The Trek: Darwin's World, Book II (The Darwin's World Series 2)

by Jack L Knapp

  Sal's crew had reduced the large tree to sections cut crosswise through the trunk, then laminated them together ensuring that the sections had been rotated slightly so as not to perfectly line up with the adjacent ones. Sal hoped this practice would strengthen any part of the trunk that might be weaker than another.

  The wheels were glued three laminations thick and the necessary holes had been bored. One of the new tribesmen, a former slave, had shown Sal how to use a bow drill. It didn't do to force the drill to penetrate, lest the stone tip shatter; but if the drill-man took his time, the job could be completed without constantly having to replace broken tips. The task required patience more than strength. Rawhide laces through the drilled holes now held the wheels together, reinforcing the hide glue. The center holes for the axle were more time-consuming to cut, but even so another day should see replacement wheels finished for all the carts.

  Matt met Lee at the campfire and cadged a late breakfast from Margrette. The vegetables were especially welcome and even the tea seemed tastier. Perhaps it had to do with being away so long, eating mostly meat while they hunted.

  The two men found a place to sit and just rested, legs extended, backs against trees. Matt's muscles had ached and even his knee joints had cracked when he got up. The trip back with the meat had been hard, no denying it.

  Crews worked on making more rope to replace what had been used while making camp and in the myriad tasks that only rope could do. Matt mused for a moment as he watched. People might think bows and arrows were the difference between bare-subsistence and relative affluence, and certainly they were useful; but rope was the indispensable product that found a thousand uses. Some of the ropes were thin, some thicker; some were made of grass and the better ones had been made from long fibers harvested after the plant stem was crushed. But all of it was useful. Rawhide, too, served a similar purpose and it had qualities that rope and cord couldn't match.

  Matt let his mind roam as he looked off to the north. It was late summer now; he'd seen lightning shimmer far to the north last night. But so far only a few wispy clouds indicated the possibility of bad weather here.

  We're going farther west, he thought; the American natives used portable dwellings made of leather called tepees. Could we do the same? They hauled theirs behind horses, but we have the wheels they never had. Our carts might be able to do the same thing, haul a shelter that could be set up without the need to gather local materials every night.

  His thoughts continued to drift. Some of the new-woven ropes would be used in remaking the carts, tying crossmembers in place to stabilize the long poles the tribe used to pull the carts and also for securing replacement axles to the frames. The rebuilt carts would be better than new, because the wood members had dried and worked into a better fit during use. The new wheels would be heavier because of the extra laminations, but they'd be much more durable. A recent development also showed promise, the mixture of beeswax dissolved in oil for greasing the axles.

  Hot grease, collected during cooking, served as the primary base for the new axle lubricant. Thin slivers of beeswax were added to the hot liquid and left to dissolve. Periodic stirring ensured the mix blended evenly, and adding more wax thickened the goop. The final product could still be spread, albeit with difficulty, but wouldn't be thin enough to be runny. It would still have to be renewed periodically but probably would last a few days. Time would tell.

  Thick leather gaskets sealed the joints and kept most of the grease in place between the axle and the wheel. The loud squealing noise was much suppressed when they tried moving the first of the rebuilt carts.

  Lilia had tried waterproofing a piece of deerskin using the grease-beeswax mixture but had given up in disgust. The coated deerskin was heavy, clammy, and smelly. She'd discarded it and gone back to making garments with fringes along the sleeves and legs. The fringes helped keep people dry by dripping some of the water away. In any case, it looked better and was more comfortable to wear. Women now wore deerskin skirts with fringed bottoms. The older women wore sleeveless vests too; younger women frequently wore only the skirts.

  Matt and Lee visited various parts of the camp during the day and were well pleased. Laz, Piotr, Colin and Sal had performed well, and Lilia...well, Lilia was more than competent. The waterproofing attempt was one of her few failures.

  Margrette managed the kitchen and Elizabeth had amassed a collection of herbs and bandages in expectation of need. In truth, everyone had found a job they were suited for and went about doing it without fuss or excitement.

  The major complaint came from Bear, Monika's six-year-old son. He'd been forced to fish only part time after being dragged, protesting all the way, to Sandra and Millie's impromptu 'school'. He even found himself pressed into helping with the smaller children and he looked disgusted whenever that happened. None of the other warriors had to tend small children! And did he not have a spear and small bow of his own? But his protests went nowhere and his unhappy expression promised to become permanent.

  No one mentioned Tex. If the tribe missed him at all, they didn't remark on it.

  #

  Tex had built a fire and crawled into his shelter as soon as he returned. Waking only long enough during the night to drink and add wood to the fire, he slept for a full ten hours. Finally the needs of his bladder forced him to crawl out of the shelter and find a convenient bush.

  He slung the spear across his back, attached the quiver to his belt, and hung the reata behind that. The gully was a short distance ahead, now sealed at each end. The horses grazed in the lower end and only the stallion seemed restless. He too grazed, but from time to time he paced along the fence that Tex had constructed by bringing up the downed trees. Dragging them into place had been hard work, but if this worked, it would all have been worthwhile.

  Tex collected the jug of honey and a handful of the dried grasses he'd cut before starting his epic run. He walked slowly down to the enclosure and pulled back one of the lightweight trees at the end of the upper fence. Closing it behind him, Tex slowly walked into the enclosure.

  The stallion showed signs of fight but Tex waved the bow at him and he backed away. Tex poured a small measure of honey over the dried grass and laid it carefully on a flat rock. Slowly walking away, he turned just before he reached the fence and looked at his shadow on the ground. Another, larger, shadow behind his showed that the stallion had followed for a short distance. Tex quietly left the corral as he'd entered it, closing the fence behind him. The horses watched as he slowly walked away.

  Tex spent the afternoon scraping the scraps of rawhide he'd retained after cutting the circles for reata thongs. The thongs he cut from these pieces were shorter, but that didn't matter. They worked well for rudimentary horse tack, a hackamore and a set of hobbles. The rawhide was useful but he needed softer leather for a saddle pad. He would use a girth strap woven from grasses for insurance, something similar to what he'd used when riding broncs bareback in rodeos; but the shallow pond would give him the advantage he wanted during the first ride. The horse would be fighting the water's resistance and slippery footing as well as trying to remove Tex.

  A softened piece of the rawhide, kept that way by beeswax, would keep the eventual girth strap from irritating the horse's barrel. He laced a piece of rabbit skin, fur left on, into a sleeve for the bottom of the girth strap. The cushion would soften as the horse sweated and would pad the strap. Eventually Tex planned to add loops of leather to the strap to serve as 'stirrups'.

  Once he'd have scorned the aid, but Tex hadn't ridden a horse in ten years now. He had been proud of his riding ability downtime. The skill would come back, he was sure of it...but there was no reason to be stupid.

  Meantime, he felt a momentary sense of loss for the comfortable working saddle and woven cotton pad he'd used during his ranch years. But that was gone, so he would do what was necessary, "cowboy up" as the saying had it. Make do, and not worry about the things he didn't have.

  He would be riding ess
entially bareback in any case, and that ability might take a little longer to become second nature. He would condition the horse to riding in the same way the plains Indians had done, by attempting the first ride in water. Not quite the gentle-break method, not quite the more brutal breaking that had been common on the American frontier downtime, but a procedure that fell midway between the two. Someday, he'd try the rest of Monty Roberts' method by using a real round pen. But for now, time was important. Roberts hadn't been alone when he broke horses; he’d had help that Tex didn’t have.

  The sweetened hay was gone the next day when he returned. He added honey to the new bundle of grass he carried and laid it down in the same place.

  He repeated this process each day, gradually spending more time in the makeshift corral. The stallion now watched and lipped the sweetened hay from the flat rock even before Tex left the corral.

  Another day, perhaps two, and he'd be ready. Tex continued working on his tack that afternoon, as he had done every afternoon. It too was almost ready. He rubbed the beeswax he'd retained into the rawhide hackamore; it would act as a preservative.

  Tex added a new activity next time he entered the corral. Laying his weapons aside, he uncoiled the reata and tossed the end away from him. Reeling it in, he repeated the process a dozen times, pausing between tosses. He never hurried, never gave the horses reason to spook.

  The horses snorted and tried to bolt the first time, but there was nowhere to go. Paying them no attention, Tex worked on. Half an hour later he decided to stop. By now, the horses stood watching him from across the pond. The pond’s edge showed signs where the horses had sunk a few inches into the mud and had slipped several times when they came to drink.

  It was almost time; Tex would make the attempt tomorrow, and if something happened...well, walking and running were better than being crippled, but nothing compared to the feel of a strong horse beneath a man. It was worth the gamble.

  #

  "How's that ferry doing, Colin?"

  "It's working great, Matt. The rope worried me for a while, because it's only about half as thick as it was in the beginning. But there's no sign that it's failing."

  "I expected it would do the job. Lilia's pretty careful."

  "That she is, Matt. I'm glad she's with us."

  Matt nodded his understanding. "Sal's wheels working as expected?"

  "They're fine, Matt. He worked up a kind of sandpaper using river sand. Scraps of rawhide and smear warm hide glue over that, then pour sand over the mess and when it cures dump off the excess. He wrapped that around a stick and tied it tight at each end. That's what he uses to smooth the center hole where the axles go.

  “The wheels are a little tight right now, but they'll work in during the first day and should fit a lot better than the old wheels ever did. As soon as all that meat has cured, we might be ready to move on. What do you think?"

  "I think so, Colin. We've been here long enough. How much longer will you need to have everything ready?"

  "Maybe three days, Matt. I'll talk to people and get them thinking about the move. They'll need to pack stuff, lash everything to the carts except kitchen stuff and bedding. What do you want to do about the ferry?"

  "We'll leave it. Someone may find it useful and if no one finds it, the rope will eventually break. The ferry could end up in the Gulf of Mexico!"

  The two shared a grin.

  That night, thunder rumbled far away to the north; but when Matt woke up next morning and went to look, the river had risen only a little. The clouds were thicker now but there had been no rain. Only that thunder and the distant flashes of lightning showed that a series of storms had passed west-to-east beyond the horizon.

  A breeze stirred the trees. The weather was changing.

  It was time for the tribe to move on while they still could.

  Chapter 27

  The reata swung loose this morning, held in Tex's left hand when he came to the enclosure. The horses watched him, heads up and ears forward.

  Much of the grass in the 'corral' had been eaten. Today was the day Tex would try to ride the stallion.

  Tex pulled the lightweight tree back into place after carefully stacking his weapons by the entrance. The knife still rode his hip, but other than that, the reata was his only defense.

  With luck, it would be a tool, not a defensive weapon.

  Tex had woven a loop into one end of the rawhide line. It was not a proper hondo, but it would do. He shook out a loop and idly tossed it toward the horses. They watched but didn't attempt to bolt as they'd done a few days before, the first time he'd done this. The scary rope had become a familiar thing, nothing for horses to be alarmed about.

  Rebuilding his loop, Tex walked slowly forward. His path wouldn't take him directly toward the horses, but would still slowly close the distance between them as he circled. Ahead, the horses nervously moved away. The stallion remained between Tex and the others, moving as they did but always in position to protect his mares.

  Tex ignored the horses and continued his slow pace, but now he held the loose reata coils in his left hand while the loop swung ready in his right.

  Gradually Tex worked his way closer to the horses. Every circuit of the enclosure brought him nearer. Finally, the stallion stopped and faced Tex, legs braced. Tex looked directly at him and swung the loose coils menacingly and the stallion bolted. Tex kept up his slow, steady, pace. The band of horses milled and snuffled before walking away.

  Finally he was close enough and a final hard swing of his arm sent the loop sailing over the stallion's head. The horse reared and started for Tex, ears back, head held low. Tex had been waiting for this.

  As soon as he'd launched the loop toward the stallion, he'd prepared for the coming fight by transferring several of the coils to his right hand. Only a few coils remained in his left hand. As the horse charged, Tex cocked his hand and stepped aside, slapping the enraged stallion across the nose with the hard coils of rawhide. The animal snorted in pain and tried to bolt away, but the loop around his neck tightened and stopped him. Rearing, he hopped forward while Tex braced his feet and let the horse drag him. The smooth moccasin soles slid on the short grass, Tex hopping when necessary to remain upright.

  The stallion finally stopped and faced Tex, panting. Tex slowly walked toward him and swung the loops again. The stallion turned and tried to bolt once more but again Tex restrained him. This time the horse stopped after a few seconds. Tex slowly pulled in on the reata, as he walked closer.

  With every plunge, every attempt to escape, the horse tired. Finally Tex was close enough to begin controlling the stallion. He slowly backed away, tugging gently on the reata. The horse took a step forward and Tex immediately slacked off slightly on the pressure. Pausing for a moment, Tex backed again. This time the horse stepped forward immediately and again Tex rewarded him by releasing the pressure.

  By midafternoon the horse was responding readily to the lead rope. Tex had managed to get close enough to stroke his neck, loose coils ready if needed. But the tired animal submitted to this indignity as he had to the other things Tex had done. The rest of the horses watched, ears cocked, from across the small pond.

  Getting the rawhide band around the nose and the crownpiece over the stallion’s poll, the bump atop the head, also took time. Eventually the weary stallion submitted.

  Tex spent most of an hour leading him around the enclosure, finally allowing him to drink. While this occurred, Tex picked up an armload of dried grass he'd collected and left near the entrance. He led the horse from the water's edge and dumped the grass where the horse could feed.

  The preparations paid off. When Tex finally mounted, the stallion barely jumped. For a moment the years fell away; Tex was once again mounted on an animal that showed spirit and endurance. If this horse was smaller than those he'd ridden downtime, the lack of size could be overcome by breaking the others to ride. Instead of riding one horse for a day, he might find it necessary to ride for three or four hours an
d change mounts.

  There was no telling yet how the horses would adapt to being ridden. Icelandic horses were also small, but like Arabians, they were very strong. Both breeds had found a niche downtime, Icelandics for their comfortable gait and Arabians for endurance. Perhaps these horses would also have some special trait. In any case, selective breeding would yield improvements within a few generations.

  But Tex was mounted now, and that made it all worthwhile.

  #

  Matt woke up and finished his normal morning activities before heading for the cook-fire. At least the rain had held off, although thunder had threatened and lightning had flashed far to the north.

  The smoke had irritated his eyes this morning...strange, because the light breeze was coming from the north and the kitchen area was west of his camp. It wasn't cold enough for anyone else to have their own separate campfire...

  He accepted food and a mug of 'tea' from Margrette.

  "Did the wind change direction? I wondered what you were burning in the fire this morning."

  "I'm using the same dried wood as always, Matt. This is mostly oak, but I also had a few mesquite chunks that someone brought in."

  "I wondered. I thought I smelled smoke when I woke up."

  "You did, Matt. I smelled it too. There's not a lot of brush here, and even the trees aren't close together after you leave this section along the river. There's some grass, but I don't know if it will burn. You think that lightning last night started a fire?"

  "I don't know, Margrette. I'll take one of the scouts and we can have a look to the north."

  Piotr joined Matt when he left camp. The two climbed the slope west of the river and looked north. The faint smell of smoke had vanished.

  Far off, there was a cloud of smoke or dust on the horizon. A few hundred yards away a herd of bison was grazing, drifting slowly south, so perhaps it was only dust raised by their passing. Seeing no immediate danger in sight, Matt and Piotr returned to the camp.