August 25-26, 1969 - Shea Middle

  

The Garbage-Bin Goulash was the dinner fare, yet again. Afterwards, the kids went their separate ways — some down to the creek, others inside the caves — smoking their allotted pot to chill for the evening as the sun melted away.

Not everyone in the Family would sit back and relax this evening.

As the Spahn Ranch work day came to a close, Charlie and Clem headed to the barn to see Shorty before he left for the day.

"Hey Shorty, man, we never see ya. How come you don't wanna party with us no more?" Charlie clapped his hand on Shorty's shoulder, flashing a toothy smile.

"Hey Charlie. I just do my job and go home. I got a wife now, you know. Any partying is done with her now. What do you care, anyhow? You got all them kids to party with." Shorty shoveled the last of the horse manure into a wheelbarrow, his final chore of the day.

"Ah, hell, man, at least come sit with us a spell at the fire. We got some good weed I nabbed from my friends up near Santa Barbara, on that last trip up north. Join us for an hour or so." Charlie slapped on his innocent doe-eyed look.

"Nah, thanks anyway. I better get home. Besides, I don't much like that stuff. I'm a drinkin' man."

"Okay, you got a bottle in here somewheres, don't ya?" asked Clem.

Shorty chuckled, shaking his head, his cheeks rosy. "Ah, hell, you know I do."

"Well then, bring it on down to the fire and party a bit with us!" Clem urged, slapping on his own good ol' boy look.

"Just an hour, Buddy, that's all. You can spare an hour for us, can't ya?" Charlie moved into Shorty's personal space.

Shorty threw up his hands. "Okay, okay, man. Listen, for an hour, mind. I got dinner waitin' on me at home, and maybe a little dessert." Shorty winked at the men. Doubtful he meant chocolate cake.

Charlie and Clem laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, just an hour. That's the way, Shorty! Finish up here and come on down with your bottle." Charlie and Clem left and headed for the fire the girls had built down near the creek.

And so, after his chores, Shorty did just that. He grabbed his mickey bottle hidden on top of one of the larger barn rafters and lumbered down to the creek.

The evening wore on. The hour morphed into two. Shorty downed most of his mickey. Charlie's girls sidled up to the old ranch hand to make him feel welcome, to lengthen his stay.

As the night wandered into the wee hours, one by one, each Family member said their goodnight. It left only Charlie, Clem, and Shorty by the fire, talking over old times, when the Family had first arrived at Spahn's. The liquor had taken its effect on old Shorty. And after toking, Clem and Charlie felt no pain.

The three leaned against logs, stretching their legs, gazing into the fire, which had more become a red ember glow than flickering flames. Shorty hadn't felt this relaxed in a long time. All three were enjoying the warm and windless night. No one wanted to call it quits.

"Shorty! Charlie! You guys still down there?" Bruce called out from up above the rocky trail.

"Yeah, we're still here. Come join us, man. The others have gone, so it's mighty peaceful down here." Charlie talked slowly, taking a friendly sip or two from Shorty's mickey.

"No, man. You guys gotta come up here. Shorty, I just saw Thunder, that ornery stallion you like so much. I just saw him down off of the Pass Road near the turnoff to Topanga. He's on his own, musta got lose from the corral."

Short sat up and called back. "You saw Thunder where?"

"About a couple miles from here, down near the Topanga turnoff. I just come back from a buggy ride down the valley. You'd better get on up here, all three of ya. Flynn's gone. There's no one else to wrangle him."

"Yeah, yeah, coming right up. That damn Thunder! He's so stubborn. He probably chewed right through that rope I had ‘round the corral post. Every chance he gets he takes off." Shorty shook his head.

Clem kicked sand into the fire, and the three climbed the trail back up to the outbuildings. Shorty headed for the barn to get a lasso to rope his favorite horse.

"Hey Shorty, we'll go with ya, man. You know how he likes to kick up a storm bein' roped 'n' all. Let's take the truck. Clem, you go hitch up the trailer to the truck and meet us out front," Charlie said.

"Be right there." Clem jogged to the outbuildings.

"Hey, thanks, Charlie. That Thunder is quite a hand full. And in the shape I'm in tonight I could use the extra hands." Shorty chucked.

Clem brought the truck and trailer to the boardwalk. Charlie and Shorty got into the front seat and Bruce hopped in the box with the rope, a shovel, and a bulging potato sack under his arm.

The truck thrummed onto Santa Susana Pass Road, the black night soon enveloping the rig.

The engine sound lessened. The red taillights grew faint.

On this journey, there were three men bent on murder and one Shorty Shea. A hard-working ranch hand who was on a Manson Family "ride" from which he'd never return.