by Gary Paulsen
“Not a friend, exacdy. He was, but [don't know what he is now.”
“Will he help us escape?”
Francis frowned. “I don't know. He helped me get away from the Pawnees once but things were different then. Now …”
Lottie sighed. “I hope he will, Francis. I'm ever so worried about us.”
“Me too, Lottie. Don't worry, I'll think of something.”
The problem was that Francis had been trying to think of a way out but it looked impossible. Alone he could cut and run and might have a chance. But with the two children—and there was absolutely no way he would leave without them—it became much more difficult. They slowed him down and there was the added responsibility of having them near; he couldn't take foolish risks that might endanger them.
They had added wood to the fire outside and Grimes was showing his goods to trade, as he had done with the Pawnees. He had powder and lead, but he also had some mirrors and blankets and sugar; some cheap knives and tomahawks; and dried apples, other dried fruit, and some salt. He passed blankets and bolts of material around, spread one blanket on the ground and displayed his wares there. They soon had a brisk trade going. The Co-mancheros needed the goods to trade with the Comanches when they came. In return they gave Grimes pelts and cash money the Indians had given them previously.
Francis watched all this and wondered how he could get Grimes's attention. If the mountain man couldn't help him escape, maybe he could do something for the children.
As the trading grew more excited, squabbles broke out over items that several people wanted. Two men wanted the same blanket, and they soon pulled knives out and went at it. One man— larger than the rest, the man who had led the raiding party that had taken Francis and the children—held up his hand and stopped the trading.
He said something in broken English to Grimes and pointed to the brush hut where Francis stood watching.
Grimes shook his head and motioned for the trading to continue. The leader made a “No” sign and pointed again at the hut. Finally Grimes stood and walked in the direction of the captives.
The leader grabbed a burning stick off the fire and followed. He stopped at the door of the hut and held the torch up so that Grimes could see in.
“Pasqual, there ain't nothing in here but a couple of pups. I ain't going to give you my whole poke for a couple of sprites. What would I want with pups?”
“Hello.” Francis took a step away from the wall into the light. “How are you doing, Mr. Grimes?”
For a full three seconds, the mountain man stood still. Then he took the torch from the Comanchero and held it out.
“Mr. Tucket—is that you?”
Francis nodded.
“Why, I thought you went on west to join them farmers you missed …”
“I got sidetracked.”
Grimes looked at the children. “I should say so—are tliese your kin?” In a way.
“You wouldn't consider leaving them?’1No.
“It was a stupid question, knowing you and how much you like the niceties of civilization.”
“I don't believe in hacking up dead bodies, if that's what you mean.”
“It don't seem like you're in a position to be picking at people …”
“I'm sorry. It just slipped out.” And as Francis said it, he realized he meant it—he was sorry. In a way, he was genuinely glad to see the mountain man, and not just because he hoped to get help. Seeing him now, he felt that he'd missed him. “I'm sorry …”
Grimes was silent for a time, the fire from the torch nickering on his face. Then he sighed. “You sure do cause me a peck of trouble.”
“I didn't mean to.”
“The way the stick floats is me and this Pasqual are friends, ain't we, Pasqual?”
The man nodded, smiling through broken teeth. “Amigos, si …”
“He don't understand a whole bunch of English so we can talk a bit. We're friends, but the friendship is on account of what I can bring them when I come trading. If I don't bring them anything my hair will probably go to a Comanche in trade—”
“So you have all that stuff on the packhorses,” Lottie cut in. “Give him that.”
“Speaks right up, don't she?” Grimes looked at Francis.
Francis nodded. “She doesn't hold back much.”
“The problem is this Pasqual is a heap good trader. He wants to keep his gold and get the trade goods.”
“Ahhh …”
Grimes nodded. “So he told me he'd trade all three of you for what I've got and we'd call her square.”
“Sounds like a good deal to me,” Lottie whispered.
“The tight part is all I own is wrapped up in these goods. I trade for you and I wind up with nothing to keep going.”
“I'll pay you back,” Francis said. “Somehow. I'll get work and pay you back.”
Grimes nodded. “Yes, Mr. Tucket. That would be one way to handle it. And I know you'd hold to it. But I'm about done trading with these yahoos anyway, and I thought there might be another way to make a poke.”
Francis waited. The torch had burned down to a small flicker, about the size of a candle flame, and Pasqual took it and swore when it burned his fingers. He dropped it in the dirt.
“Remember when we dealt with them Pawnees?” Grimes spoke out of the sudden darkness.
“Pawnees?” Francis said.
“You know, when you visited them Pawnees for a while and then I came and we met there. Remember how that went?”
“Ohhh. Sure.” Francis had been a captive and Grimes had “arranged” for a horse to be ready for him if he got away. “It's a little more complicated now, what with my new family.”
“I figured that. Just remember how all that happened and we'll work it the same way now. I'll go trade with Pasqual and we'll open a barrel of trade whiskey and see what happens later.”
“Later,” Francis repeated.
“Ayup. You just keep your powder dry and keep this little missy quiet, and I'm going to go have me a shindig with Pasqual.”
And he left the hut and went back to the fire.
“What did he mean?” Lottie asked. “All that talking around the corners of things—what did he mean?”
“He meant,” Francis said, settling down wkh his back to the wall, “that we aren't going to get a lot of rest tonight.”
In spite of what he had said, Francis made Lottie and Billy sleep, or at least try to. The idea of escaping with Grimes made him think of the situation and what they were up against. He could not forget the ride here—the endlessness of it, the way the men kept on going and never quit.
How they could get away from these same men posed a problem that Francis needed to think about. Grimes might be able to set something up, but that didn't mean it would succeed. If the Comancheros chased as hard as they ran, it would be next to impossible to get away with Lottie and Billy. The mare was done and the mule was not much better, which meant they would have to take different horses from the Comanchero herd. What if they didn't get good stock? What if they didn't get away? What would the Comancheros do to them if tliey tried to run and failed?
What if …
He finally stopped thinking about it. There were too many variables to make any kind of prediction—so much that could go wrong. It came down to a very simple, possibly deadly problem. One: They couldn't stay and get traded to the Comanches. Two: The Comancheros wouldn't let them go voluntarily. Three: They had to run.
Whether they made it or not, they still had to run, had to try, and that was that.
Lottie and Billy finally slept. The temperature had warmed slightly, and they seemed comfortable enough in their blanket pullovers. Francis sat by the wall and watched the celebration through the brushy wall of the hut. Grimes had broken open the top of a small keg of whiskey. He dipped tin cups in the brew and handed them to The men around the fire, and in a very short time they were all as drunk as Francis had ever seen—with the possible exception of the army commandant.
>
They did not stop the parry because they were drunk but kept on until the barrel was empty. Then Mr. Grimes started trading. He pointed at the hut where the children were and shook his head and waved his hands. He didn't want the children. He wanted gold. He would trade for gold. And soon, lubricated by the whiskey, the Comancheros started bringing out gold tliey had gotten from Comanche trading. And by the time they were all nearly drunk enough to pass out, Grimes had sold all his goods and had a small sack of gold coins.
He had been drinking with the men, taking the cup on each pass. Could Grimes help them escape if he was drunk?
The mountain man was soon weaving and wobbling as much as the Comancheros, and when most of the men left and returned to their huts—falling all over themselves—Grimes was as drunk as the rest. He fell back on his blanket by the fire, rolled up and passed out. The few remaining Comancheros tried to scoop more whiskey out of the empty keg and then drifted off.
And that, Francis thought, watching it all, was that. So much for running. He turned away and settled his back against the side of the hut, his mind full of bitter thoughts. How could it have been any different? Grimes was still Grimes—a rough man in the company of other rough men. Why would he risk it all just to save three kids—one of whom he didn't even like?
Francis let his eyes close, opened them and checked Grimes once more. When he saw that the mountain man was still unconscious, he closed them again. Not to sleep, he thought—-just to rest and be ready for what would come the next day. Just a moment …
“Were you going to sleep all night, Mr. Tucket?”
Francis opened his eyes slowly to find Mr. Grimes standing in front of him in the darkness of the hut. “I thought you were drunk and I must have fallen asleep …”
“I was letting on. It takes a heap to make me drunk even when I'm drinking and I wasn't drinking. And you were supposed to be ready …”
“I am.”
“Get The sprites up. We have to move now.” And Grimes disappeared into the darkness.
Francis shook Lottie and Billy. Lottie snapped awake instantly, but Billy took a moment.
“Come on—there's no time to waste. You take my hand and hang on to Billy's with your other one. We don't want to get separated in the dark. Do exacdy as I tell you and be quiet.”
Francis moved out of the hut. Grimes hadn't said where he was going because he hadn't needed to. They needed horses and that meant the horse herd at the edge of the encampment. Francis dragged the two children at a dead run.
Grimes was already there with his three horses. One was saddled and the other two had packsad-dies on them.
He whispered, “You'll have to ride the packhorses. Most of their stock seems awful rundown.”
“We rode hard getting here. They haven't rested enough yet.” Francis thought briefly of the mare and the mule. He hated to leave them, but they hadn't recovered enough.
“No more talk. We have to ride. Throw the pups up on one horse and you take the other.”
When Francis got close to the packhorses, he saw that they had some gear tied to their saddles. His rifle was there, along with his powder horn and possibles bag. “You got my gun!”
Grimes snorted. “I remembered it from before. Thought you might need it. The man who had it was so drunk he won't know it's gone for a week.”
They moved through the horse herd, leading their mounts—Francis pulling the horse with Lottie and Billy on top. For a time, it seemed they would make it. They had cleared the herd and were twenty paces into dark prairie when a dog started barking.
Francis didn't know what set it off but as soon as it barked another joined it and soon every dog in the village was yelping.
It woke some of the drunk Comancheros, who yelled at the dogs. Grimes had stopped, frozen, waiting for the clamor to subside. It nearly did.
But one of the Comancheros was sick and wandered to the edge of the village to throw up no more than thirty feet from the little group.
At first he didn't see them. He finished his business and was turning away when something caught his eye—a flash of metal in the moonlight, the dark mass of a horse against the starry sky. Something.
“iQue?” He leaned forward, peering into the dark, and still almost didn't see them.
Then Billy sneezed.
“Hooo!”
It sounded like a whistle—a big owl hooting—but it got the job done. Drunk or not, the camp lived on the edge of danger every moment, and they came awake instantly with the alarm.
The man who had yelled didn't have a gun, but he had a belt knife. He pulled it and went for Grimes. The mountain man stepped to the side and clubbed him down with his rifle, then swung into the saddle. “We're for it now. Let's go.”
And he wheeled and vanished into the darkness. Francis threw his leg up over the packhorse and followed, kicking the horse into speed although he didn't need to. The two packhorses were accustomed to following Grimes and they slammed out at a dead run.
It was hard to stay astride. The packsaddle was covered with a piece of folded empty canvas but it didn't have stirrups. Soon they were at a wild lope through darkness over broken ground and Francis had dropped the rope leading to the second pack-horse. He wanted to check on Lottie and Billy but couldn't turn. He yelled back, “Are you with “With you? We're ahead of you!”
And they were. The packhorses had followed Grimes and his mount when the mountain man had taken off. The children's horse was faster than Francis's.
It was a miracle that they didn't fall. Grimes kept them at a hard run for well over an hour, until the horses were snorting and blowing, before he slowed them to a walk to catch their wind.
They had caught up to him and Grimes spoke while they rode. “We don't have much time before they catch us.”
“With that ride?” Francis felt his horse heaving, trying to suck air.
“Don't forget who they are. Wc have the night helping us. They'll track slow in the dark and if we keep moving we might stretch it a bit, but they'll come on hard and we won't have much time.”
“What can we do?” Lottie's face looked white in the darkness.
Grimes was quiet for a time, thinking. “I figure we've come twelve, fourteen miles. I know where we are. The river canyon lies just north of here—two, three miles. Maybe four. There's water and game there. You'll be able to hide, get food—”
“What are you saying here?” Francis cut in. “You're going to leave us?”
Grimes nodded. “It's the only way. They're after three horses. If you get offhere and walk north and I keep moving west with the packhorses, they'll come after me. You cover your tracks and they won't see them in the dark. With light stock and no pups I can keep ahead of them for days, maybe forever. They'll think you're with me and it will give you time to get away north, get back to help.”
“You're deserting us,” Lottie said. “Of all the cold things to do …”
Francis had thought the same thing at first but now shook his head. “He's right, Lottie. If we stay with him we'll be slower and they'll catch us. It's the only way we have a chance. We have to separate.” But still something held him and he thought a moment before he realized what it was—he didn't want to leave the mountain man. At one time he had never wanted to see Grimes again, but now he realized that he had missed Grimes a great deal.
“I don't want to leave you,” he said and realized how it sounded: soft, silly. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” Grimes said, his voice low. “It was right good to see you again too, although I wish we could meet under some easier conditions. I'd like to ride with you awhile myself, but this is the only way.”
“I know.”
“And if we waste time jawing and palavering, they're going to ride up on us.”
“I know.”
“So dismount and go.”
“Where are you going? Maybe we can meet up again.” Francis swung off and held the second packhorse while the children jumped down; took hi
s rifle and possibles sack; then handed the two lead ropes to Grimes.
“Straight west until I lose them, and then I'll start swinging north. I'll stay where it's warm for the winter because my bones are old and I don't like the cold like T once did. Look for me there. Where it's warm. Cover your tracks as you head nortli and keep your hair on and your powder dry.”
And he was gone before Francis could think, I should have thanked him.
“I don't like him,” Lottie said as he disappeared into the darkness.
“I didn't for a while. But I changed. He grows on you. Come on, we don't have time to talk.”
As it happened they had less time than Francis had thought. He made the two children walk ahead of him in single file. Following them closely, he broke off a small branch of mesquite and brushed over their tracks as best he could in the dark as they moved.
In not more than ten minutes he heard hooves coming hard.
“Stop now,” he whispered. Seeing the children's faces in the dark, Lottie's white and round, he added, “Turn away from the sound, lie down, and not a sound now, not a sound at all.”
He actually saw the riders pass. It was too dark to count them—more than ten, maybe fifteen men—but they were pushing their horses and they thundered past the children not sixty yards away without seeing them.
They'll catch Grimes, he thought, watching them fade into the night. Moving that fast they'll come up on him before morning. He has just the one gun, and I should have stayed with him. We'd have taken two of them, maybe four before they took us …
Then he shook his head, remembering who Grimes was, what he'd done, how tough he was; he took some catching. If he was caught, he would take some holding. He smiled then and thought Grimes must have been something with two arms, hard as he was with only one. I hope I see him again.
“Come on,” he whispered to the children, starting them moving north again, “we've got some ground to cover.”
TUCKET'S GOLD
‘To Maddux,
who lights up lives
