Dragon Frontier

by Dan Abnett

  The man lifted his head, pointed into the sky and made a sweeping gesture with his arms, waving them elegantly. Jake knew, immediately, that the man was impersonating a great bird. He was warning them about the Thunderbird.

  That was when Jake saw the strange markings on the Native’s left arm. He had seen a tattoo once before, on an old sailor’s arm, but it had been crude, as if drawn by a child. The fine curving lines on the Native’s arm made a shape like a featherless bird’s wing. A long, serpentine tail wrapped around his wrist, but Jake had never seen a bird with a tail like that. The skin around the tattoo was puckered and yellow as if it had been badly burnt. The Native also wore a cuff of leather thongs strung with beads and feathers with a ruby at its centre, just like the one in Ma’s brooch.

  Without thinking, Jake ducked under his father’s arm and began kicking dust into the flames. He kicked with enough gusto to cover the Native’s feet in the reddish dirt. Jake looked in horror at what he had done, and the man looked down, and then at Jake.

  Jake’s heart thumped in his chest as the man bared his teeth, but then he realized that he was grinning. Jake felt the colour in his cheeks rise in an embarrassed flush.

  ‘I bet Julius Greengrass wouldn’t do such a stupid thing,’ he said under his breath.

  ‘Neh?’ asked his father.

  ‘Nothing, Pa,’ Jake mumbled. ‘I just remembered what Mr Bell said, about the fire and the Thunderbird.’

  ‘I don’t think we need worry about flying beasts, Jacobs,’ said his father. ‘That book has filled your head with foolish ideas again, neh?’ Then he turned to the stranger and gestured for him to sit. Doc Polson waved the others away to prepare the camp and finally sat down to talk to the Native, with Jake lingering at his side. He was surprised to find that the man spoke very good English.

  Jake felt restless that night. He was excited by the stranger and by the prospect of crossing the river with him, and he was still curious about the magical Thunderbird.

  Most of the time the wagon-trainers slept under the wagons or close to the fire, but the fire had been put out as darkness fell, and there was a chill in the air.

  ‘I’m frightened,’ Emmie told Jake.

  ‘What are you frightened of?’ asked Jake.

  ‘Of the dark,’ said Emmie, ‘and the funny man.’

  ‘It’s going to be exciting,’ said Jake. ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘Will you sleep in the wagon with me tonight?’ Emmie asked. ‘Will you tell me a story?’

  He looked at her, but could only see her huge, blinking eyes in the darkness, and he felt sorry for her.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘What story do you want?’ They shared lots of stories that their parents had told them when they were very little, and which Jake sometimes told to Emmie when she was sad or frightened.

  ‘Tell me one of Uncle Jonas’s stories,’ said Emmie. ‘He always told the best stories.’

  Jake gritted his teeth for a moment. ‘Yes, Emmie, he did,’ he said, helping his sister into the wagon, ‘but I don’t think Pa would like that.’

  Emmie was fast asleep before Jake had finished his story, and he found himself lying in the darkness thinking about his pa and his uncle Jonas. He knew that his pa had lost all of his money and his reputation in St Louis because of his brother’s gambling. Jonas Polson was ‘no better than he should be’, in his mother’s words.

  Jake had loved Uncle Jonas because he was jolly and he played with the children as if he was one of them. He had even read a chapter of Fire Beyond the Clouds to Jake one evening. Jake did not understand how his uncle could be so jolly and lovable, and then cause so much trouble.

  Jake wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and hopped off the back of the wagon to find his father.

  ‘What are you doing out of bed?’ Pa asked, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder.

  ‘I have a question,’ said Jake.

  ‘Jacobs,’ said his father, ‘this can wait until the morning, neh?’

  ‘But you’ll be busy in the morning,’ said Jake.

  ‘We will all be busy in the morning,’ said his father, leaning against the high back wheel of the wagon. ‘Now, ask your question, if you must.’

  ‘Uncle Jonas,’ said Jake.

  Pa chuckled low in his throat.

  ‘Why do you laugh about him?’ asked Jake. ‘I hate him, and I don’t even know why.’

  ‘You hate him because he upset your ma,’ said Pa, ‘and that is a good enough reason.’

  ‘Why don’t you hate him?’ asked Jake.

  ‘The thing you have to understand about Uncle Jonas,’ Pa began, ‘is that he is mostly a child. It is not so good to be a child and play games when you are a man. In the end, someone will pay the price, and it’s almost never the man-child.’

  ‘You paid the price, Pa, didn’t you?’ asked Jake.

  ‘Your uncle played a lot of games on the casino boats. He loved to gamble and he loved to win,’ said Pa.

  ‘Did he win?’ asked Jake.

  ‘Sometimes,’ said his pa.

  ‘But not enough?’ asked Jake.

  ‘No, Jacobs,’ said Pa, ‘not nearly enough.’

  ‘Did you gamble with Uncle Jonas? Is that why Ma was so cross?’

  Pa laughed out loud, and the sound of it travelled around the little circle of wagons in the darkness. He stopped short, conscious that he was filling the silence with his laughter.

  ‘No, Jacobs,’ he said. ‘The idea of a doctor gambling is absurd. We have to gamble with life. We have to wager that one treatment will work better than another. I could never gamble for fun … never for money.’

  ‘So how did you lose your money, Pa? And why did patients stop coming to you?’

  ‘Because a man’s reputation is tied to the people he loves, and my fate was tied to your uncle Jonas. When he could not pay his gambling debts, I paid them for him. I was shunned because I was a gambler’s brother and I would not disown him.’

  ‘Then he is a bad man, and I should not love him,’ said Jake.

  ‘Of course you should love him,’ said Pa.

  ‘I will only love you from now on … You and Ma and Emmie.’

  ‘Ah, my lovely Emmie,’ said Pa. ‘I stood behind my brother, and, if Emmie ever needs it, you must stand behind her, neh?’

  ‘No matter what?’ asked Jake.

  ‘No matter what,’ said Pa.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Jake.

  ‘One day you will.’

  Jake looked for a moment at his pa and wondered how one man could be so wise.

  ‘Now, off to bed with you,’ said Pa, ‘and off to bed with me, neh?’

  The morning was bright and clear. They all dressed and ate as quickly as possible, because crossing the river would take all day, and there was no time to waste.

  Everyone got in their wagons, mounted their horses and stowed the last of their belongings. Jake looked up from the reins of his wagon to see the Native sitting astride a tall, black-and-white Appaloosa horse. He was on the track closer to the forest than the river, but it appeared that Pa trusted the man enough to follow him.

  As they rode out, Jake could hear the stamping of oxen and the baying of horses, muffled and at a distance. He looked out across the valley below and saw the wagon train they had left behind making its way across the treacherous river. The water was churning grey and white, the riders and scow handlers were calling to each other, the oxen were lowing and the mules braying. There was a lot of noise and fuss, and Jake wondered how long it would take the train to cross the river. Jake’s pa had promised they would all cross in one day, no matter how hard they
had to work to do it.

  The wagon train travelled for about an hour, all eyes on the unfolding scene below. The people and horses were no bigger than ants on the horizon. The wagons were like toys carved for tiny little hands, but the noise and dust and the swell of filthy water seemed real enough.

  After an hour, the view of the scow-crossing was lost, and, half an hour after that, the Native slid off his horse and tied it loosely to the nearest tree. Soon, all of the men had dismounted.

  The river stretched out wide before them. The water was moving quickly, but it was clean and clear, and Jake could see the riverbed when he looked into it.

  The Native examined the river carefully for a minute or two, and then pointed at one wagon after another, and at the horses and mules in turn.

  Pa Watkiss was to be the first to cross. His wagon was the smallest, so if it made the crossing safely, the others should be fine. Pa Watkiss was a seasoned old man, and he’d be the most capable of judging the fording. If it wasn’t safe, he’d be sure to turn back, and none of the others would be placed in harm’s way.

  Pa Watkiss’s ox, whom he’d never named because he thought it sentimental to name God’s creatures, adjusted her position, and Jake’s pa tried to coax her into the water, but she shied away.

  The Native mounted his horse, rode up to the ox and took a firm hold on her yoke. The ox stepped one tentative hoof and then another on to the bank down into the water. The river was wide and the bank was a gentle slope, so the ox was soon perfectly at home. Pa Watkiss looked behind him at the others still on the riverbank. He doffed his hat and grinned as if to reassure them that the going was good.

  Pa Watkiss’s little wagon was the first safely across the water. The river was deep in places, and everyone gasped once or twice as the water came up almost to the tops of the wagon’s wheels. Finally, Pa Watkiss and his wagon were safely on the other side of the river, and he was soon emptying the contents of his home out on to the grass. He separated the dry from the wet and laid the wet out to dry. Then he began to pack up his wagon again. He waved every so often, and the children on the opposite bank waved back, enjoying the game, but the people in the water were far too busy to join in.

  By the time Pa Watkiss had finished crossing, the riverbed had been churned up, and Jake could no longer see through the water, which had turned brown and cloudy.

  Two horses helped to steer the next wagon across, and the Native remained in the water all the time. Once or twice, he was up to his saddle in fast, swirling water, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

  The Polson wagon was the third to cross the river. Ma and Emmie were in the back, and Jake was up front, driving. Pa rode his horse closer, to reassure Jake and to help steer the wagon, even though Jake thought he could manage the oxen on his own.

  The wagon tipped and rolled its way into the water, and one of the wheels made an alarming creaking noise. Jake was suddenly nervous, and he clutched the reins tightly, until his knuckles were white. Then he looked over at his father. Doc Polson looked serious, but nodded at his son to reassure him that all was well. Jake was suddenly very glad his father was at his side.

  Soon, Gertie and Bertie were up to their necks in fast-flowing water, and Bertie began to bray in a sorrowful tone. The riverbed dipped away beneath them. Suddenly, the wagon jerked and rocked as one of the back wheels hit a boulder.

  Jake urged the oxen forward, but, when they tried to pull, the wagon twisted away from them, creaking again in an alarming fashion. Suddenly, there was a deathly, high-pitched scream, and then Doc Polson began to shout.

  ‘Get out!’ he yelled.

  As the wagon made a thunderous creaking noise, Ma thrust Emmie out of the canvas flap at the back of the wagon and into her father’s arms. Then Ma jumped into the water. She plunged in up to her waist, the current whipping strongly at her legs. Jake had the odd sensation of watching his ma’s skirts drifting up, sitting on the top of the water, swirling around her in a great circle of pink flowered cotton.

  She was wearing one of her best dresses, complete with the little green enamelled brooch with its fiery red eye. It was a momentous day on the trail, and she’d worn the brooch because nothing could happen to it unless it happened to her first. As Jake watched his ma, stranded in the water, it crossed his mind that, however beautiful the brooch, it wouldn’t count for anything if his ma wasn’t alive to wear it.

  Ma had stretched her arms out to either side of her, trying to keep her balance in the currents that threatened to drag her under. Then she was pulled into the arms of a slightly embarrassed young man and hoisted up behind him in his saddle, safe and sound.

  Jake was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he realized Bertie and Gertie were still struggling with the wagon. It continued to twist and creak, and gave a mighty shudder as all the things carefully stacked inside began to shift and roll. He yanked frantically on the reins, trying to make Gertie pull and straighten up the wagon. The sheer weight of the vehicle and the added momentum of the water were too much for the ox, and the back of the wagon began to tip.

  Suddenly, Ma’s sewing box and best quilt fell off the back, and Pa shifted Jeremiah out of the eddy he was caught in to try to get closer and salvage his property. Then a large barrel of dried meat tumbled over the side of the wagon, breaking the ropes that held the canopy in place. The canvas cover whipped back against the side of the wagon, making a slapping noise like a huge wing beating.

  Jake was thrown clear of the wagon as the back wheel finally rolled over the stubborn boulder. The movement was sudden and violent, and Jake’s cry was drowned out by the braying of the frightened oxen. As he flew through the air, Jake saw the Native surging through the water towards him, his horse kicking up brown spray all around him.

  ‘Jacobs!’ Pa shouted.

  Jake hit the cold water hard, and the air was knocked clean out of his lungs. His mouth had been wide open and halfway through the sort of scream that Emmie might make. Consequently, his lungs and stomach were soon full of dirty river water. He twisted and turned through the fast-moving water, desperately trying to right himself, but it was several moments before he could raise his head out of the rushing water. He emerged, gasping for air.

  Jake saw his father fighting against the flow of the water to reach him, while the Native went to the aid of the oxen. Just as Jake began to catch his breath, the tailgate of the wagon fell open and splashed him again, covering his head and face in more cold water. Keen to get out of the river and on to dry land, Jake struck out to swim towards the back of the wagon.

  The fast-flowing water made swimming impossible, and Jake felt it dragging him downstream. Struggling, he reached out a hand and grabbed hold of the rope that had fixed the cover of his wagon in place. The rope was slick and rough, and it scorched his palm as he clung to it.

  More of the family’s belongings began to trickle out of the back of the wagon. Pa’s second-best boots soon sank, but one of Ma’s shawls spread in a beautiful arc across the water, just as her skirts had done, swirling with the eddies in the river.

  Then Jake saw his beloved copy of Fire Beyond the Clouds. He watched as the red cloth cover darkened almost to black, and the pages began to yellow and swell. He reached, instinctively, for the book with his free hand, but it was pulled away from his grasp by a spiralling current of water. When it bobbed back to the surface, the book was a yard further downstream.

  Still hanging on to the rope, Jake waded in the direction of the book, feeling his way through the rocky riverbed with his feet, and trying not to be tugged away by the strong currents. He willed himself to find the strength to rescue his most prized possession. Some of the stitching had been torn
when the wagon had rolled over the book. Now pages began to separate from the binding and drift off in the water.

  As Jake reached out one last time, in despair, a tiny little head bobbed out of the water between his hand and the book. He gasped for a moment and then realized that the hair was yellow wool, sewn into a round calico head. It was Emmie’s beloved rag doll.

  In another moment, the rag doll and the book sat next to each other in the water. Beyond them, Jake could see another eddy current, taking the water down to the riverbed in a spiral. It would surely take the doll or the book, and they would be lost forever. In one swift movement, Jake grabbed the doll by its hair, and the book disappeared, just as he knew it would.

  Doc Polson pulled his son out of the water and carried him up the slope of the riverbank, while the Native steered the wagon safely to dry land.

  Ma and Pa stood over Jake as he sat on the ground, catching his breath and still holding Emmie’s rag doll. Ma had a blanket wrapped around her own wet shoulders and was ready with one for Jake. She spread the blanket to cover as much of her son as possible and fussed around him, while Pa carried Emmie, who had managed to escape a soaking.

  Jake’s little sister held out her hands for her doll. He handed it to her absent-mindedly. He had more important things to think about than her silly doll. Why did I save the rag doll when I could have rescued my book? he wondered.

  Pa Watkiss had already prepared and lit a fire, and Jake spent an hour or two sitting close to it, wrapped in his blanket. Once or twice, someone tried to speak to him, but he didn’t feel like talking.

  By the end of the afternoon, all of the wagons, people and animals were safely across the river. The Native was paid for his services and disappeared beyond the treeline. The only incident had been Jake losing control of his wagon, and it made him feel foolish, even though it could have happened to anyone.

  Jake didn’t speak much over supper, not even to Emmie, who kept trying to thank him for saving her doll. He just shrugged her off, and she went back to her mother, confused and sad.