by Jack L Knapp
T floated directly up, judging his altitude with a practiced eye. Even a relatively short distance could be dangerous, so elevation equaled safety to an extent.
Looking ahead as far as he could make out details, T took a deep breath. The trick was to focus on that distant place, on being there...
A moment later he was floating directly above the location he’d selected.
So far, so good; but he hadn’t deployed the bubble. Expanding his senses, he recognized the mental impression of Bobby, Jay, and Shezzie, but there was nothing more that needed to be said. Other presences faded in and out at the edge of perception, people unrecognized. They might be normals or possibly even wild talents. But so far, he was still in his original timeline.
T formed his bubble, seeing the familiar reddish flash. Could the flash be a momentary plasma forming between electric fields, as he’d theorized? There was no way to tell.
The compass hung by a strap next to his skin. T withdrew it and held it level, trying to orient himself to the numbers he’d plotted for his first destination. The compass refused to cooperate; the needle swung slowly, never settling on a specific direction. When he rotated his body the compass needle obligingly rotated too.
Collapsing the bubble, T floated in space. The compass needle fluctuated, then settled on north. Glancing to the east, T verified the approximate direction and checked it against the compass; so far, so good. The morning sun lay east-southeast of the direction indicated by the needle. T rotated the compass’ bezel to align zero with magnetic north, then consulted the notes he’d made. Salt Lake City lay in the general direction of where he wanted to go, fifty point seventeen degrees, and should be enough to give him an idea of what time displacement he could expect from a teleport. Sighting on the peak he’d chosen for a landmark, T rotated slowly, then formed the bubble again. The area west of the peak was visible, hopefully visible enough. T took a deep breath, then attempted to visualize the location he’d selected from the strip map. He didn’t want to arrive over the city; There was a busy airport as well as considerable traffic on the ground. Since Salt Lake City was almost three hundred miles away, the location he chose was fifty miles south of the city.
The bubble vanished with a muted pop as air rushed in to fill the space where it had been.
#
Ray drifted along, following the Rio Grande north. It was early summer and the water was high, overflowing the river’s banks in places. The floodwaters washed up against the bosque, nourishing the thick growth of trees. Cottonwoods, elms, a few walnut trees here and there lined the river’s course, creating a green band between hills on either side of the river. Ducks and a few geese squabbled in the shallows; most had flown north by this time of year, but a small population lived along the river year-round. He caught fleeting glimpses of coyotes, cottontail rabbits, raccoons, and beavers. Many of the trees along the river showed signs of being gnawed around their bases. In time, the beavers would finish their work, bringing down the trees to form their dams. But if there had been dams present before, the flood had washed them away.
Still, the beavers had been here for centuries; the waves of trappers had thinned them, but a few always remained after the trappers moved on. When their catch declined, they left in search of better trapping grounds, most often in the northern mountains. The Spanish who’d settled this land, displacing some of the local Puebloans, had attempted to halt the incursions by the trappers, but in the end Mexicans had driven out the Spanish and the Anglos had pushed their way in later.
How far had he come? He was clearly in the past, but how to tell? Perhaps there was no way to tell, not to any degree of certainty. What should he do now?
If no one could communicate via telepathy, that likely meant the psionic abilities hadn’t spread. Could it mean that he and Libby had returned to their own time before that happened?
Trying to return home was just as dangerous, just as unproductive as charging wildly off, trying to accidentally find himself in the same time period as Libby. That sort of exploration might become necessary, but not yet; better to see if he could figure out what was going on. And what about T? Had he begun attempting to find Libby by now?
In the meantime, Ray needed clothing and money; what was in his wallet was useless. He would have to find work.
#
The woman waited while Libby’s sobs grew fainter. Finally she sat up and looked at her, the strange woman with the Anglo name.
“Sarah, I’m lost. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you eaten, child?”
“No, not recently. I guess I am hungry.”
“We will have food soon. The women of this camp bring my food to me and they can bring enough for you. We don’t have a lot, but our children do not hunger.”
Libby looked at her inquiringly.
“Children are fed first. I have been hungry, I will be again. It is not important. Sometimes the fish are not in the river, sometimes the fires burn the trees before we can gather the nuts. There are always the roots to eat and in the fall there are the fruits of the cactus. Boys catch rabbits and sometimes there are quail and grouse too. Ducks, geese, coyotes and mountain cats, there is always something to eat. This is not the season for bear; they are thin and their cubs must be fed. But our hunters catch the antelope and the deer.
“Sounds good!”
Sarah chuckled. “It is food. When you are hungry, even poor food tastes good. I learned to enjoy the California foods when I was there. What we have is not like that, but it is what we have. My people have been here since time began and we have not starved. You will not starve, but you may learn hunger before you leave our village.
“For now, you will sleep in the chief’s tent, as I do. There is room and I have furs for your bed. It is not mine, but I have the use of it until I go to visit the white city Washington.”
Sarah hesitated. “My people consider me not of them. They believe I have become white in my spirit, even as my skin remains dark. It is a great thing I do for my people, visit the great city Washington. I will speak true to the white chief, and my people will then love me as I love them.”
“I hope you’re right, Sarah. It is not easy, being different. I am different too.” Libby thought of just how different she was and her eyes threatening to spill tears again.
“You must have clothing. What you wear is not suitable for our life. I shall ask my sister if she has something for you to wear.
“But you shall stay with me and speak your language. I must learn the words that will tell the white chief of my people’s claims. His tribe has killed my people and stolen our children. They have taken our lands and our waters. Once we were many, we Paiutes and our cousins the Shoshone. Our lands were wide, from the reaches of California into the lands claimed by the English in the Oregon Territory. Even to the great lake of salt water, my people lived and hunted. They live there now, although they do not live by the lake of salt. No trout live in that water. We fish for them in the lands where the Tui ui ticutta people live. They are cousins to those who dwell here, those people. The river that feeds the lake is named for my grandfather Chief Truckee, and the lake is called for my father Chief Winnemucca.”
“Is that where you got your name, Sarah?”
“Yes. My grandfather took me to live with Major Ormsby and his family when I was a child. They were good people and his wife’s name was Sarah. I came to love her very much, because she was my mother during that time. When the white soldiers could not speak my name Thoc-me-tony, I told them to call me Sarah. They use the name of their father, so that is what I did too. My people do not do this; I was named for the shell flower. Many of our young girls are called flowers, and we are as sisters because we are the flowers.”
“The Ormsby family taught you English?”
“Yes. I learned the Spanish with their daughter too, and I can also speak to other tribes, the Washo and the Shoshone of the northern lands. I was often with their daughter
Lizzie and we learned together.”
“Was he in the Army, this Major Ormsby?”
“Not when I lived with his family. Perhaps he had been a soldier before. Men called him ‘Major’, so that is what I did. He had worked with the stage coaches before I lived with his family, but at that time he had a place where people stayed when they came to the Carson Sink. He called it a hotel, the Ormsby Hotel. He also owned a store where people bought things.”
“But you left his family?”
“Yes. The major was killed by Chief Numaga in a great battle near the lake that is named for my dear father. Perhaps he is happy that the lake takes his name, my father, but he does not like whites.”
“You’re very wise, Sarah. You have worked for whites, even though your father does not like them.”
“Yes. They call him Bad Face sometimes. But my grandfather Tru-ki-zo, the one called Truckee, claimed that whites were his brothers. But I do not think he meant that. Major Ormsby had much hair on his face, but my grandfather Tru-ki-zo never did!” Sarah chuckled and Libby giggled with her.
“You know of whites and your people too, then.”
“Yes. But we have spoken enough. You will help me practice your speech, and now it is time to find you a proper dress, Lib-ie-ya!”
Chapter Ten
Ray eased to a stop, concealed by the leafy crown of a huge cottonwood. Ahead, a man leading a burro limped along a faint trail leading up from the river. The animal carried the carcass of a deer, tied in place across a packsaddle. The man carried a rifle in his right hand and the burro’s lead rope in his left.
Easing to the ground, Ray walked along the dirt road leading north. The road here was on the west side of the shallow river; it had crossed the meandering river several times, sometimes on the river’s east bank, sometimes on the right. Ahead, the man hobbled onto the road and turned north. Ray soon caught up to him.
“Howdy.”
“Good day to ye, mister.”
“Mind if I walk along with you for a while?”
“Free country. If you’re a mind to walk with Sheba and me, well, I ain’t had much company for a while. You don’t look like you’re from around here.”
“Not for a while. I was through this country another time, but it’s changed.”
“Now that’s a fact! Me, I come west before the railroad did. Ain’t nothin’ like what it was. Albuquerque’s growin’ like a weed since the AT and SF started buyin’ up land for their rail-yard. Got a brand new school and everything. You goin’ to New Town?”
“Reckon so. I need to stay around town while I think about things. I’ll probably need to work, too. I’m short of cash and I need new clothes as well as food and a place to stay.”
“Seems like that happens to me whenever I’m around a town. Red-eye whiskey and buckin’ the tiger generally don’t go together.”
“You a gambler?”
“Mostly I’m a loser.” The man laughed, then hissed as he placed his foot wrong.
“You want me to lead the burro? You might do better if you had a crutch or at least a cane to help.”
“I thought o’ that, but down in the bosque where I was huntin’, you sometimes run into a bear or a catamount. Injuns, too; they’re pretty peaceful right now, but the Apache Kid is still hid out in the hills somewhere and there’s always a few young bucks that figure stealin’ horses is a good way to make a name for themselves. I’ll hang onto my rifle, but if you’ll lead Sheba I’ll cut myself a cane and catch up. She don’t walk fast.”
“I’ll do that, or we can wait here until you get back.”
“I won’t be long. Plenty o’ saplin’s growin’ along the edge of the river. Say, if you can track, you can always go huntin’ and sell venison to one of the eatin’ houses. People get tired of eatin’ beef all the time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I might give it a try if I can’t find a job. I’ve had experience handling horses.”
“A man that can handle horses can always get on. I come west with a train of freight wagons, sleeping during the day and herding horses at night. Ain’t no way to get rich, but I had enough to eat and the work wasn’t hard.”
Ray led the burro on, following the dirt road. Five minutes later the man caught up, swinging along with the help of the cane.
“Shore, that’s a heap better. I’m obliged, Mister. You got a name you’re willin’ to tell me?”
“It’s Ray. Why wouldn’t I tell you?”
“Wal, some o’ them rawhiders that have been driftin’ in lately, names don’t mean much to them. I hear tell they left Texas for a reason, most o’ the time involvin’ a rope. Either they used one too careless or somebody planned to make ‘em the guest o’ honor at a hangin’.”
Ray chuckled. “How do you know I’m not one of the rawhiders?”
“Mister Ray, you’re wearin’ clothes. Some o’ them fellers have just enough left to keep the patches from fallin’ off. At least the women have dresses, even if kids don’t get clothes ‘til they’re old enough to start workin’. Mighty pore they are, and shiftless as a rule.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. They’re too poor to buy things.”
“Mister Ray, a man can make do even if he don’t have money. Long as I can buy a bar o’lead and some powder for this ol’ Hawken, I can turn a penny’s worth of bullet into a two-dollar carcass. Just takes a little work, and I been workin’ at one thing or another my whole life. I started herdin’ sheep for a feller when I wuz...let me see, I reckon I wus maybe twelve or thirteen. He didn’t pay much, but he fed pretty good. Done some hide-huntin’ for a while and some trappin’, but the buffler’s plumb scarce now and beaver pelts ain’t worth nothin’. I done some minin’too. There’s lots of float in them hills, but my back won’t stand up to pannin’ and most of the float has been found anyway. You got to get way back in the mountains where nobody else has been if you want to strike it rich now, and sometimes that means where nobody with a lick of sense is going to go. Apaches figure they own that country, and every now and then somebody gits kilt trying to prove they don’t.”
“Maybe I’ll try that. Or I might try hunting like you said.”
“There’s bears around. The mast crop up in the Sandias and the Manzanos wuz pore last year, so the bears lost weight. You’ll see ‘em fishin’ in the river, time to time, and they’ll be eatin’ the berries off the bushes. They’ll eat dogs too if th’ Injuns don’t keep ‘em up. There’s more to eat along the river bottom than there is up in the hills, but nobody much wants bear meat. Venison, now, or elk, that’s the thing. But th’ elk are up high in the mountains. Findin’ ‘em ain’t the problem, it’s gettin’ back before the meat starts to spoil.”
“I can see how that would limit hunting.”
“Yep, a feller can make out all right if he’s got a good pack-string. Man with a dozen mules can set up a huntin’ camp in the mountains and do right well. ‘Course, you got to have the mules and the pack saddles and such, and if you’ve got those, there’s better ways of makin’ a livin’ than huntin’.”
#
The buckskin dress was too large, but Sarah helped her arrange a belt that kept it from sagging too much. Libby thanked her host and the two went to the cook-fire. Strange smells issued from a pot filled with boiling water and unidentified chunks. Some of it might have been meat, other parts looked like a root with the skin removed.
“Sarah, what are those white things?”
“They are sunroot. One or two is good, but you should not eat too many. There are also roots from the cattail. We grind the flour from mesquite beans mixed with treenuts, what my sister and the other women gathered in the mountains. Our bread is made from that. There is also honey for the bread. A boy caught a rabbit this morning and one of the young men killed an antelope. Sometimes there is fish, but not today.”
“You just put everything in and boil it?”
“Yes, and we have salt too. Later we will have corn and squash, but it is too early for t
he corn and the squash have not grown large enough. The flowers of the squash are good to eat, but we need the squash more. Perhaps there will be flowers later.”
“This is what you eat most of the time?”
“Yes, when we have it. But sometimes the hunting is bad or the rains do not come. The people north of here by the river that is named for my grandfather have ditches to bring the water to the fields. They grow quawmash roots, but we have none. Here, we camp only a short time, and we must move on soon. The water in the river will go away until only a few holes are left. It is not enough, and the air will smell bad.”
Sarah sat down, legs folded beneath her. Libby followed her example, tucking the dress beneath her knees. The ground was hard but at least there were no rocks. The two were handed bowls of the stew. Libby tasted the root vegetable, which had a faintly nutty taste. It was well cooked, so she ate hungrily. The small piece of meat had likely come from the rabbit Sarah had mentioned. The bread was good, and dripping honey across the chunk made it even better.
The two took their bowls to the stream, rinsed them in the flow, then scrubbed them out with sand from the riverbank. A final rinse and the bowl was ready for the next use. Sarah collected Libby’s bowl and returned both to one of the women, then the two returned to the skin tipi.
“You will sleep here, Lib-ie-ya.” Sarah pointed to a pad of skins on the ground. Libby looked at it, then realized she was tired. Lying down on the pad, she found it comfortable. There was no pillow, but she rested her head on her arm and fell asleep. Sarah smiled and left the tipi; she was not yet ready for the day to end.
#
The tall man sat slumped, elbows on the table, head supported by his hands. His hair, usually so carefully combed, showed the effects of running his fingers through it repeatedly. His eyes beneath the hooded brows were closed.
He appeared to sleep, but his busy mind continued to churn. How was he to pay his employees? Perhaps his detractors were right and he had no business sense. Probably they were right; he’d once held a signed contract that would have made him a millionaire, but he’d torn it up and thrown away the pieces. He had been motivated by respect and affection for his business partner, and those had not been returned. There was little money now and the bills continued to mount.
