It was gone.
The children stood on the edge of Whiskey Creek, shielding their eyes while looking up at him. Klara stood with folded hands, no doubt praying for his safety. How much she was like their mother. He wanted to call out for them to see Beller overhead. It must wait.
He must focus. He could not be thinking of Indians, angels, or his mother. He must move his feet to the slim trunk and find a handhold to guide him backwards down the rough bark. He looked down into the flowing water of Whiskey Creek directly below him. His head swirled. He moved his left foot to the stub of a broken branch.
A loud splintering sound cracked through the air, as the branch gave way. Ryker jolted to one side in a futile attempt to regain his balance. He overcorrected. The widow maker lurched and rolled. Ryker grasped toward the trunk, but it was too late.
The widow maker broke away from the cottonwood. After the first jolt, it slipped into a swishing dream of leaves, branches, and rough bark. Ryker clutched for anything to hang onto but felt himself falling down, down, down.
A hard splash into cold water. Then nothing.
CHAPTER 27
* * *
Ryker woke in a panic, clawing and struggling to breathe. A sunbeam peeked through green leaves. A heavy branch pressed down upon him, and it took him a second to realize that he was trapped underwater by the fallen tree.
He felt himself losing consciousness. He refused to breathe, though his lungs nearly burst with the need for air.
A strange roaring sounded in his ears, and he felt himself being pulled to another world. His lungs exploded. Would this be his end? He had promised his father to care for the family. They needed him. He had to survive.
With his last bit of strength, Ryker pushed away from the tree and bobbed above the water, coughing and gasping for breath. He heard, as from a far distance, Klara’s scream. He reached out and clasped a handful of leaves. It slipped through his fingers. Water filled his mouth and blinded his eyes.
He sank beneath the cold, murky water. It wasn’t fair that Mama should lose another child. He wanted to tell her about learning to listen to other people. That was the kind of thing she would understand. And he had wanted her to hear of his father’s death from him. It would be easier if he were the one to tell her.
But it was not meant to be. He faced eternal judgment and realized with a sinking dread that he had nothing to offer to God when they met on the other side. He asked God to forgive him for all his failings and braced himself for the end.
But just when he thought it over, a strong arm hooked his shoulder and dragged him to the surface of Whiskey Creek.
Ryker splashed and kicked, coughing and sputtering, aware of a terrific pain in his head. His thoughts jumbled. Where was he? What happened?
Beller! Ryker had seen one of Mama’s angels. Then he remembered falling.
The same strong arm dragged him out of the creek and hoisted him onto the bank. Klara, Sven, and Johnny gathered around as he lay, struggling for breath. Elsa put her face next to his and stuck her finger up his nose. He pushed Elsa’s hand away and tried to sit up. Weakness forced him to lie back on the grass.
“Are you dead?” someone said in a nasally whisper. The voice sounded familiar. “That was quite a fall.”
Ryker’s heart thumped. His mind scrambled. It must be the person who rescued him. His head whirled, and he couldn’t think straight. He moved his arms and legs. Everything worked except his brain. He had fallen. He remembered the panicky feeling of falling, and falling. He should be dead. Ryker raised himself to his elbows.
The young soldier Mama had talked out of deserting sat beside him on a rock, wearing a blue jacket. He was the soldier Ryker had seen from the treetop.
“Hannibal?” Ryker shook the cobwebs out of his brain. “What are you doing here?”
CHAPTER 28
* * *
“I spied you climbing down the tree, and watched you splash in the river,” Hannibal said. Hannibal was breathing hard, and water dripped down his hair. A faint shadow of a mustache bristled his upper lip. “Thought you were killed.”
“I’m alive,” Ryker said. “At least I think I’m alive.” He pushed himself to a sitting position, but a wave of dizziness forced him to lay his head on his knees. “Thanks.” A knife-like pain pierced through his temples. He lay back and rested his eyes. “Thought I was a goner.”
“We need shelter,” Hannibal said, scanning the trees on both sides of the creek. “Indians thick as thieves all around this country.”
Ryker listened as from a distance, too dizzy to answer. Sven pointed out the thick briars where they had been hiding. “There’s an open spot in the middle. Not very big, but no one will see us unless they’re looking.”
“Hurry,” Hannibal said. “Indians might come this way.”
Klara and the baby disappeared into the thicket. Ryker tried to stand, but his legs refused to work. His body felt numb, like it belonged to someone else. He suspected he would soon be black and blue from head to toe, as dark as Topsy in Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
Johnny and Sven half carried and half dragged Ryker to the thicket.
“Where’s Hannibal?” Ryker whispered.
“He’s sweeping our tracks from the creek bank with a broken pine bough,” Sven said.
Ryker opened his eyes and saw two Svens instead of one. His brain was playing tricks with him. He squinted until two brothers became one again.
“Water,” Ryker said. “Fill the cans.” At least his brain was working a little. “Where’s the supply sack?”
“It’s here,” Klara said as Sven collected the empty cans, left the thicket, and came back with a supply of drinking water.
Klara pulled the tintype of their parents’ wedding day from where she had tucked it into Uncle Tom’s Cabin for safety. She stared at it for a long time, then showed it to Elsa. “Look,” Klara said. “Mama and Papa.”
“Milk!” Elsa said with a loud wail. “Mama!”
Her cries pierced into Ryker’s brain like an Indian’s scalping knife. “Quiet,” Ryker said, holding his hands over his ears. He saw two Klaras and two Elsas.
Johnny swooped Elsa into his arms and bounced her until her wailing turned to giggles. Johnny reached into the prickly brambles and pulled out fat blackberries. He popped one into Elsa’s mouth. Then another.
“The Sioux need water for their campsites,” Hannibal said when he returned from the creek bank. “I covered our tracks as best I could.” He rubbed his forehead. “I have to find out what’s going on at the fort,” Hannibal said. “I don’t know if I should stay here or try to get into the fort.”
“I saw it from the treetop,” Ryker said. “The whole battle. Haystack burned. Cattle stampeded.” He rubbed his forehead. “Howitzers kept them at bay, but it was a close one.”
“We’ll sneak into the fort by Slabtown,” Johnny said. “It’s the easiest crossing.”
“Not a chance,” Ryker said. “That’s where the Sioux are the thickest.”
They sat in silence for a long time. Elsa dozed in Johnny’s lap. Ryker sipped tepid creek water, shuddering to remember the horrid suffocation of being trapped beneath the creek’s surface.
“What are you doing out here alone?” Johnny said.
Ryker saw two hazy soldiers and two Johnnies. He closed his eyes and waited for a long minute. When he opened them, there were only one of each. He sighed in relief.
Klara handed Hannibal a potato, and he took a bite as if it were an apple. He told how he had been sent to bring settlers into the fort. He had been chased by hostiles and lost his horse and his rifle. “Only one bullet left in my pistol,” Hannibal said. “I’m in tough shape.”
“Did you go out our way?” Ryker asked.
“Most settlers came in when the warning went out,” Hannibal said. “But no one from your neck of the woods.” He chomped another bite, potato juice dripping down his chin. “Three of us were sent to bring ’em in. We didn’t want folks caught flat-footed
.”
“Did you see my folks?” Johnny said, with a catch in his voice. “We live just north of the Landstads’ place.”
“Log cabin?” Hannibal said. “Burned to the ground.” Even through his grogginess, Ryker noticed the sadness in his eyes. “Nobody . . .” Hannibal shook his head and didn’t finish his sentence.
“Maybe they’re at the fort,” Johnny said. He spoke as if trying to convince himself. “I’m sure of it.”
“They weren’t there yesterday,” Hannibal said slowly. “Might have come after I left . . .”
“And our mother?” Sven said. “Was she at the fort?”
Hannibal shook his head.
Sven told Hannibal about their father. “They killed him,” Sven said. He balled his fists and squared his jaw. “Stole Mama and Elsa.”
“We heard a baby crying out on the prairie,” Klara said. Her eyes filled with a strange light. “An angel brought her to us.”
“I’m feeling sick,” Johnny said as he rubbed his belly with a rueful expression on his face. “Shouldn’t have drunk water from the slough.”
“I saw Beller,” Ryker said. He could rest. He would leave all the worrying and watching to Hannibal. As he drifted off, he whispered, “I saw Mama’s angels.”
CHAPTER 29
* * *
Ryker slept like a stone.
Klara shook him awake when the evening gloom was turning to the dark of night. “I was scared,” she whispered. “You looked dead.”
Dense fog settled like a heavy quilt over Whiskey Creek. The tops of the trees showed above the thick cloud. Overhead the first stars poked through the canopy of sky. An owl hooted in the shadows, and a night bird rustled in the treetops. The temperature dropped, and they huddled together for warmth. Hannibal reeked of sweat and stale smoke. Johnny groaned with bellyache.
“I’m better,” Ryker said. He rubbed a tender spot on his head and stretched his neck. “Don’t worry. I’m all right.” He muttered something about Beller protecting him. He realized he was not making sense but could not stop himself from rambling about angels and poems and Mama. The dream he had been having seemed real.
Ryker drifted off to sleep listening to the twins tell Hannibal about Beller’s heroic death. If Hannibal answered, Ryker did not hear it.
Ryker dreamed that Mama fried side pork for Christmas Day. In his dream, his father was laughing and welcoming Martin home from the war. It was a good dream, and Ryker left it with reluctance when Hannibal shook his arm and whispered frantically in his ear.
“Quiet!” Hannibal said. “Indians.”
Ryker raised to one elbow and tried to understand what was happening.
Voices sounded from the creek through veils of heavy fog. They could see nothing. It sounded like children playing, and a woman’s voice.
Ryker looked to make sure the twins and Baby Elsa slept. The twins cuddled like puppies. Klara sucked her thumb, and Sven had his arm around Elsa. Johnny lay off to the side in a tangle of arms and legs.
An autumn-like coolness made Ryker shiver. Smoke from a campfire curled through the tree roots, and smells of cooking meat made his tummy rumble. They spoke a strange language, not American or Norwegian. Neither was it German. Ryker knew enough to recognize those languages. Hannibal was right.
Indians.
Ryker’s head ached, and his limbs ached like he had been hit by a locomotive. He moved one leg, and then the other. To his relief, his eyesight had returned to normal. He saw only one of everything.
“Quiet now,” Hannibal said in a nasally whisper. “There’s an Injun woman and her two children setting up camp on Whiskey Creek.”
Ryker’s heart sank. They would be heard if they tried to leave the hideout. There was no way to move through the deadfalls without making noise. Even if they did manage to sneak away, where would they go? They had to use their heads.
The rising sun cast an eerie glow through the fog. Crickets droned a happy chorus. The sounds of loons and calling geese mingled with the splashing sound of children playing in Whiskey Creek. The children did not seem to mind the cold weather.
“No braves,” Hannibal whispered. “But you know they’re close by.”
They watched and waited as the sun burned off the fog, and the morning settled over Whiskey Creek. Chains of pink tinged clouds blistered overhead. Ryker and Hannibal watched a woman putting up a tipi just outside their hideout. She had long black hair pulled into braids and wore a leather dress. Moccasins wrapped her feet and lower legs. She worked quietly, calling out now and again to the children splashing in the creek. A birch bark canoe lay overturned on the bank.
“Darn,” Hannibal said in a whisper. “Why couldn’t she go downstream a ways?”
A small animal roasted in her cooking fire. The woman left the tipi to stir something in an iron kettle. The smells tantalized the hungry boys. The woman turned the meat; a drop of fat sizzled in the flames. She looked familiar, but Ryker’s fuzzy brain couldn’t remember where he had seen her before.
“Wonder if her man will come when the meat is ready,” Hannibal whispered. “We need to get out of here.” He wiped his sweaty face on the back of his sleeve. “Trouble is coming, and no doubt about it.”
Ryker pondered how to escape with the young ones, especially Elsa, in tow. If it were just the twins, they might manage to get away, but Johnny was as clumsy and noisy as an ox in the underbrush, and Elsa was always finding trouble.
“They might capture you,” Hannibal said, “but this blue uniform means they’ll skin me alive.” He brooded for a long while. “We should wake—” Hannibal started to say, when Elsa screamed.
“Owie!” She rubbed her cheek. “Mama.” She slapped her neck and screamed again.
Ryker lunged toward the crying baby, but it was too late.
“What’s wrong?” Klara woke up with a squeal. “Yellow jackets!” She jumped to her feet and grabbed her sister, brushing them away while wrapping the howling baby in the quilt for protection against the angry insects.
Sven slapped at yellow jackets and cried out. Johnny sat up, rubbing his eyes, banging his head on a deadfall. Johnny swore, and Elsa hollered even louder.
Three brown faces peered through the tangled roots of downed trees, a woman and two children.
Ryker remembered where he had seen them before.
CHAPTER 30
* * *
Good Person had been the one to fish his father’s folding knife from the slough and had received the gift of Mama’s bread. Her man had hunted along Whiskey Creek the morning after Beller tangled with the bear. The woman did not look happy to see them.
She scowled and pulled Klara out of the hiding place by her arm. Elsa screamed and clung to her older sister so hard that Ryker feared she would choke her older sister to death. Ryker and the others followed Klara.
“Where’s Hannibal?” Johnny whispered.
Hannibal was nowhere to be seen. Ryker tried to remember. They were talking, and then Elsa woke up. Hannibal must have sneaked away during the fuss. Some soldier he was. He could have at least tried to protect them.
Johnny seemed content with Ryker’s whispered answer that Hannibal had returned to the fort. Even though Ryker was disappointed with the young soldier for deserting them, he bore Hannibal no ill will. Hannibal had a better chance of getting away without them. Maybe he would return with soldiers to rescue them.
“Mama,” Elsa said in a hoarse whisper.
She lay limp as a sack on Klara’s neck, the apples of her cheeks replaced by hollows, her blue eyes, always so bright, dull and empty. She looked spent. He tried to remember when she had last eaten.
Good Person had helped him before, but she showed no signs of helpfulness now. Mama said she was just honest folk trying to feed her family. Ryker hoped Mama was right.
“Look,” Ryker said while pointing at the sobbing baby. The welts blossomed across her face, and she screamed when Ryker grasped one of the stingers. He took Elsa into his arms
. Klara rubbed her neck in relief. Ryker pointed toward the bank and slowly walked to the creek, half expecting something terrible to happen, like an arrow zinging from the brush, or a war whoop sounding over the water. He knelt and gathered handfuls of cool mud from the creek bank, daubing Elsa’s welts while speaking soothing words.
“Come,” he said in a low tone to the twins. Good Person stood on the bank as if trying to make up her mind what to do with them. He doubted they would still be alive if an Indian brave had found them hiding in the thicket. “Plaster mud on your stings. And drink all the water you can hold.” He looked up and down the creek, but the sharp turns and bends made it impossible to see more than a short ways. Gunshots sounded from the direction of the fort. “Be ready to run when I give the word.”
“Milk,” Elsa said. Her lips chapped and cracked. “Mama.”
He cupped handfuls of water for Elsa to drink. She choked and spilled it down the front of her tattered dress. “Milk,” she said.
The Indian boys had followed Ryker to the creek. Laughing Boy was taller since Ryker had last seen him, and his teeth had grown in. He wore only a loin cloth tied around his middle. It almost covered his private parts. Little Dog wore nothing at all.
Ryker tried not to stare. Their eyes shone like black stones, and their brown skin glistened from swimming. Laughing Boy carried a small bow and a quiver of arrows. Good Person spoke, and Laughing Boy threaded an arrow from his quiver into the bowstring. Though the boy held the arrow pointed downward, Ryker had the feeling he would not hesitate to aim and shoot.
“What do we do now?” Sven whispered. “Are we captives?”
A knife lay on a stone next to the cook fire. Good Person placed the knife into her belt when she noticed Ryker looking at it. She nodded toward Ryker and the twins. She paused when she looked at Johnny but didn’t nod.
Escape to Fort Abercrombie Page 15
