could just pour the melted iron into, that would rough-form the spike, and we could up our speed.

After a bit of trial and error, they discovered that they could form molds out of the clay soil used to make bricks. They had to put it in a wooden form and mold it around a spike. After the clay hardened, they could pour the iron into it. When it had formed the right shape as it cooled, the new spike could be gently coaxed out of the clay. If they did it just right, they could make several spikes before the mold came apart. They eventually developed a routine and finished all eight hundred of those spikes on time.

After they returned home from delivering the spikes, John Jr. shook Paul’s hand and handed him two hundred dollars. Paul was flabbergasted. John Jr. said, You completed your part of the bargain, and here is your share of the profits. Your brother Rea came through this morning and said that your dad wanted you to come home and help him on the place now. They are kind of shorthanded around the farm.

Paul was tempted to stay and make more money, but when he thought of Emily, his urge to see her again took over his rational impulses. Paul gave John the $150 that he owed him for the horse and got ready to return home.

Paul had been working with the filly every chance he got but was having trouble coming up with a name for her. Normally he was pretty decisive, but he kept pestering his coworkers for their ideas asking what they thought of names until old Billy snapped, Pick a name and shut up.

Billy saw the reaction on Paul’s face and became less snappish. When you look at that horse, what name comes to mind? Billy asked him.

Well, she is so pretty, and I really like her color. It reminds me of those ginger cookies that Ma used to make when I was a kid. Hey, I’ll call her Ginger!

He figured