King of the Mountain (Wilderness # 1)

by David Thompson

  “We certainly do,” Nathaniel agreed, eager to keep the conversation going. He glanced at the length of grayish fur attached to the back of his uncle’s cap. “Is that beaver fur?”

  A burst of laughter erupted from the stout mountain man, and he shook his head vigorously. “I should say not, nephew. You have a lot to learn about the animals we’ll encounter. Have you ever seen a beaver?”

  “No,” Nathaniel admitted.

  “Have you ever laid eyes on a wolf?”

  “No,” Nathaniel replied again. “There are few wolves left in New York. But I have seen paintings of wolves in books.”

  “Then take a good look at my cap.”

  Nathaniel complied, and after examining the fur for half a minute recognition dawned and he blurted out in amazement, “It’s a wolf tail!”

  “Congratulations. Your lessons have begun.”

  “But why would you wear a wolf tail on your head?”

  “It’s not that uncommon a practice,” Zeke said. “The voyageurs wear them quite often.”

  “Who?”

  “Voyageurs, nephew. Fur trappers. It’s a French word. ”

  “Do you speak French?”

  “A little. Out here it pays to learn as much as you can about everything.”

  “But why a wolf tail?” Nathaniel inquired out of curiosity, watching the unique adornment bob as his uncle walked.

  “Because a mouse tail would look ridiculous,” Zeke said with a grin.

  Nathaniel had to laugh at the thought of a mouse tail on a hat. “True.”

  Ezekiel cradled his rifle in his arms and moved with a firm tread along the streets of the city, evidently knowing his way about, his sharp eyes constantly roving as he talked. “There is a story behind this wolf tail. It belonged to old One Eye, the trickiest animal that ever lived. Some years back Shakespeare and I were trapping way up northwest of the Yellow Stone country. Something kept eating the beavers we caught along this one stream. In trap after trap we would find the beaver had been ripped to ribbons and partly devoured. This went on for a few weeks.” He paused.

  Enrapt in the story, Nathaniel hung on every word. His uncle possessed a natural flair for telling a tale, the consequences, most likely, of many an hour spent around a roaring campfire in the company of his friends. “What did you do?”

  “Shakespeare and I tried every ruse we knew to catch the culprit in the act, but nothing worked. We tried snares, double traps, even pits, but the beast helping itself to our catch was too crafty for us. We tried lying in hiding, but the animal always avoided us. Finally, we found a clear set of tracks at one of the kills and knew our nemesis was a wolf, which we had already conjectured. So we decided to dig a hole large enough for a man near one of the traps, and I went into the hole and waited.”

  “How long?”

  “What? Oh, three days, I think.”

  “What did you eat? How did you survive?”

  “I had a pouch of jerked meat with me,” Zeke said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Anyway, on the third day this old wolf showed up. There was a beaver in the trap, so the wolf stalked close to it and pounced. Only then, when it was near the hole, did I see how big the beast was and discovered it had only one eye, the right. The left was as pale as the moon.”

  “And you shot him?”

  “Not quite, nephew. I popped out of the hole, or tried to, but the dirt sides were too slippery and I fell on my face not two yards from old One Eye,” Zeke related.

  Nathaniel imagined how he would feel under such circumstances, and shuddered. “What happened then?”

  Zeke looked at him. “What do you figure happened? Old One Eye was on me before I could move, his teeth bared, ready to tear me open.”

  “How did you kill it?” Nathaniel inquired, agog.

  “I didn’t. Old One Eye killed me,” Zeke said, erupting in laughter and clapping his nephew on the shoulders.

  They could have heard him all the way back in New York.

  Chapter Six

  Seated in his uncle’s plush room in The Chouteau House, Nathaniel gazed at the vibrant man he remembered so well from his childhood and shook his head in amazement, thinking he must be dreaming. Zeke’s timely arrival had saved his money, if not his life, and in spite of the gulf of years and distance since last they had seen one another, he felt a warm bond with the older man. He gazed at the luxurious accommodations and inquired, “Why do you prefer to stay here? Isn’t it expensive?”

  Ezekiel surveyed the room disdainfully. “Civilization is difficult enough to abide as it is. Why suffer in a hovel when you can live first-class?”

  The remark reminded Nathaniel of the treasure. “You must be quite wealthy.”

  “You think so?”

  “You hinted as much in your letter.”

  “My letter?” Zeke repeated, his forehead furrowing. “Oh, you mean the greatest treasure in the world?”

  Nathaniel leaned toward the upholstered chair in which his uncle sat a few feet away. “What kind of treasure is it, Uncle Zeke? Have you made a fortune in the fur trade? Did you find gold? What?”

  The frontiersman’s lips seemed to tighten slightly. “Is that what brought you out here, Nate? The treasure?”

  “I won’t lie to you. The treasure is part of the reason I came west, but I also wanted to see you again.”

  “I see,” Ezekiel said slowly, and slouched in his chair. “You want to be rich, I gather?”

  “I need to become rich.”

  “Explain,” Zeke directed.

  So Nathaniel did, spending the better part of an hour relating his relationship with Adeline, his choice of a career as an accountant, and his marriage prospects without the wealth Adeline required.

  Ezekiel King rarely interrupted, venturing a few questions now and then, listening to his favorite nephew with an air of sadness about him. Toward the end of Nathaniel’s discourse, when Nate mentioned how much Adeline loved him, Zeke had to feign a sudden interest in his moccasins to conceal the scowl that automatically twisted his mouth.

  “Now you understand the reason I must acquire the money necessary to support Adeline in the manner to which she is accustomed,” Nathaniel mentioned.

  “I understand perfectly.”

  “Do you really intend to share your treasure with me?” Nathaniel queried eagerly.

  “I do.”

  Overjoyed, Nathaniel beamed and glanced around the room. “This is great news! By August I can be in New York again, proposing to Adeline.”

  Zeke pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment. “Perhaps not.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t bring my treasure with me.”

  Nathaniel was stunned. “You didn’t?”

  “I couldn’t,” Zeke said.

  “But you wrote in your letter that you would share it with me.”

  “And I will, but to see my treasure you must return with me to my cabin in the Rocky Mountains.”

  The proposal shocked Nathaniel. He sank back in his chair, envisioning the dangers of a trek into the wild regions of the virtually unexplored Rocky Mountains. The risks were not his major concern. Rather, he was worried by the prospect of losing his life before he could return to civilization and his beloved Adeline.

  “Does the idea bother you?” Ezekiel inquired.

  “I was under the misimpression you were bringing your treasure to St. Louis,” Nathaniel stated.

  “I would if I could, nephew. But it would be impossible to transport such a treasure all the way from the Rockies to here.”

  “Couldn’t you have brought a portion of it?”

  “A portion would not be enough to satisfy you.”

  Nathaniel placed his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do, Uncle Zeke. How long would such a trip take?”

  “Months, at the very mimimum.”

  “How many months?”

  “I doubt if you would be able to make it back here before winter sets in, so you would
be obliged to wait until next spring. Ten months to a year, at least.”

  “A year?” Nathaniel exclaimed, and surged out of his chair. “I can’t be away from Adeline for a year!”

  “If she’s truly the woman for you, she’ll wait.”

  “But a year!” Nathaniel said, sitting down dejectedly.

  Ezekiel sighed and stood. He crossed to a polished dresser and opened a drawer. “I’m sorry, Nate. I had no idea this would upset you so.”

  “I came so far,” Nathaniel said softly.

  “For which I’m grateful.” Zeke removed a small leather pouch from the drawer and sat down again.

  “My parents would be furious,” Nathaniel predicted, and looked at his uncle. “Say, why haven’t you asked any questions about Father or Mother or my brothers?”

  “Your father and I parted ways years ago. Tell me. Does he still refuse to talk about me to anyone?”

  “Yes.”

  Zeke shrugged. “There. You see? As far as your father and mother are concerned, I might as well be dead. And your older brothers and I were never as close as the two of us. You were always special to me, Nate. And to be quite honest, you’re the only relative I give a damn about.”

  “Since you’re being honest, so will I,” Nathaniel said. “If you share your treasure with me, I intend to share with them. They’re my family, after all.”

  “I would expect no less from you,” Zeke said, and smiled. “Here. Take a gander at this.” He flipped the small pouch into the air.

  Nathaniel deftly caught the pouch and placed it in his lap. He loosened the drawstring and upended the contents into his left palm, his eyes widening when out tumbled seven golden nuggets, each the size of his thumbnail, each glittering in the light. “Are these what I think they are?”

  Ezekiel nodded. “Gold. From the Rocky Mountains.”

  “And you have more?”

  “The Rocky Mountains are filled with gold. The Spaniards mined the region extensively years ago. I’ve come across several of their diggings and arrastra ruins in my travels.”

  Nathaniel glanced up from the nuggets. “Why haven’t there been any reports in the newspapers?”

  “There will be,” Zeke said, and gazed out the window at the lights of St. Louis. A melancholy settled upon him and he spoke in a low tone. “Eventually the word will become common knowledge. Now, only a few men such as myself are aware of the riches waiting to be plucked from the land to the west. I know a trapper who has a cabin situated near a creek where the bed is dotted with nuggets. You can walk along the bank and see them sparkle. But he hasn’t touched them.”

  Incredulous, Nathaniel straightened. “Why not?”

  “Gold doesn’t interest him.”

  “Is he in his right mind?”

  Ezekiel chuckled and nodded. “As sane as they come. Gold is not the most valuable commodity in life, nephew.”

  “It is to anyone with intelligence,” Nathaniel said. “Look at yourself. You know how to use your gold wisely. You’re staying at the best establishment in all of St. Louis.”

  A minute elasped before the frontiersman spoke, during which he regarded his nephew critically.

  “Is something the matter?” Nathaniel inquired.

  “Nothing that will not be remedied in due course.”

  Nathaniel began replacing the nuggets into the pouch. “How much time will I have to decide whether to go with you?”

  “I’ll need to know tomorrow.” .

  A gleaming nugget almost dropped from Nathaniel’s fingers. “Tomorrow? So soon? Surely you jest.”

  Zeke shook his head. “I leave for the mountains the day after tomorrow. You’re welcome to come with me, if you like. If not, feel free to take those few nuggets with you to reimburse you for the expenses of your journey.”

  “But the treasure!”

  “To see the treasure, you must see the Rockies.”

  “I’m at a loss to know what to do,” Nathaniel confessed.

  Ezekiel rose and moved to the window. He clasped his hands behind his broad back and contemplated the flurry of activity below: the carriages, carts, and wagons going to and fro. the individuals hastening home from work or en route to their favorite tavern or other night spot, and the many horses ridden by men from all walks of life. “I can sympathize with you, nephew. A decade ago I was in the same boat you are in.”

  “In what way, Uncle Zeke?”

  “I had a similar decision to make. Whether to stay in New York or venture out west, whether to continue in the rut I was in or to take my life into my own hands and forge my own destiny. ”

  “Why did you come out west?”

  “Has your father told you much about my early life?” Zeke asked, still gazing at the street.

  “No. Whenever I’ve tried to talk about you, he always changed the subject.”

  “How typical of Tom. He never could understand my reason for leaving. We argued for weeks before my departure and he accused me of abandoning the family, of losing my proper perspective. I’m five years older than your father, and yet he had the gall to say I was acting like a ten-year-old.”

  Nathaniel relaxed in the chair, listening attentively, intensely curious about his uncle’s past. “You weren’t married, were you?”

  “No,” Ezekiel said. “I almost married once, when I was twenty. Rebecca was her name, and she was the loveliest woman I ever laid eyes on. We courted and made plans to raise our own children. I was in business with Tom at the time, helping him launch the construction business.” He paused, his shoulders slumping. “And then my world fell apart. Rebecca died.”

  “What happened?”

  “Consumption. Can you believe it? A healthy young woman like her and she died from consumption.”

  “Consumption can strike anyone at any age,” Nathaniel noted, then felt awkward over having made such a trite observation.

  Ezekiel did not speak for a while, and when he did he seemed to be talking from a great distance, not literally but emotionally. “Rebecca’s death crushed me. For years I drifted through life, going through the motions without bothering about the meaning of anything I did. I worked hard, putting in long hours, only because I had nothing else to do. Try as I might, I could not bring myself to court another woman. Rebecca was the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

  Nathaniel said nothing.

  “I had often considered the notion of leaving New York, of heading for the frontier. I wanted to view the wonders of the unexplored lands for myself, but I kept concocting excuses for why I shouldn’t go. When I’d bring the subject up to Tom, he’d always ridicule it as juvenile thinking.” Zeke sighed. “I lost count of how many hours I spent reading about Lewis and Clark and other explorers. I would often spend my days off in the woods, and I fancied myself as a bit of an outdoorsman.”

  “And one day you just up and took off?”

  “Yes. One day I cut out for the frontier. I had saved a fair sum of money with which to outfit myself, and I joined a group of settlers who were heading westward. This was in 1818, and we arrived in Missouri about the same time the territory was admitted to the Union. The fur trade is the state’s most important industry, and I naturally became a trapper for the American Fur Company. That’s how I met Shakespeare.”

  “You mentioned him earlier. Who is he?”

  “My best friend in all the world. Shakespeare McNair.”

  “What a strange name.”

  Ezekiel laughed. “Many of the men who live on the frontier have acquired unusual sobriquets. Shakespeare got his because he likes to quote Shakespeare all the time.”

  “You wrote home once, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, about nine years ago. I told Tom about my employment with the American Fur Company and praised the new lands I had seen. I never received an answer.”

  “I think Father tossed your letter out.”

  “That would be Tom,” Zeke said sadly. “Oh, well. He always was a stubborn cuss.”

  “What happened n
ext?”

  “I trapped for the American Fur Company for two years, and then Shakespeare and I decided to become free trappers. We headed for the Rocky Mountains, and except for occasional treks to St. Louis and elsewhere, that’s where I’ve made my home.”

  “Did you ever have the desire to visit New York?”

  The frontiersman turned. “Never.”

  Nathaniel performed some mental calculations. “Only ten of your forty-eight years have been spent on the frontier, and yet you seem at home in the wilds.”

  Zeke’s eyes bored into his nephew’s. “Out here, Nate, either you adjust and adapt or you die. It’s as simple as that.

  “That man Osborne, where do you know him from?”

  “I met him on the way to Missouri. We’ve been friends ever since.”

  “Why did he call you Firebrand?”

  Ezekiel chuckled. “Think nothing of it. Firebrand is a nickname Osborne bestowed upon me when we had a slight misunderstanding with a band of Indians who refused to allow our wagons to pass through their territory unless we gave them two thirds of our horses and twelve rifles.”

  “What happened?”

  A cloud seemed to descend over Ezekiel’s countenance. “The red rascals didn’t get one horse or rifle.”

  Nathaniel decided to ask Osborne for the particulars if evet the opportunity presented itself. “Here, Uncle,” he said, and returned the pouch of gold nuggets.

  “I’ll be turning in early,” Zeke announced. “I traveled long and hard to reach St. Louis today, and after that fracas in the alley I’m a mite tuckered out.”

  “Do you mind if I stay up for a while? I have a lot to think about,” Nathaniel commented.

  “Stay awake as long as you like, Nate,” Zeke said, depositing the pouch in the dresser drawer. “You have the most important decision of your life to make.”

  “If I decide to stay, I’ll have to write my family and Adeline and explain the situation.”

  “Go right ahead,” Zeke responded, moving to the side of the bed. He noticed a book lying beside his nephew’s open bags, which they had placed on the bed when they first arrived. “What’s this?” he asked, and scooped the book intc his right hand.

  “The Last of the Mohicans. ”