Wilderness Giant Edition 4

by David Robbins

  “Could be,” Nate said. “A man can’t judge a book by its cover, but it seems to me you’re giving that worthless coon credit for more intelligence than is his due. Besides, if he was the man sent by Washington, would he let Porter treat him the way Porter does? I think not.”

  Shakespeare took a slow drag on his pipe, savoring the sensation. He happened to glance skyward and beheld a marvelous spectacle: a fiery shooting star streaking across the sky in a blaze of glory. “I reckon we’ll have to be on our guard more than ever from here on out. The British won’t give up easy, and we still have a long trek ahead of us.”

  “Should we make Porter or Clark fess up?”

  “To what purpose? Haven’t you learned by now that you can’t go sticking your nose into someone else’s affairs? It’s none of our business whether they are who they claim to be or not.”

  “Like hell. Our wives and my sprouts are in danger because of this nonsense. I should throttle the two greenhorns until they tell us the truth.”

  “You go right ahead if you want. Just don’t expect me to hold him down while you do.”

  Nate made small talk until they turned in. He slept fitfully, deeply bothered by what they had learned. No matter who it was, the man should have been honest with them and told them at the very start of the journey that they were letting themselves in for a lot of unnecessary aggravation. It was unconscionable to him that the man had kept it a secret.

  Nate was still thinking about the situation the next morning as they rode toward the Columbia River. Only a mile lay before them when a shocking idea hit him. Was it possible the government didn’t want the man to let anyone know? Was it possible the government was keeping the secret from its own citizens?

  Such an idea was shattering. Nate had always been one of those who believed that if the cream of political candidates were elected to government posts, the wheels of government would turn smoothly and honestly. Only after he’d met McNair, who held a deeply cynical view of politicians he never explained, did Nate realize that sometimes the government worked in its own best interests and not those of the people it was supposed to serve. George Washington and his ilk would roll over in their graves if they knew.

  There was rejoicing in the camp when the stolen horses were brought back. Porter was one of the happiest, going to each of those who had taken part and clapping them on the back. Nate flinched when the man touched him, as he would if he were brushed by a snake.

  “So who took them?” the New Englander asked. “More thieving savages, I presume?”

  “It was Smythe-Barnes and some of his men,” Shakespeare said. “We had to kill them.”

  A pall fell over the group. Winona and Blue Water Woman appeared confused. Brett Hughes looked shocked. Adam Clark turned crimson, whether from anger or another emotion it was hard to say. And Cyrus Porter made a wave of dismissal and remarked, “Good riddance! I haven’t forgiven that man for his treatment of us at Fort Hall. If anyone ever deserved to die, it was him.”

  The expedition got under way within the hour. The river turned turbulent, posing one series of rapids after another. Both shorelines were harshly rugged, at times starkly steep. Slow progress was the order of the day, and the next several days.

  Everyone was overjoyed when the Columbia finally widened and a large basin covered with lush grass opened up before them. At the end of the basin nearest the river stood a unique village.

  “The Chinooks,” Shakespeare said.

  The dwellings were of two types. One was a simple lodge made from woven mats. These were shown to be temporary shelters used by visitors. The second type were underground homes covered by low plank roofs, the permanent dwellings of the Chinooks.

  In addition, huge wooden racks made from cedar poles had been erected, from which hung enough drying salmon meat to feed half the population of the United States.

  The basin buzzed with activity. Hundreds of Chinooks called the village home, while lined up along the shore were scores of dugout canoes hollowed from the trunks of trees, canoes belonging to Indians from other tribes who had traveled from far and wide for the privilege of trading.

  “Do you speak their language?” Clark nervously asked McNair as the column moved into the open.

  “Not all that well,” Shakespeare said. “They’ve been trading with the Nootkas and Salish tribe for so long that they speak jargon made up of all three. It’s hard on the tongue and I’m out of practice.”

  The expedition’s arrival did not go unnoticed. A stream of Indians flowed from the dwellings to meet them, and four Chinooks stepped forward with arms raised to show their peaceful intentions. They were stocky, muscular men garbed in various fine animal skins, their hair cropped at the shoulders, their skin bronzed from the sun.

  Shakespeare took Nate, Porter, and Clark with him to conduct the formal greeting. The Chinooks did not use sign as fluently as tribes to the east, but between the few signs they knew and the few Chinook words Shakespeare recollected, they were able to communicate.

  The chief escorted them into the village and put a dozen mat dwellings at their disposal. Porter was all for pushing on, but Shakespeare made mention of the fact that their horses needed a few days to rest and graze, so he assented.

  Nate took his family on a stroll. Everywhere they went they were surrounded by fascinated, smiling, friendly Chinooks. Children flocked to them in droves, many young girls pointing at Zach and giggling. Few weapons were in evidence. The men of the tribe were as open and frank as the women and children. No hint of hostility was ever seen.

  The Chinook way of life was so distinctly different from the tribes with which Nate was familiar that it gave him much food for thought. Devoted as they were to trade and fishing, the Chinooks were as peaceable a people as Nate could imagine.

  In contrast, the Shoshones, Crows, Sioux, Cheyennes, and many others were devoted to warfare. A man who had never been in battle, never gone on a raid, never counted a single coup, was accorded the status of a woman. War was exalted, peace looked down on as a state to be avoided at all costs.

  It set Nate to wondering which was better, the Chinook mode of living or the warrior ways of the plains and Rocky Mountain tribes. Perhaps, he reasoned, it had more to do with the natures of the respective peoples. He couldn’t see the Blackfeet giving up their passion for warfare any more than he could see the Chinooks adopting the customs of the warrior societies.

  Three events of note took place during the expedition’s stay. The first involved Two Humps. He created a sensation among the Chinooks, who acted timid around him. None would approach him too closely, and when he strolled through the village, the inhabitants made it a point to avoid him. Nate had no idea why until the afternoon of the next day, when he asked the warrior in sign language.

  “They fear the Nez Percé,” the chief responded. “We are brave fighters.” Glancing around at the wary Chinooks, he added, “And many, many winters ago my people liked to slit Chinook throats. They still hold that against us.”

  The second incident happened during the evening meal hours later when Nate mentioned the warriors comment to his mentor, saying, “The Chinooks must have been easy pickings for the Nez Percé.”

  “There’s such a thing as being too friendly for your own good,” Shakespeare said between puffs on his pipe.

  “You really think so?”

  The mountain man gestured at the village. “Look around you. What do you see?”

  “One of the most peaceful villages I’ve ever been in. Why?”

  “Remember it, Horatio. You might never see its like again.”

  Nate surveyed the picturesque setting. “I’ve lost your trail.”

  “The Chinooks you see here are about all that’s left of their tribe. Chillarlawil, their chief, might well be their last.” Shakespeare stared at several boys playing a game with a stick and several hoops. “Once there were thousands, all as friendly as those you see here. They welcomed everyone with open arms, including Lewis and Clark a
nd white traders who sailed up the Columbia from the Pacific.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “A few years ago smallpox wiped out nearly the entire tribe.”

  The third event did not transpire until the morning of the third day, only a few hours before the expedition was to resume its journey. The pack animals had been loaded with extra provisions obtained in trade. A formal delegation, headed by Chillarlawil, came to bid them farewell. Porter was fidgeting, impatient to be off, while Shakespeare said a fond good-bye to the chief on everyone’s behalf. Just as McNair turned to give the signal that would start the column on its way, the most unforeseen event of all happened: Hestia Davin sat up.

  Nineteen

  Winona stood nearest the travois when it happened. She had just slung the cradleboard onto her back and was about to find Blue Water Woman to ask her to slide Evelyn into it when she heard a low groan and looked down to see the young white woman sitting up. She was so startled that she recoiled a step, clutching Evelyn to her bosom. After so many weeks, Winona had about resigned herself to the woman never recovering.

  Hestia Davin blinked a few times, squinting at the blazing sun in the azure sky. Then she gazed calmly all around her at the Chinook village and the various expedition members, none of whom had yet noticed the miracle. She said two words, softly as if to herself, but not so softly that Winona didn’t hear: “At last.”

  Winona felt foolish for having acted as she did. Stepping to the travois, she said in her best English, “I am Winona King, Miss Davin. Do not be afraid. You are in good hands.”

  “I know,” the blonde said, smiling. “I know who you are. I know who all of you are.”

  “How is that possible?” Winona asked, wondering if the woman’s mind had gone. It wasn’t uncommon for captives to suffer so severely they lost their power to reason or else lived in imaginary worlds of their own devising.

  “It’s hard to explain,” Hestia said, pressing a hand to her brow. “All this time I could hear every word being spoken and see all of you going about your daily work, as if through a heavy fog. But I couldn’t bring myself to talk, couldn’t make my vocal chords move to let you know I was conscious. I couldn’t move a muscle. It was as if I were frozen solid.”

  “And now?” Winona queried, putting a hand on the woman’s face. She found no trace of fever.

  “There was this strange feeling in my head just a minute ago, as if something inside of me had snapped, and I realized I was whole again.” Hestia looked at Winona, tears of relief rimming her eyes. “I’m whole,” she repeated in amazement. “It’s almost too good to be true. I fear I might be dreaming.”

  “You are not,” Winona assured her. She had witnessed astounding recoveries before, most notably a Shoshone chief who had been attacked by a grizzly and lost the use of all his limbs. For several years the man had been cared for by his wife and sons, who refused to leave him behind. Then one day, for no apparent reason, the chief had risen from his pallet, fully recovered.

  “Thank you, Lord,” Hestia said, her lids hooded. She sniffed, dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve, and said, “I know all that you have done for me, Mrs. King. You and Blue Water Woman. I know you gave me medicines. I could feel you washing me and changing me and hear you talking, but I couldn’t respond. I’m so sorry to have put you through such an ordeal.”

  Winona decided on the spot that she liked the young woman. Anyone who was so considerate of others after having suffered so terribly had to be a good person. She squeezed Hestia’s shoulder, saying, “I wish our medicine had worked sooner. Your father will be very happy to have you healthy again.”

  At the mention of Porter, Hestia’s features clouded darkly. “Yes, my dear, doting father,” she said, lacing the last word with scorn.

  Winona turned and saw Shakespeare about to give the signal to move on out. “No!” she cried, drawing the gaze of all those within earshot. “Look!”

  Shock was the widespread reaction. In moments they came from all directions, not only the New Englanders and Brett Hughes, but the over men too and many of the Chinooks who had stood and stared at the poor white woman, feeling sorry for her. Winona noticed fear creep into Hestia’s eyes and gripped her elbow. “It will be all right,” she said quietly. “No one will hurt you.”

  Cyrus Porter barreled through the throng heedless of those he knocked aside. He halted in front of his daughter, mouth working soundlessly, aglow with his happiness. “You’re well again!” he finally exclaimed, astounded. “You’re well again!” Impulsively he swooped Hestia into his arms and whirled her around, laughing merrily until he observed the look she gave him.

  “Put me down, father.”

  Porter slowly complied, his elation giving way to apprehension. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Did I make you dizzy?”

  “No, father,” Hestia said icily.

  Winona didn’t understand her behavior, nor why her father grit his teeth as if in pain.

  “Still?” Porter said. “After all I went through on your behalf?” He seemed about to give his daughter a verbal lashing. Then he glanced at the milling faces and changed his mind. “Later, Hetty. I expect you to look me up once you have a free moment so we won’t have to air our dirty linen in front of these riffraff.” As mad as a wet badger, he stormed off.

  Adam Clark was next to step close to her. “Sweet Hetty,” he said, in awe of her beauty. “It’s so wonderful to have you back among the living again.”

  “No, Adam,” Hestia said.

  “But it is,” he stated. “You have no idea how much I’ve worried about you ever since your father told me that you had gone off with that worthless Davin. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

  “As usual, you’re thinking of yourself first,” Hestia said. “And when I said no, I wasn’t talking about my recovery. I was referring to the reason you came with my father.” She paused. “I heard, you know. Every time the two of you stood close to me and discussed your plans, I heard every word.”

  “You did?” Clark said, losing some of his confidence. “Well, that was merely idle talk.”

  “All those times you told my father that you loved me? That you couldn’t wait to make me your wife?”

  Clark blanched and licked his lips. “I meant every word of that, my dear. I’ve never stopped dreaming that we would be reunited.”

  “We were never united in the first place,” Hestia said. “We dated a few times, is all. You don’t have a claim on my heart. Frankly, you never will.”

  Crestfallen, Clark walked off, head bowed.

  Winona was going to leave, herself. She felt as if she were prying into the blonde woman’s personal affairs. But as she began to turn, Hestia clutched the travois for support and sagged. Winona had her arm around the woman’s shoulder in an instant. “Are you all right?”

  “Too much, too soon,” Hestia said sadly. “I feel so weak, so tired. But how can that be, when I did nothing except lie on my back for days on end?”

  “Your head has healed but your body has not,” Winona said. “You are very thin, and you have not used your muscles in many moons. You must go slowly.”

  Hestia nodded, her gaze roving the crowd. “Where is he?” she asked urgently.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know his name, but I will know his face when I see it.”

  At a loss to guess whom she meant, Winona helped Hestia sit down. Blue Water Woman appeared and lent a hand.

  A few yards away, Shakespeare McNair and Nate King had witnessed the exchanges with interest. “I reckon we should stay over another night,” the older man said.

  “I’ll pass the word,” Nate volunteered.

  It was shortly before sunset when Winona walked to the Columbia and took a seat on a flat boulder partially ringed by tall weeds to nurse Evelyn. The child had grown so much since leaving the Rockies that soon Winona must wean her, a thought that saddened Winona very much. She liked having a baby to brighten her days, liked the soft warm
th and cheerful smiles and the playful antics. Once they had returned to their cabin, she would convince Nate to have another. If he refused, she felt strongly enough about it to have him get her pregnant anyway. Which would be easy to do. In the heat of passion men were easily swayed and could rarely control themselves.

  For an hour Winona sat, savoring the rare privacy and peace. During the arduous trek she had seldom enjoyed such a luxury. Either she had been tending the stricken woman or the baby or spending time with her husband and son.

  Winona admired the setting of the sun, the sky resplendent with a rainbow of vivid colors. A refreshing breeze blowing in from the ocean stirred her long hair and cooled her brow. She was in no great hurry to return to the village.

  Now and then Winona heard voices as Chinooks came to the river to fish or stroll. None noticed her, hidden by the weeds as she was. A new set of voices carried to her ears as she sat stroking Evelyn’s brow, and these drew her interest because the speakers used English.

  “—thank you for going for this walk with me.”

  Winona identified Cyrus Porter and hoped he wouldn’t see her. She always felt uncomfortable around him, as she would around anyone who secretly despised her because she didn’t have the same color skin that they did.

  “You didn’t leave me much choice, dragging me away from the fire the way you did.”

  That was Hestia Davin. Winona debated whether to get up and go before she heard things rightfully not meant for her ears, or simply to stay put in the hope they would wander elsewhere and she could relish a few more minutes of tranquility. The next she knew, they were within ten feet of her, to the left, only the tops of their heads visible above the weeds.

  “We had to talk whether you cared to or not,” Porter said. “We have to clear the air now so there are no misunderstandings.”

  “I understand you perfectly, father,” Hestia said.

  “Don’t start in on me already. We haven’t been out here two minutes.”