by Dan Abnett
Suddenly, the settlement was bustling. The women and young men began to clear the site of the fire and put things back in order. The horse handlers tended to the horses, many of them nervous from the commotion, and the Thunderbird handlers gathered beside the corral where all of the dragons were lying, still and calm. The dragons didn’t need them, so the men began to stack the broken planks and fence posts, ready for repair.
Someone had told Chief Half Moon about what was happening in the settlement, and he had come to stand in front of his teepee, with several of the elders. He was resplendent in his tall hat, adorned with dragon feathers. It was a silk top hat of the type a well-dressed Englishman might wear, but no less dignified for that.
Yellow Cloud and Tall Elk stood on either side of Jake, each with a hand on one of his shoulders. Jake looked up at their faces. Surely the Natives would take him seriously now and answer his questions honestly. After all, that was all he had ever wanted. Yellow Cloud smiled down at him, but Tall Elk looked very serious.
The spell was broken, and the dragon trotted back into the corral as if nothing had happened. The other dragons rose from the ground to greet him, and they spent some time neck-rubbing and snuffling at each other.
‘You are truly one of us,’ said Yellow Cloud, as he and Tall Elk walked Jake towards Chief Half Moon.
The search party mustered outside the mercantile as the sun began to find a slow path up over the horizon. The heavens were aflame with orange and pink bursts of colour streaking across the sky above the ridge of distant mountains.
Haskell was wearing another matching tweed suit with the tall military-style boots. He had decided to leave Jenny in McKenzie’s Prospect, since so many men were eager to accompany him. There was very little risk the party would be away from town for more than one night, two at the most, so he carried everything he might need in a pack on his back.
Several of the locals joined the party, although fewer than the night before, when darkness and urgency had added to the excitement. Several of the men who’d carried torches and taken a drink at Nathan McKenzie’s expense had decided to go to work that morning. There was one addition to the party, though, much to Nathan McKenzie’s disgust.
Lem Sykes had left his apron under the counter at the mercantile, put on his winter jacket and hat, and armed himself with a rifle. When Nathan protested, Lem shrugged his shoulders.
‘You can mind the store, Uncle Nathan,’ he said. ‘We won’t do much business today.’
The little group of a dozen men left McKenzie’s Prospect at dawn, since Nathan McKenzie could think of no good reason to keep them in town. By late morning, Haskell had led the party back to where he and Jake had breakfasted the previous day. The fire was still visible, and the geologist showed Garret where Jake had slid down the muddy slope.
The party spread out and looked for clues to Jake’s next move. None of them were expert trackers, however, and they found no evidence of his journey. In the absence of a track, they decided to keep following the line of the cliff and the bend of the river, searching all the while for signs of the boy.
The twelve men were busy discussing the situation, and no one noticed the boulder that sat snugly at the bottom of the cliff. They did not see the strange phenomenon of the apparently natural ladder up the steep face of the cliff, nor did they try to climb it.
Several hours passed as the men walked along the gravel bank of the river. Sometimes travelling as a pack, sometimes single file, they quickly covered a good deal of ground, but there was no sign of Jake or Eliza anywhere along the route.
In the last of the afternoon light, the men gathered to eat and fill their flasks. They needed to take a decision sooner rather than later about continuing to look for the children. Some of them were keen to return home, believing that the search was hopeless and that night would soon fall. Garret would not hear of it and tried to persuade them to continue.
Masefield Haskell left the group arguing and walked a little further along the bank. He raised his field glasses to his eyes for the umpteenth time, thinking it might be his last opportunity to find any sign of the children, since it would soon be dark. He concentrated on the distant curve of the river and examined the shingle bank. He thought he saw something, but he could not make sense of it.
Haskell adjusted the focus on his field glasses and took another look. There was something lying at the apex of the curve, right at the edge of the water. Everything was shades of blue and grey: the rocks, the water and the distant vegetation, but Haskell could see something bright red. It was at ground level and it appeared not to be moving, but the geologist was sure it was a clue. He dropped his field glasses on to his chest and strode back to Garret and Lem Sykes, who were trying to persuade the others to keep going. Two or three men were already walking away, about a hundred yards distant.
‘There’s something out there,’ said Haskell, as he got closer to the remaining searchers. ‘There’s something by the water.’
Everyone turned to the geologist. Garret’s face showed a combination of hope and fear.
‘What have you found?’ he asked.
‘That’s just it,’ said Haskell. ‘I don’t know. There is something at the next curve of the river.’ He turned and pointed to the cliff where it met the horizon. ‘Whatever it is, I recommend that we treat it as a clue.’
‘Thank you,’ said Garret, clapping his strong hand on the young man’s shoulder.
‘Are you thanking me for finding the clue or for recognizing it as such?’ asked Haskell. ‘I should think you might thank me for both, given the circumstances.’
‘I should, and I do,’ said Garret. ‘Thank you for both.’
‘Good then,’ said Haskell.
The remaining men picked up their packs and weapons, and began to follow Haskell and Garret along the bank of the river with renewed enthusiasm. The distance was difficult to judge with only the sky, the water and the cliff for reference, and, for the first hour, Garret wondered if they would ever get any closer to their goal.
Haskell had allowed Garret to use the field glasses to examine the clue, and the sight had put a spring in the blacksmith’s step. He was sure it must be the children.
Another hour passed. The black sky was soon full of stars, and a low moon hung in the heavens, as if it had been sliced down the middle and the other half had fallen to earth. A low rumbling sound that had been gathering in volume all afternoon continued to get louder. They were all a little bemused by it, until Haskell told them there were waterfalls in these parts.
There were seven men left in the party, walking steadily by the light of a torch that Lem had lit and was carrying at the front of the group, beside Pius Garret. Suddenly, the torchlight fell on a large dark object at the water’s edge. Lem Sykes broke into a ragged run, and Garret was soon beside him, jogging the last few yards to the clue that had eluded them for two hours.
Garret dropped to the ground and sighed. ‘Help me,’ he said to Lem.
The two men took an arm each of the still body and dragged it clear of the water. A moment or two later, other hands picked up the legs, and they soon lifted it on to the shingle bank and placed it carefully on a blanket that someone hastily spread there. Garret unrolled the blanket from his pack and covered the body with it. Then he lifted the head and began to slap at the cheeks.
‘Let’s take a look at him, shall we?’ asked Masefield Haskell, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
The clue on the bank, half in the slow-moving river, was none other than the unconscious body of Trapper Watkiss. Haskell had seen the bright red of the old man’s knitted underwear. Watkiss had removed his jacket and shirt when the
flames had begun to penetrate, but his underwear had not been burned.
Trapper Watkiss had jumped off the cliff into the waterfall when he couldn’t beat the fire out of his hair. Pius Garret looked down at him, glad that he had avoided slapping the side of his face that was red and blistering. Some of the old man’s hair and beard were also missing, burned away in the fire. Trapper Watkiss did not regain consciousness, but Haskell soon turned to the men and pronounced that he was, indeed, alive.
The search party split up to forage for firewood. There was soon a large pile of it on the shingle riverbank, and Garret lit a fire in no time. Trapper lay in the warmth, and Garret removed most of the old man’s wet clothes, before wrapping him in blankets. Haskell concocted a poultice using the silty river mud and some crushed leaves and smeared it on to the burns on Trapper’s face. Then he covered it with a handkerchief, tying it under his chin.
‘Where are the children?’ asked Garret, his head in his hands. ‘What have you done with the children, old man?’
‘We’re on the right track at least,’ answered Haskell, trying to allay the blacksmith’s fears. ‘Trapper was sent to find the children, and we found Trapper, so we must be travelling in the right direction.’
‘If Trapper found them, why aren’t they here?’ asked Garret. ‘Maybe they died in the fire … Or maybe they washed up somewhere else. We should keep searching!’
‘You could be right, I suppose,’ said Haskell, stroking his chin, deep in thought. Then he jumped up. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said, determined that Garret should not wallow in the idea that the children had been burned to death. ‘We can check this bank of the river tonight and the other bank tomorrow.’
Two of the men kept watch over Trapper Watkiss, while the other five lit a torch each and began to scour the shingle beach, working their way towards the edge of the roaring waterfall. Garret walked into the spray as it misted up around him, but his torch began to fizzle and smoke, and was eventually quenched.
They found nothing.
Finally, Pius Garret was the only member of the search party awake. He sat with his legs crossed, looking into the fire and wondering where his children might be. He hoped against all hope that he might still find them alive.
‘Where’sh me troushersh!’
Garret was so taken aback by the cry that he was on his feet almost before the exclamation had reached his ears. By the light of the fire, he could see Trapper Watkiss sitting bolt upright, clutching several layers of blankets to his naked and extraordinarily hairy chest. Then the old man brought a hand up to his cheek.
‘Whatsh wrong with me fashe?’ he shouted.
Garret walked briskly over to the old man. ‘You’re safe,’ he said. ‘We found you in the river. You’ve been burned.’
‘My fashe?’ asked Trapper, glaring out of the one eye that wasn’t covered by Haskell’s handkerchief.
‘It’s been salved and bound,’ said Garret. ‘That’s why you’re struggling to speak.’
‘Too tight,’ said Trapper, tugging at the handkerchief. He stopped pulling at his bandage when he realized that he was exposing his naked torso and clutched the blankets up to his chin again.
‘I’ll loosen it for you,’ said Garret. ‘Only calm down or you’ll wake everybody.’
‘Who’sh everybody?’ asked Watkiss, looking around.
‘Mr Haskell, who bandaged your face, saw Jake yesterday,’ said Garret. ‘He reported the sighting to Mr McKenzie, and we organized a search party.’
Watkiss frowned at Garret, but said nothing.
‘Did you find the children?’ asked Garret.
‘Wretched boy,’ said Trapper. ‘Turned out to be a girl.’ Then he stopped talking, and his face paled in the firelight. ‘Oh lord …’ he began.
‘What happened?’ asked Garret, drawing a little closer to reassure the old man.
Trapper Watkiss turned his face until his good eye was staring wildly at Garret.
‘There be dragons!’ he said.
Garret thought Trapper was going to faint, again, before he had found out whether Eliza and Jake were alive. Instead, the colour rushed back to the old man’s cheeks, his eyes flashed and he began to tell his story, painting himself as the hero.
‘So the children are safe?’ asked Garret.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ railed Trapper Watkiss. ‘If the dragons don’t get ’em, the Injuns will. The whole settlement might have burned to the ground by now, and good riddance. Shame about those Appaloosas, though.’
Garret took a deep breath and asked again, ‘When you last saw them, were the children alive and well?’
‘When I last saw them, the children were being held prisoner by the Natives,’ said Trapper Watkiss. ‘Now, where’s me trousers? And what’s for breakfast?’
Never before had a white boy been marked by a Thunderbird. The Natives had recognized the marks on Jake’s arm, and they had treated him according to their rituals, but not all the Natives had been willing to accept him into their tribe.
Yellow Cloud and Tall Elk took some time explaining this to Jake as they sat together in a teepee. Eliza had been taken gently away by White Thunder, who promised that no harm would come to her while she was at the settlement. Eliza was shocked by the events of the afternoon, but, for once in her life, she did as she was told, especially after Jake gave White Thunder a broad smile.
Jake was then allowed to bathe, since he was still filthy from tumbling down the muddy slope, despite his wash at Haskell’s camp. He was given a set of clothes, including a pair of buckskin trousers, softer than silk, and a matching jerkin. He felt a little naked without a shirt, but the sleeveless garment fastened in front and showed only his shoulders and arms. Besides, all the Native men wore them.
At dusk, Yellow Cloud and Tall Elk led Jake to the biggest teepee at the centre of the settlement. It was called the Lodge, and all the important tribal business was done there.
The skins of the teepee were covered in designs of flying Thunderbirds of various sizes and colours, and painted flames climbed up the skirts of the tent. White smoke drifted out of the smoke flaps, which were decorated with constellations of stars that Jake didn’t recognize and a great red circle where the moon should have been.
As they approached the Lodge, Jake could hear talking and laughing and the voices of children playing. When he entered, between Tall Elk and Yellow Cloud, the large group of people within fell silent.
Jake was the last guest to enter the teepee, and the most important. Chief Half Moon, still wearing the silk top hat, beckoned, and Jake walked towards him. When Yellow Cloud told him to sit next to Chief Half Moon, he did as he was told. Chief Half Moon reached his hand across his body and lightly touched Jake’s arm, tracing the line of his tattoo.
Jake was not afraid, but he was a little in awe of the impressively dressed old man, who had grey streaks in the glossy hair that hung in long strands from the brim of his hat.
On his other side, Eliza grabbed hold of his right hand and squeezed. White Thunder hovered behind them with a basket of food. Jake wanted to speak to her, but he didn’t dare offend the Chief, and everyone else was silent, as if waiting for something.
As they ate, Chief Half Moon spoke solemnly to Jake. He had very few words of English, but Yellow Cloud translated, and they managed very well.
Yellow Cloud explained the Natives’ tribal connection with the Nimi’ipuu and that they were called the Cloud People. He explained that they lived separately from other tribes because of the Thunderbirds and because they hunted in the forests of the Bitterroot Mountains, which were inaccessible and inhospitable. He also explained that the Thunderb
irds allowed them to cross into the Land of the Red Moon where they spent the winter months away from the snowy mountains.
After an hour of eating and listening, Jake began to feel frustrated. He respected Yellow Cloud, but he couldn’t see how this information was relevant to him.
‘What about the wagon train and my family?’ asked Jake. Yellow Cloud looked at Chief Half Moon, who nodded slowly before turning back to his meal.
‘I saw a dragon attack my family,’ said Jake.
Yellow Cloud shook his head sadly.
‘I saw the fire,’ he said. ‘I organized a rescue party. We had nothing to do with the attack.’
‘The wagons didn’t catch fire on their own,’ said Jake. ‘What about the legends? We were warned the dragons would come.’
‘When we arrived at the wagon-train camp, we found only burning ruins,’ said Yellow Cloud. ‘We saw charred wood and a few dead. You were lying in shallow water, not badly hurt.’
‘You should’ve left me to die with my family,’ said Jake.
‘You would not have died from your injuries,’ said Yellow Cloud. ‘The sickness came later. You must understand, we had to bring you to the settlement.’
‘I don’t understand at all,’ said Jake.
‘You are one of us,’ said Yellow Cloud. ‘Some of us believed it when you first arrived; others needed proof.’
‘What proof?’ asked Jake.
‘The proof you gave them today,’ said Yellow Cloud. ‘My people have never seen a white man marked by the Thunderbird. Some of them did not want to believe it.’
‘My burns,’ said Jake, rubbing his arm without thinking.
‘Not just the burns,’ said Yellow Cloud. ‘Chief Half Moon allowed you to be tattooed, allowed us to perform the rituals, but some questioned how you could be one of us. Why hadn’t the Thunderbirds chosen a Nimi’ipuu boy? Our questions seemed to be answered when you went home to your own people. You would have died here. We did not expect to see you again.’
