“I think it was just luck that we found her,” Johnny said. He rubbed his bruised chin as he talked. “All that matters is that we found her before the Indians could hurt her.”
They trudged through the tall grass as afternoon stretched into evening. Ryker’s neck and back ached. Elsa felt heavy as a sack of grain on his back. They couldn’t stop, but Ryker didn’t know how much longer he could go on. Weakness and a bone-tired weariness gripped until he thought he would faint. He thought of Martin in the war. Soldiers endured many hardships.
“I’ll carry her for a while,” Johnny said. He was a strong boy and built like a young bull. “You need rest.”
Ryker gratefully lifted Elsa onto Johnny’s back. Elsa wrapped her arms around his head and fell asleep. Poor thing. She needed water. They all needed water.
A breeze carried the laky smell of the river. “We’re almost there,” Ryker said. “We made it.” The grass gave way to a band of marshy area. They knelt down and washed their faces in the mucky water. Beller drank his fill. Johnny pulled a handful to his mouth.
“Don’t drink it,” Ryker said. It took all his strength to wait for the clean water of Whiskey Creek. “Slough water will make you sick.” Around them, red-winged blackbirds sang in the thrushes. Frogs croaked, and swirling gnats attacked them. They wouldn’t have lasted much longer.
“I’m dying of thirst,” Johnny said. He slurped large handfuls of water in spite of Ryker’s warning.
Sven reached for a drink, too, but Ryker pulled him back.
“No,” Ryker said. His throat was so dry that his words came out in a croaking whisper. “We’re almost there. You don’t want to get sick now. We need our strength to find Mama.”
Johnny followed them toward the river. “I’m not sick,” he said. “I feel just fine.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Ryker said. “Papa wouldn’t ever let me drink from standing water. Creek water is safer.”
They hurried toward Whiskey Creek. It was a small stream there, but Ryker knew it grew larger closer to Fort Abercrombie. “Wait and see if it’s safe,” Ryker whispered as Sven ran ahead, pulled by Beller. “Indians travel the rivers.”
They crouched in the grass. A cliff swallow returned to its nest in the bank. The river rippled toward the Red River and Fort Abercrombie. Ryker could almost taste the cool water, but still he hesitated. Maybe danger lurked in the welcoming stream.
“Look how tall they are,” Sven said in a whisper.
Sven hadn’t been to the fort with their father and had not seen trees for several years. “Look how high!” He pointed to the treetops, and Beller pulled free. He charged to the river and splashed into the water with a yip.
Ryker held his breath. The children stared at their pet frolicking in the river, waiting for Indians to burst out of the brambles. Nothing happened. Ryker saw nothing amiss. He nodded, and the children crept to the water, splashing and drinking their fill. A few blackberries hung on low bushes. Klara picked all that she could find and shoved them into Elsa’s mouth until her lips and tongue turned blue.
“I’m still hungry,” Sven said. “Can’t we find something to eat?”
Beller growled and warily approached a small snapping turtle that crawled out of the water.
“Stay back,” Sven said and thrust a branch in front of the turtle’s mouth for it to latch onto. Sven squealed with joy when it clamped the stick with its fierce jaws. “I got it.”
Sven pulled out his knife and sawed its long, rubbery neck, stretched to hold the stick. It took a while, but at last Sven severed the head. Blood spurted onto the grass. Beller snatched the head and ran into the bushes.
“We can’t build a fire,” Ryker said, with grudging admiration. He would have never thought to catch a turtle.
“Indians eat raw turtle meat,” Sven said. “Mrs. Tingvold said they eat raw buffalo livers and hearts, and raw fish.”
Ryker sobered at the mention of their teacher’s name. Where would they find another teacher like her?
“Wake up!” Sven said. “You didn’t hear a word I said.”
“I heard you,” Ryker said. “You want to eat it raw.”
“No, I said I need your help to dress it out.” Together they removed the turtle’s shell and used it as a dish to hold the meat. Sven’s knife blade proved too dull to use, but Ryker’s folding knife did the job.
Johnny lifted a piece to his nose and gave a sniff. “Smells like fish,” he said. He pushed a small bit of meat into his mouth. “Not real bad,” he said.
Sven handed a bit to Klara, but she sucked her thumb harder and looked away. He gave the meat to Ryker.
Not to be outdone by the boys, Ryker popped a piece of turtle into his mouth, almost gagging on the muddy fish taste. He forced himself to chew and swallow, thinking of Mama’s lutefisk at Christmas, and the taste of peppermint candy from the ox carters who sometimes stopped by their farm.
Ryker dug into the sack and pulled out the sausage and a small ear of raw corn. The silk shriveled around tough kernels. He handed it to his little sisters.
“Eat,” Ryker said. “You’ll feel better.”
His stomach roiled with the raw turtle, not feeling better at all. The taste of blood made him gag, and he lay on the shore and scooped water into his mouth to wash it away. Turtle tasted better cooked into a soup with potatoes and turnips.
Sven called for Beller to come eat the innards. He gulped the bloody mess and looked at Sven with bright eyes.
“That’s all you get,” Sven said.
Klara stripped Elsa’s filthy dress and washed it downstream from where the boys were playing. They washed their faces and bathed in the coolness. Ryker filled the turtle shell and peach can with water.
Ryker had just called the children back to the shoreline when a rustling sound came from the cottonwoods along the opposite bank. Beller lunged toward the sound before Sven could grab hold of him. Ryker raced after Beller and caught the end of the rope around his neck. He half dragged and half carried the dog toward shore.
“What is it?” Sven said. “Indians?”
“Don’t know,” Ryker whispered. The children huddled behind a fallen log. “Be quiet.” Ryker knelt beside Beller and put both hands around his snout. “Hush now.” He felt Beller’s heart beating like a captured bird. Had they come this far for nothing?
Branches rattled, and a flock of cliff swallows startled up into the air. Maybe the Indian with the black horse would swoop upon them with his hatchet high over his head. Ryker held his breath and struggled to see what was coming. He glanced toward his brother and sisters. Sven gripped his knife in his hand, ready to defend them from attackers.
A dark creature crashed through the underbrush. The falling shadows of evening made it difficult to see. Ryker craned his neck for a better view.
“Look! A bjorn!” Sven said.
CHAPTER 19
* * *
Ryker followed Sven’s pointing finger as a large black bear burst from the bushes under the trees on the opposite bank. It stood on two legs and pawed the air. It growled, rolling its head and gnashing huge teeth. Saliva dripped from its mouth. Ryker pulled back, pushing Klara in his efforts to get behind the log. Ryker had a clear view of the bear through some dead branches.
The bear turned toward the sound, rubbing his snout with his clumsy paws as if to fight anything that might be in his path. It was then that Ryker saw what made the bear so angry. Its mouth and throat bristled with porcupine quills.
“He looks like Mama’s pincushion,” Sven said.
“Like my father’s beard,” Johnny said.
The bear swatted at his face as if to fight off a bee. Beller was tied, and Ryker hoped the bear would not smell them. The bear dropped to his four paws and rolled his face in the nettles and leaves covering the ground. It roared in anger, wiping its face as if to wipe the quills away, dipping into the river and rubbing again.
“Mama.” Elsa toddled toward the river bank. How did she get away?
Time stopped as the bear turned his head to stare at their baby sister standing on the bank. The bear roared, and Elsa screamed in fear.
Ryker leapt from his place of safety and scooped the baby into his arms just as the bear charged into the creek, rushing toward them. Elsa yelled louder, and Ryker was sure his heart would burst with fear. Ryker ran toward the trees while clutching Elsa to his chest, but the bear was closing in on them.
Ryker hesitated. Should he throw Elsa in the bushes and turn to fight the bear? He had the folding knife in his pocket. Should he fall on the ground and cover Elsa with his body in hopes the bear would go away?
Beller streaked by them. Their faithful dog stood between the children and the bear, ferociously barking and growling, forcing the bear to turn away from the children and face him. Ryker stood long enough to see the bear lunge. A cacophony of barking, yipping, and braying filled the air, as Ryker raced to the trees while holding his baby sister.
“Climb a tree,” Ryker yelled to the others. “Go high as you can.”
The cottonwoods had tall trunks without lower branches, making them impossible to climb. There were smaller trees but not nearly as tall or sturdy. At least they could get away from the bear. Ryker lifted Elsa up to Johnny’s waiting hands and climbed onto the first branch of a straggly oak.
“Sven,” Ryker said. “Hurry up!” Sven stood on the edge of the river watching the fight. “Come on.”
“No,” Sven said. “The bear will kill old Beller.”
The bear slapped Beller on his side with a massive blow, sending him flying into the water. The bear dove after him.
“Come,” Ryker said. If the dog no longer threatened, the bear might come after them. “Now.”
Reluctantly, Sven pulled himself away from the shore as Beller came out of the water for another round with the bear. The bear was winning. Ryker had a sick feeling as the bear swiped another blow.
Sven was crying. “Everyone we love is dying,” Sven said. “Martin and Papa, Mrs. Tingvold, maybe Mama . . . and now Beller.”
“Hush now,” Ryker said, and put his arm around his brother as they perched on the branch. “We have each other. We’ll always be there for each other.”
“Be quiet—the bear might back off,” Johnny said.
Beller put up a valiant resistance. He charged again and again, nipping and drawing the bear away from the children. But then a mighty swipe of the bear’s paw sent Beller flying to the rocks at the edge of the far bank . . . a thud and crunch of bone when Beller landed on the rocks. Beller lay like a sack of rags.
The bear dropped to all fours and shook its massive head. It roared and swiped at the quills on its snout. Then it raised to its hind legs and sniffed the air. It scanned the shore and raised its eyes to the tree. It dropped down and waded toward the children, splashing in the water and sniffing around the base of the scraggly tree.
“Horsy,” Elsa said.
The giant beast looked up and fastened beady eyes on the children. It stood on its hind legs and grasped the tree trunk with both paws. Then the bear shook the tree.
“Hang on,” Ryker said.
Johnny scrambled higher in the tree, and Sven and Ryker moved to the branch where Johnny had been. Even so, the bear kept shaking the tree. The tree next to them would have been a better choice, because it was a little stouter. He should have planned for such an emergency. Ryker was responsible, but he had not done enough to keep his family safe.
Ryker held onto the tree trunk with one arm and clutched Elsa with the other. Elsa squirmed, and Ryker feared he might drop her. He called up to Sven and passed Elsa to him, but, just before Sven’s hands reached the baby, the bear roared and gave a mighty shake to the tree. Ryker caught Elsa in midair before she fell to the ground.
The bear wrapped its arms around the trunk and tried crawling up the tree. Ryker smelled its breath and saw the mass of quills around its mouth. It batted at the quills in its mouth and slipped back down to the ground. Then with a fierce roar, the bear shook the tree trunk again.
Ryker could do nothing but hang on to his perch. They could not climb higher. The tree’s upper branches were too small to support their weight. They were scarcely out of the bear’s reach. He prayed for a miracle.
“Look!” Sven shouted and pointed to the place where Beller had fallen.
Beller struggled to his feet and shook his head as if to shake sleep away. He tottered on unsteady legs until he regained his balance. He saw the bear at the base of the tree and barked a fierce challenge. Gathering his strength, Beller again charged the bear.
The bear turned to face its attacker and pressed its back against the tree trunk. Beller leapt at the bear, nipping and growling. The bear swiped at the dog and knocked him off his feet. Beller got up again and lunged toward the bear. The bear snapped its jaws and ran toward Beller. Ryker bit his lip until he tasted blood. Klara was crying.
The bear batted Beller into the bushes with a single swipe of its giant paw. Beller yipped and was quiet. Just when they thought he was dead, Beller pulled himself to his feet and approached the bear. Beller barked and retreated a few steps and then turned and barked again. The bear followed.
“He’s drawing the bear away from us,” Sven said. “That good dog.”
He was right. Ryker and the children watched Beller tease and taunt the bear to the other shore of Whiskey Creek, away from them. The bear stepped on the opposite shore and turned back toward the children, as if it would return and finish them off. Beller threw himself at the back of the bear, nipping at its neck.
It was a risk to move to a safer place, but Ryker saw no alternative.
“Get down and climb the next tree,” Ryker said in a quiet voice. “Hurry, before the bear comes back.”
They scrambled out of the tree and climbed into the next. These branches were sturdier, and the children climbed as high as they could. Ryker passed Elsa to Johnny, who was already at the very top of the tree. “Keep her quiet,” Ryker said. “Keep your hand over her mouth if you have to, and grab hold of her as tight as you can.”
Beller and the bear snarled and growled. The bear smacked Beller such a blow that Beller howled in agony. The good dog fell to the ground in a heap. The bear ambled over to Beller and gripped the dog’s head in its giant mouth. It shook poor Beller like a rag doll, throwing him to the side in a crunch of bones.
The bear dropped down on all fours, its silhouette dark against the white rocks on the shore. With low growling and whimpers of pain, the bear lumbered toward the tall grass. It soon disappeared out of sight.
“It’s running across the prairie,” Johnny said from his high perch. “I can see it running away.”
Elsa let out a howl as Johnny released his grip on her mouth.
“Keep Elsa quiet,” Sven said. “That bear might come back.” Sven scrambled down the tree.
“Wait!” Ryker said. “It’s not safe.”
Sven paid no attention but splashed across the river and ran to Beller lying on the ground. Johnny and Klara followed, leaving Elsa with Ryker.
“Is he alive?” Ryker called.
“Ya,” Johnny said. “He’s breathing.”
Ryker scanned the banks and surrounding area. No sign of bears or Indians. He put Elsa on his back and climbed down the tree, careful to hang onto her legs lest she topple over and break her neck.
Klara fetched a handful of water and held it for Beller to lap. Beller looked at them with dull eyes and made strange whimpering sounds from time to time. A huge gash on his head dripped red blood until his brown spots looked as black as the rest of him. Johnny ripped the hem off his shirt for a bandage. Sven gathered the faithful dog’s head onto his lap.
“You shouldn’t have let him go,” Klara said with an accusing stare.
“Hush,” Ryker said. “Would you rather it were Elsa lying here?”
“I’m sorry, old boy,” Sven said. He brushed flies away from Beller’s face. “I didn’t know what else to do
.”
They held the dog as twilight changed to night. A chill settled, and Elsa huddled closer to Ryker to keep warm. Klara tied another knot in her apron string. The odor of skunk wafted on the damp air. Wolves howled in the distance. Clouds of mosquitoes descended, and they huddled beneath the blanket to hide from them. Sven refused to leave Beller’s side.
Beller died as the moon rose over the trees.
They wept for their faithful friend. Elsa joined the weeping when she saw the others crying. Red marks across her mouth showed Johnny’s grip to keep her quiet. Sven could not be consoled.
“It’s my fault,” Sven said over and over, even though they all assured him that he had done the right thing.
“Beller saved us,” Klara said. “He was our angel watching over us.”
It grew darker. Klara shivered and hugged Elsa to her chest to keep her warm.
They discussed burying old Beller, but Ryker refused. He felt mean, but he had no choice.
The children’s outcry was immediate, but Ryker stood firm explaining that a grave would tell the Indians they were here.
“Let Beller rest where he lies,” Ryker said. “He’ll understand.”
CHAPTER 20
* * *
They camped that night in a thicket away from the riverbank. Sven felt smothered by the trees and insisted on sleeping out on the prairie. He refused to talk to Ryker, still angry about Beller’s grave. Ryker didn’t blame his brother. He would do as his father and older brother would have done. He would take his family to Fort Abercrombie and find help for his mother. They weren’t lost anymore. It wasn’t far.
“A fire would be cheerful,” Johnny said.
“Sorry,” Ryker said with a shake of his head. “It’s a cold camp tonight.”
Ryker held Elsa close to his side. They listened to the mournful sounds of wolves howling in the distance.
Escape to Fort Abercrombie Page 11
