Old Moses (though he could not have been much older than forty-five or fifty) had been on the ill fated caravan, sure enough, had seen terrible things, things that he did not want to revisit. Through God’s mercy he had come out alive, saved by the rescuers after that dire winter. But knowing that regular folks would look at him in fear, ever though he had refused forbidden meat, he had kept his story a secret.
Still, every few years someone would get wind of the truth, discover that he had been a member of that tragic party, and the whispers would begin. With the stiff wind of condemnation at his back, he would pull up stakes and move to another town. A dozen times he had been forced to leave a prosperous business (for he was an astonishing industrious fellow), and more than once a family, and find him a new home, a new livelihood. Like the biblical Moses he had wandered the deserts of the American West, seeking his home, never knowing if it would be his final destination, or whether some fresh discovery would send him into exile yet again. I misted up, hearing his wrenching tale. What a stalwart, suffering man. Under the care of a skilled scribe, what citizen would not weep a heavy tear for his story?
Now, he explained, though he had made a success of his suttler’s business, had even become a pillar of the community and a man of some wealth, he had been found out. Someone had been rumor-mongering about his supposed nighttime habits, suggesting that he was up to his old culinary preferences. And to back them up, there were even suspected cases of cannibalism right here, in Virginia City! Naturally, all eyes would look to him, who was as innocent as on his birth day.
“Now now,” I interrupted, “but surely there is no proof. Why should you fear if there is no evidence to attach the crime to you?” Here he shook his head sadly, as he would to a simpleton. But of course he would be suspected. He was of the evil Donners, and the citizenry would make their assumptions as they always had. No one would give a second’s thought to the possibility that anyone else could have done it. It was the way it had gione in town after town, and would again in Virginia City.
Now, I had to admit, he did look the part, all scrawny and skeletal, dark and angry. Why, I bet he could tear through a club of spinsters for lunch, and have room left over for a lawyer or two. And he was a Donner, was he not? Still, he had aroused my sympathies, which I felt were keener than the average newsman’s, and I wasn’t ready to give the up just yet. Didn’t he, I asked, have some sort of alibi for the time that the dire murder was supposed to have occurred?
He flushed redly at that, and struggled for his words. “I don’t have many acquaintances,” he said, his eyes downcast. “Even them that doesn’t know my full history, they tend to shy away from me, like maybe they know something.” Then he looked up at me fiercely, his eyes which I could now see were the palest blue, sparked. “No, I don’t have anyone who will vouch for me. I was at home alone, as I am most every night. But I couldn’t have done it, don’t you see?” And with that, he open wide his foul-smelling mouth and pointed at the open, near-toothless maw. Of course, he was right. A fine cannibal he would have made, gumming his victims to death. Plainly, he was not the man for this crime. Once again I was filled with crusading zeal.
“So, tell me, Mr. Phoenix. Who has slandered you so foully?”
With a sneer of contempt, he pulled a soiled, heavily creased sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket. I recognized at once the work of our rival newspaper, scant yards down the street from the Territorial Enterprise. Dastardly rag I called it, even before he had carefully unfolded the document and offered it to me, solemnly pointing a long bony finger at the offending article. Puffing furiously on my cigar, I prepared myself to be outraged. The story read as follows:
A Heinous Crime!
Cannibalism in Virginia City!
In a city already suffering from a variety of social ills: namely gambling, public drunkeness,
loose morals, official corruption and the threat of Chinese influence, is it too much to ask
that we be spared the indignity of cannibalism as well? Apparently not, as evidence of this latest
evil have been thrust upon our community. Thursday last, a defamed corpse, once belonging
to a Mr. Slade, lately employed as a bootblack and spittoon carrier for the Blue Gem saloon,
was discovered behind that same building in a condition best described as rendered for dinner.
Deprived of his human chops, steaks and tenderloin, Mr. Slade was left for the four-legged vermin
to finish. They were chased off when the proprietor of the Gem, the hon. Julius Spander, found
him around eight o’clock on the following morning.
A Perpetrator Suspected!
And who, Virginia Citians want to know, is responsible for this heinous crime, this Aetrian
feast? It has come to our attention that for the last nine months, a Mr. Moses Phoenix, lately
a member of the Donner party of 1846, has been a resident of this city. Is it such a leap to
suppose that there is a connection here? Where was he on the night that Mr. Slade was
transformed into roast? What has he to say for himself? Has he returned to his depraved ways?
Others who survived that tragic expedition have also refused to swear off eating their
neighbors. It appears that he has joined that camp.
And, since constable Martens has not seen fit to pursue this suspicion, this newspaper will ask
the questions of Mr. Phoenix, and will get the answers.
To be continued...
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