by A B Guthrie
It was the edge of dark when he cut away from Smith's Fork to strike the Bear River north of the shortcut, and he watered his horse, picketed it in good grass, ate jerky from his saddle bag and lay down for the night. Tomorrow he might kill some meat.
Birds, singing their heads off, wakened him at dawn. His horse was all right. He had a drink of water for breakfast and was on his way. Summers had reminded him he would have to ford the Bear twice to cut through the loop it made to the north. All right. He could do it, or his horse could.
To the south of him now he could see the shimmer of Bear Lake. A couple of deer flushed up, and he swung his rifle up and around before thinking the day was too young and hot yet. There were plenty of deer.
He shot a small, fat one just before the second crossing of the Bear, where he would meet the real Oregon Trail and turn south for the point where the cutoff came in. He took out the scent glands and gutted the deer, saving the liver. He tied the carcass behind his saddle. There would be waste unless he found someone to help eat it.
The way was longer than he remembered, and it was along toward dusk before he arrived.
Four horses stood where the cutoff and the Bear met, two grounded riders beside them. The men had a fire going on a patch of bare shore. Their unloaded packs lay on the ground, unopened. They were young men who looked older because of their beards. They looked fagged, too. The horses, having drunk, still nosed at the water. He rode up and said, "Howdy, strangers."
The men nodded, saying nothing, but seemed not unfriendly.
"Bound for Oregon? Right?"
They looked at each other, and one of them asked, "What makes you think so?"
"I took the trail myself onct."
"Cutoff included?"
"Yup. With wagons. It was teetotal hell."
"Hard enough with horses. Eh, Dan?"
Dan said, "Sure is," and rubbed his butt.
"Mind if I get off my horse a while?"
"Suit yourself," the other man said.
Higgins dismounted, slanted his Kentucky against a stone and reached for his pipe.
"I was some disappointed in Oregon," he said.
"Too bad, but not our worry."
"No?"
Dan turned to fiddle with one of the packs, saying, "Ask Walt."
Walt was the bigger of the two men. They were city boys, Higgins figured, but not city-bred. Probably farm boys to begin with.
‘We're bound for California," Walt said.
"Californy, huh?"
"And the gold that's there."
"Go1d!"
Dan turned from the pack. "Where you been, old-timer?"
"Not where I heerd anything like that. Gold?"
"In every stream and every gulch. That's the word. Came to us almost firsthand. Sit down. Light your pipe. We're too damn tired to eat yet."
"Figured you could help me eat that deer there."
"Thanks. Fresh meat, Walt."
"Makes me hungry to think of it."
They were all seated now. Higgins passed a blazing stick he had lighted his pipe with.
"We got a long jump on most folks," Dan said between puffs. "Heard the news early and gave up our jobs, bought horses and set out. But it's like the whole nation was on the move or soon will be, all headed for California."
"Not all, Dan. There's the Mormons."
"If you want to call them folks."
"Anyhow, some's already on the trail, but not after gold. They're headed for their settlement on what's called Great Salt Lake, goin' by Fort Bridger."
"Mormons," Higgins said. "There was trouble in Missouri afore I left."
Both men nodded, and Walt said, "Too many wives per man. What the hell would a man want with more than one, or even one, come to that?"
Higgins had an answer, but he asked, "Hungry yet, you boys? I'm gant."
He got up and went to his horse and took the deer from it. He laid out the carcass, then tied his horse to a tree, using a long rope so it could graze. The men were busy with their own horses. He took out the liver, peeled enough of the hide back to get out some good meat, then cut three roasting sticks. As the men returned, he asked, "Kick up the fire some, will you?"
"What I miss most," Dan said while they ate, "is a chair to sit on. Just a chair."
"Takes a spell to get used to the ground and your ham bones," Higgins told him.
They sat back and lighted pipes and listened to the night until Walt said, "Makes you think. All the people on the move, east to west. They'll be coming by saddle horse and wagon and — I wouldn't be surprised — afoot. Some women but mostly men."
"No wonder," Dan put in. "The way we heard it, it's just like you shoveled gold out of the stream beds."
"We're way early," Dan said. "But even so we passed a few outfits."
"Most of 'em takin, the shortcut?" Higgins asked.
"No. Not what we heard. Too tough was the word. It's Fort Bridger for them."
"Fact is," Walt added, "we passed just one outfit that was meaning to take it."
"Meaning, but not too likely to cut the mustard."
"I hope not."
Higgins asked, just to pass the time, "Ramshackle, huh?"
"Kind of," Dan answered. "Four men, one open wagon and seven horses. And did that wagon stink`? One man said they had been killing buffalo for their hides but gave it up when they heard about California and gold. He was more or less friendly, not like the boss man, or the one we figured was boss."
Walt took up the talk. "There were just three saddle horses out of the seven. The others were draught stock. What they wanted with the wagon is more than I know. Just some shovels and bedrolls in it."
"What was holdin' 'em up?" Higgins asked.
"One man had taken sick, cramps and all. Besides, the wagon needed fixing. Loose tires for one thing. The delay didn't set well with the boss."
"Cou1dn't expect it to," Higgins said. He refilled and lit his pipe. It was pleasant enough just to palaver.
"The boss was one big son of a bitch," Walt said after a while. "Mean, too, it seemed like. Wouldn't you say so, Dan?"
"I wouldn't want to tangle with him. Worth your life to get a word out of him. Not like most travelers."
"Name of Cowgill or Crusoe, or something like that, the friendly one told us."
Higgins put off asking more. He didn't want to hear it. His mouth said, "Could it be Caudill?" He felt a small pinch in his guts. He hoped the answer was no.
"I do believe it might be. Know him?
"
"Heard of him is all. Heard of a Boone Caudill."
"That's the man, then. What did you hear?"
"Only that he was a mountain man onct. You know, a beaver trapper. You say he's comin' by way of the shortcut."
"Yep."
"How close to here?"
"Three or four days, by our count."
"That's if the man gets over the cramps."
"What's a cramp or two to that boss?"
"Four days, I bet, figuring cramps and wagon trouble."
So, Higgins thought, it had poked down to the quick. Summers and Caudill, and Caudill close by at last. Jesus, with a whole world to traipse in, they were this close together. And he had to decide. Tell Summers or not? Just forget? Keep a secret from his best friend, thinking to spare him? A damn shaky excuse for the lie it would be. Tell him and let the chips fly?
Whatever he did, he better be where he could do it, he thought, feeling his mind was already halfway made up. If it wasn't, no harm in being on hand.
He got up of a sudden. "Keep the deer meat," he said to the men. "I got to go."
They looked surprised. Dan asked, "What's your hurry?"
"No hurry. It's just that time slips up on a man."
"You going to ride in the dark?" Walt asked.
"Moon's comin' up." He walked to his horse, untied it, tightened the cinch and got on.."Bye, men."
The moon had edged up, big as a platter, red as war paint, before he had gone far
. He hummed to while away time and forget the miles ahead.
Step and step and step, old hoss,
We got a ways to go.
Grass and grass for you, old hoss,
We got a ways to go.
Little Wing for me, old hoss,
We got a ways to go.
Step and —
He had been measuring his time to the pace of the horse. Now it struck him that he was making up words to a nowadays song. It's me, it's me, it's me, O Lord, Standin' in the need of prayer. No special quarrel there. It stood to reason that everybody was in need of prayer, if so be it there were answers.
When the night was half gone, he watered the horse and let it graze for an hour. Then he swung back in the saddle. He rode out the night and the next day and came to camp along about sunset. Kettles were boiling. Little Wing ran out to welcome him. She said, looking at him, "You tired. You so tired. I take your horse." He let her, he was fagged, fagged and hungry, too.
They shared the fire and the food with Summers and his three. He talked talk for talk's sake until the meal was eaten and the women started cleaning up. He drew Summers aside then. They sat where the women wouldn't hear them.
"They found gold in Californy, Dick, a heap of it so I heerd, and a passel of people are movin' that way."
"Let 'em move. Let 'em stay. It don't hurt us."
"I d0n't reckon so unless they branch out. All kinds of people on the move. All kinds."
"Gold would draw "em."
"I reckon there won't be much hide-huntin' for a while."
"So?" Summers' keen gray eyes fastened on him. A man could feel them in the dusk. "What you tryin' to tell me, Hig?"
"Nothin' much." But Higgins knew it was no use. Trying to fool Summers, trying to lead him on by talking roundabout, was no use. He asked, "Anything eatin' on you, anything like before?"
"That's the drift, huh? I been tryin' to forget it. Co on. Somethin's eatin' on you."
"Secrets got a place in the world, I reckon."
"Depends."
"You won't do nothin' rash. Promise me that."
"Out with it, damn it. You know I ain't a headlong man."
"I located Boone Caudill, him you wanted to see."
"Where at?" Summers' voice had a snap in it.
"Him and three men are takin' the shortcut, bound for California."
"There now?"
"Be there in three or four days. Four most likely. But I used up a night and a day gettin' back."
Summers was silent for a long minute. Then he said, "It was meant all along. It was like it was writ in some book."
"What?"
"That him and me would meet up. I gave up lookin' for him. Put him almost out of my head. It ain't no accident, Hig. It's on purpose."
"Whose?"
"How do I know? It's just there."
"Shit. Be sensible. It's make-believe."
"Nope, Hig. Not when you hear the all of it. Comin' away from Oregon, before I teamed up with you, a man name of Birdwhistle sat by my fire. He had trapped and hunted with Caudill. No mistakin' that. Call our meetin' just a stray happenin' if you want to. But then I come onto Teal Eye. She was Caudill's woman onct and had the boy by him. Then, like you know, there was the talk at Fort Benton. Then come a blank, but now you're tellin' me Caudill's comin' our way, just when I was thinkin' no use dwel1in' on him. So it ain't an accident. Some things, seems like, was just meant to be, and no man can whoa 'em."
"You aim to see him, then?"
"Got to." Summers rose. "Sunup."
26
SUMMERS set out at the first streaks of dawn, carrying what he might need in his saddle bags. His Hawken he held crosswise before him. He had some powder and ball. He always had that.
In his ears was Teal Eye's voice, speaking last night after he'd told her about Caudill. She had grasped his arm hard and said, "He kill you. He kill you."
"It ain't a killin' matter, little duck," he told her. "And it ain't so much I want to rub his nose in what he done. I just aim to set things straight. I been named to do it."
She shook him and cried out, "You have to, you kill him then. You are my man. Kill him."
"Like I said, it ain't a killin' matter. I talk straight, I leave."
But he wondered now how much truth he had told her. There was no counting on Caudill to take things mild. He was a flare-up man, or had been in the old days. In the old days, and Caudill and Jim Deakins on board the keelboat, both untried pups, and he had taken to them, no telling why, and tried to teach them what he knew. Later he had trapped with them and seen danger and gone with them to rendezvous, where Caudill with his strength had killed a man over nothing much. Caudill, brave and violent both, touchy as a sleeping dog, and Jim Deakins, a sunny boy who used his head, as unlike Caudill as a man could think. But seasons softened old hard edges, and the days remembered swam before him, days of danger, fun and fight, all floating in a dream.
It struck him that he had become like Caudill in one way. He didn't like people messing around. He wanted what was leaving him, a world open and free, and his foot the first foot ever planted on a game trail, the first dipped in mountain water. A man walked with God then, or could think he did. There was a difference, though. Caudill hated people, hated settlements and laws. There was no flex in him. A man could like people but dislike crowds. He could like people but swear at what they did. He could accept law if not cotton to it. That, he thought, was him, Dick Summers, who felt bad at what was bound to happen and was happening to his world.
When night fell, he watered his horse and staked it out and, out of habit, built a small fire. A fire was good for more than heat and kettle. Sleep w0uldn't be easy, not this night.
He ate and lit his pipe and saw the moon lifting and heard the footsteps of a horse. "Damn you, Hig," he said without turning, "I asked you to stay put. I told you never mind."
"Expectin' me, huh?"
"Expectin' but hopin' not." Higgins had reined in his horse. Its eyes caught a flicker from the fire. "Wisht you would foller orders."
"Orders? You know, I come twenty-one quite a while back, and it's a free country, I been told. There's a bottle I been savin'. Might cure you of the sours. Got two grouse, too. Hold on while I mind my horse."
When he returned, he carried a bottle and two plucked grouse and said, "It ain't a jug but it's full. Might I please sit by the fire and offer you a drink?"
"You damn fool."
"You sure it's me?"
They drank and listened to the silence, broken only by moving water and a far-off coyote cry.
Into the silence Higgins said, "He's got men with him. Didn't seem a good fix, you against the four of them."
"Like I told Teal Eye, it won't come to that. I aim to tell him straight. It ain't right, Hig, for a man to carry wrong notions and maybe use them hurtful. Once he knows, he might feel sorry."
"That's your idea, to make him sorry?"
"Part of it, I reckon. A man who can't say he's sorry ain't fit company for anyone. But that's a side trail."
"What's really wormin' at you is Deakins got rubbed out and no good reason for it. You can't change that."
"I don't know what I can do, but I got to do it."
"You're a mule-minded man, Dick."
"Not my reputation."
"You're winnin' it."
For a while they sat quiet. Summers looked from the fire to the rising moon. The creek and the shore were silver, and shadows lay among the trees. Summers reached for a twig to light his pipe with. He pulled and said, "I"d like to set things straight."
"You and God, only God ain't so damn persnickety."
"I wouldn't be goin' except things came and came again. Somethin' out of sight and mind, some push I don't know the name of or the why for. Call it some big medicine, like the Indians. It keeps movin' me along. I speak out, then rest easy."
"If you get the chance."
"You can't say I'm wrong."
"I could but what's the use? Fa
te is what you're speakin' of, I reckon. I learned that word from a preacher, sayin' the fate of sinners was to go to hell."
"Fate it is, then. Please to pass the bottle."
They slept and woke up early and ate toasted grouse for breakfast and rode on. They reached the end of the cutoff before dark. Nothing moved along that trail, no horses, men or prairie schooners. There were hoof prints on the shore and wagon tracks up higher, and the char of dead fires.
"Too late, you reckon?" Summers asked.
"Them wagon tracks was here before. I figure we're on time."
Higgins went to picket the horses and came back saying, "No fool hens for our supper."
They built a fire and had a drink and ate jerky. Then they slept.
Not until the sun was high was there movement on the cut-off. Then three men and a pack train came angling down the slope. The horses whinnied and began lunging at the smell of water. The pack train broke loose and came on, followed by the riders. The horses plunged their noses in the river. The men fell from their saddles and bellied down.
Summers yelled out, "Easy on the water! Small doses else you'll puke."
One man lifted up, his chin dribbling. "Christ, it's good."
"A little at a time."
The man got to his feet and shook the others, saying, "Stop it now. You know better."
The other two men drew back from the shore. One of them said, "Lucky to be alive." His eyes went to Summers. "We started late and in the dark strayed off the trail and made the driest damn camp ever known."
"Moon up and all?" Summers asked, letting his voice be dry.
"Strangers in a strange land," the first man said. "Easier from here on, or do you know?"
"Better'n what you just come over," Summers told him. "Take my word."
The men drank again. One of them belched. Another walked out to keep the horses close. The third one said, "We're pushin' on directly. First come, first served in California." He said to Summers, "Could I ask what's keeping you, mister?"
"Waitin' for friends. You pass anybody?"
"It's way early for the most of them, and those we saw were going Bridger way."
