Tucket's Travels

by Gary Paulsen

  “Francis, you shouldn't be jumping up—”

  “Right nowV

  Lottie shrugged and went to the corner where the gold pack lay. She brought him his clothing.

  “They cleaned them and smoked them so they smell like new-cut pine.”

  “Turn around. Face the door.” Francis sat up— the effort almost made Mm pass out—and after much struggle and with many pauses to rest, he took the diaper off and got his clothes on. “There. Now, hand me my rifle, would you, please?”

  Lottie brought him the rifle. “The gold is safe here too. Anything else?”

  “No. Not now. I have to rest again, just for a while. I'll just close my eyes for a few minutes. Just for a very few minutes.” He laid the rifle next to him and closed his eyes, opened them and closed them again. Lottie smiled and tiptoed to the door.

  “Lottie?”

  She stopped and turned. “Yes?”

  “I thought I was dead and all I could think of was you and Billy.”

  She waited.

  “I guess we're a kind of family.”

  She smiled.

  “Thank you …,” he said.

  “It was nothing.”

  “Yes. It was. And I'll never forget it but now I have to rest, just a little.”

  “You go ahead. I'll be right out here by the door on my cot.”

  “Just for a while …”

  “Just for a while.”

  And Francis was asleep.

  More than once Francis thought that if he hadn't been so set on getting back to his folks he would have stayed in the village.

  It was, first, one of the most beautiful places he had ever seen—and he had ridden through the foothills of the Rockies—with a beauty that changed constantly. The butte was perhaps a thousand feet high, jutting up above the prairie with sheer walls, and even close it still reminded him of engravings of European castles he'd seen in books.

  Up the north side there was an angled road— really a wide trail. It was too narrow for a wagon but two horses side by side could traverse it easily, although that didn't matter because the people in the village neither used nor kept horses. Except for this trail it was virtually impossible to reach the top of the butte.

  And on the top the village had been built all around the edge to match the butte so that the outside walls of the houses went straight to the edge of the butte and there were no windows or doors on the outside. Anybody who tried to climb the butte to attack would simply run into the walls and not be able to go fartber up.

  And the houses lent themselves to the beauty. They were made of adobe bricks covered with reddish mud, and their walls were gently curved so that even when they went two and three stories high they seemed to grow directly out of the ground— almost as if they had been not built so much as planted and grown.

  In the center of the buildings was a clearing about a hundred yards across and toward the center of this area were three underground houses with curved roofs that rose slightly above the ground. These were the only houses Francis and the children were not allowed to enter.

  “Billy says they're called lavas,” Lottie told him the first morning he could walk around and sec the town. “It's where they have their church and outsiders arc not to go there.”

  It was not a hard rule to obey, considering it was the only rule. Francis had never seen people so happy or so lacking in anger or frustration. Everywhere he turned he met a smile or a nod or a hand holding out a piece of meat or a thin piece of corn bread or a gourd with soup or water in it.

  These Pueblo Indians talked a great deal among themselves but were so courteous that as soon as they saw that Francis and Lottie couldn't understand their spoken language they talked mostly in sign language.

  Francis knew some of their symbols, because Plains Indians also spoke a great deal with their hands, and many of the symbols were the same. Soon Francis was able to understand and explain the village to Lottie. Billy could have done it too, since he spoke at about a five-year-old's level, but he was never around. Indeed when Francis first saw him Billy seemed to have become Indian. He was naked except for a clout around his waist and he had a quiver of arrows over one shoulder and a bow in his hand, with the sword carried by a thong over the other shoulder.

  Billy had changed. When he saw that Francis was recovering he stood on one leg and nodded and said, “I thought you were going to the spirit world. It is good you are not.”

  The people in the village lived primarily by farming. There were fields at the base of the butte, irrigated by a ditch system. It had been designed with a system of ingenious gates that brought water to all the fields.

  They farmed corn, beans and squash. They ate the squash as it came ready and they dried the corn and beans to eat through the winter and while none of the people were fat, none were starving cither. Francis had never seen healthier people.

  It was true they didn't have horses, but they didn't seem limited by that. They did hunt in the scrub forest north of the butte—mesquite and pine and cedar—and here they found many deer and turkeys and uncountable rabbits. They hunted with short, strong bows that were so powerful they sometimes drove an arrow completely through a deer and out the other side.

  Whenever there was a job to do—as when they got the fields ready to plant or rcplastcrcd the walls of a house with mud—everybody chipped in. As he grew stronger on the diet of turkey and rabbit and corn and cooked beans, Francis worked with them, and so did Lottie and Billy.

  It was nearly spring and there was much work to do. The fields had to be prepared for planting, which involved using wooden hoes to break the soil and make soft mounds for the seeds. The irrigation ditches had to be cleaned and repaired.

  In the beginning the work seemed like drudgery to Francis, but after a short time he found himself liking the strain on his muscles. It was nearly two weeks since he'd regained consciousness and his shoulder was completely healed except for a small lump where they had cut across the fang marks so the poultice would draw. Now and then he felt a small ache, but it was nothing, and he became strong again working in the fields and on the ditches. He had also made a corral for the six horses—he was afraid to let them graze freely or on a hobble because he didn't want to lose them—and at least twice a day he went down to the corral and fed and rode them and led them to water.

  He found himself staying with the horses more and more, and finally he realized that the north was calling him. It was time to get moving if they wanted to get north and cut into the Oregon Trail. Still, he had found a new kind of peace here and loved life in the village. Lottie and Billy seemed happy too, so he kept quiet about moving until he was alone one day with a man who had become his particular friend.

  His name was Kashi and he was about thirty-five years old—considered an elder in the village—and sometimes at night they would sit by the fire and hand-talk. Francis had tried to tell Kashi about the Plains tribes, how they lived and hunted, and about getting away from the Comancheros. Kashi had told him of the history of the village, how the buttc had kept them isolated from the Spanish so they still lived the old way.

  But this day they were by the ditch and Francis stopped raking and studied some clouds to the north. Kashi came up to his side and made a sign of birds flying north and pointed at Francis.

  Francis nodded and mimicked the sign.

  One more sun, Kashi signed, then you go? Tomorrow?

  And Francis knew it was the truth. He nodded. Tomorrow. The horses were so fat on spring grass they looked greasy; the days and nights were warm; Lottie had made good new moccasins for them, and two new” buckskin shifts for herself and a buckskin shirt for Billy, though he rarely wore it.

  Tonight, then, Kashi signed, you must all come to my house and we'll feast on rabbit and deer and bread.

  Francis nodded and smiled and rubbed his stomach and made signs that he would tell Lottie and Billy. But his mind was already on the horses, what had to be done, the gear to be made ready, food and gold an
d silver to be packed …

  He was still in the pueblo but his thoughts were gone, heading north.

  It was evening. Francis pulled the pinto up on the edge of a small rise and looked back on his little caravan and smiled. They were close to thirty miles from the butte and it was well out of sight. They had come into the juniper and rolling hills—a whole new country.

  But there had been a few moments when Francis thought he would never get away from the village.

  The feast had been wonderful. Kashi's wife, named something that sounded like Annas, had baked corn bread in the large earthen ovens outside the houses that resembled beehives and they had venison and rabbit stew and hot bread to dip in the gravy and talked, with Billy translating, until after midnight.

  That was when Billy had found out they were leaving the next day.

  “I'm not going,” he had said as they left Kashi's house and moved back to their own room to sleep.

  “Of course you arc.” Lottie shrugged. “You go where we go, that's how it works. And we're leaving in the morning to find Francis's folks.”

  “Two Toes said if I stay I can hunt deer with them in the fall and if I get a deer I'll become a man, sort of …”

  “You're seven years old.”

  “They don't go by years. They go by if you can kill a deer with a bow and arrow.”

  “No.” Francis had shaken his head. “They go by many things. Hunting deer is just one of them. You wouldn't truly be a man for at least five years yet, no matter what Two Toes told you. There are many tests to pass.”

  “Still, this is a good place to live—”

  “You're seven!” Lottie had cut in. “You don't leave your family when you're only seven years old.”

  “I don't care. I'm staying.”

  Lottie spluttered, “Billy—how can you think of leaving me and Francis? Your own sister! Your own …” She looked at Francis. “Francis! You tell him!”

  Francis had remembered the stubborn little boy who had sat backward on the mule and hadn't talked for so long Francis thought he couldn't talk. I could just tie him up and bring him, he thought, if only he didn't have that sword.

  But Lottie solved it. “If you stay here there won't be anything to spend the gold on—there isn't a store for a thousand miles and nothing even like rock candy.”

  “Oh,” Billy had said. “Well, then, I'll come with you.”

  And they had gone at dawn the next morning. They took only four horses, leaving the extra two for the village as a token of gratitude for all the help the people had given. The horses could be ridden, but better yet the horses could pack corn and deer meat up the grade to the village. Until now Francis and the children had been carrying by hand.

  The weather had been grand all day, and with all the new clothing and gear and a decent buckskin packsaddlc they made good time. Francis let Lottie lead the packhorse with the gold and other equipment and sent Billy off to the sides to hunt with his bow. Billy came back about noon with a huge torn turkey in front of him on the pony, and Francis decided to make camp a bit early so they could clean the turkey and cook it.

  He saw a bend in an arroyo ahead, down and to the left, with some large cottonwoods that meant water. There had been rain a few days earlier and it made for good grass for the ponies along the bottom of the arroyo. Francis set up a camp beneath the cottonwood. Billy cleaned the turkey and Francis cut it in strips to cook over sticks above the fire Lottie had started and while the meat was cooking he picketed the horses and then took his rifle and headed out to the west to take a look.

  Francis smiled when he saw” Billy pick up his bow and sword and head off to the cast. Billy was still a boy but in many respects he had grown so fast his actual age almost didn't matter. To take a large torn turkey with a bow was a feat. Turkeys were smart and hard to hunt even with a gun … his short time with Two Toes had completely changed Billy.

  Francis climbed a ridge on foot and looked back on the camp. He was a half mile away and a quarter mile higher and he moved still higher until he could see for miles to the north and east and west. At first he could sec nothing unusual but something caught his eye to the east, a strange line in the scrub forest, and he realized after a moment that it was some kind of road or heavy trail. It came straight from the east but before it came to their campsite it curved away to the north and disappeared in the trees about two miles from the camp.

  A trail meant people, and judging by how wide and well traveled this one looked, a goodly amount of people, although he could see no dust.

  It was getting close to dark and he moved back toward camp warily. Tempers were still flaring over the war with Mexico, and the Comancheros were somewhere to the south. People moving on the trail might not be friendly. He had just decided that it would be prudent to keep clear of the trail as they made their way north when he heard a twig snap behind him and turned in time for somebody or something to hit him so hard on the side of the head that it seemed his brain was torn loose, and he was completely unconscious before he hit the ground.

  “AHHH, MY DEAR BOY, we meet again. I must say, though, I didn't think wc would again sec each other. I had my hopes, not to say dreams….”

  Francis swam up slowly from some deep place in his mind.

  “You left us in a very sad state, if you'll remember.”

  He knew the voice but at first couldn't quite place it in his memory. The pain in his head didn't help.

  “Imagine our surprise. We were making our way toward that fine trail to see if we couldn't come upon a traveler who would, let us say, help us in our need, when we saw the light from the fire this girl started, and while coming toward the light wc found you.”

  Court weiler.

  And Dubs.

  They had conic upon him once, before he found Lottie and Billy, and had taken everything he had. He had tracked them and run them down and caught them sleeping and taken it all back, plus their half-dead mule.

  “I should have shot you,” Francis said. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up but they had him tied wrist to ankle. He stared up at Courtweiler. The little man, in a ragged black suit and top hat, stroked his beard and smiled.

  “Yes, my boy, you should have. I won't make the same mistake. What I don't understand is how you seem to come onto such good fortune. This charming girl to cook for you and a veritable fortune in gold and silver. As I think I may have said to you once before, our good luck is your very bad circumstance.”

  Francis's mind was clearing. The hulking Dubs must have carried him back to the camp—or from the feel of it, dragged him. Lottie was sitting across the fire. There was a welt on her cheek that would soon be a bruise.

  Billy. Courtweiler hadn't mentioned Billy. Just Lottie. Francis craned around and could not see the boy.

  “I told them wc were on our way back to our family and that they'd come looking for us if we weren't back soon—”

  “Hush, child. Or Dubs will strike you again.”

  Lottie grew quiet.

  “Fine. Now, my boy, was there any more gold where you found this?”

  Francis didn't answer. Where was Billy? Francis had cast out to the west. The two men had come on him from the west, or maybe the northwest, so they probably hadn't seen Billy. The boy was still out there and might come walking in on them at any moment.

  He had to get loose. The two men had turned away to look at the gold and Francis tried his bonds. They were so tight that his hands had gone to sleep, tied with a piece of line from the horse pack, but there was a strand he could feel loosening and he worked at it. He shook his head at Lottie, meaning not to mention Billy, and she nodded, but he wasn't sure if she understood.

  “How fortune docs change.” Courtwcilcr turned from, the pack. “We were down to eating our shoes again, and on foot, and now we're rich, have a girl we can sell to … well, whomever … and have horses into the bargain. Honestly, my boy, it's almost worth letting you loose just to catch you again and see what else you can get—

/>   A whirring went past Francis's face and a stick seemed to pop out of Courtweiler's right shoulder. An arrow! Buried to the bone.

  “Arrrrrnnngh!” Courtwcilcr grabbed at the arrow but before he could pull it out there were more fluttering sounds and three more arrows zipped past Francis.

  One hit Dubs in the neck as he was straightening from the pack, the next took him full in the chest and the last one struck him in the stomach.

  Dubs reached up and slowly pulled the arrow out of his neck, then actually took three steps toward Francis before he stopped, settled back until he sat, and then slowly went over on his side and lay dead, his eyes never closing.

  It wasn't over yet. Francis had been working at getting his hands free the whole time, and he pulled them loose just as Courtweiler jerked the arrow out of his shoulder and started for him, fumbling at his belt for a revolver.

  “Francis! Here!” Lottie was up and running. She grabbed Francis's rifle from beside the pack and threw it. Francis caught it, turned and fired without thinking, without aiming, and saw the dust puff out from Courtwcilcr's coat as the bullet hit his chest and drove him back to fall near Dubs.

  Francis pulled the ropes from his legs and felt for his knife at his belt. Gone!

  But Courtweiler lay still. It was over. Francis stood there panting and turned and saw Billy beside Lottie.

  “Francis!” Billy said. “I saw them, and saw you tied up, and started shooting. I only had four arrows with mc. I didn't think, there wasn't time, and then the big one pulled that arrow out of his neck and I thought you were dead for sure! Oh Lord, did I kill him? Just a minute, I'm going to be sick.”

  Lottie held his head while he threw up and then led him away and held him while he took deep breaths that sounded like crying.

  In silence Francis took the sword from Billy's shoulder and started digging two graves back by the cotton woods, chopping at the sod until he was down to the loose sand beneath and scooping it out until he was far enough down to cover the two men. Then he dragged them over and dropped them into place—after taking the revolver from Courtwciler's belt and a flint and striker from Ms pocket for starting fires. He folded their arms over their chests and covered them with earth and then with rocks to keep the coyotes out. He didn't feel sorry for them—they would have killed him, after all. But he felt sorry for Billy.