Wilderness Giant Edition 4

by David Robbins

  “We staying here until morning?” a riverman asked. “There’s no water.”

  “We have a few water skins,” Shakespeare reminded him. “Or would you rather we toss Hestia Davin over a horse and put her through more hell while we ride all over creation looking for a spring or a stream?”

  “You must know where one is,” the man said.

  “The nearest river is three day’s ride.”

  That shut up the protester, and the men drifted to the packs to do as they had been told. Shakespeare went with them, but Nate walked over to Porter and said, “You too.”

  “I’m her father. I’ll stay.”

  “No,” Nate said.

  Porter stood, his cheeks moist, lightning flashing from his eyes. “What do you mean, no? First you beat me senseless, now you presume to butt in where you aren’t wanted. I’ll settle with you later. Go help McNair and leave me alone.”

  “No.”

  Porter drew back a fist but stopped when he saw the dress in Blue Water Woman’s arms. “Oh,” he said simply. “I didn’t know.” He coughed sheepishly and shuffled off.

  Winona passed him, a parfleche over her left shoulder. “I will make a tea,” she told her husband. “We must feed her a cup four times before morning.” Her mouth formed a small ‘o’– a habit of hers when she was upset. “Once I had a friend who was taken by the Piegans. She had lived but sixteen winters and was the prettiest in our tribe. Our warriors went after the war party and tracked them for a whole moon. There was a battle and all the Piegans were killed.”

  “The girl?” Nate knew she wanted him to ask. “She was brought back, but she did not live long. She would not speak, would not eat. She had crawled inside herself and would not come out. Nothing we did helped.”

  “Let’s hope we have better luck with this one.” Nate walked to the packs, pondering the frailty of all life. Angry voices put an end to his morbid musing. Shakespeare and Cyrus Porter were glowering at one another. “What’s the matter now?” Nate asked.

  “You won’t believe this!” Shakespeare declared. “I just told him that we can head on back just as soon as his daughter is up to a long ride. I figured he’d be happy to be quits of this country after all his complaining and everything that’s happened.”

  Nate looked at Porter. “We can’t head back sooner. Your daughter needs rest.”

  Shakespeare shook his head. “That’s not it. He doesn’t want to go back at all. He wants to go on, clear to the Pacific.”

  There were some back in the States who believed all mountaineers were illiterate, unkempt brutes little better than the savages they lived among. In many a sitting room the intelligence of the average trapper had been compared, unfavorably, to that of a brick. While this was true in a minority of cases, such a comparison was largely unfair. Many trappers were well-read, many came from well-to-do families, many, like Nate King, were astute students of human nature. They had to be in order to survive.

  But Nate was as surprised as his mentor by this latest revelation. He thought he had the Hartforder pegged. The very last thing he would ever expect Porter to want to do, Porter wanted to do. It rattled him, made him wary. “Why do you want to keep going west?”

  “My reason is none of your business,” Porter replied. “All that need concern you is keeping out of my hair from here on out.” He paused. “I don’t mind telling you that I don’t want you along, King. Unfortunately, Mr. McNair has made it clear that if you go, he goes, and I can’t do without him.” Pivoting, Porter left them.

  It was Shakespeare who expressed their shared sentiments. “I fear, Horatio, that something is rotten in the State of Denmark.” He stared after Porter. “Very, very rotten indeed.”

  Seventeen

  Two days later the Porter/Clark expedition resumed its trek westward. Shakespeare McNair spent nearly every waking minute trying to reason with Porter, but the man refused to change his mind. Unexpected allies, in the form of Clark and Brett Hughes, also pointed out the pitfalls of exposing themselves to further danger without good cause. Porter turned a deaf ear to all entreaties, nor would he give in and explain his reason for wanting to go on.

  Finally, McNair agreed to continue as guide. Not out of any affection for Porter. He did so because it was clear that one way or the other Porter was going on, and he didn’t want the deaths of the expedition members on his conscience. He would do what he could to see them safely through.

  There was another reason, one Shakespeare never mentioned but which weighed as heavily in his thoughts. The reason’s name was Hestia Davin. Like practically every other man there, his sympathy was mightily stirred by her pathetic plight. He wanted to do all in his power to restore her to a normal state of mind. To do that, he had to be handy in case she regained her mental faculties.

  Everyone was deeply disappointed that Hestia showed no sign of recovering. Blue Water Woman and Winona used all their considerable skills as healers, without result. The young woman stared blankly at empty air hour after hour after hour. She never blinked, never twitched a muscle. Every ten hours or so she would drift asleep, but she would only slumber for a couple of hours before awakening to repeat the cycle all over again.

  The two Indian women were saddened by their failure but never gave up. They hovered over Hestia like mothers who shared the same daughter, taking turns sitting up with her when one or the other needed to sleep.

  Adam Clark sulked the whole time, and when not sulking he would take one of the rivermen and go for long walks to take his mind off the agony of uncertainty.

  Cyrus Porter, strangely, spent little time in Hestia’s presence. He checked on her condition every few hours but seldom lingered and never showed any fatherly affection. He was more interested in preparing for the next leg of their trek.

  The rough and tumble rivermen kept a respectful distance so as not to disturb the women. All, that is, except one, who made it a point to never be far away. LeBeau contrived to spread out his blanket much closer to the fire than he had in the past, but not so close that Cyrus Porter was liable to take notice.

  Nate King was least affected but not through any fault of his own. With everyone else preoccupied, someone had to see that the dozen and one daily chores were done, that wood was gathered, the horses fed, sentries posted. Zach helped when he could, but much to the boy’s annoyance he had to spend a lot of time sitting watch over his little sister.

  “Just my luck,” he groused at one point within his father’s hearing. “I come along to see something of this world and maybe have a few adventures, and what do I end up doing? Protecting Evelyn from killer flies and such.”

  “We protected you when you were a sprout,” Nate shot back. “It’s only fair you do the same for your sister.” He chuckled. “As for those killer flies, if they’re not mean enough for you, I’ll see about scaring up a Blackfoot war party or maybe some Bloods. They ought to keep you from being bored to death.”

  “You’re a caution, Pa,” Zach said glumly.

  On the night before the expedition departed, Nate was able to get Shakespeare alone. “Any ideas yet why Porter is so all-fired determined to go to the Pacific?”

  “Not a clue,” McNair said. “I’ve tried approaching the subject from every angle I could think of, but he was too canny and wouldn’t take the bait.”

  “Does he have a route picked out?” Nate asked sarcastically, since they both knew Porter’s sense of direction was about as keen as a rock’s.

  “Believe it or not, he does,” Shakespeare said. “He wants us to follow the Columbia once we leave the Snake.”

  “That’s the usual way, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But you should have heard him.”

  “Why?”

  “He got to asking me about distances, and how far it was between tributaries and landmarks. He knows the country awful well.” Shakespeare became thoughtful. “I tell you, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’d been there before.”

  “Is that possible?”
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br />   “Not according to him it isn’t, but I wouldn’t take every word the man says as gospel. Not unless you’re fond of false prophets.”

  Nate stroked his beard. “So what do we do?”

  “Keep our eyes skinned, for one thing. He might be the booshway, but that don’t mean we let him take advantage of our sweet natures to hoodwink us,” Shakespeare said with a straight face.

  “If you ask me, Porter and Clark are no account any ways you lay your sight.” Nate tapped his tomahawk. “I don’t know which is worse. The way they lord it over us, or the fact they think they’re so much better. Especially Porter.”

  “Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus,” Shakespeare quoted, “and we petty men walk under his huge legs and peep about to find ourselves dishonorable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates.

  The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.”

  “I’m nobody’s underling,” Nate said.

  “Spoken like a true mountaineer,” Shakespeare complimented him. “But we’ll have to go on acting the part until we reach Astoria. Then he’s on his own, and I’m off to walk on the beach and let salt water tickle my toes.”

  Nate looked at him. “Sometimes you’re worse than Zach.”

  “If you mean I can be as childish as the next person, then this coon is flattered. There’s an art to staying young at heart that most people never learn. You could do with learning it yourself.”

  “What is this secret art?” Nate asked.

  “I never said it was a secret. Half the answers to the so-called secrets of life are right there in front of our noses if we’ll just open our eyes to see them.” Shakespeare leaned closer and spoke confidentially. “It’s the little things, Horatio. The little things.”

  “Flies and such?” Nate said, thinking of his son’s comment.

  “Did you get walloped by a rock when I wasn’t looking? No, not insects, you dunderhead. I mean little things like a rosy sunrise on a cool morning or the taste of buffler steak when a man’s half starved, or the scent of a woman when making love. Those kinds of little things.”

  “Who would have figured? You missed your calling. Instead of being a mountaineer, you should have been a philosopher.”

  “And waste my words of wisdom on uneducated minds? No thank you.”

  The next morning the expedition got under way. There was a short delay while Hestia was laid on the sturdy travois rigged for the purpose, then covered with a soft buffalo robe. Blue Water Woman rode the horse that pulled the travois. Close behind at any given minute of the day rode LeBeau.

  Their course was along the Snake to its confluence with the mighty Columbia. Getting there took exhausting effort, as the country bordering the river had turned steeply mountainous. The river itself often contained rapids so treacherous a person dared not wade more than a few feet from shore for fear of being swept away.

  Occasionally they passed tributaries of the Snake. At one with wide cotton willow bottoms, they accidentally flushed a grizzly and its cub. The she-bear roared at them but elected not to charge, instead making off noisily through the brush, much to everyone’s relief.

  They also passed several islands, from the largest of which rose a column of smoke. Since they were still in Nez Percé country, Two Humps stood on the bank and hailed the island for over five minutes, but no one appeared or answered.

  Later they came upon the site where a village had recently stood. From the sign, Shakespeare deduced it had been a Nez Percé encampment and that the inhabitants had traveled northward, deeper into their domain.

  Finally the expedition came to where the Columbia joined the Snake, from the northwest. Shortly thereafter, as they were striking camp one morning, they heard chanting and the beating of drums. Presently a Nez Percé chief by the name of Wolf Running arrived along with over a hundred warriors. It turned out the expedition had been under surveillance for some time, and that the presence of Two Humps had assured Wolf Running that the whites were friendly, so he decided to make a formal visit.

  There was a three-day delay while trade goods were swapped for pemmican and other items. Everyone had to smoke the peace pipe. Wolf Running showed Nate and Zach a large medal he wore which had been given to him by Lewis and Clark years before.

  As a favor to Two Humps, Wolf Running drew a map of the Columbia on a piece of elk hide. This was rolled up and consulted as the need arose.

  After a formal parting, the expedition moved on. They passed four islands the next day, and a severe rapid. On one of the islands stood five lodges made of poles and brush, unlike any they had ever seen. Two Humps became incensed, claiming that another tribe had encroached on Nez Percé territory. He wanted to ride back and inform Wolf Running, but Shakespeare convinced him not to since it would mean another delay. They went on.

  The next day they stopped at noon at the base of a two hundred-foot-high cliff. A game trail to the top enabled Nate and his family to make the climb in short order.

  “Gracious, Pa! Look!” Zach declared as he enjoyed the panoramic scene.

  To the northwest reared a solitary majestic mountain of immense height, its crown layered in a pristine mantle of gleaming snow.

  “It is beautiful,” Winona said, holding Evelyn so the child could see.

  Nate gazed down at their camp. From that height the men resembled bugs. He could see Shakespeare and Blue Water Woman, near the travois bearing Hestia Davin. The young woman had yet to show any sign of life. It was distressing in the extreme.

  Nate was reminded of an incident the week before, when he had awakened in the middle of the night feeling a need to heed Nature’s call. Being half asleep, he had shuffled toward the fire instead of away from it. He realized his error at the same instant he saw a shadowy shape on bent knee next to the travois.

  The women had long since stopped staying up all night with Hestia. Nate assumed it must be her father. Startled into wakefulness, he crept closer, and was shocked to recognize LeBeau. The riverman had her hand in his and was whispering in her ear.

  Nate’s anger flared. It was improper of LeBeau to take such liberties with a woman who was helpless. Nate was about to storm forward and give LeBeau a piece of his mind when he overheard the words being spoken.

  “—every night, and I will keep on every night, petite, until you are whole, non? I know you hear me. I know it. You be safe now. You are among friends.”

  There was more, in the same vein. Nate listened, and knew he need not worry. LeBeau would never disgrace himself or mistreat the woman. Treading silently, he melted into the night and left LeBeau to his tender ministrations.

  Now, looking down at the unfortunate woman, Nate wondered what the riverman would do if she never came around. To be smitten by a woman who could neither think nor talk seemed the height of folly, but there was no explaining the designs of Cupid.

  Not long after the expedition moved on, Shakespeare found three pieces of driftwood, the first they had seen. Two days later they came to a great falls. In the pools below swam a large number of sea otters, and one of the rivermen shot two for their supper. As they had done on previous evenings, they supplemented their diet with fish they caught. Porter, to the surprise of some, proved a competent angler.

  That night only a single guard was posted. No one expected trouble. They were at the border of Nez Percé country, and the Nez Percé were friendly. In addition, there had been no problems with nocturnal prowlers in so long that recollections of the previous times had faded.

  Shakespeare McNair slept under a buffalo robe, his body molded to his warm wife. He couldn’t say what awakened him, but suddenly his eyes were open, his senses primed. For a few seconds he heard nothing, then a whinny split the night and four guns went off, one after the other.

  Leaping erect, a pistol in each hand, Shakespeare beheld ten horses or more racing toward them in panicked flight. “Get up!” he bawled to Blue Water Woman, and, stooping, slid his han
ds under her arms. She promptly woke up, but confusion froze her in place.

  “What—?”

  Shakespeare tried to run. The horses were almost upon them, manes and tails flying in the wind. He hurtled to the right, clasping his wife close. They fell, and the horses pounded past and on into the darkness.

  Elsewhere, men shouted and milled in confusion. Shakespeare grabbed Blue Water Woman’s hand and ran to where the string had been tied. The pale glow of the fire showed a riverman on the ground, blood trickling from a gashed temple. LeBeau was examining him.

  “Is he dead?” Shakespeare asked.

  “Non. Hurt bad.”

  Nate appeared, leading three pack horses. Other men had caught other animals and were bringing them back. “Did anyone get a good look at whoever scared our stock off?”

  “All I got a good look at was the hind ends of horses headed west,” Shakespeare said. “Hell of a sight to wake up to.”

  “Was anyone else hurt?” Nate asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What about Hestia?”

  LeBeau went as rigid as a bean pole, leaped erect, and dashed toward the fire.

  “What got into him?” Shakespeare said. “As if I can’t guess.” He let go of Blue Water Woman. “Why don’t you see how badly our fixings were damaged while I help these pilgrims round up the horses?”

  Fifteen minutes later two-thirds of the horses had been recovered. Cyrus Porter stomped back and forth, furious. “We should track down the savages who did this and make them pay in blood! We can’t afford to lose that many horses. We’ll need every one we have in order to reach Oregon.”

  “We maybe can trade for some between here and Astoria,” Shakespeare said. “The Flatheads sometimes come to this region. And if we don’t run into them, there may be some at the dalles.”

  “Is that a fort?” Clark asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “The Chinooks, who happen to be the best damn traders this side of the Rockies, have one of their main villages there,” Shakespeare disclosed. “Indians come from hundreds of miles around to barter. Think of it as the Indian answer to St. Louis, and you’ll have a fair idea of what goes on.”